Azreal, walking to the edge of the doorway and peering in, is shocked at what he sees. A heavy-set man holds a woman no older than her early twenties, with long blue hair dishevelled, the pale skin on her face a dark red with a handprint beginning to form.

"Did you really think that if your Mom skipped town, we wouldn't come to collect payment? HA, don't tell me you really thought that would work," the heavy-set man says with a gruff voice, his throat compressed by fat, almost snorting these words. The woman, held up by her hair, does not respond; she continues to cry and look directly at the heavy-set man. "Crying won't help you. I came to collect, and you're all out of money, so I'll collect you and sell you to one of the 'Joy Houses'. You're a pretty thing; they will pay a pretty penny for ya," his voice struggles to escape his throat as he laughs while speaking.

The statement snaps something in the blue-haired woman, and she scratches at his face, digging a nail into his eye. A gruff cry of pain resounds from the heavy-set man as he yanks her hair and stands up, lifting her off the ground completely. "You bitch!" he shouts, bringing his boxing glove-sized fist into her stomach, causing her to gasp for air and spit to drip from her mouth onto the floor. "You've fucked my eye!" He shouts again, anger welling in his voice.

Azreal, watching this scene, feels an indescribable anger well within his heart, much like his fight with the Crimson Fang Orpald; he hasn't felt pure anger boil over so easily. He wants to kill this man and erase his existence, the only thought stopping him is how sickly his body is; does he even stand a chance against someone who weighs over 250kgs and stands towering over six and a half feet? Azreal stands at the doorway, shaking, an indecisive vice gripping his heart.

The heavy-set man yells in pain, his voice carrying far, yet no other person even peers out their door. The stench of sweat and alcohol permeates the room, mingling with the coppery scent of fresh blood. The floor beneath them feels sticky, a testament to the neglect and filth that defines this decrepit apartment complex. 

He grips her top, and as she screams at him, he tears it clean off her and throws the scraps to the side, her simple black bra covering voluptuous-sized breasts and pale white skin now on full display. She spits at him, attempting to claw his other eye; however, he is more vigilant now, and she fails before he rears back and punches her in the gut again, causing her to vomit on the floor.

The man drops her into her own vomit before crouching down and moving his face closer to hers, causing her to stare into the depths of his depraved face, a wicked smile burning into her memory.

Azreal, watching the first punch connect, can't take it anymore and crouches down, moving into the apartment. Azreal is very adept at avoiding attention; he learned to move extremely quietly so the nuns at his orphanage couldn't catch him staying up late to read his fantasy novels. His movements are empowered by his newfound lack of pain, quietly and quickly moving into the kitchen and grabbing the chef's knife from the knife block.

As he resumes his movement towards the large man, he hears the second punch connect and the vomit splatter onto the floor. He stops his movement as he reaches the edge of the kitchen and sees the burly man crouch down to her level, locking eyes, fear and disgust clear in her expression. Azreal begins to move again, knowing this is his best chance to strike. 'Do I kill him?' A single distraction is enough to slow him down. Azreal's mind races, the weight of the decision bearing down on him. He has never taken a life before, and the thought of crossing that line fills him with a mixture of dread and resolve.

Azreal reaches a few steps from the man, launches quickly, and raises the knife high, attempting to stab where the neck and spine meet. The blue-haired woman's eyes go wide as she sees him appear out of nowhere, this reaction giving just enough notice for the burly man to shift to the right while trying to get a view of what she is looking at. 

This slight movement causes Azreal's blade to veer off target and strike into his shoulder muscles; the strike carries the force of his weight and strength, driving the knife three inches into his shoulder, blood spurting as it deepens. The burly man screams in agony, turning and connecting the back of his fist with Azreal's shoulder and jaw, sending him rolling onto the floor.

'Remember what Lin Xue said: if I drop my blade, I might as well drop to my knees and beg for mercy.' Azreal is prepared for a return strike and ensures the kitchen knife never leaves his hand. Cursing his own strength, the burly man stands in rage and faces Azreal, his eyes bloodshot, his twisted smile now a grizzled scorn. Blood is gushing out of his wound, covering himself, and his hairy body quickly becomes matted as the blood congeals.

A barbaric and animalistic scream comes from the burly man as he rushes towards Azreal, who is still reeling from the backhand earlier. If one looks closely, his arm has definitely sustained serious damage, rendering it useless in a fight like this. Forcing himself to shift, Azreal misses the kick intended for his head. 

As the burly man lets out another scream, he falls to his knees, his breathing becoming ragged. He raises his head, eyes locking onto Azreal's before he raises his one working arm and brings it crashing down onto Azreal, who has nowhere left to go.

Azreal, accepting he will be hit, slashes at the man's throat with decisive action, his strike landing at the same time as the burly man's punch connects with his chest, causing Azreal to heave for air. As the blade slices through flesh, Azreal feels a part of himself die with the man. The horror of his actions threatens to overwhelm him, but he pushes it down, focusing on the need to survive. The weight of the life he has taken settles in his chest, a burden he knows he will carry forever. As for the burly man, the wound on his neck and shoulder continues to pour blood onto Azreal's pants and the floor. Azreal uses his non-damaged arm to guide the now-dying burly man onto the floor as his gasps for air fill his lungs with blood.

