Forsaken
Marcus answered, his voice weak and bely more than a whisper.
“Aw, what a sweet family reunion, it makes me sick.” Azazel spoke up. Daniel had forgotten he was even there, his only focus on his son. Azazel turned and snapped his fingers, as if from nowhere a lowly demon appeared with Azazel’s bag of torture devices, and a small table. Azazel quickly grabbed his bag and rolled it out on the table. The shiny chrome tools glowed orange from the reflection of a fire somewhere in the background. Slowly Azazel ran his fingers over the line of tools, trying to determine the best one that would inflict the most trauma. Finally his hand stopped on what appeared to be a very thin, short,flimsy blade.