After being called Azrael in a flattering, ingratiating tone all night long, Azrael felt as if he were being stewed alive in the bright, deep sea.
Everything about him felt soft, especially the small of his back, which had been held and cradled for the better part of the night. The ink sac he used for evasion had never been employed since he first gained consciousness; he only felt a sense of fullness occasionally, requiring a minor purge, and he had long assumed the faculty had simply withered away.
Yet, thanks to that large, slender hand, he had been trembling and emptied out completely.
Chapter 322