As the darkflames consumed him, the purple-eyed deity let out a gut-wrenching scream of agony. His eyes rolled back into his head until only the whites remained visible.
Azazul felt the flames lick at his wounds, the pain oddly diminishing. He looked up—and what he saw made his heart race as a cold sweat spread across his body.
If Azazul had been using his normal eyes, he would have missed everything. But with the Eye of Darkness still active, he saw it all—down to the smallest detail.
'So creepy…'
What he witnessed was simply wrong.
At first, Azazul had believed the darkflames were merely deity-killing flames. But now, watching them at work, he realized how completely mistaken he had been—he hadn't just missed the bullseye, he hadn't even been aiming at the target.
The darkflames did not burn the skin like normal fire. No—they slipped inside the deity's body through his skin, eyes, ears, nose… every opening, no matter how small. Once inside, they corrupted everything: muscles, organs, blood, nerves, and bones. The air in his lungs and the water in his bloodstream transformed into darkflames, burning him from the inside out.
Azazul unconsciously focused the Eye of Darkness further—and saw the deity's own mana being consumed as fuel.
At the same time, Azazul's golden eye showed him the surface. Strangely, the deity's skin remained pristine—for now.
Once the darkflames finished devouring the inside, they moved outward. The skin began to sag, slipping from the bone. The deity tried to hold his face together, but when his hands touched his skin, flesh fused to flesh. His skin melted free and splattered against the ivory-white marble of the courtyard, revealing corrupted muscle and bone beneath.
Azazul watched everything unfold, eyes wide, face slack with shock. Nausea twisted his stomach. He had never seen someone burned alive—being burned from the inside out was far worse.
What remained of the purple-eyed deity placed his hands on the ground, trying to crawl toward Azazul. But the skin on his knees stuck to the marble, preventing him from moving.
He whispered weakly.
"H-Help… m-me…"
Azazul's hands and legs trembled.
'What…?'
He couldn't help—even if he wanted to. He didn't even know how.
The deity's body swayed and collapsed onto the marble, darkflames swallowing what was left. Then, from within those flames, a dark light emerged.
Azazul was still sitting on the ground, staring at the empty space where the deity had been seconds earlier, when the dark light surged toward him. He scrambled backward, trying to escape—but it caught him and entered his body.
'He didn't die.'
Instead, a strange sensation spread through his core, as if the dark light had saturated it.
When realization struck, Azazul nearly passed out.
"What… the… actual… fuck?"
If what he understood was true, then Azazul stood no chance of ever winning this war.
He was so shaken that when his shapeshifter absorbed the remaining darkflames, he wasn't even surprised.
His pupils were dilated, gaze unfocused, face pale as a ghost. His mind reeled—not with madness, but with truths he was forced to accept.
A hand rested on his right shoulder.
A familiar voice spoke from behind him—neutral, yet laced with concern.
"My prince… are you okay? You're losing a lot of blood."
Azazul turned and met Sylvia's scarlet eyes. For once, she wasn't smiling—only worried.
He looked back at his arm and replied somberly.
"No… I'm not okay."
Sylvia lifted him into her arms.
"Well, let's patch you up."
She glanced at his severed hand and added dryly,
"Wow… you'll need more than patching."
She carried him to his room, barking orders at servants along the way. After placing him on the bed, she began cleaning his shoulder.
"I sent Rin on a mission," Sylvia said quietly. "I gave her three partners. Two were traitors. They killed the third, forcing Rin to fight them both. She killed one—but the other escaped."
She sighed and moved to clean his stump.
"If Rin fails to kill the traitor, you'll have to leave for the human realm. Her clan isn't working with the Guardians—but with the demons of Hell themselves. If they come here, they won't hesitate to slaughter everyone."
A servant entered with hot water, towels, and bandages.
"I brought everything you asked for, Miss Sylvia."
"Thank you, April," Sylvia replied. "Please stitch his shoulder."
She raised her hand slightly.
"And make sure the prince keeps both his hands."
Azazul stared, stunned, then looked at Sylvia—and at his severed forearm in her grasp.
"When did you—? And stitches? Nooo! I hate needles!"
Sylvia chuckled. April spoke gently.
"I'm afraid your wounds won't heal without them, my prince."
"To be clear," Sylvia added, "you'd need to summon the black liquid to heal injuries like this—but you can't control it. That leaves us with April's lineage ability. And yes, I know about the black liquid. Don't ask. Let her work."
She whispered something to April, handed her an item, and left.
Azazul leaned back and braced himself.
April summoned a metallic kit and opened it. Azazul couldn't see inside, but she removed a thin needle etched with runes and enhanced it with magic.
Though the Eye of Darkness was deactivated, Azazul somehow knew—the needle wasn't what healed him.
It was the string.
A nearly invisible thread trailed from the needle. April noticed his gaze.
"You can see it too… even without the Eye of the Demon of Death."
Azazul frowned. Why could he see it?
"What is the string made of?" he asked calmly.
"Something very special," April replied. "Now bite down."
The needle pierced his flesh, pulling muscle together. The pain was sharp—but the string cooled his skin, dulling it slowly. April worked quickly and skillfully.
His shoulder wasn't good as new, but intact. His collarbone was broken, though his ribs were spared. Full recovery would take months.
As for his arm—he was lucky. The severing was clean enough for reattachment.
This is going to take forever…
"My prince," April said kindly, "hold your hand in place. I don't have four hands."
Azazul chuckled weakly. "Okay… sure."
She smiled apologetically.
"This will hurt."
Before he could reply, her hands moved like lightning. Muscle to muscle. Nerve to nerve.
Pain exploded through him.
Minutes felt like eternity—then it was done. April tightened the string, applied ointment, and bandaged both shoulder and arm.
She handed him his black cloak.
"Uh… April? Can you help me?"
She brushed sweaty bangs from her freckled face and smiled, throwing the cloak over his shoulders. Her heterochromatic eyes—one ocean blue, the other ember-gold—met his.
'Wow…'
The door opened. Sylvia returned, expression grim.
"What's wrong?" Azazul asked.
Her eyes gleamed darkly.
"Rin was captured. She made a deal with her clan to protect your secret—but they betrayed her."
She pulled a chair forward and sat.
"As expected, her clan works with the demons of Hell. Before they removed the mask from her soul, she said one thing—Rank Two."
"Rank Two?" Azazul asked.
"In the demon army, Rank Two demons are second-in-command. They can send an entire army of them. For the two of us… even one is enough. Our chance of victory would be about one percent."
Azazul's thoughts spiraled—if Rank Two was this strong, what about those above?
Sylvia snapped him back.
"A Rank Two demon is already on his way. That's why you're returning to the human realm."
She placed something in his hand.
"This will hide your eyes and presence."
It was a moon-violet locket, threaded with diamonds. He put it on.
She handed him a small earpiece.
"Put this on and summon your mask. It'll fuse with it—we'll stay in contact."
"But with a full mask—"
"Your mask is special," Sylvia smiled. "Both full and half."
Azazul groaned. "Then why ask me?!"
"Habit," she chuckled—then turned serious.
"Come on. He's almost here."
Azazul stood. Exhausted. No time to recover—already running for his life.
He placed the earpiece on, summoned his mask, and commanded a half form. In the mirror, the black fangs remained—but the upper half dissolved into a blurry mirage. The horn was gone.
He took his tachi, summoned his shapeshifter, and left the room with Sylvia and April.