Blood drained from Pavel's already ghostly face – the only colour left was the red bruises. That confidence he had been forcing himself to feel flooded out of him. Comprehending the dire weight of reality, he began to struggle against the crushing force pressing against his back once more. His motion, desperate and jolting and panicked, reminded Azrael of a spider trying its best not to drown a second too late. It was already stranded in the middle of a lake and all that waited for it was a deep, watery grave or the belly of a hungry fish – there was nothing left for it to do but die.
Tilting his neck, staring up at the man looming over them as they both lay on the cold, unforgiving concrete, Azrael couldn't help but feel everything fall away. All the clamour faded into harmless white noise. The frigid air, the frigid floor no longer burned the skin it touched. He couldn't smell the overwhelming dampness that pervaded the basement. The thick taste of blood that had haunted the back of his throat for an eternity finally washed away.
His sight was all that remained.
For the only time in his sorry excuse of a life, Azrael could see clearly. In focus, unblurred, his eyes rested on the taunting, wicked sneer of that man. No.
Not a man.
Everything was muted and all that remained was the pearly teeth that snarled from the jaws of a beast. A leering maw whose fangs seemed to grow and sharpen. As the seconds ticked by, the less and less 'human' Du Rand became. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The skin of a human no longer able to disguise the thing within it.
Revealed entirely, death itself stared back at Azrael.
Cold in his veins, his blood stilled, frozen as Azrael was unable to even draw a single breath. Movement evaded him and all he could do was look helplessly as he waited for the pin to drop. Dread pooled in his stomach as he anticipated his end by that creature's hand. It took all of Azrael's power to wrench his eyes from that disgusting, inhuman face to look back down at Pavel, still pinned to the floor.
Azrael wouldn't fight death as long as Pavel would be the last thing he saw. All his useless eyes were good for was looking at him, watching him. They could never do Pavel true justice but Azrael was grateful he had vision at all, that his face was something he had the pleasure of being able to see. He had been undeserving of ever getting to know Pavel, of ever being the object of his affection but he was allowed, by the rare goodwill of whatever controlled the universe, to have a new lease of life. Even if it was for only some months and days, loving that beautiful, smart, golden man was worth this ending.
That end was growing impossibly close, Azrael knew that – he would die and Pavel would live in servitude, abused, raped, used and sold, for who knows how many years he could endure. He hoped, at the least, Pavel wouldn't have to watch him die or, if he did, it would be quick so Pavel wouldn't suffer too much from seeing it.
Du Rand was eerily silent as he watched the desperate struggling, the pathetic charade of the two men collapsed on the ground. Watching silently, his gaze so piercing that Azrael's skin began to prickle, his hackles raising further and further until he looked back up and met those colourless eyes. Surging with an odd calm, an uncomfortable acceptance, Azrael pushed himself up from the ground, shifting from how he had been sprawled, clutching his aching, burning head, to kneel.
Placing his hands on his thighs, he kept his head raised, unwilling to back down or stop staring back at Du Rand. Azrael could die but he would not let Du Rand think he had beaten him down – he had won, that was true, but Azrael couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Taking one deep breath, he closed his eyes so he could finally rip his gaze away from Pavel's desperate eyes, to create some distance. Anything to make sure it would him less when Azrael met his end.
"Kill me, then. You've won – I accept my fate." He did his best to keep the defeat out of his voice. For the last bit of his life, he wanted to be strong for Pavel, even though he couldn't save him. "Be…" Azrael didn't know why he was saying this, but he couldn't help himself. "Be good to him." Why the fuck would you ask that? You know what's going to happen to him, don't be so fucking delusional.
Du Rand let out a derisive scoff, his hands folded behind his back as he pressed his body weight harder down on Pavel's spine. Filled with contempt, he sneered, "Anything I can give him is more than whatever you could, dragon. He belongs to me – I will do with him what I wish." He crouched down now, removing his foot from Pavel's back but keeping him pinned in place by putting his hands on those bony shoulders. "But…" He hissed a strange noise. "I don't think I'll kill you just yet."
