My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 947: Time variant Azrael’s past (Part-1)

He was about to thrash again in fury, but fear of the spears halted the motion halfway. His glare sharpened, cold and deadly. "We don’t have any personal enmity," he hissed. "If you want me dead, kill me. Don’t spin stories. Don’t pretend to me or something. I don’t have a background, I don’t have allies, and I don’t trust anyone. I survive as a mercenary. I work for money, weapons, and elemental crystals. If you want something done, state the job directly as long as the offer is appropriate."

Azzy shook his head with a sigh, "can’t believe there is a version of me who is this dumb. But I guess it is natural. You didn’t carry the same powers as I. You are not a successor of the Reaper."

As Azrael’s frown deepened in confusion, Azzy exhaled and then said, "Whether you believe or not, I’m telling you the truth. This isn’t your world, Azrael. You don’t belong here. And you and I are the same person. However, our powers seemed to be way different. I wonder why... After all, every version of ours carries the power of Reaper. So, was it destroyed, or have you never awakened? If you didn’t, then, why... what was the change that differentiated you and me... "

He paused near the young boy, close enough for Azzy to see his own reflection in Azrael’s eyes. "I need to know where that divergence happened."

Azrael stiffened slightly, confusion still clouding his face. "What?"

"Your story," Azzy said plainly. "Tell me your story. From your birth to now. Tell me the most memorable events happened to you so far."

"And you expect me to spill my life to someone holding me prisoner?" Azrael spat in respoinse.

Azzy’s tone didn’t change. "Believe me or not, I don’t care. You are my prisoner until I understand the truth. As a demigod, I have lots of years left and patience in my life that I can even hold you hundred or even a thousand years until you break. And if you want this conversation to continue, speak, Azrael.

A faint pulse of divine pressure made all the spears inch forward by a hair, enough to make Azrael sweat.

"Speak," Azzy said quietly. "And of course, I don’t accept lies or half-baked truths. When I see you attempting that, I will go back and return a month later as your initial punishment."

Azrael glared back for a long, silent moment. His jaw tightened.

"Fine," he finally muttered. "I’ll play along with your nonsense. I don’t have anything to hide anyway."

He exhaled slowly, defeated yet defiant, and continued, "I’ll tell you my story."

Azzy nodded once, folding his arms behind him. "I’m listening."

Azrael lowered his gaze for a moment, the chains clinking faintly as he shifted. His voice softened—not out of weakness, but out of going through a memory lane.

"My name is Azrael. No surname," he began. "I was orphaned at birth. I don’t know who my parents are. Never saw a photo. Never saw a name. Nothing."

He paused, jaw tightening before he continued. "All I had was Aunt Barbara. She raised me. Fed me. Taught me. Annoyed me. She was my world."

Azzy stayed silent, observing every flicker of emotion.

Destroyed Timeline;

Ten years ago, East Ocean city, Southern Qudour Nation;

In the suburbs of the city, located a small apartment complex with cracked pavement and children’s laughter echoing down the stairwell.

A seven-year-old boy walked up the stairs with a too-big backpack bouncing against his spine. He had black hair, brown eyes, and a slightly dirt-smeared school uniform.

He pushed open the front door with a smile on his face. "I’m home!"

Inside, a teenage-looking girl, looking like she is fourteen but much older, sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a gaming controller and yelling at the TV.

"DIE DIE DIE—ahhhh, stupid boss!"

Azrael’s happy face changed. He groaned in complaint. "Playing games again, Aunt?"

Barbara glanced back, then patted the floor beside her without shame. "Come. Play with me, Azzy."

The boy sighed like a miniature adult. "I don’t know who’s the kid here..."

He pointed toward the sink piled high with dishes. "Look at that... you left them all day, Aunt. Stop playing. You should grow up."

Barbara clicked her tongue, "Tch..." but she didn’t deny it.

Little Azrael ignored her grumbling and put down his backpack. He dragged a stool—almost bigger than him—toward the sink. With determined little hands, he put on oversized rubber gloves and started washing dishes.

"Aunt, stop playing and come. Help me with the dishes," he said again, this time louder.

Barbara twitched like she’d been scolded by a teacher. "Ughhh fine..."

She put her controller down dramatically and joined him at the sink. Soon enough they were washing dishes side-by-side, water splashing everywhere.

Then came chopping vegetables.

Cooking.

Dropping the ladle.

Laughing.

Arguing over the salt.

Finally, they sat at an old wooden table, eating noodles together.

Barbara slurped loudly.

"Aunt, stop making that noise."

"You’re so naggy," she retorted, flicking his forehead.

It was a chaotic but warm relationship between the two.

The scene shifted to a few weeks later;

Outside, thunderstorms rolled through the city. Heavy rain hammered the windows.

Lightning flashed every now and then.

Azrael lay curled in his small bed, blanket pulled up to his nose. He trembled every time thunder boomed.

He whispered to himself, "It’s just sound... it’s just sound..." But his body refused to calm.

He pressed his palms over his ears.

Moments later, the Door opened with a creak, followed by soft footsteps. Barbara stood there in oversized pajamas, messy hair, and hugging a pillow tightly to her chest.

"I can’t sleep..." she mumbled weakly. "Let me sleep with you."

Azrael’s eyes lit up, though he tried to act cool. "My bed is small," he grunted. "Shoo..."

Barbara walked over with the saddest expression she could muster. "I’m afraid of thunder... pleeease..." She shook dramatically like a scared puppy.

Azrael groaned. "Aunt... you’re so annoying..."

But he scooted slightly.

Barbara didn’t wait for permission. She squeezed into the small bed, pillows and all, hugging him like a human koala.

"Help your aunt," she murmured, snuggling her face into his shoulder.

Azrael tried to complain again... but a small smile tugged at his lips. he closed his eyes and slept.

Behind, Barbara slightly raised her head to see him. She smiled, reaching out to his head and caressing it, "Goodnight, little nephew..." She whispered under her breath.

The storm outside continued raging, but inside the small apartment, the two slept soundly together, wrapped under one blanket—an orphan boy and the only family he ever had.

The scene shifted again to a couple of months later;

On the day of New year, just in every other major city all over the world, in East Ocean City, kids who turned 8 years during the past year lined up before the church of light.

In the Hall of Awakening, a grand marble chamber lit by floating crystal lanterns. Dozens of children were lined up, nervous and fidgety. Among them was Azrael, now eight, his face calm but eyes full of quiet curiosity.

He stood before an elder Arcana Master holding a ceremonial scroll.

"Name?" the old master asked.

"Azrael."

"Alright.. step forward and place your hands on this scroll. Pour your soul energy inside it."