> "Mortals should not have anything to do with the Divine, they might not live to tell the tale."
"What's wrong with this kid? Why does he look dead in the eyes?" an old slave muttered.
"Maybe he's planning to save the sacrifice again," another sneered. "I should smack that idea out of the fool's head."
He walked up to Azareal, crouching low.
"Kid, stand up. It's time for the offering."
Azareal didn't move. His amethyst eyes were blank, fixed on the ground.
"Foolish kid."
The man swung his hand. The slap landed—
And froze.
From Azareal's skin, dozens of eyes split open across his body, blinking in perfect, horrifying rhythm.
The man staggered back, trembling.
He looked around—no one else could see it.
The eyes turned—all at once—to him.
Silence.
Then blood began to pour from his eyes, ears, and nose. His pupils turned white… then red.
And just like that—he dropped