Eyes now level, Azrael had to force himself to not pull backwards to get away from that hollow gaze. However, he couldn't stop himself from scrunching his face in apprehension and thinly masked fear at what Du Rand had said. Digging his claws into his own thighs to keep himself from looking down at Pavel's weeping form, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders and asked, "Why? I won't work for you. I won't hurt him for you."
Azrael knew there was more that Du Rand could do. He could force Azrael back into a life of slavery, he could just keep him trapped down here until he died, he could harvest his blood to make money from it. It was wishful thinking to believe that Du Rand would just kill him when he had so much utility, whether he liked it or not. A shiver shot down his spine at the thought of what he had to survive through in his youth.
He could not do that again.
No matter how he would try, Azrael wouldn't survive and neither would the people that would try to lay their hands on him. Making sure his face did not show the complete terror racking his body and soul, Azrael continued to stare at Du Rand's disgusting, smug face.
It was unclear how much time passed, though Pavel's sobbing had quieted down to an almost silent whimper until Du Rand answered. With a disarmingly soft, gentle expression, the face of a man who should be saying something sweet, he said, "I don't plan to touch you at all; I promise not to harm you." Azrael's mouth opened slightly, stunned and confused. In a split second, that gentle expression dropped and a sneer replaced it. Glancing Azrael up and down, he let out a scoff. "No, you aren't my type." He leaned in close, his torso now in the three-quarters of the basement that Azrael could reach, but he was too frozen in place to notice or care. "But I will break you before I kill you. I'm curious to see how long you can endure."
As if he had been turned to stone, Azrael couldn't move an inch, he couldn't breathe – all he was able to do was stare in horror. Whatever poker face he had been showing completely dropped away, his eyes widening, eyebrows furrowing and all of the blood freezing in his veins. His heart could have stopped and he wouldn't notice. Pins and needles paralysed his limbs.
Vertigo struck him, the world warping and spinning as the implications of what Du Rand had said sank in. Azrael knew what he meant. His heart clenched. The urge to vomit surged through him, almost causing him to topple forward and heave his guts out before anything had even happened. Even just thinking that Du Rand was about to violate Pavel again just so he could hurt Azrael, treating him like a prop in a game, was vile. Tears pricked his vision. Unable to stop himself, Azrael whispered, "Don't."
Raucous, arrogant, revolting laughter in the basement. Du Rand threw his head back, sinking back on his haunches, yanking Pavel's shoulders up from where they had been pressed to the ground. After an unknowable amount of time, he stopped abruptly. His head still tilted back, looking only at the ceiling, with a voice colder than ice, he responded. Heartless, cruel, a monster that had long since lost whatever humanity it had ever had. "Stop me then." His head snapped back down, staring at Azrael again, his face even more inhuman than before. The rounded youthful cheeks he had had become sallow, his cheekbones angular. Oddly deep-set eyes peered out of his face, that almost white colour glinting with a thin film of red. It seemed like he'd aged twenty, thirty years, his ageless appearance fading away for whatever reason. "Stop. Me."
Suddenly vicious, he yanked Pavel back by his ears again as he stood up, dragging him across the ground until they were far out of Azrael's reach. Pavel started screaming with reinvigorated terror and agony, thrashing and clawing at the hands that were almost ripping his long, rabbit ears straight from his head. His body became red-raw against the rough concrete, skin scratched and grazed, beading blood until he was more red than tan.
Du Rand never once took his eyes off Azrael – even though the pain he was inflicting, the torment he was enacting was on Pavel, he did not care at all. He wanted to see Azrael completely, utterly broken and he would use the pain of the man he loved to do that. Pavel was a pawn in this game, nothing more.
Flipping Pavel over, his back against the floor, Du Rand finally looked down at him. With a cruel smile, he yanked Pavel's head up before slamming his skull down onto the ground. There was a dull, but audible, crack and Pavel was stunned, eyes wide as his thrashing stopped. Unable to move, all he could do was stare at Azrael from the corner of his eyes, crying and wailing.
