Pain. Searing, soul-ripping pain. It devoured Azazeal from the inside out the moment he found the familiar, calm face he had waited thousands of years to see once again.
Yet that man's face held a smile.
That wretched, casual smile, like a blade twisting in his gut. The bastard looked at him with the detachment of a stranger. As if he had never known him. As if he had never used and discarded him like trash.
Only Azazeal remembered.
The betrayal that had shattered him.
He laughed—a maddened, broken sound.
Destroy. Destroy. Obliterate everything.
Those words echoed relentlessly in his pounding mind, and for the first time, he unleashed all his power without restraint.
He wanted to grab that smiling face, drag him down, and make him suffer through hell—until that bastard remembered him.
Only to drag him through another hell for remembering. Then again. And again.
Until he could finally let go—let go of the rage and hatred he had carried for so long.
