Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER THIRTY THREE -

The black stone walls of Azazel's torture chamber glistened with moisture. Moaning in a low weak voice, the captive soul still hung from its chains against one wall, its back partly skinned and carpeted with blue bottle flies.

The double doors to the chamber were flung open as Haroth and Maroth dragged the bound Ozah into the dungeon. Pulling him along the floor past the guillotine and iron maiden they stopped next to the flayed open soul. With swift, strong hands the dark twins stripped Ozah of the netting Azazel had bound him with.

Ozah tried to struggle but the bonds had left him too weak to resist his captors. Haroth and Maroth restrained their prisoner against the wall with pale wisps of black flames that coiled around his wrists. Head slumped forward, he hung by his arms looking as weak and powerless as the damned soul beside him.

Azazel's cold voice rang out from the dungeon's entrance, "Welcome to your new home, Ozah." Laughing, he approached his two prisoners. Grabbing the chains pulling the flesh from the soul's back, Azazel gave them a violent shake. Startled, the swarm of flies deserted their meal to buzz about into a cloud that filled the dank chamber. He hissed into the soul's ear as it cried out in renewed agony, "I told you I'd find you some company didn't I, Adolf?"

"Let me die." The soul whimpered.

"Shut up fool, you know you're dead." Azazel said. Turning to Ozah, he asked, "They're all so stupid. Why do you and your choir love them so much?"

Not lifting his head, Ozah replied, "Because they're better than you. They know what love is."

"You think I don't know love?" Azazel said, grabbing a fistful of Ozah's black hair. Lifting his head, Azazel pointed at the torture machines. "What do you call those? Each was a labour of love for me. Created for the sole benefit of mankind. As you'll soon understand, I love torture."

He let go of Ozah's hair and the Watcher's head dropped to his chest again. Walking to his throne, Azazel pulled off his black cloak. Draping it over the back of the chair, he took off his satchels and the gore-encrusted scabbard of his great cleaver. "You don't know how much I've been looking forward to having you here as my guest. Isn't that right boys?"

Haroth and Maroth said in tandem, "Very excited."

"One could even say I'm flustered. I don't know where to begin and that's rare."

"There's nothing more you can do to hurt me." Ozah's thin voice tried to sound defiant.

"Which gives me an idea," Azazel said.

Ozah looked up and saw a glimmer cross his torturer-to-be's black eyes. The last sound he heard before consciousness deserted him was a high, frigid laugh that reminded him of a Hyena's braying. He wished he was back on the world, safe and free of this place. His vision blurred and darkness swept over him.

Grey trails of fog drifted fat and lazy across the peak of Purgatory's lonely mountain. Azrael was sitting on one of the great slabs of stone surrounding the summit's grey garden. Never had the foglands looked so barren. Her worn leather book lay open on her knees. She tried to focus on the journal while she waited but she found all she could do was stare at its pages. Even turning her thoughts to Michael could not drive the worry and fear from her mind. As a sparkling green haze floated out of the fog, she sighed and closed her book. The mists cleared and Immael's slender form stood before her.

"What's wrong?" Immael asked.

"Ozah's been captured."

"What? Who has him?"