A Peacock Husband of Five Princesses by day, a Noble Assassin by Night-Chapter 193: Raw -

Azrael gritted his teeth. His shoulders shook as another divine spear slid out of the glowing runes around him. The spears didn't stab like physical weapons. They phased in and out—light, pressure, pain—like his nerves were being peeled apart.

He didn't scream this time.

Instead, he glared ahead, breath heavy.

Azzy stood a few steps away. Hands behind his back. Calm eyes. "Don't move again," he said softly. "If you move, the spears will react."

Azrael laughed bitterly. "Hard not to move when speaking about… them."

"The death clan?" Azzy asked.

Azrael's jaw tightening was answer enough.

He inhaled sharply. "They—" His voice cracked. He steadied it. "They killed my entire family. Every single one of them." His fists clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms. "In the name of protection. Protection. What a joke…"

The air around him hummed. A spear of divine energy shot through his waist. Azrael flinched and growled, but he didn't step back.

The spear dissolved. The healing circle beneath him glowed, knitting flesh and muscle back together. Azrael barely noticed.

Azzy waited until the glow faded. "Continue."

Azrael swallowed, nodded once, and forced his breath to steady.

"I ran. For years. Just… ran. I worked wherever I could—farms, docks, escort jobs, guarding caravans. Didn't stay anywhere long." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought I was getting the hang of life. Then slave traders snatched me up. Sold me in the west."

Azzy's fingers twitched slightly, like he didn't like that part.

Azrael noticed but kept going. "They put me in the mines. Thought I'd die there. But…" His lips curled in a small, tired smile. "I didn't. I made friends, worked until I paid off my price. Earned my freedom. Became an adventurer. Nothing fancy, just… enough."

He exhaled slowly, and the room finally fell quiet.

"That's my story," he said. "All of it."

*

Inside Azzy's Mindscape

A low, amused hum echoed in the dark corners of his consciousness.

Tsk… he's not simple at all, the devil muttered. This Azrael… strong body, sharp mind. Balanced. Dangerous.

A small ripple of irritation pulsed from the demon.

He trapped my host with nothing but words… even suppressed demonic energy somehow. Forced the brat to talk.

A pause.

Still fine. I have time. Plenty of time… He'll slip eventually.

The voice faded like smoke.

*

Back in the Real World

Azzy folded his arms, eyes narrowed. "So Barbara is the one who raised you, right?"

Azrael blinked at the sudden shift. "Yeah. Aunt Barbara."

"And," Azzy added, "you awakened only black lightning under her care?"

"Correct."

Azzy's brows knit together. He looked away for a moment, deep in thought. The small lines of irritation on his forehead showed he wasn't processing random information—he was connecting dots.

Azrael tilted his head. "Something wrong?"

Azzy didn't answer directly. His mind was racing.

The timeline was destroyed, but most things stay the same… unless Znuvo interfered. If Znuvo didn't alter things himself, family ties shouldn't have changed. Barbara should be his cousin. But she wasn't. She was his aunt.

He exhaled sharply.

"How old was she compared to you?"

Azrael shrugged. "Twenty… maybe thirty years older? I never bothered with exact numbers. She looked old enough to be my aunt anyway."

Azzy froze.

That gap.

That exact gap.

Twenty-seven years… the same distance as my own time-jump… So in his timeline… Barbara didn't time travel. She can't. He can't. So how did she jump generations? Why is she older? Why was she an aunt instead of a cousin? What changed?

Azzy stepped closer without realizing it.

"Azrael," he said carefully, "did Barbara ever tell you your parents' names?"

Azrael thought back. His face stayed blank for a long moment. Then he shook his head.

"No. She never said a thing about them."

Azzy's heart gave a small, uneasy thump.

"And… did she ever tell you why the death clan wants you?"

Azrael snorted. "Nope."

"And she never explained anything?"

"Nothing."

The answer came too fast. Too sharp.

And Azzy's unease solidified into something heavier.

Something felt wrong.

Very wrong.

Azrael finally noticed the look on Azzy's face. "Hey… is there something you're not telling me?"

Azzy didn't answer.

He just stared at him—this strange, strong man from a timeline that shouldn't exist—watching him heal from divine spears like it was normal.

Azrael shifted slightly under the gaze. "Oi. Don't look at me like that."

Azzy blinked out of his thoughts. "Sorry."

Azrael squinted. "No, seriously. What's going on?"

Azzy hesitated. "I need to check something first. Something about Barbara. Something about time."

