Chapter Text
- Golgotha in 28 AD (Jesus's Crucifixion.)
Golgotha, or rather Calvary (from the Latin Calvaria). The weeping of maidens filled the air around the area. The weather was a sweet sun that shone down onto the sand, illuminating each grain with its soaked-up glory as the sand absorbed it. This area was well used to it, after all—the weeping, that is. Azira was sure the sun even wept at times. Two robbers hung on crosses not far out of vision; although he just saw the shadows of these men, he had sympathy for the sun beating senselessly onto their skin. Jesus, whom Azira had seen just one year ago sitting atop a huge rock, smiling and spreading parables, now held a cumbersome cross. The hickory, wooden body would be double his body weight, if not more. The salty water he drank cracked his lips; the whips bruised and cut open his back. The sounds spread all through the Christian Quarter of Jerusalem. Mary's weak, desperate cries as she reached for her son rang in the summer's heat. His arms burned as a thorn crown sat atop his head. Buried into his scalp, he grunted, and tears shed down his hollowed cheeks as he walked, stumbled, and fell, the sand taking his figure as the stones around him smacked into his already bruised and beaten body. Soldiers laughed, pressing on his crown and asking Jesus if his father would help him. Their mocking tones were a hard swallow as Jesus asked the Lord for forgiveness for the people, his two hands clasping with his whispers right before he was shoved to carry the cross again. Soldiers screaming abuse, Jesus, fatigued and in pain, let freefall tears roll down his chin.
Not long ago, to force his execution, they brought him before Pontius Pilate, the Roman prefect, charging him with sedition and treason against Rome for claiming to be "King of the Jews." And now he was to be crucified. The townspeople wailed their sorrows, and Jesus repeated God's forgiveness to mankind, not faith lost in his mother. They soon nailed him to that cross, bash after bash, as he writhed in pain. Azira couldn't help but frown.
He felt a presence near, one that reminded him of morning dew on the freshened blade of grass, and a soft, lavish taste to his smell. "Azira, a solemn day, is it not?" Anthony spoke softly, his voice a slight tremble, his eyes, from what he could see, looking downwards. Guilt? "Is this really the Lord's plan to kill her own son? How would this grant the people forgiveness?" Azira said as Jesus had his left hand hammered to the cross. Azira saw a blob of what he perceived as navy fall, the motion blurred in his vision, a gasp among the people as Anthony put a hand to his mouth. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, but I do agree it's brutal." The angel looked away as they hammered his feet to the cross. The blood trickled down the wood, a macabre stain on the cream-colored sand, although Azira was sure the sand wouldn't mind. "And my side had no interference... Well, except for Judas. Pontius Pilate came up with his own order. And Jesus wasn't in that order, I would suppose. Sad, really. Jesus will, of course, be a big spectacle of God's love, but the beggars beside him will be seen as criminals being served justice." He adjusted his black shemagh, his hand brought up the fabric to cover his face as a gust of sand came his way. Jesus's body now had grains of sand in his aching lacerations and gashes.
Jesus was pulled up just after, as the cross was stuck into the ground. As his body moved down the cross, gravity caused more ache as he slid slightly down the cross. The nails that dug into his palms streaked down with the pressure of his body pulling, ready to fall off this vertical plane. He cried with agony as Azira squinted his eyes. Anthony stepped close and demonstrated the cross on his chest. His head "the Father," his stomach "The Son," his left shoulder "The Holy," his right shoulder "Spirit," and he joined both hands together and slowly, a bitter Amen. His prayer in motion as Jesus still sobbed on this cross, his calm demeanor pushed too far. Azira had only heard his words and didn't understand. "The Lord now has a new way of praying; instead of putting both hands together and just saying Amen, she added some extra steps, to include her son and the Holy Spirit." Anthony smiled and hummed the sentence as if it were a light in this dark situation. "Ah, I see. how.. nice? Of her." Azira spoke in an unsure tone, as after all, that was a hellish torture, and to just involve him in a prayer seemed a bit undermining... maybe.
Jesus was left there, strung up to the cross as soldiers sneered and poked at him. The beating sun lit every injury, every human detail of his body. Only a wrapped cloth around his crotch and, of course, his thorned, bloody 'crown.' Anthony felt a sorrow, a painful, guttural sadness at this torment of the savior. This is Christ, the closest any living human will see of the Lord. How did mankind come to this? So much violence, so much pain and agony. It almost made you question why Adam and Eve, all those hundreds of years ago, got kicked out of God's Garden. Knowledge is earned; it's not like the apple gave them unlimited knowledge, it gave them the ability to learn on their own terms. It wasn't like that Irish folk story where the first person that ate the salmon of knowledge would unlock all knowledge. Well, according to the myth, the salmon gained all the wisdom of the universe by eating hazelnuts from the magical trees that surrounded the Well of Wisdom. But that isn't the point, is it?
