Azazul woke up in a dimly lit room. His vision was distorted and his head throbbed violently. As he looked around, confusion sank in—the room's interior was completely unfamiliar. On the right side of his bed sat a woman, her face hidden as she focused on carving something.
Every muscle and joint in his body screamed in pain, and he let out a small yelp. The woman finally lifted her head.
"Oh… my prince, you're awake. Welcome to your temporary home, my prince."
Azazul blinked, confused. He didn't take in much of the room before instinct kicked in—the first thing his uncle ever taught him.
With a shaky voice he said,
"My name is… Azazul Levina. But you already knew that… didn't you? Shall you tell me yours?"
It was hard to even turn his head toward the cabinet; his whole body, even his neck, felt like it had been shattered.
"You're very well-mannered… but of course you are—you are the Prince. Anyway, my name is Sylvia, and I'm honored to be the one to carve my prince's Mask of Death."
She noticed his confusion and continued before he could speak.
"We've waited a long time, my prince. I'll explain some things, so just stay with me, okay?"
Azazul nodded.
She began,
"Alright then… We've been searching for you for a while now. We want to make a deal, if you're up for it."
After a brief pause, she added,
"We are a league of assassins. Everyone here is a descendant of the Four Demons. You… well, you're the sole descendant of the Fifth Demon—the Fallen God. We want to train you to become a better warrior so you may protect humanity. In exchange, you'll help me with some… work problems."
Azazul didn't know anything about four demons, and even less about a "Fallen God." The only thing he knows about is the guardians and the name of the Fallen God nothing more.His mind swirled with questions.
"Demons?" he asked.
"Yes. My prince, did your mother never tell you?"
"No. If you were as good as you say… then you would've known I never even knew my mother."
Sylvia's expression softened. "Oh… sorry, my prince. I'll answer every question you have, then, since you basically don't know your own lineage."
"Are you making fun of me?"
She ignored that and continued,
"About the demons—they are our ancestors… yours as well. But since you've just awakened, why don't you get some rest? I'll explain everything later, my prince."
"Fine. But I have one question. The Mask of Death… what is it for?"
She replied,
"Oh, that. Well, that's where the work problems come in. When you're on a mission, it's best to hide your face. This mask has many runes carved into it—so no one can see through it, even with magic. It protects your identity, it's indestructible, it can nullify spells directed at it… and other things you'll discover for yourself."
Then she asked,
"If I may, my prince… do you prefer a half mask or full mask?"
Azazul wanted to say half mask—it looked cooler—but they'd see his eyes, and that would give him away. Maybe the mask could hide his eye color… but he didn't want to risk it.
'Like which normal human has a gold and grey eye?' he thought bitterly.
"Full mask....or both?"
"Very well, my prince. Rest. I'll come get you when you're fully healed."
She placed a hand on his chest, and he immediately blacked out.
"That never gets old…"
---
Four Weeks Later
It had been four weeks since Azazul was brought to the castle of the demons. In all that time, he'd only been awake for twenty minutes.
Now he was standing in front of his mirror, studying himself. He thought that after being stabbed by a weapon like his own, he'd at least have scars—but there wasn't a single one. What was broken, however, was his pride.
His muscle mass—the one he worked so hard for while training with Matthew and Akiko—was gone.
"I look fragile…"
His long jet-black hair was even longer now.
"Should I let Sylvia cut my hair? …Not a chance."
He sighed.
"Not gonna lie… I kinda look homeless. Long unwashed hair, scrawny body, short against other guys—yup, full package."
He sniffed his armpit.
"Ughh… I smell horrible! I mean seriously, at least splash me with water or something. You might as well toss me into a dam of soap!"
His door opened. Sylvia walked in, now clearly visible in the natural light. Scarlet red eyes, black hair, mature sharp features, and dressed in a white tunic with black trousers and military boots. She looked ready for training.
"Your mask is almost ready, my prince."
Then she added mockingly,
"And before your first day of training starts, I recommend you wash up…"
Azazul snapped,
"I noticed the smell. Thanks for letting me know. And we still need to talk about these demon things."
