Clutching half a shattered hip in the reach extender, he unconsciously twirled the bone and frayed muscle dipped in dried blood, stuffing it in his garbage bag. With a heavy sigh, he cast a weary gaze upon the daunting task before him. The towering pile of corpses had his shoulders slumped under the weight of the half-empty body bag pulling at his fingers.

  Stepping on a clump of hair, he began digging through the piles of cadavers, rummaging listlessly for a second set of hips. I doubt I’ll find the other half but might as well give it a shot. Delving into a hill of limbs and torsos, a sturdy lump met the clutches of his reach extender. Turning over his latest catch, he unveiled a tough length of muscle, freshly bled out.

  Creasing his brow, he dug further into the mass of meat, extracting a torn thigh attached to a dangling knee cap. Amidst his feelings of emptiness and anguish, an overlooked emotion welled up.

  Curiosity knit a thread of thought, converging his focus on the mystery hunk of meat. Lifting his foot, he examined the mangled clump of hair accompanying it, pouring over the grains of muscle.

  An apparition materialised from the peripherals of his vision. He quickly tucked the muddled, matted strands in his pocket. Cussing under his breath, he continued to cram the limbs and torsos around him into the bags, waiving the apparitions’ attention.

  Returning to his cell, he let loose a weak stream of water, running the matted hair under the clogged basin. Rinsing the blood out the muddled clump, he held the strands under the dimmed glare of the prison’s lamplight, examining his catch with zealous scrutiny.

  As he began pouring over the strands in his hand, the door to his cell clanged open, revealing a translucent apparition with a scythe slung across its back. A hooded face watched him with a vacant expression, extending a hand.

  Raising an eyebrow, he allowed himself to be distracted from the tuft of hair, wearily holding out his own hand. An ethereal sensation gripped him, a firm set of tendrils wrapping around him. Reeled in by a sudden tug, he was dragged against his will, led by the ethereal creature out his cell, heading in the direction away from the ‘Carnage Room.’

  A day he should have seen coming. Perhaps one he had been expecting, for a while.

  The steel bars of his cell creaked, closing and opening in a stuttering clamour. A sight he would be parting ways with. Just as he did with his room at the orphanage. And Stella.

  He remembered the moment when her tousled brown tangles had sailed past, weaving a curtain of despair as she disappeared around the corner. Chocolate hair that had turned to blood matted clumps, thought Azrael. A sigh curled off the corners of his lips, allowing the shackles of fate to lead him by his hand.

  Propped up against a cool pale slab, the apparition fastened a set of shackles around his wrists and ankles, tightening the icy metal till his extremities had their colour drained.

  The ethereal being had whisked him away in a breeze, sifting past doors, till it deposited him in a scarcely lit chamber hosting a marble slab, serving as a beacon of light in the unknown void. Lying flat against the slab, the redhead’s world began to shift, as it moved in a smooth motion, sliding upright under the pull of a lever.

  The apparition completed a final check, before dispersing into tendrils melting into the shadows.

  The soft glow of dim lights brought the poorly lit chamber into sharp focus. On cue, a figure approached from the parting depths of the velvety darkness, accompanied by footfalls echoing against the polished granite floor. The steps grew in intensity until a striking, dark-skinned man emerged into view. His tailored suit exuded a moonlit brilliance, illuminating the starless night surrounding him. Shoulder-length braids framed his face, giving him an air of confidence and poise. He carried a briefcase mirroring the gleam of his immaculate attire, clasped under an unrelenting grip.

  Reaching out with a curious set of fingers, the dark-skinned male felt around Azrael’s arms and chest, squeezing his muscles with a hum, running his tongue over a wry smile. “A fine bodied specimen you have turned into.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Huh?” uttered the redhead, tilting his head to the side, glossing over the dark-skinned man’s inspective touch. Cocking his head to the side, he continued, “have we met before?”

  “Did you forget me already? How cruelllll!!!” cooed the man, tapping his foot on a panel beside Azrael’s marble slab. A collection of blades popped up from the floor, displaying hundreds of scalpels of varying lengths and makes. “Fret not, allow me to jog your memory.” Selecting a slender, triangular bladed scalpel with a broad handle, he traced an arc through the air.

  A wire-thin scratch etched its mark on his shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his tunic. The delicate wound bubbled crimson, but hesitated before oozing forth in fine rivulets, adorning his skin with a ruby trail.

