Chapter 198: Ready to set out
[Content Warning: Torture methods ahead!!]
Azrael pushed open the heavy wooden door, the sound of creaking hinges breaking the silence that pervaded the room. In the dimly lit room, a single flickering bulb cast an eerie glow over Diego, the bearded man whose name they finally found out, bound to a chair in the center of the floor.
His only clothes—trousers—were bloodied and torn, and his eyes, wild and fearful, darted around with confusion and dread. On his neck hung a white cloth dirtied with sweat, tears, and snot, and stained red with blood. It was used as a blindfold.
Azrael’s cold and unwavering gaze scanned the room as he entered. Nothing has changed since the last time he visited. There was no trace of food being served, and water to drink might been given to the captive, but there was no spill or any trace of wetness.
The air smelled clouded as it was before, mixed with metallic and iron.
Azrael approached Deigo with a purposeful stride. The sight of him, the man responsible for the assault on his omega father, was a reminder of the pain that had driven Azrael to this point. The satisfaction of seeing him in this state was overshadowed by the pressing need to tell his father the truth.
"Diego Allens," Azrael said, his voice low and devoid of emotion.
Diego’s eyes widened with fear and realization, but only a gurgling sound came out from his mouth, even when he tried to shout and form words, it felt like his tongue was missing, like his mouth was numb and he lost feeling in his lips.
Azrael grimaced. "You can still recognize your name, huh? Seems like my methods had become too easy. Monsters shouldn’t be able to recognize their names. No...they should not own a name at all. You are still recognizable and look human."
He walked to the corner of the room and grabbed a branding iron heated in the small furnace in the corner. The smoke sifted in the air, and the crackling of embers from being disturbed was heard.
Diego screamed when Azrael hadn’t even branded his face. He rattled the chair, his arm bleeding from the bruises and marks of the tight ropes, but Azrael showed no mercy or stopping at all.