The stench of burnt skin permeated the air.

  A coil of singed ropes fell to the floor in a smouldering tatter, rustling against the plastic garbed ground.

  The cerise eyed woman got to her feet. Hunching over, she gathered up the sizzling bundle in her hands, and slung the burnt mess over her shoulder. Eyeing the mortal in the chair, she noted the scorch marks over his left arm, a faint smudge compared to the wounds he had sustained in his fight.

  His swollen orbit had been reduced to a black eye, and the rest of his body appeared battered but held together by taut skin over a skeletal frame. His shoulders were broad, and his arms held definition but the rest of him was sparse, starved and painted in bruises.

  “You appear to be more hurt than you let on,” she said.

  “I lost track of what pain feels like.” The redhead wearily pushed himself to his feet, rotating his neck and loosening his joints. “Somehow, I’m still in one piece. Feels strange to know what an amputation feels like, but still retain all my limbs.”

  “If you had that level of regeneration, your wounds should’ve closed up by now.” She got up close in his face, holding up a finger to his forehead. “Would you react differently if I blew your brains out? Or would you be another corpse to clean up?”

  The redhead averted his gaze, aware of how perilous his present situation was. His abductor had cut through his ropes effortlessly, cautioning how easily she could end him before he had a chance to react.

  “Death’s been on my heels for a couple of years now.” Shrugging, he gazed into his abductor’s cerise irises, delving into the secrets her pupils held. “Although you’re a gun for hire, your eyes are brimming with intrigue.”

  Smacking her lips, the woman drew her hand back, returning his gaze. “I’ll admit, you’ve earned my curiosity. Though I find your words difficult to believe, I’d rather take a chance figuring you out than offing you. Considering your victory against the champion in the underground fight, I’ll say you have guts. Which is why, I’ll give you two options.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Azrael folded his arms over his sore chest. “Shoot.”

  “Very poor choice of words, but that is an option.” The woman smirked, her extended finger by her side. “Your second option is, since you wish to evade death a bit longer, would you consider working under me as an assassin?”

  “What!?” he said, taken aback. “You’d have a human assassinate demons?”

  “Yeah. Sounds impossible, doesn’t it? Of course, I won’t leave you to figure it all out on your own. I’ll help you cultivate a certain set of skills by whence you should be ready for a test run, namely an assassination mission. If you survive, you can reverse the tides of natural selection and make a living pulling off the impossible.”

  Slumping his shoulders, the redhead heaved a sigh. “It’s one thing after another with you demon lot, isn’t it?” He took a moment, weighing his choices. Pull off the impossible? Or lower myself into a grave now? I sure as hell didn’t go through all that, from before I’d even stepped foot into the Abyzz, just to wind up a cadaver. “I suppose, I have no choice but to test my mettle out there as an assassin, not like I’m being coerced into it or anything.”

  “Love the enthusiasm.” The woman stifled a chortle, extending a hand. “I’m Lilith by the way.”

  “Azrael,” he said, taking the extended hand, albeit reluctantly. He wasn’t sure if he should anticipate an unexpected surprise burning holes through his limbs. Or a hidden surge of miasma, rupturing through his palms, just as easily as she had relieved him of his bonds. All it took was a little miasma.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  His stomach grumbled in protest, vaporizing his line of thought, urging his fingers to retreat and rub his tummy. “Please tell me there’s food around here.”

  “I’ll feed you to your belly’s fill. The question is, do you prefer regular meals or cadavers?”

  “I could go for anything that’s edible at this point.”

  Weaving in and out of war waged from one end of the corridor to the next, Azrael strolled past a wall of painted murals. The allure of blades and guns adorned by the brush of mastery over acrylic, gave way to the grumbling protests of his stomach, reeling his attention back to more pressing matters at hand.

  He followed Lilith down a spiral of stairs, nestled amongst shelves of books, marvelling and inhaling the scent of wisdom, temporarily curbing his hunger. He noted the bindings and the labelled sections each book was placed under, taking mental notes of tracing his steps back and pouring over the neatly stacked tomes another time.