Azreal, adrenaline still pumping, forces himself to stand and hobble over to the blue-haired girl. The metallic tang of blood fills his nostrils, and the room seems to spin as the adrenaline begins to wear off. His muscles scream in protest with every movement, the pain a stark reminder of the brutality he has just endured.

"I spoke to you through the door, four or five days ago. Do you remember me?" Azreal's words are kind, yet his eyes are screaming in pain. She meekly nods. "I'm Azreal. Now, you cannot stay here; they will come looking for him," he points to the burly man, who has taken his last blood-filled breath.

"You can stay at my place for now until we come up with a plan for what to do with you." Azreal's mind races, the severity of the situation sinking in. The Blood Tigers, the most ruthless gang in the city, are known for their brutality and their far-reaching influence. They have their claws in every aspect of the city's underbelly, from drug trafficking to human exploitation. Crossing them is a death sentence, and now, Azreal and the woman he saved are directly in their crosshairs. Azrael extends his hand towards her, a weak smile and warm eyes looking down on the woman who is still gasping for air and in a pool of her own vomit.

She looks up at him with fearful eyes; his warm smile eventually overcomes the difference, and her soft hand grips him, using his strength to help her up. "Quickly, grab your essentials and follow me. Everyone on the floor heard this; I want to be in my apartment before they come and see it was me who helped you." She nods, and after gaining her strength back, she moves to the bedroom and returns in a moment with a small bag and change of clothes. 

Azreal's heart pounds as they make their way back to his apartment. He knows that the Blood Tigers have eyes and ears everywhere, and it's only a matter of time before they learn of what transpired. The gang's reputation for ruthless retribution is well-known, and Azreal fears that even the walls of his home may not be enough to protect them from the coming storm.

Azreal leads her to the doorway, looking down the hallways both ways before dragging her out, and quickly they both run to his room, slinking inside and praying no one has seen them move between the apartments.

He leads her into the lounge room/kitchen/bedroom and sits on the bed. She remains standing still, looking almost frantic. Azreal stands and walks over to her, pointing to the bathroom. "Go, take a warm shower, clean yourself, get changed; it can help when trying to clear your mind," says Azreal, his weak smile quivering as his strong front is taking everything he's got.

Azreal watches as the blue-haired woman moves towards the bathroom and closes the door. Once she is inside, his confident and kind expression breaks, and his face contorts into a scrunch. He brings his hands, which are covered in blood, close to his face; the harsh reality of the murder he has just committed sends him into a spiral, panic sets in, and fear entrenches into his mind. 'I need to call Kerian again. She's going to think I'm the one killing these people, two dead in less than a week, after not hearing from me for years. I am going to prison. Or sent to the death camps…' His hands still covered in blood and trembling, he reaches for his mobile phone, finds Kerian's contact, and calls her.

"Hey, Azreal! I am so, so, so happy you called. I was going to come and find you if you called me any later! You promised to call me, remember?" Kerian's voice is chirpy and full of energy.

"Kerian, I'm sorry, this is not the time for that. Can you please come to my apartment as soon as possible? It is an emergency," says Azreal, guilt joining fear in wracking his mind.

Kerian can feel the pain and fear in his voice. "I will come over now. I'll finish up my work and head over. Text me your address, okay?" Azreal, thanking Kerian and ending the call, sends his address to her before receiving confirmation that she is on the way. His fear slowly reduces as his heart rate follows.

 Azreal's mind drifts back to their childhood at the orphanage, the countless nights they spent huddled together, finding solace in each other's presence. Kerian had always been his rock, his confidante, and the one person who truly understood him. Despite the years that had passed and the distance that had grown between them, he knew he could always count on her when it mattered most.

'Fuck, this hurts so much. I think he really fucked my arm.' Azreal's hands shake as he painfully removes his shirt, throwing it onto the floor. Purple bruising is Azreal's first concern; the skin under the bruising has become swollen and blotchy, his upper arm and shoulder feeling stiff and useless. His jaw has light yellow bruising starting to surface and becoming stiff. Pushing himself up and feeling wobbly on his feet, Azreal unsteadily walks to the cracked mirror.

His gaze staring back at himself, the anger of his failings, the anger at his own body being so weak, an all-consuming darkness begins to swirl in his mind. Constant thoughts run through his mind, filling him with a twisted anger and sadness that even while trying his best, he can only do the bare minimum and stand up when a person is on the brink of assault.

Twenty minutes pass while he stares into his reflection, his mind still swirling. The sound of soft steps walking towards him is enough to break his train of thought. Azreal turns to see the woman with shoulder-length hair, pale skin, her eyes a gorgeous shade of blue; she is much shorter than Azreal imagined, standing at just over five feet tall. She is currently wearing baggy clothes.

