As he watched the young man rise, Azrael was still in a state of disbelief.
He had made sure to make him suffer…
So why was he getting back up?
Why was he persevering?
What sort of strength did the young man possess that allowed him to shrug off such harrowing pain with apparent ease?
Especially the last one.
The heartbreak…
Azrael had created that for the express purpose of breaking the youth. Yet, contrary to his expectations, it didn't work.
The Reaper snarled, the tenebrous void reflecting his rage. It roiled, restless and overwhelming. Azrael's rage rose the more he looked at the light emitted by the young man.
He inwardly seethed.
Humans…
They were vile, deplorable!
A stain on existence.
They shouldn't exist.
That was the conclusion that Azrael had formed—the sum of his hatred and prolonged exposure to evil.
His heart had long since become empty.
Numb.
