Seven

"Though your sins are like scarlet,

They will be made as white as snow;

Though they are as red as crimson cloth,

They will become like wool.

You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit"

-Anonymous

Asebia constricted the female's throat, his eyes altering to a colour of burgundy red. All he concepted at that euphoric juncture was the lassitude he intuited when he stowed his eyes on her. He is not avowed as breakable or delicate.

Asebia is never cowardly or easily defeated.

Asebia is unbreakable yet powerful.

He won't be the Crown Prince of Hell if he was not sinewy and capable.

His anger was an insurmountable build up steam, scorching on the way out, igniting the one on the receiving end. It couldn't be characterised genuinely, but every time this heinous being ever blew, the other person plunges in excruciating agony and utter enunciated contusion.

There is the detonation and then the toughened heart and camouflaged empathy which could avoid owning the shame that was premised to be his.

Shame? No...not Asebia.

Sacrificing who he is supposed to be torturing is what keeps his pristine ego.

His indignation muddled his eyes, not seeing the discomfort and excruciating pain he induced the female. Nothing felt more better than making this female know the hassle she had spurred in him....the turmoil and envisage he had to continuously betwixt.

All he could behold at that culmination was demise.

Abaddon gobbled as he focused at his Master in terror. For he was exceedingly inaccurate to envision His Master soothingly gentle for the reason that as of now, the barbarian is manumitted , coveting blood and ingurgitating till the blood is all over him.

For a second, he relished sympathy on the girl. Abaddon had no clue as to where His Master brought the female from, but he could judge her dread. She was unperturbed and oblivious of where she was.

He was very certain she did not perceive who she confronted and spoke to.

Because if she knew, she won't be able to utter a line in front of him without shuddering.

Abaddon panicked as he saw her eyes dilated, knowing she could die if care is not taken. He knew that whatever she was accused of, her role was still needed and she is rather better alive than dead.

"Master! Alas the female faints" Abaddon shouted, his hands shuddering in fear. He won't be surprised if Master Asebia lunges at him and tears him apart for no one interrupts the beast during his kill.

The God of Sin's hands suddenly became weak as his eyes became clear as day. He felt her go limp in his arms. His eyes widened in realization, suddenly frozen on the spot.

He was speechless, his hands ploddingly approaching the female's face. Slowly, he removed her hair from her face and gulped as he took in the beauty in front of him.

So mesmerising.

So ghostly beautiful.

He hurt her.

A foreign emotion hugged him as his hands began to shake. What is this he is feeling?

Why....

Why does he feel?

What was he feeling?

Questions upon questions flooded his mind as he closed his eyes, his chest hurting.

"I...I hurt female"

He couldn't fathom what he felt at that moment. His hands trembled as he looked at her with remorse. His eyes glistened as he felt something fell from his eye.

Asebia touched his face. It kept falling with no attempt on stopping. He looked at his hands, too confused to understand.

For his eyes produced tears....tears of agony.