"Thank you for saving me. I'm Amelia, and I was so afraid, so thank you so much," she says, tears forming and running down her face. "I thought that was it. After my mother ran away from the Blood Tigers, she owes them a tremendous amount of money. I knew that I would either be killed or taken and sold to a brothel. I am still not confident that they won't find me, but at least for now, I am safe," says Amelia through sobs as she recoils into herself. Azreal, having very little to do with others aside from his early childhood, stands with a dazed expression, unsure about what to do about the woman sobbing and holding her arms in his apartment.

She steps towards Azreal without lifting her head. Azreal continues to stare at her before suddenly she takes a few quick steps, closing the distance and laying her head on Azreal's chest. Azreal winces as her head lies on his chest, causing Amelia to rear back and stare at him with bloodshot eyes, sadness compounding as she inspects his injury. Embracing him, she starts to cry and frantically apologises. Azreal, feeling his first real warm embrace, has conflicting feelings: pain and happiness, envy and joy. These feelings coalesce into Azreal returning her embrace, the pair seeking solace in their hug. Amelia, the first to break the hug, pulls her face back and stares into Azreal's eyes.

'She is one of the only people not to be disgusted by my sickly skin, broken and discoloured teeth, and deformed figure,' things Azreal as he stares back. "Thank you again. What was your name? It feels bad not to know my saviour's name. You did tell me earlier, but I can't remember properly; it started with an A, I think," asks Amelia. "It's Azreal. I-I-I am glad that you are okay. I called my friend Kerian; she is on the way over now. She works with the Western Key Police Force; she can help us," says Azreal with a kind expression on his face.

Amelia, pulling away from Azreal and gesturing to the bathroom, says, "Your turn to wash the blood off you." Azreal moves towards the bathroom and begins to wash the blood off himself, his hands still shaking as he scrubs the blood that stains his skin. His attempts to get the blood off him end up taking longer than expected, ending his shower to the sound of knocking on his apartment door.

"I'll get dressed, Amelia. Can you get the door?" shouts Azreal from the bathroom.

"Okay!" Amelia shouts back and begins to move towards the door, opening it ever so slightly, trying to get a look at who is on the other side. The image of a tall, full-figured woman whose long red hair flows to her lower back, still wearing her police uniform, gives Amelia a sense of safety as she opens the door.

"Who are you? Where is Azreal?" asks Kerian as she steps inside the doorway and scans the apartment. "Why are you so injured? Are you the reason why he called me?" Kerian's blue eyes size up Amelia, her authoritative demeanour causing Amelia to shrink. The bathroom door opens, and Azreal steps out with a towel wrapped around him, his gaunt and heavily bruised upper body on display, drawing the attention of both women as he walks towards the wardrobe. "Kerian, please don't be mean to her. She's been through a lot in a short amount of time. I will explain if I can get dressed. Please close the door behind you; we do not want anyone finding her here." Azreal's confidence causes Kerian to stare in wonder. 'How did he change so much in a few days?'

Azreal moves to the wardrobe and changes into a set of grey track pants and an oversized jumper, moving to the bed as a gesture for the girls to come closer. Azreal and Amelia explain to Kerian what has happened, ensuring no details are left unsaid. Kerian remains calm as she intently listens to every detail. As they finish their story, she moves to give Amelia a warm and safe hug, bringing a smile to Azreal's face. 

"No one from my department will care enough to investigate what happened, so there is no need to be concerned with the law. But the Blood Tigers are known for being merciless, and they will investigate. Hopefully, he was only a low-level thug, but they will still investigate," says Kerian, standing and pacing a few steps back and forth.

"Neither of you should stay here any longer. It is unsafe, and there is nothing stopping them from coming and knocking down every door on this floor to find you or find anyone willing to sell either of you out," says Kerian, a strength in her words that Azreal did not know she had.

Azreal wants to disagree with her; he wants to stay in his only sanctuary, but he knows deep inside that he is at very high risk now that he has personally killed a member of the local gang, the Blood Tigers. "I have no money. I can't afford to live anywhere," says Azreal as he breaks eye contact with Kerian and lowers his head. "As you know, I don’t have enough to rent anywhere either," chimes in Amelia.

"You do not need money. You can come and live with me!" Kerian practically shouts as she walks towards Azreal's wardrobe and removes a few items of clothing, asking if he has any bags to carry his clothes and anything else he wants to bring. Azreal wants to fight but once again finds himself agreeing with Kerian; they need to leave as soon as possible.

With how little Azreal owns, it only takes a few minutes for his life to be packed into two black bin bags. Kerian, noticing his VR gear, stares at it in a daze before turning to face Azreal. "So, you play Heaven's Universe too?" A smirk appears on her face.

Azreal can't help but smile back, remembering the countless hours they spent as children, dreaming of fantastical worlds and epic adventures. It seems fitting that even now, as adults, they find themselves drawn to the same escape. The shared connection, though unspoken, is a reminder of the unbreakable bond they share.