"Later, my prince. I'll call on you so we may… chat."
She leaned down to his face, smirking.
"If you need help washing your back, do let me know. I'd be happy to help."
Azazul's face went red.
"N-No need. It's not like I ever wash my back."
She gave him a weird look, chuckled, and said,
"Follow me. I'll show you where the baths are."
As they walked down the hall, Azazul saw other rooms—it looked almost like a school dormitory. He felt slightly disappointed that this was his first "school experience": an assassin hostel.
"How did my life come to this…"
People returning from the baths gave him odd looks. After descending a few stairs, Sylvia handed him a towel and soap.
"Here we are."
Inside, only about a dozen people were bathing—yet all of them stared straight at him.
He ignored it and set his towel by the edge. As he approached the stairs, a tall, muscular man stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Azazul looked like a fragile kid next to him, but he didn't flinch.
A voice called from Azazul's left,
"Stop bothering the new guy."
Azazul glanced toward the sound—a man with curly hair washing his face—then walked right around the giant and entered the water without hesitation. For the first time since Matthew died… his mind felt calm.
After cleaning himself, he wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to his room. Clean clothes lay neatly on his bed—and on top of them, the mask.
He lifted it to inspect it. At first, it looked ordinary—plain black, no carvings. But when he brought it closer, its surface distorted, shifting into the face of a demon. Startled, he dropped it.
After watching the mask change for a while, he picked it up again. It now resembled a traditional hannya mask with a single horn on the left side, fangs bared in a violent grin. Terrifying. He knew he'd scare the life out of any target while wearing it.
He set it aside—not that he planned on killing anyone again. He put on deodorant and dressed in the black scaled armor, which felt like a second skin. Comfortable. Flexible. And black—his favorite color. A cloak with a hood lay beside it, but he ignored it.
He began searching.
"Where is it?"
He hadn't combed his own hair in ages—Akiko always did it. When he found the comb, he untangled his jet-black hair, now realizing just how deep and dark the color was.
As he combed, a thought struck him:
'If Sylvia is in charge here… then she's responsible for Matthew's death. Which means… I'll have to kill her too.'
'I hate killing… Can't we just live in peace? But if things continue like this… my blood might be shed as well.'
He tied his hair in a man bun, then summoned his shapeshifter. A deep-black panther materialized, tail swaying, expression indifferent.
"Hello there, Sally."
He summoned her because he trusted no one here—but with Sally by his side, he felt a little safer.
Outside the hallway, everyone stared at him—not the panther, just him. Before reaching the end, he remembered the mask.
Damn it.
He left Sally waiting and ran back to fetch it. Mask secured, he followed the others wearing the same armor toward the training field.
While walking there he pondered the situation. He couldn't escape—he didn't even know the way out. And even if he did, assassins would find him. Even if he returned to the human realm… could he protect Akiko, Meira, Emma, and his mother?
Matthew was gone.
He would have to fend for himself now—use the people around him strategically. He needed strength. Sylvia could provide that… and answers about his lineage.
Even though he knew their fight was inevitable, he didn't plan on killing her. Or anyone else.
---
At the Training Field
Dozens of eyes turned toward him—elves, humans, and a few towering individuals who were probably giants. His first time seeing them… but nothing impressive.
'Come on… they look exactly like the pictures in every book I've read.'
The teacher hadn't arrived yet. The massive room had an elevated, pristine white marble arena that could easily house a full-scale battle.
Then Sylvia stepped in, standing firmly in front of the group of forty.
He froze.
'Her? Again? She really is in charge…'
She scanned the class, her gaze landing on him.
'No no no—why is she looking at me?'
She clasped her hands behind her back.
"Good morning, everyone. Let's welcome our two newest members."
'Two?'
Azazul looked to his right and noticed a girl about his age. She was so silent he hadn't even sensed her. He was only a head taller. She had icy blue eyes and silver-white hair.
She caught him staring.
"What are you looking at, weirdo?"
'Seriously? Out of all the names…'
"Who are you calling a weirdo?"
