Angel of Death: (Reaper Series Book 1), Page 23

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  Azrael sped through the sky, his rotten dragon-like wings still carrying him forward over the endless Tartarus with great speed. He felt the wind in his face and, momentarily, was distracted from his pain. The ceaseless, almost unbearable pain that scorched him from within, burning away his very being, leaving nothing behind but a rotten corpse of putrified flesh and bone. He gritted his teeth as a fresh bout of fire coursed through his body, so strong that he very nearly passed out. He actually began to drift closer toward Tartarus’ surface, the pain so strong that he lost focus on staying in the air, but he suddenly came to his senses and pushed aside the pain, flapping his wings harder to push himself higher into the sky, racing after Darius and Peyton. He had come so far, worked for so long, he was not about to allow himself to be beaten by falling into Tartarus and allowing the unfathomable creature to look into his soul. With everything he had done, he knew Tartarus would take him in an instant, given the opportunity. Tartarus had taken human souls for much less.

  Not wanting to think about an eternity trapped in darkness and tormented by memories, Azrael changed his train of thought and instead focussed on Peyton.

  Ah, Peyton Paradisa, he thought with longing. Her soul was so precious, so valuable, yet neither she nor Darius knew why. That would come as a surprise when they found out, and they undoubtedly would. Azrael thought of all the hundreds of souls he had ripped from their mortal shells over the pads century, thought of the brief feeling of relief he had when he consumed one. He could feel them all, every soul, deep inside his own. Sometimes, he could hear them screaming, but they were inconsequential. Peyton was all that mattered. He had only consumed the others in his search for her.

  Thinking of her, Azrael began to move faster.