Chapter 3: The Presence in the Dark

The whisper slithered through the air like a blade drawn against stone—sharp, cold, laced with an unseen threat.

Evelyn recoiled, her translucent form flickering as if the very foundation of her being had been shaken. Azrael, however, did not move. His ember-like eyes swept across the decayed bedroom, scanning the dark corners, the broken furniture, the fractured mirror reflecting only distorted fragments of their forms.

“We are not alone,” Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible.

Azrael smirked. “That much is obvious.”

A shadow stirred near the farthest wall, where darkness pooled unnaturally, defying the weak silver glow of moonlight. A figure began to take form—wispy and formless at first, like smoke curling into the shape of something not quite human.

Evelyn shuddered, her hands gripping her arms as if trying to ground herself. “That voice… I know it.”

Azrael stepped forward, unbothered by the unnatural cold that swept through the room. “Show yourself,” he commanded, his voice carrying the quiet authority of a ruler who was not accustomed to being disobeyed.

The shadow twisted violently, a low, inhuman growl echoing through the space. Then, from the black mist, a shape emerged—a skeletal figure, draped in tattered remains of what might have once been a nobleman’s coat. Its face was a grotesque imitation of humanity, hollow eyes burning with something ancient and cruel.

Evelyn took a step back, her hands trembling. “No… no, it can’t be.”

The specter turned its empty gaze toward her, and though it had no lips, its voice filled the room with a chilling certainty.

“You should not have come back, Evelyn.”

Azrael’s expression did not change, but his fingers curled into fists. “Who are you?”

The entity did not answer. Instead, it drifted closer, the air growing heavy with something rancid, something old. Evelyn’s form flickered erratically, panic seizing her.

“Do you know him?” Azrael asked, his voice unnervingly calm.

Evelyn’s eyes were wide, haunted. “I… I don’t know.” She clutched her head. “I think I do, but it’s like a dream I can’t grasp.”

Azrael exhaled through his nose. This was growing tedious. He had not come to this world to play games with restless spirits. He had come for the Stone of Immortality. And yet, something in his gut told him that Evelyn’s past was tangled with the path he sought.

“You are bound to this place,” Azrael said, his eyes locked on the ghostly figure before him. “That much is clear.”

The specter let out a hollow, wheezing laugh. “Bound? No, devil. I am not bound—I am the chain.”

Evelyn gasped, her eyes flashing with sudden realization. “You… You kept me here.”

The shadowy figure did not deny it. Instead, it reached a skeletal hand toward her, its fingers elongated and twisted. “You do not belong to the living or the dead. You belong to me.”

Azrael moved before he could think. In one fluid motion, he stepped between Evelyn and the specter, his gaze burning with cold fury. “You presume too much.”

The air crackled.

Though he was restrained in this human form, Azrael was still a devil, and the power that slumbered within him stirred in response to the challenge.

The specter hesitated. It had recognized what Azrael was.

“A devil walks among mortals,” the creature murmured, its hollow voice laced with something akin to amusement. “How interesting.”

Azrael’s smirk was razor-sharp. “I don’t have patience for lingering wraiths.” His fingers twitched, and for a moment, the air shimmered as if reality itself were bending under his presence. “You will answer my questions, or I will see to it that you fade from existence.”

The specter’s form wavered, flickering like a dying flame. Then, with a rasping sigh, it spoke.

“She was murdered.”

Evelyn froze. Her entire being seemed to dim, the glow around her flickering like a weak candle. “No…”

Azrael tilted his head slightly. “Who killed her?”

The shadow’s empty gaze fell upon Evelyn.

“She already knows.”

Evelyn staggered back, her hands shaking. Fragments of memory crashed into her like waves against a shattered shore. A cold room. A familiar voice. The sharp sting of betrayal.

And blood. So much blood.

“No…” Evelyn whispered, pressing her hands to her temples. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

The specter let out another wheezing laugh. “Then perhaps you are not ready to be free.”

With that, it dissolved into the darkness, vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

The silence it left behind was deafening.

Azrael exhaled through his nose, watching Evelyn carefully. Her form was still unstable, flickering in and out like a soul on the verge of breaking.

“I was murdered,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Azrael crossed his arms. “Yes.”

Her eyes lifted to his, fear and determination warring within them. “Then I need to remember who did it.”

Azrael smirked. “Good. Because I have a feeling your past is tied to what I seek.”

Evelyn swallowed hard. “The Stone?”

Azrael’s smirk deepened. “Yes.”