In the Night

Coarse red sand filtered through Jemma's long fingers. It varied from the size of small pebbles down to a fine powder. Wind whipped around her, gusting past her violently and spinning her dark curls into a mass of knots. The sky overhead was pitch black, cut only by the quick bursts of lightening that flashed from every direction.

A shrill screech parted the air as she tried to push herself to her feet. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, like flames were licking at her flesh and wrenching it from her bones. She stumbled as she lifted a hand to examine it, watching as her skin bubbled before dripping off in a putrid glob to reveal sinew beneath, which quickly began melting as well. She could see the stained white of her bones peeking out at her.

Another panicked scream left her lips as she felt the rest of her body doing similarly, watching in revulsion as her skin slowly boiled off.

The horror of seeing her flesh melt away had distracted her from the fact that it was growing more and more difficult to breathe. It felt like she was inhaling fire. Her nose burned and her lungs ached.

She choked. She coughed and sputtered and felt blood leaking from her nose to mingle with her burning flesh. Tears stung her eyes. She was certain she would die this painful death.

Where was Azrael?

She twisted in a circle at the thought, searching desperately for The Reaper. What was happening? Why was it happening?

Large hands settled on her waist abruptly, anchoring her to the spot. A moment later, she felt two rows of jagged teeth sink into her neck at the top of her spine. It hurt far more than the pain she had been experiencing moments ago.

Jemma parted her lips to scream, but no sound came. She doubled over in agony as something akin to a knife sliced down the length of her spine. The hands released her and she fell back to the crimson sand, writhing in absolute pain.

Air rushed into her lungs, filling the delicate sacks as oxygenated blood coursed through her body. Her skin snapped back into place as though nothing had ever happened, smooth and taut to show off her youth once more. The pain in her back continued, and she curled into a ball, twisting around herself in a desperate attempt to soothe it.

"Jemma," a deep voice whispered, the large hand returning to her back. The woman screeched and tried to turn away, sobbing wordlessly. The hand dipped beneath her shirt, smoothing up over the length of her spine. The pain lessened to a more bearable amount.

Jemma stayed still for a long moment, making sure that the pain was really subsiding before she rolled onto her sore back, panting up at the dark sky. A flash of lightening cracked the night, and she turned her eyes to her savior.

Azrael knelt before her, and she immediately attempted to scramble away upon seeing him.

He snatched her ankle and tugged her back, easily grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the ground. Her own blood dripped from his chin and landed on her cheek. She trembled as she stared up at him, the pain shooting along her spine seeming irrelevant.

The same thick crop of black hair was on his head, but it was a bit longer and disheveled. His eyes were still a deep crimson, but the pupils had narrowed into those of a snake's. The black scars that marred his skin seemed to stand out even more. His flesh had lightened by a few shades, but his lips were still the same color of pink. Blood ambled lazily from the corners of his mouth and speckled his jaw. It looked like his "human" teeth had been swapped with a wolf's, though they still gleamed brightly when he smiled. If it was at all possible, he appeared to have grown taller and more muscular, making him even more looming than he already was.

"It's me, Jemma. Calm down," he murmured, reaching up to smooth her hair down, watching as it lifted up to twirl in the wind once more.

Jemma took a deep breath, slowly running her free hand up through his dark locks. Azrael cracked a brilliant grin and yanked her into a tight hug, crushing her chest against his. She felt his hand slip up beneath the back of her shirt again.

"Can you feel that?" he asked. He traced his fingers up the length of her spine again, but she couldn't feel his hand, as though the area were numb.

"No," she murmured, twisting an arm back to feel it for herself. The skin down the middle of her back felt like sandpaper. She frowned, leaning back to look at The Reaper. Her eyes traveled to the scars on his face, and she reached up to touch one comparatively. They felt the same.

Jemma's brow furrowed as a thought occurred to her, and she quickly unbuttoned Azrael's shirt. The creature sat there quietly, allowing her to skirt around him and examine his back.

Along his spine was the same rough mark. It was solid black and about an inch wide, traveling from the base of his neck and disappearing into the waistband of his slacks.

