Chapter 4: Orders From Hell
573 Words
[Azrael POV]
Hell’s throne room smells like sulfur and bad decisions.
My father’s favorite scent.
“YOU LET HIM LIVE.”
The King of the Ninth Circle doesn’t yell.
He booms. And right now, he was booming directly into my skull.
I knelt. One knee. Because I’m the heir, not a dog.
Black wings tucked. Horns polished. Face blank.
The perfect prince.
“He escaped,” I said. Calm. “Illusion magic. You know how Heaven is.”
Lie #1.
“We tracked him to the border. He wasn’t there.”
Lie #2.
My father leaned forward. Red eyes, bigger than mine. Crown made of bones.
“Don’t lie to me, boy.”
I didn’t flinch. “I’m not.”
Lie #3.
He stood. The floor cracked.
“I sent you to kill the Council’s golden boy. Instead, our scouts found his footprints. And your blood. And white cloth in your wound.”
Shit.
They found the cloth.
“So tell me, Azrael,” he purred. “Why does the angel who was supposed to erase you... smell like mercy?”
My jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you—”
“ENOUGH.”
A whip of hellfire cracked next to my head. I didn’t move.
“You think I’m stupid?” he said. “You’ve been reading human books again. You’ve been soft. And now you’re letting angels walk all over you?”
“I finished the mission,” I said. “He’s compromised. Heaven thinks he’s dead.”
Lie #4. I’m on a roll.
My father stared at me. For a long time.
Then he smiled. All teeth.
“Fine. Then you’ll finish it properly.”
He tossed something at me. I caught it.
A dagger. Black, curved, humming with cursed fire.
One stab and even an angel can’t regenerate.
“Next time you see Seraphim Aurelius,” my father said, “you bring me his wings. Or I’ll take yours.”
The room went quiet.
All my siblings, my advisors, everyone watching.
“Yes, Father,” I said.
“Good boy.”
I stood. Bowed. Walked out.
Didn’t let my hands shake until I was in the hall.
My room is in the highest tower. It’s supposed to be a flex.
Right now it feels like a cage.
I threw the dagger on the desk. It hissed.
Kill him. Bring his wings. Or else.
Or else what?
He cuts me off? Disowns me?
I’ve been threatened with worse before breakfast.
So why did my chest feel like this?
I opened the drawer.
Pulled out the burnt piece of white cloth.
Still warm. Still smelled like him.
Angel boy.
I pressed it to my face and immediately felt like an i***t.
He’s the enemy.
He’s going to kill me the second he gets the order.
He’s—
He’s the one who asked if it hurt.
I punched the wall. The stone cracked.
“Fuck.”
There was a knock.
“Prince?” My advisor, Malrik. “The scouting party leaves for the border at dawn.”
“Yeah,” I said. Voice steady. “I’ll be there.”
“Orders are to engage on sight.”
“I heard you.”
He left.
And I sat there, staring at the dagger.
Kill him.
Or be killed.
That’s how this works. That’s how it’s always worked.
So why was the first thing I thought of:
I hope he’s okay.
I’m screwed.
- Writer