"…Please, stop it… Stop…" Azrael's voice was caught in the back of his throat. Barely a whisper, lost in the sound of Pavel's screaming. All he could do was watch as Du Rand manhandled Pavel, contorting his body, tearing apart his already ragged, stained clothes. Bloody flesh unwillingly bared to the world. "Don't… don't hurt him."
He couldn't move. Azrael was stuck, kneeling dumbly, head spinning as he watched Pavel limply pushing at Du Rand's body. Blood began to stain the grey concrete below Pavel's head, smearing as he tried to push himself away from Du Rand. He could barely lift his hands up, faintly pushing at the arms caging his torso, pressing his legs together as he desperately squirmed backwards.
Pavel's voice was blubbering incoherently, caught between English and Russian and gibberish. Between languages, it was obvious what he was saying. Words didn't even need to be said to know. He was begging, his voice echoing back in the hollow, concrete basement. So much noise but the room still felt impossibly barren.
Unable to bear it anymore, Azrael closed his eyes. He couldn't look. He couldn't tear himself free of these chains to save Pavel. He could do absolutely fucking nothing as he heard a sharp shrill scream, begging, pleading. Wails of unbearable agony. Skin against skin. Azrael knew what was happening but he couldn't look.
His body was no longer under his control. Pitching forward, his talons dug deep into the floor, scratching trenches into the concrete as his breathing became heavy, ragged and hoarse. His fingers cracked and bent, stretching longer and longer. On his hands and knees, Azrael's body began to convulse, spine twisting and arching, contorting painfully. He wanted to scratch his skin off.
Azrael could feel his body fighting to change shape. He had no idea if whatever beastly dragon he twisted into would fit in this godforsaken basement but he didn't care – he would stop fighting it. If the last goddamn thing he would do was kill Du Rand, even if it took him out too – even if it took Pavel's life – he would do it.
If there was any good in this universe, it would let him and Pavel meet again. In an afterlife, in another life – it didn't fucking matter. They had to be together again, they deserved to live a good fucking life where no one hurt them ever again. At least if Azrael lost control and took Pavel's life too, it would probably be less painful than whatever torture Du Rand would put him through. It would be a swift and merciful end.
Snapping his eyes open, Azrael saw Du Rand crash Pavel's face into the floor, cracking his skull for the second time against hard concrete. Blood spurted forth from his temple and it was all Azrael could see. Red obscured his vision. Cloying, irony gore filled his nose.
A hissing rumble echoed through his chest. Popping and cracking bones filled the room with a discordant racket and Du Rand finally looked back over, pulling away from Pavel as his eyes widened in shock. It seemed that, even though he knew Azrael was a dragon, he hadn't expected a broken man to be able to do anything of consequence. Pavel shrieked blindly, half-conscious, but his body's tension fled all at once, free from that agonising violation. Bloody and beaten, he fell unconscious, unmoving, barely breathing. Rage surged through Azrael anew and he took in a deep, growling breath.
It felt like his body was falling apart and being pulled back together again in moments. Joints popping loose and shifting before popping back into place. The constriction of the shackles around his ankles got tighter and tighter and tighter until the wrenching sound of tearing metal broke through the pounding of blood in Azrael's ears. Nothing held him back now.
Unable to think of anything but the fact he was able to move now, he lunged forward. He could no longer stand up on two feet anymore, his body bigger and heavier than he was used to. With every movement, his body grew bigger and more monstrous. Hands were no longer hands – they were thick-clawed paws, scaled and vicious. His mouth could no longer form words, a sharp-toothed snout replacing his human face, a thin, forked tongue flickering out of it, tasting the bloody air. Curled, pointed horns surged from his skull, visible in the corners of his eyes, despite the narrow tunnel vision. Growing and growing, he towered over the face-changing monster, barely fitting into the barren basement. With a bellow, low and chesty, prehistoric in quality, he opened his fanged mouth and attacked Du Rand.
The bang of a gun from who knows where went off.
It didn't stop Azrael's path.
Sound fell away. Maybe there were more bullets, maybe there was screaming, but Azrael didn't care, didn't hear, didn't see. Tooth met flesh, talons met bones.
The world fell away, all sensation gone.
All Azrael could think was;
Rip him apart.