Azrael frowned. "Time? Why do you say it like it's… literal?"

Azzy smiled weakly. "Because with me, it usually is."

Azrael stared. "...What?"

Azzy didn't elaborate. He just stepped back, exhaled, and tapped the divine circle.

"Let me think," he murmured.

Azrael didn't like the sound of that at all.

Azzy nodded slowly. He lifted his hand toward one of the glowing spears floating around Azrael. The spear reacted, humming as if greeting its master. With a small flick of his fingers, Azzy pulled it toward his palm. It rested there like a docile beast.

Azrael watched him, confused. "What are you doing now?"

Azzy didn't answer right away. He inspected the spear, then turned to Azrael. "Last thing. I need to check something."

Azrael's eyes narrowed. "Check what?"

"For that," Azzy said, "I need a bit of your blood."

Azrael opened his mouth. "Wait—"

A thin slice of light shot out from the spear's edge, nicking Azrael's arm before he could even react. A drop of blood floated up on its own, shimmering.

Azrael growled, "Hey! A little warning, maybe?!"

Azzy ignored the complaint and caught the blood in a small sealed crystal. "You'll stay here for another day. Don't move too much. The spears will react."

Azrael's face twisted. "Just free me, you bastard—!"

He jerked violently, trying to yank his arm free. Bad idea.

The divine spears sang with a sharp hum.

Shing! Shing! Shing!

Three spears stabbed through him again—shoulder, thigh, lower ribs. Azrael's roar echoed through the pocket dimension.

And right after—

WOOOM—

The healing seal lit up beneath him, glowing warm gold as it closed the wounds.

Azrael panted hard, sweat dripping down his chin. "Damn… you… bastard…"

Azzy didn't even look back. He placed the crystal away. "I'll return after one day," he said calmly. "When I do, I'll decide what to do with you… and with the devil inside you."

"Like hell you will—!"

But Azzy had already vanished in a ripple of space.

Azrael glared at the empty air. "Coward."

For a moment, it was silent.

Then a soft whisper echoed in his skull.

"Azrael… talk with me."

Azrael stiffened. "Huh?"

The voice came again, steadier this time.

"Azrael… I wish to speak. Not take over."

Azrael blinked. This was new. "You? You're the devil, right? Why the polite tone all of a sudden?"

Silence. Then breathing. A quiet, calm breathing that didn't match the usual crazed presence inside him.

Azrael frowned. "...What the hell is going on?"

*

Meanwhile — The Shadow Moon

Azzy stepped back into the real world, appearing in his room. Everything was quiet except for the slow, soft breathing from the bed.

Leiza was still curled under the blanket, completely asleep. Her hair had fallen over her face.

Azzy walked over and gently brushed it aside. "Sleep well," he whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

She smiled unconsciously and shifted a bit.

Azzy's expression softened. Then he vanished again.

A moment later, he appeared at a remote lake under the dark sky of the Shadow Moon—calm waters, faint purple mist, not a soul in sight.

He exhaled. "Good. No one will sense anything here."

Azzy reached into his spatial ring and pulled out the treasure he had taken from the devil earlier—a small, twisted fragment of dark metal with runes burned into it.

He sat cross-legged. "Alright… let's try refining this."

He placed the treasure on his palm and let divine energy flow into it.

At first, it responded gently, like a wild animal slowly getting used to a hand.

Then—

BANG!

The treasure flew out of his palm and slammed into his chest like a hammer of fate.

Azzy gasped. "Wha— argh!"

A wave of black-and-gold energy exploded over him. A curse shot into his veins, burning like molten steel.

His knees buckled.

He hit the ground hard.

"Agh—! Damn it—Hera?!"

The curse twisted, coiling around him like snakes made of light and poison. His skin began to peel—actual strips of it sliding off like burned paper.

Inside him, his two core forces—death energy and divine energy—lashed out, crashing into the curse like storms. The air warped around him.

"Fight it… fight it…" Azzy gritted his teeth. "Come on…"

The Jewel of Life suddenly manifested on his forehead, glowing fiercely. It poured healing into him—rebuilding flesh, repairing bone, restoring blood—only for the curse to tear it apart again.

Heal.

Destroy.

Heal.

Destroy.

It repeated. Over and over.

Minutes crawled by like centuries.

Azzy screamed once, twice, then his voice broke into hoarse gasps.

Forty minutes of pure torture.

His back arched violently as the curse tried to rip out his core.

His vision blurred.