  “Almost there,” said Lilith, signalling with a hand.

  The intoxicating scent of parchment was replaced by the fresh aroma of basil and thyme, melding with the scent of burning pinewood.

  Drool trickled down the side of his mouth, compelling his feet to hasten their pace. Rushing past Lilith and led-on by the inebriating fragrance, he could quench his ravenous pursuit at last.

  “Dinner better be ready in five,” said Lilith from behind. “Oh, and we have Azrael here.” Catching up with the hasty redhead, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “The girl with purple streaks is Raen and the blondie’s Marr. The boys on the other hand… what were their names again?”

  “NAKTA,” perked up a raven-haired male with a lithe build. “How did you forget us already? And the neurotic baldie’s Juke, by the way.”

  “I am not neurotic, it’s called being thorough in my methodology,” emphasized a dark skinned, burly bald male.

  Wrapping an arm around Azrael she pulled him in close, peering past his shoulder. “I rarely see the two of you around since I wind up taking the girls along on more missions.”

  “The missions have been a pain,” whined Raen, tossing her purple streaked hair to the side.

  “We barely get downtime,” added Marr, setting the frying pan on a hefty glass table.

  “Did you forget the rules already?” reprimanded Juke. Popping up slick as a shadow, he slid a coaster under the frying pan and threw Marr a disgruntled look, shaking his head.

  “Aye, aye dad,” said the two girls in unison, rolling their eyes.

  A timer went off, whisking Nakta’s attention towards an oven. “Where’d you pick up the fresh meat?” he asked, sliding out a piping hot lasagne. He placed the casserole atop the glass table over a coaster.

  “Spoils of my latest mission,” said Lilith. Sitting the ravenous redhead on her left, she grabbed plates and cutlery, from a pantry.

  Laying out the table, the six decided to take their seats, Nakta opposite Azrael, and Marr on his right. Lilith helped herself to the seat at the head of the table, dishing out equal parts lasagne and stir fry for herself and her latest catch, before passing the food along the table.

  Leaning in close, Marr threw a curious glance at the newcomer. Slicing a forkful of piping hot lasagne from her helping, she asked, “what’s your miasma like, newbie?”

  “Ahum…”

  “It’s a secret.” Lilith cut in, digging into the stir fry. “The lad’s a bit amnesiac and needs some time to learn and relearn things about himself.” She pushed aside her plate, resting her elbows on the table, looking at each of the seated five.

  “Is that so?” asked Nakta, chewing on a bite-size chunk of meat. “We could jog his memory with a good ol’ poundin’.”

  “We don’t know if he’s going to be an assassin per se,” perked up Marr. “He could help around the house, be on cooking and cleaning duty. Honestly, it’d take a burden off our shoulders.”

  “No, he’ll work as an assassin,” insisted Lilith. She set aside the cutlery and steepled her fingers over the stir fry. “He’s got a year to make it as an assassin, otherwise, he’ll be executed without trial.”

  Azrael who was busy wolfing down a second helping of lasagne, paid no heed to the threat. He continued ploughing through his food like a rapacious vulture devouring a carcass.

  “Lad’s quite unbothered by his own death sentence,” said Juke, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

  “Well, it’ll be up to the four of you to guide him. His death will be on your hands, if you falter in your teachings.”

  The temperature in the kitchen dropped by several degrees, followed by four nervous gulps.

  “Whip him into shape with the basics and give him a taste of your speciality. I’ll leave the details of the lessons up to your judgement.” Lilith pushed her seat back and rose to her feet, winking at the seated five.

  “You’re asking us to raise a powerless imp to a level beyond the average demon!” said Raen. “You do realise how difficult that is, right?”

  “You weren’t all that different from him. In fact, you had far too much leeway in your training, which he won’t receive. It won’t hurt for y’all to take a step back and learn what it means to have a student under your wing.”

  The four at the table collectively sighed, while Azrael blissfully helped himself to a third plate of grub.