The Dead Man

14

As the couple made their way back into the mansion's grand hall, a heavy atmosphere of anticipation hung in the air. The room was filled with seated individuals, their breaths shallow and their bodies tense, as they awaited Azrael's command. Sarah was guided to her seat, feeling Azrael's presence behind her, a constant reminder of his dominion over her.
With a commanding tone, Azrael posed a seemingly simple question, his words piercing the silence like a knife. "Who will work for me?" The weight of his demand settled upon the gathered individuals, their eyes darting nervously, searching for a glimmer of hope or a viable escape from this sinister arrangement.
Sarah's gaze locked with Becky's, silently pleading for her friend to comply with Azrael's wishes. In that fleeting moment, Sarah's desperation was evident, her eyes reflecting the depth of her fear and the flickering hope for a reprieve from the impending darkness.
Breaking the silence, it was Becky who mustered the courage to speak, her voice trembling slightly. "I will work for you," she declared, succumbing to Azrael's manipulative power. His wicked smile crept across his face, a twisted satisfaction evident in his eyes.
The attention shifted to Fredrik, who swiftly nodded in fearful submission, his desire to preserve his own life overpowering any sense of defiance he may have harbored.
However, not everyone was willing to yield. Diederik, tears welling up in his eyes, vehemently shook his head, refusing to be swayed by Azrael's sinister influence. "I won't work for you. And you guys are al pathetic to follow him. Just because you are afraid!" He spoke unwilling to succumb to the whims of their tormentor.
Azrael's eyes twitched momentarily, a flicker of anger crossing his face at the brazen display of resistance. Yet, his smile twisted back into its malevolent form, his dark intentions unabated. With a single word, he summoned the hellhound, "Daurius" the hellhound came from the depths of the maze.
Sarah's breath hitched in her throat, her grip on Azrael's arm tightening as fear surged through her veins. Despite the reassurance of his touch, she couldn't help but dread the impending fate of Diederik. Her heart pleaded silently for mercy, for a way to spare him from the impending horror.
Azrael instructed the hellhound "unleash your ferocity upon Diederik." The beast lunged at its target, tearing through the air with primal force. The hall erupted with horrified gasps and cries, mingling with the pained screams of Diederik as the hound savagely attacked.
Sarah's eyes welled up with tears, a mixture of anguish and helplessness washing over her. Though Azrael's touch sought to calm her, the sight before her was a grim reminder of the unyielding brutality that pervaded their lives. In that moment, she felt the weight of the choices she had made, the consequences of becoming entangled in the darkness that surrounded Azrael. As the gruesome scene unfolded before them, the air grew heavy with the stench of blood and the echoes of Diederik's agonizing screams. Sarah's heart pounded in her chest, overwhelmed by the horror that unfolded in front of her. She desperately tried to avert her gaze, seeking solace in the darkness that shrouded her vision. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, glimpses of the macabre spectacle seared into her memory, haunting her with every flicker of movement and every gut-wrenching sound.
Azrael, with his sadistic intentions, took perverse pleasure in ensuring Sarah bore witness to the depravity he orchestrated. He reveled in her discomfort, pushing her boundaries and testing the limits of her resilience. Though he didn't force her to watch every moment of the grisly display, he strategically ensured that she caught glimpses of the brutality, a constant reminder of the depths of his power. His hands rubbed her shoulders softly.
Sarah's trembling hand instinctively covered her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and horror. Becky, inconsolable in her anguish, wept openly, clutching onto the remnants of her fallen friend.
Azrael, his smile etched with malevolence, surveyed the room, his piercing gaze searching for any remaining semblance of resistance. He relished in the silence that followed, knowing that the swift demise of Diederik had left an indelible mark on the minds of those present. His words cut through the hushed air, dripping with dark satisfaction.
"Anyone else?" he inquired, his voice laced with a sinister tone that sent shivers down their spines. "Remember, this was the mercy of a quick death."
The remaining boys, their spirits broken and their will to resist shattered, capitulated to Azrael's demands. One by one, they muttered their compliance, offering themselves up as pawns in his game. Lorenzo, Fredrik, Sammy, Stan, and Xander resigned themselves to their fates, their individual strengths now bound to be exploited in Azrael's twisted routines.
The room fell silent, save for the stifled sobs that punctuated the heavy atmosphere. Misses Wilson, trembling with fear, found herself cornered by Azrael's piercing gaze. A palpable tension lingered as she uttered her decision, her voice tinged with resignation.
"I will work for you," she declared, the weight of inevitability hanging heavily in the air.
Azrael's eyes bore into her, his lips curling into a cruel smile. Her plea for mercy fell on deaf ears as he delivered his chilling response, a verdict fueled by retribution.
"You had no choice, mother," he sneered, his voice filled with cold detachment. "You will burn."
"What?" Misses Wilson exclaimed, her voice filled with fear and disbelief as she looked into her son's eyes. Lorenzo, struck by a sudden surge of courage, attempted to intervene, his voice pleading against the impending doom.
"No, you can't!" Lorenzo protested, but a single glance from Azrael silenced him instantly. The weight of his brother's authority hung heavily in the air, suffocating any defiance that threatened to escape his lips.
With a cold and detached demeanor, Azrael met his mother's frightened gaze. The cruel smile that danced on his lips sent shivers down her spine, as the reality of her impending demise sank in.
"You will die in the morning," Azrael declared, his tone void of mercy. He then turned his attention to Fredrik, issuing a command with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Lock her up," he ordered, his voice dripping with contempt. Fredrik, obedient to his master's will, rose from his seat and forcefully guided Misses Wilson towards the door. The despair etched on her face was a reflection of the impending torment that awaited her.
Meanwhile, Azrael settled back into his seat, cradling Sarah's head in his hands, gently massaging away the throbbing headache that most certainly plagued her. The exhaustion from the day's events had taken its toll on her fragile body, causing her to slump against his chest, succumbing to the comforting embrace of sleep.
Fredrik, following Azrael's instructions, led Misses Wilson down to the dark recesses of the mansion's basement, the cellars where she would be imprisoned until her final moments. Azrael's malicious intentions echoed through the corridors as he added a sinister twist to her punishment.
"Beat her with a stick, just as she beat us," he instructed, a twisted satisfaction tainting his words. Fredrik heard the words just in time. "Enjoy it, for you are entitled to your revenge."
Azrael turned his attention back to the remaining individuals in the great hall, his eyes fixated on the twins, who shared an uncanny resemblance and mirrored expressions of fear. His gaze lingered upon them, assessing their potential and pondering the ways in which their unique talents could be harnessed for his own dark purposes.
"Tomorrow, after the burning," Azrael announced, his voice laden with a chilling anticipation, "we shall begin our training. I will determine the extent of your usefulness to me."