  “Oh wait,” said the dark-skinned male. “My current form is addling your brain.” His throat clearing echoed in the dimness as the man took a step back, arms outstretched in an unsettling display. His tongue glided over his lower lip, revealing an air of anticipation, while the shadows protracted and enveloped him like a cloak. The darkness swirled and twisted, coalescing into fur wrought from an extension of the surrounding obscurity, bristling like spines.

  The night spat out a towering creature, wearing talons for fingers. A pair of bloodshot orbs implored past Azrael’s face, prying open a window into his soul.

  A wave of apprehension washed over the bound redhead, with the dawn of recognition.

  “Y-YOU!?” said Azrael, his voice quaveringly shrill.

  “Me.”

  The creature known as Mol’okh winked in acknowledgement. He twirled the scalpel around his talons for fingers, flashing an expansive smile.

  “YOU!” repeated Azrael, struggling against his restraints. Jangling his shackles against the smooth marble, he squirmed and roared with a vigour he hadn’t managed to summon since Stella’s disappearance.

  “Now that is more like it.” Mol’okh jabbed the scalpel into the wire-thin scratch he had carved into the redhead’s shoulder, spouting a jet of blood.

  Howling in agony, he threw his head back against the smooth marble, blackspots dancing before his eyes. “Why? Why’d you bring me here?”

  “Here? The prison you mean? Or my torture chamber?” the dark-clad beast cupped a hand over his ear, leaning towards his bound prey. “Are you questioning me? Shackled like the deadweight you are?” He let out a deep, throaty chuckle, his fingers curling around a handful of crimson hair. He brought their faces close together, his eyes narrowed as he carefully studied Azrael’s expression. “The greatest despair you taste, is one that you do not see coming. You have to let your victim marinate in pleasure, allow them a brief respite of bliss, until tragedy strikes and wrecks their soul in an ocean of despair.”

  Azrael narrowed his eyes, huffing in silent loathe.

  “Perhaps you need more of a push than a nudge.” Mol’okh tapped the floor yet again. On his whim, a second collection of items popped up, hidden behind a glass cabinet, revealing matted hair and glossy heads. “My personal collection over the years. The finest prisoners gain the honour of being housed as spoils of war.” Reaching into the cabinet, he plucked a head off the top left corner, twirling it like a child’s toy on his index talon.

  The head spun in a reeking blur of formaldehyde, urging the redhead to wrinkle his nose in disgust, momentarily numbing the agony besieging his shoulder.

  “What is that thing, in your hand?” he asked. Wet strands clung to the redhead’s uninjured hand, grasped tight. Grabbing the twirling head and flitting his gaze back and forth between the hair and the head, a second bout of laughter escaped Mol’okh’s dark, moistened lips.

  “What’s so funny?” seethed Azrael.

  “Oh, oh, OH! You did not notice.” The dark-clad beast turned the head in his hand, revealing a face Azrael was all too familiar with.

  In that instant his rage withered, his resolve crumbled, lost in a sea of violability. All he could feel was a knot tighten his guts while the march of time came to a standstill. Releasing his grip on the clump of hair, all the emotions he had held onto was severed, all except one. Piercing through the haze of uncertainty and turmoil, an indescribable vial of stained despair in a monochrome abyss spilled out, disrupting every grain of existence.

  “Stella…” Azrael whispered, a barely audible plea. His vision blurred, wetting his warm cheeks.

  “Wail to your heart’s content and parch your throat dry in a maelstrom of curses.” Mol’okh cackled, dangling the decapitated head by her chocolate hair.

  Past the redhead’s blurry vision, he noticed one of her eyes were missing, replaced by a hollow socket and her mouth was twisted in horror, scarred and charred. In the depths of his heart, he yearned to hear her voice once more, even though he knew her summertime melody would never grace his ears ever again.

  The dark clad beast reached for his scalpel, ripping the blade out of Azrael’s shoulder, eliciting a silent whimper from his prisoner. “Come on now. You can do better than that. Where is your drive for vengeance?” Tracing wide arcs with his triangular blade, he carved out chunks of flesh, spilling liquid crimson in droves.

  A surge of raw carnage parted Azrael’s lips, his sense of reality severed from the binds of actuality. Past a slipping consciousness, he could make out Granny’s bodiless head and Briar’s headless corpse looming before him, adding Stella’s mutilated head to the mix, atop the oaken table. A platter of the memorable dead was laid out, muddling the planes of existence.

  “Did you enjoy your little solace?” asked Mol’okh, skinning the redhead alive without a shred of concern. “You play a wondrous symphony of torment, coherent with the strokes of a maestro conducting the orchestra’s musical notes into a fine mix of orderly chaos. Ah yesssss, allow me to devour everything that makes you, you.”