Is it just my nerves? Azazel questioned himself. Yes, I'm aware I'm nearing death, and I'm understandably a bit on edge, but surely it's more than just that. After taking several deep breaths to compose himself, he asked, "Does my impending death have anything in common with a woman's first time?"
Caitlin, confident in her knowledge, affirmed, "Of course, there are similarities. Look, both are a first experience, both can be painful, and both usually aren't a matter of choice. Quite a few resemblances there."
"Let's not dwell on that," Azazel diverted. "Your first time wasn't by choice?"
"Absolutely not. I had intended to save myself for my husband."
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"When hot—oh, you're not a woman. You wouldn't comprehend the pain of that moment."
Azazel gestured hurriedly to redirect her, "No, I meant, does dying hurt?"
"It might. I was strangled to death. The sensation of suffocation around the neck is peculiar; it starts as discomfort, then strangely turns into a kind of pleasure. You only get this experience once in life, so cherish it."
Azazel groaned. He must be insane to find her input valuable.
"Not feeling well? Okay, I'll tell you something cheerful. After death, you won't have to worry about your weight ever again. You'll always be slimmer than those with perfect figures. And no more concerns about hair—it all falls out eventually."
Why must I endure this mummy before I die? Azazel pondered, possibly even after death. The thought alone prompted him to voice his true feelings: "I don't want to die. I'm not ready. Is there no way out?"
Caitlin shrugged dismissively, "Who does want to die? There's no way out."
"Can't we get a physician, no, I mean an apothecary, to cure me?"
"Your entire estate wouldn't cover the cost of an apothecary's visit. Besides, you have a unique affliction. No one would want to treat you, and they would be powerless to help anyway."
"Is the plague inside me that powerful?"
"It seems so, yes. You understand, your condition is at least ten times more severe than the average. Right now, you alone could decimate an empire by simply standing in a crowd and coughing." Caitlin concluded with a disdainful tone, "It's just death. Try to be at peace with it."
Azazel sighed deeply, craving silence from the mummy's irksome babble, "Let me be alone for a while. Let me have some peace before death."
"Sorry, but I've been paid for my services, and I can't leave. Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"Unless you truly wish to die alone. Once I leave, I won't return. You know, tomorrow is the Day of the Dead. We've planned a grand procession with the dead, skeletons, and spirits, and I've heard even dashing vampires will attend. If I stay here, I'll miss it. But if you want to be alone, I suppose I should grant your wish. Just promise you won't tattle on me after you die."
"Isn't it said that 'only the dead keep secrets and won't speak'?"
"That's an outdated saying. Ever since the development of black magic and intelligent undead, that phrase has become a joke. Will you promise not to tell anyone after you die?"
"Alright, I promise not to say a word to anyone. And yes, I truly wish to die alone. Lastly, I hope you can snag yourself a handsome vampire." How could you, with your shriveled chest and the maggots in your eyes?
Caitlin stood motionless, staring at Azazel. After a moment, she said, "You know, you're quite cold to me. It's like being thrust into winter. My heart was already frozen, but you cracked it open. And now? It's shattered."
What could Azazel say? If a beautiful young girl had said those words, it might have been touching. But Caitlin was just a corpse, a mummy!
With a sigh, Caitlin spoke, "Fine, I think I understand your answer. I thought you were different, not fixated on appearances, but now, I'll head to the joyful parade, holding the pieces of my heart, while you get your wish—to die alone."
As she spoke, Caitlin left.
The room was left to Azazel alone.
I don't want to die.
Lying weakly on his bed, Azazel reminisced about his father and mother, the Earth, and this world he missed. He yearned for the internet, water-boiled fish, and girls in jeans.
He didn't want to die.
Life is just a joke? Nonsense. Only fools would believe the Dustmen's drivel.
But death was imminent, irresistible. Azazel had no choice but to accept it. So, he decided to sort through his possessions one last time, for use in the afterlife.
Perhaps death wouldn't be as dreadful as he imagined. Besides, becoming a lich could be rather impressive.
First was the core taken from the demon Burd. How wonderful it would have been if it were the soul gem housing his father's spirit. Holding the purposeless core, Azazel yearned for his father from this world.
His father, before his fall, was a kind priest, but after his mother's death, he went mad.
Perhaps not mad, just vengeful—against a world that killed his wife.
Images of his father's gentle smile and his mother's golden hair filled his mind.
A violent coughing fit hit.
Blood poured from his mouth, drenching his clothes in red. Azazel intended to move the black-covered book from his knees, but the severe coughing stopped him.
A strange occurrence unfolded: the scarlet blood didn't wet the book; instead, the demon head on the cover opened its mouth wide, sucking the blood into the book as if a thirsty demon were drinking it.
The more blood it consumed, the book's cover changed from black to the vivid red of fresh blood, leaving only three black characters: "The Demon Book."
Blood dripped from the corner of Azazel's mouth as he witnessed the transformation.
Opening the book, the dark magic was gone, replaced by blank pages.
What's going on?
Did I break the book?
Just then, words emerged on the blank page.
I can answer any of your questions about demons.
Azazel was astounded—the book could read his thoughts. An encyclopedia of demons or a search engine?
That's unlikely. What is the core in my other hand? Azazel wondered silently.
Colorful illustrations and detailed descriptions appeared.
Demon Core:
The heart of a high-ranking demon (or devil), containing most of the creature's power.
Can be used as a material for magic.
Consumable by mortals, resulting in partial or full demonization. Extremely dangerous.
Suddenly, Azazel laughed.
Life might indeed be a joke. Since I'm dying anyway, what do I have to fear? Dying twice?
He popped the demon core into his mouth and swallowed.
It was like ingesting a coal ember.
The flame scorched his throat, cascading down like molten lava to explode in his belly. His blood seemed to boil under the intense heat, and his weary heart pounded furiously, exhaling breaths as hot as the core itself.
Azazel felt like he was about to burst.
Power surged within him, his skull splitting with pain, his back as though being torn open by a forceful entity. Dark, cruel, and malign thoughts flowed with the power, infiltrating Azazel's mind.
This evil was so pure, emanating from the core and resonating from within, irresistible in its allure.