Page 96 of Remnants: Disruption
I finally meet the blank eyes of the mask, knowing it’s foolish to try and discern anything from the expressionless face.
“You are the only Death Afflicted being to walk this plane. The only, the first, and I expect, the last. You are the link between life and death. What is it that stops you from accepting this power you have been gifted?”
“Because what if they’re right,” I spit out, voice watery with tears that have become far too frequent.
“That you are some freak? A monster?” Azazel’s voice almost sounds angry. Or impassioned, it’s fucking hard to tell.
I only nod. There’s nothing to say.
“Good,” they hiss, and this time there’s only anger in their voice. “This world no longer deserves mercy. It deserves to be remade in our image.”
I stare wide-eyed at the figure who, until now, had seemed so level-headed.
“They chose subjugation and technofascism. They chose corporate dictatorship and the quiet extinction of our kind. You need to be their monster, Arya. Be their annihilation. We will not win our equality if we continue to live in the shadow of their judgement.”
They’re silent for a long time before letting out a slow breath.
“Are you ready to try again?”
Azazel’s strong hand reaches down and encapsulates mine. This close, I realize they’re stockier than me, but definitely shorter.
“How bad is it out there?” I ask, feeling at my chest to ensure I’ve still got all my parts.
“Bad,” Azazel says without hesitation. “We are fighting a war for our kind against an enemy we can neither identify nor slow.”
“And you need me to get it together,” I groan, squeezing my eyes tight against the thrumming pain at the base of my skull.
Azazel pins me with what I now decide is their “serious” head tilt.
“I know you do not care for your own life—but you care for the lives of others. You chose to involve yourself in the struggle of others. You did the right thing, even if it cost you what little humanity you clung to. I am only asking that you do the same now.”
Azazel’s words ring loudly in the vacant colosseum. They tug at a shredded heart that I so often want to pull out. So often wish would just stop beating.
“I’m not a hero,” I say breathlessly. “I just couldn’t stand by while—”
“While you had the power to stop the bad things,” Azazel says, sounding as if they understand the sentiment intimately.
I nod, not sure what else to say. We stand there for a moment as Azazel’s uncanny stillness returns.
“Are we ready to try again?” They ask after the silence had drawn out almost uncomfortably.
“Fuck it,” I say, grunting.
And the lights go out.
The spirits gather faster—like they were expecting the rematch.
One materializes before the others do. It’s not the same one as before. And it’s not one I recognize, though they hardly ever are.
He’s large. Not taller than me, but thickly muscled. Or, rather, he probably had been in life. Now, though, most of his guts seem to have been pulled out by a bigger fish.
“Can I see my family again?” he whispers, voice softer than I would have expected.
I frown as I approach, watching the way he sort of “exists.” He doesn’t seem to be angry. He’s not even really looking at me.
“I don’t have the ability to control that,” I say, nearing enough to see the way his body glistens with blood shed who knows how long ago.
He meets my eyes then, and there’s a sadness there that I’ve never seen in the spirits.
