The Myth - The Fading Eden

Prologue: Azhar

"You're playing with me," Azhar panted, watching intently as her hand, clutching a serrated knife, traced bloody, jagged lines across his chest. The suffocating, stale air clogged his throat, his body slick with sweat mingled with blood.

"Have you changed your mind?" Etta asked in a sweet, innocent voice, pressing the blade harder against his skin.

"You know I haven't." He grimaced, stifling a scream. The execution of the final line was agonizingly slow, and this was just the beginning. He panted heavily. She knelt before him, wedged between his legs, carefully guiding the blade along his ribs to his solar plexus. He clenched his jaw tightly, fighting back the curse that threatened to escape his lips. In her black eyes, he saw a wild gleam of satisfaction. She inflicted pain, savoring every moment.

Vile serpent.

When Etta finished the symbol, connecting all the lines, she lifted her gaze to examine his face.

"There's no turning back now," she whispered, brushing a strand of red hair from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"I have no intention of retreating."

He knew his answer didn't surprise her. For a moment, her eyes lingered on his lips.

"You'd do anything for her," she said softly, leaning closer, her fingertips gently skimming over his torn skin.

"Are you jealous?" Azhar sneered, tensing his shoulders. He wanted to break free from the restraints binding him, to pull away from her irritating touch. The pain itself was bearable.

"Do you think you can resist me?"

She caught him off guard. He had never considered that he should. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Her pale skin contrasted with her fiery, smooth hair. Half of her face was hidden by black silk adorned with silver and gold. Her scant clothing clung to her slender shoulders and legs. He imagined her full lips curling into a smile, revealing pearly white teeth.

He met her gaze. He froze, staring into her eyes reflecting the candlelight. He swallowed hard. Her black pupils, like bottomless wells, pulled him deeper and deeper. The icy abyss concealed both temptation and threat.

Suddenly, he snapped back, cursing silently.

"If you want," she began seductively.

"I don't. Focus on the task."

The woman ran the tip of the knife along the inside of his thigh.

"Etta," he growled in warning.

"I am focused on the task," she whispered, almost to herself. She rested the blade at the level of his navel, slowly sinking it into the open wound. Without warning, she plunged it in up to the hilt.

A scream that he had been suppressing tore from Azhar's throat. Pain blinded him for a moment. He shook his head, trying to break through the thick, milky haze enveloping him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Etta's silhouette as she casually walked over to the table. Most of the books and vials had been knocked to the floor after they had used the table with utter disregard for the spells that even gods feared. He smirked at the memory of the sheer lust filling his veins. He always got what he wanted. Death knelt before him, drinking him dry. He held the Universe in his grasp. All he had to do was squeeze, and it would crumble completely.

No. Not crush. Azhar, relax your fist.

He was on the terrace again, wrapped in her warm embrace. Calm filled him to the brim. He felt no pain, and the growing anger was immediately soothed by her melodious voice.