While everyone, including Kyle, looked at the three glowing, old celestials in robes, Azazeal stared blankly into the air.
Kyle's words had ripped a tiny hole in the wall of his rage, a hint of sanity seeping in like a fragile, precious light. It was enough. Enough for him to think clearly.
Azazeal inhaled a tired breath, his heart a throbbing, agonizing furnace within his chest, his mind threatening to shatter.
He couldn't even laugh again, as he knew the reason for this excruciating torment.
He had lost control.
That's why all the emotion—grief, a soul-crushing, agonizing pain—swallowed his thoughts whole. For the second time in an eternity, he had succumbed to the primal darkness he had hidden deep within him.
All because of one single person.
He gasped. The blood trickling down his eyes made him look even worse.