Sylvia interrupted,
"Oh, don't bite each other's heads off. You two are partners from now on, so behave. And, my prince… since you're the heir of the Demon of Death, you'll be held responsible if anything happens to her."
'Ugh… Why do I always get stuck with a girl? Would it be too much to ask for a male best friend? I just can't understand females…'
Azazul said,
"Fine. As long as she isn't useless."
"Who are you calling useless, you moron? I don't need you—I can take care of myself!"
"Sure. Just don't cry to me when someone tries to kill you."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I don't like your tone."
"Quit it, you two," Sylvia snapped. "For today's lesson, you'll spar with whoever volunteers. Azazul, you're first. Anyone want to spar with him?"
'Please don't be him…'
A hand shot up.
"I'll spar with him."
'I knew it! Damn it!'
"You two may take the arena."
A massive red-seated viewing area manifested behind the students. Everyone sat down—except Sylvia.
Azazul jumped onto the arena.
'How does she expect me to win this? I'll have to augment my body—my muscle mass is gone. My elemental magic is useless; And worst of all I'm back in black stage!… Luckily I have my sword.'
Sylvia's voice echoed in his ear,
"No augmentation through mana, no elemental magic, and no weapons."
'Damn it… I'm going to die.'
His opponent stepped forward—tall, muscular, orange eyes, red hair.
"For the rightful heir of the Demon of Death… you look kinda weak."
Azazul spat,
"What? You underestimating me?"
"No. I'm just saying what I see. You're a disgrace to his lineage."
Azazul tilted his head.
"Your eyes… they seem familiar. Was your sibling one of the three sent to retrieve me?"
A scowl twisted the man's face.
"…Yes. He was. And your mentor killed him."
Azazul grinned.
"Not really. But when you see him in hell, ask him what happens when you underestimate me. But by that time…"
A wide grin—almost as wide as his mask—spread across Azazul's face.
"…you'll already know."
"Cocky bastard! I'll kill you!"
'Why did I say that? Me and my big mouth…'
The deity rushed forward. Azazul didn't move. A right hook came at him—slow. Too slow. Azazul countered with the same lightning fast punch he used on the sibling.
The deity stumbled back, nose bleeding.
The crowd gasped.
Azazul stared blankly.
"Yeah… you really are his brother. Both of you are pathetic."
The deity snarled,
"You're dead."
"All these empty promises… boring."
The orange-eyed deity vanished and reappeared in front of him. Instinctively, Azazul crossed his arms to block—only for a massive force to crush both forearms and slam into his chest. He was launched into the ceiling before crashing back down.
Everything hurt. His forearms were destroyed, ribs broken and stabbing into his lungs, left leg fractured. His heart raced. He knew he wouldn't die… but he was terrified.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
Mana flared through the room. His opponent's core became visible—and what he saw stunned him.
Azazul smiled weakly.
'This again… I don't wanna be out for another dozen weeks…'
Sylvia's voice cut through the air, melodic yet commanding.
"That's enough, you two!"
She had seen the danger—the Eye of Darkness and the fury in the deity's core—and knew nothing good would happen if it continued.
Azazul's fractured leg healed. His ribs sealed. His forearms knitted back together, though slower than usual. He didn't know how to deactivate the Eye of Darkness, so he let his bangs hide it. It drained his mana, but what could he do?
He hopped off the arena and sat next to his "partner." With the Eye active, he could see everyone's cores—and realized just how screwed he was. Even Rin, his partner, was yellow stage. The others were silver. Sylvia was white. His opponent was silver too…unlike his brother who was orange stage.
He was trapped. If he tried anything, he'd die instantly. His lineage wouldn't save him.
He needed a plan. The perfect plan. One mistake and he was dead.
'How the hell did I survive?'
Rin muttered,
"You did good… for a loser like you."
"What? If you wanna be a good partner, you need to give better encouragement."
"It's not like I want to be a good partner."
Sylvia called out,
"Rin, you're next. Anyone want to spar with Rin?"
A girl raised her hand, and Rin stood up, heading toward the arena.