Solo Trapped In A Torturous Arena

[Azazel]

Pain. That was the first sensation that he felt. The way it attacked his nerves, racing up and down his spine and splaying across his muscles like fire was in his veins. They were like spider webs those strings of agony. Thousands of them intertwined and twisting about each other until they were all he could focus on. Everywhere and no where at the same time. Behind closed eyes he could see flashes of dream-like memories. Shadows of familiar people he was sure he knew. They moved so fast about the blackened walls of his mind. So quick and obscure he couldn't quite tell what exactly had happened. Straining his pain dulled brain he could begin to see through the fog. To recognize the scene and relive it. Oh yes, he remembered it now. He remembered everything like a fresh wave of recollection pounded over his already exhausted mind. How could he have possibly forgotten, lost that event between reality and hallucination? Those moments past were so very real... Azazel had been out all that day. A risky choice in Sunberth to walk the streets, but he had done it anyhow. He had friends in the neighborhood area he knew so well. Of course that's assuming you can call anyone in the anarchic city a "friend." Anyways, he was actually out running a job that day. He was delivering food bought from the market to a guy in Sunset Quarters by his own house. Some big shot from Syliras who thought he had enough political clout and brutality to start his own crime syndicate in Sunberth. Needless to say he was wrong. Recently, his wife had fallen ill due to exposure to one of the many impurities within the wretched city. Therefore the guy who had been shaking like a leaf every time he opened his front door to begin with now had no business being out in danger at all. Instead he hired a local kid to be his delivery boy. Let the world outside rip him apart rather than them. That boy was Azazel. At least he was getting a little compensation for his trouble. Any meager amount of money was good money. He had the bag in his arms, clutched tight to his chest like an old woman holding her purse in a crowd full of thugs. He was protecting that food with his whole body because he knew as well as anyone, that his boss's satisfaction was a defining factor in what he ate for dinner that night. He was halfway there, trudging through the muck that lined the streets. With only five blocks to go, he eased up. Put some space between the bag and his chest to give his arms a little break. There's a horrible tendency for bad things to happen when you begin to put your guard down. Right when he dropped his arms some, a group of three kids came out of no where in front of him. The bigger one of the group smashed into him, knocking the bag from his tight grasp and into the mud. The sudden halt shook his body, fingers closing on empty air where the bag once was. A small splash from the mud splattered mud across his shoes and the bottoms of his pants. He stared at his feet watching a few vegetables roll out from the top of the bag. Right into the disgusting pile. "Watch where the petch you're going," the little bastard of a teenager said with a special kind of malice to his tone. Smoldering grey eyes stared down at the bag, expression empty at the sight. Beneath his half zipped, black hooded cloak, Azazel's chest puffed. Head slowly lifted in pure rage to stare at the three. Immediately, he fronted them. Moving right into the face of the one who seemed to be in charge. Azazel shoved the shyke out of the kid, tossing him like a rag doll into the line of his buddies. They all just about toppled over, trying to all catch each other. "Best you run along now, petchin' vagik." He sneered back darkly with a sinister expression.