The chains creaked softly in the silence. Azarel hung limp, head bowed, body trembling with every shallow breath. His eyes, glassy and vacant, stared at the ground without blinking. The once stubborn flame inside him had guttered out, drowned beneath an ocean of suffering.
Inside his mind, a storm raged.
"Why me? What did I do wrong? The gods… they're meant to save me. Why aren't they protecting me? Did I speak wrong? Did I sin? Once, I said they would suffer… but I didn't mean it… I didn't…"
The thoughts clawed, screamed, begged for reason. But no answer came.
Then, from the void, laughter. Deep, eerie, cold — so old it felt as though it carried dust of forgotten centuries.
"Child… don't come here and weep."
The voice slithered through the cracks of his broken mind, mocking yet distant.
"I am not interested in your tears. There is no 'why' anymore. What's done is done. Open your eyes… what's left of them, I suppose."
Azarel twitched, his lips trembling as if to form words, but nothing escaped. Only silence answered.
The voice chuckled. Low. Derisive.
"Listen well. I will not grant you power. You don't need it. Whatever you seek is already within. You… are a walking abomination. A child of That Thing bound in the Null."
The words struck like ice, jagged and merciless.
"Even I pale in comparison."
The voice sneered, dripping with venom.
"It seems a fragment of my conscience was sealed inside you. By whose hand, I do not know. But one thing is certain…"
A pause. A long silence, stretching into dread.
Then the voice whispered with bitter disgust:
"…You disgust me."
Azarel's head lifted slightly, his broken eyes widening in faint horror