Azazel no longer cared about what his father would think. He had stopped caring a long time ago; the scars on his back told that painful story. Because of this, he didn't hesitate for a moment to do what needed to be done, even knowing the consequences he might face. To him, his mother was more important than his own life.

He reached her room quickly. There was no time to lose, and he couldn't hesitate. He threw off the sheets without worrying about how confused she might be. His mother deserved, at least for a moment, to breathe the air of freedom. Azazel had to be swift before any of his brothers or his father appeared.

"I know the sight of hell is nothing compared to the majestic reality of your paradise," he said, opening the passage that led outside and guiding her through it. When opened, the passage revealed a well-tended garden, the only flowers in hell that didn't wither.

"Look at this, mother. Isn't it beautiful? I'm ashamed to be the son of a father so cruel, who deprives you of sights like this," he said, gripping her hand tightly, unwilling to let go.