Climbing to her feet, Jemma moved around to stand in front of him, having to brace herself against the steady force of the wind that threatened to topple her.

"What did you do?" she asked sternly, having to speak up to be heard over the wind. She folded her arms across her chest. The swirling air was frigid and biting, a sharp contrast to the searing heat she had felt earlier.

Buttoning his shirt, Azrael got to his feet, staring down at the trembling woman before him.

"I saved you," he said nonchalantly.

Jemma shifted her shoulders, glancing around. "What the fuck does the mark mean, Azrael?"

She didn't know if she could take any more crazy in one day. She could handle him at home. Hell, she had admitted that she loved him, but this was a lot to take in. She was in a his realm, had watched her own flesh melt off, and had no idea what other creatures were lurking around. Her sanity dangled precariously over the edge, a mere thread holding its weight.

"It just means that I allowed you to live longer," he murmured.

Jemma's head snapped around to face Azrael, "What do you mean? Did you know this was going to happen? Did you know I was going to die here?"

Azrael frowned, clenching his jaw. "Living things cannot successfully enter this realm. I have always planned on preserving and prolonging your life when the time of your death came."

Jemma glared up at him, shivering against the gusts of wind forcing her hair back. She shook her head, staring down at her long legs. Shorts and a large t-shirt was not her outfit of choice for Purgatory.

She was living on borrowed time now.

Azrael stepped forward to engulf her in his warm embrace, acting as a wall between her and the bursts of wind. He could see she was cold but couldn't understand why she suddenly shoved her hands angrily against his chest, attempting to slip free of his hold.

"No. You don't get to just say that. You don't get to just brush it off. This is my life! After all the shit you've put me through, after all the things I've lost, I think I deserve to know when my scheduled death is!" She pounded against his chest, squirming against him. With an angry growl, he finally released her, and she stumbled back.

"You're being ridiculous!" Azrael snapped.

She could hardly see him standing before her, but she assumed that, being the Freak of Nature that he was, he saw her clearly.

"I told you I loved you and you just brushed it off," she whispered, her words carried away by the wind.

Azrael stared down at her, opening his mouth to speak as he reached out toward her. Before he could say anything, an uproar of barking sounded behind him.

Moving faster than she could comprehend, she was draped in his arms and he was heading quickly in the opposite direction.

The argument was forgotten for the moment as Jemma twined her arms around his neck, staring over his shoulder. She could faintly see something in the distance when the land was lit up by a crack of lightening. Past that fleck was a row of jagged, ominous mountains. Other than that, it was a vast, barren wasteland.

A soft pattering of footsteps grew closer, just barely audible over the roaring wind.

"Sir, they're getting closer." There was a pause as the large beast came up beside The Reaper, the wolf's scraggly head reaching Azrael's ribcage. "Why is she here?"

Azrael cast a menacing glance down at the animal. "Go ahead of us and make sure the path is clear."

The wolf bowed his head before sprinting ahead, its silvery fur disappearing into the shadows. Azrael tightened his grip on Jemma, following quickly after the animal.

"Who's 'they'?" Jemma whispered, still staring behind him.

The Reaper cleared his throat, "The souls."

At that moment, a mournful howl pierced the air. Jemma's heart began slamming against her ribs as Azrael slowly set her on her feet, continuing to proceed cautiously.

Darting out from the right, a pale blur hurtled against Azrael, knocking him back, but not off his feet. Jemma blinked, stumbling aside to gawk at the scene before her.

The attacker was tall, and a strange, dull gray. The soul stood somewhere between a haze and a solid. Its features looked to be that of a human, but its eyes were empty black sockets. It cast a soft glow around it, illuminating the heavy darkness.

The soul turned its lifeless face toward Jemma, seeming to suddenly realize that she was there as it cocked its head to the side and stalked toward her. Jemma stood rooted to the spot, fear paralyzing her.

"The Reaper's whore," it snarled, a twisted grin stretching its lips wide.

Jemma gaped at the atrocity before her, mentally trying to add it to the list of creatures she had come to know.

"Fuck."