#the more notes

@hermajestymanon It’s all or nothing. 

Azriel closed his eyes so tears wouldn’t fall. Tears were a weakness and the High Lord already knew too many of his weaknesses. He knew four in total, all people. All people for whom he would give his life. 

The High Lord’s own son, his own daughter, his mate. 

And of course, Cassian. 

Azriel blinked slowly, opening his eyes. His nightmare had not disappeared, in fact, if it could get any worse, it just had. The High Lord stood there, a slight smile pulling at his lips, darkness coiling up and down his arms. 

Azriel swallowed, his wings pressed firmly against his back. He felt the shudders roll through the tight muscle, vibrating against his back. Their tips brushed the ground and if Azriel had them fully out, they would reach the ends of the room. 

“The sooner this is over, the sooner I will get you back to...” The High Lord sneered, his face contorting in an awful expression. “Your mother” He spat the word so hard Azriel flinched. He hadn’t meant to give the High Lord that satisfaction, but there was no taking it back. 

He didn’t want to do this. 

He didn’t want to do this. 

Azriel clenched his fists, staring at the marring scars that decorated his knuckles, painted the back of his hands, and damaged his palms. The High Lord quirked his eyebrow, a laugh just barely making it past his lips. 

“Do it, Azriel” The High Lord growled, his hand shooting out to wrap around the throat of the person Azriel was supposed to torture. The male’s neck bent back and Azriel could see the vein pulsing, could see the tight swallows. 

In his other hand, the High Lord held out a blade. He tipped it over and over again against his knuckles, delight dancing in his eyes. He was enjoying this. Enjoying making a boy torture for him. Enjoying breaking Azriel into tiny pieces and he would enjoy throwing those pieces back to the wolves. 

The blade soared through the air and Azriel had no choice but to catch it. The blade dug into his palm and he hissed, watching as his blood slide down the Illyrian metal. He looked at the engravings, quickly reading the language. Truth Teller. And on the other side, In truth, everything is there. 

It was mocking him. His own language, staring back at him. His own language, coated in his blood. Azriel swallowed and he gripped the hilt of the blade, letting the weight settle in. He spun it around gently, getting used to the jagged angles, the curves, the way the weight shifted. 

Don’t do this, a voice screamed inside of him. Don’t do it! Don’t let him destroy you!

“You promise?” Azriel asked. “You promise you’ll leave Cassian alone” Azriel’s eyes hardened, glazing over. The High Lord laughed, shaking his head. He stared down at the male - the prisoner. Azriel’s throat bobbed and he waited for the High Lord’s word. 

“I swear on the stars”

“Not good enough,” Azriel said, taking a step closer. “You swear you won’t ever hurt him, touch him, do anything to him you wouldn’t do to your mate” There. Azriel figured that covered all the bases. This monster was a long ways away from loving his mother, but he wouldn’t hurt her. You couldn’t hurt your mate. Physically. And for the High Lord, he couldn’t hurt his mate mentally, as his powers would allow him to. 

He had hurt her enough emotionally to last life times. 

Azriel wasn’t worried about that. 

Not yet. 

The High Lord’s eyes narrowed, blackness slowly swallowing them. Azriel lifted his chin. He wouldn’t break. Not when so much was at stake. The High Lord growled and his eyes returned to those horrible violet hues. Rhys’ were much lighter, held kindness; emotions his father would never experience or know of. 

“I swear on my mate” The words seemed to hurt him a great deal. 

Good. 

“Okay” Azriel said. He closed the distance between himself and the male. He didn’t want to know his name. He had no need. He was selling himself to the High Lord. He would do this whenever he was summoned. Bodies upon bodies would fall at his hands. 

He had no need to know each name. 

“Kamarien,” The High Lord grinned. Azriel cringed. The High Lord had slipped past his shields. They were weak compared to the High Lord’s powers, but he was able to hold him off for at least a minute. To empty his thoughts of anything he didn’t want this...this thing to know. Azriel threw them back up. 

He wanted to forget this four syllable name. But he knew it would be in his nightmares. Azriel gripped the male’s chin, angling it down. He had to be centuries old. Centuries. Azriel was still a child. 

Not after this. 

The High Lord’s hand connected with his cheek and Azriel heard the crack long before he felt it. Blood slowly slid down his cheek, a two inch gash on his skin. It ran down his neck before Azriel wiped his cheek slowly. 

“Let your shadows sing” 

The High Lord’s fist connected with his other cheek and Azriel’s head snapped down and he groaned as his shadows slowly poured out of him. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the man’s screams as his shadows dug deeper and deeper. 

Azriel knew what they did. Entered your mind, your thoughts, your only salvation, and turn it upside down, inside out, destroying it, destroying you. 

The man started to sing. Not literally. But he spilled everything the High Lord wanted to know. The High Lord grinned and nodded. Azriel had a sick feeling the High Lord already knew whatever Kamarien had done or hadn’t done. 

“Kill him, Shadowsinger”

Azriel cringed at the title and the blade shook in his right hand. He lifted his head up, his hazel eyes holding tears. He gripped Kamarien’s hair and tilted his head back, before slowly dragging his blade across his throat. 

The High Lord’s dark chuckle almost drowned out the sound of Kamarien choking on his own blood. Almost. 

“You are fine property, Shadowsinger, very fine” Azriel grunted as the High Lord’s fist connected with his nose, then his jaw, then above his brow. Three quick punches before Azriel even knew he had moved. 

Then he was slammed against the wall and his fist connected with Azriel’s abdomen. Once. Twice. Thrice. Azriel groaned, blood pouring down his face, dripping out of his mouth, leaking from his nose. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fists connecting to his back forced him down on his hands and knees. Once. Twice Thrice. Azriel couldn’t feel where these blows landed. Or the next three. Or the three after those. 

Azriel knew why he was beaten in threes. Rhys, Cassian, him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Azriel’s shadows dragged him under far too late to save him from the pain the High Lord was already inflicting on his body. 

His shadows sang to him in the darkness. 

Shadowsinger, Shadowsinger, Shadowsinger, they sang. 

World War Maas II.

No one has to die for you guys to feel pain. 

But don’t be mistaken, I have written fanfics where characters die.