Why couldn't they learn this was wrong? That hurting each other ends with more hurt. Hurt people, hurt people, as they say. The thing that is sad to see is how humanity falls. Why create humans? They are so obsessed with their own injustice. Most of their memories as they lay on their deathbed are the sadness they went through and held onto. Why is sadness so prominent, having such an effect as anger and hatred? It's hard to understand where angels were made to love. Humans were designed to hate, have the capacity for more, and all so diverse. Some learn fast, some slow. Some can walk, some limp. Some are blind—
"Αφήστε τον γιο μου ήσυχο! Θα πληρώσεις... ο γιος μου... ο γιος μου πέθανε. Πώς μπόρεσες; Πώς-" Mary screamed at the soldiers, the loss of her son too overbearing. Out of grief, she lost her balance and dropped to the sandy ground again as other women helped her up. She pointed her finger at the guards as they grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground once again. She cried screams of terror as Jesus, unable to speak with the overwhelming pain, looked at her with such deep sorrow as if she were strung on this cross. Although humans do have hatred, they also have sympathy, sadness for pain that isn't theirs to hold.
They have hope. For what? It differentiates between each person. The most personalised thing any human has.
But now, at this dire moment in history, it seemed hopeless. Even in Mary's grieving, thumping, and hurting heart, as deep as it was now suffocating with the loss of her son, she had hope that Jesus would be taken care of by his 'father' up in heaven. That's something every living being has: hope. Hope to eat tomorrow, hope to wake up, hope that you get that job or that the sun rises high. There is a string of hope in everyone's being, no matter how kind or cruel, sick or well. Everyone needs something to hold on to for their lives. It's moments like these horrible human moments that really bring these thoughts into Anthony's head, and as Mary was being taken away by other women, as they all shook with sadness, their grief a ball of anger and injustice, the soldiers soon left as well, their jokes and laughs echoing off the Jerusalem weather.
"Big hearts humans have," Azira spoke, and Anthony was happy for the distraction. "Although, do we not as well?" He asked, a hint of pride, knowing that Azira might have messed this up and he was about to prove him wrong. "Well, we don't have the ache a human experiences. It's a physical thing; if your sorrow is unpleasant, imagine theirs... cruel, really." Azira smiled, looking Anthony's way as he looked away, and Azira smiled. "So, what's next?" Azira uttered as Anthony looked back in his direction, his ash-black hair tinted to a gray in the summer's sun, pale skin luminous as his eyes stayed closed. His lips parted to a smirk, and his robe 'swished' in the slight wind. "U-umh... Oh! Yes, the resurrection!" He exclaimed as Azira's eyes blew wide, his shock unforeseen; well, resurrection was unanticipated. "They killed him that painfully, and God is going to send him back here?" Azira spoke. A man gave him a look. Anthony smiled awkwardly. "Yes, to show that he was the son of our Lord... It does sound a bit bitter, but it is all in good faith, and I must have faith in our Lord. When the sun rises but 13 times he will arrive" Anthony said as he smiled delicately.
Azira felt a pang in his chest as he turned slightly away, his eyebrows knitted. Although centuries ago, it still stung when he remembered what happened all those years ago. Hard to think about who he was compared to what he is now. Well, there are a lot of freedoms with being a fallen angel, but still knowing you were cast away from your mother, your gift of life who made you who you are and now gave you these scars you hold and the mental torture of knowing that there is some universe out here where you weren't cast... Azira looked to his left as Anthony stared at the cross. Maybe there was a universe where Anthony was cast down. He wouldn't ever wish it on him, though, his torment of being kicked out of his home, his life, is like that Cross Jesus bore. Anthony will never understand him and won't in his lifetime, he does hope. Maybe it gets better, maybe it doesn't, but being with the Lord for so long, Azira knows not to expect an answer or even a hint. After all, her plan is <inevitable;> getting an answer won't change that. It doesn't matter how you change, or how you plead. Adequate, he may be, but he is now projecting.
Aziraphale took his arm and slung it loosely over Anthony's shoulders. Anthony attempted to pull his arm away, although Azira looked at him with a smile and waved him toward a hostelry. It was... something. There were some of the soldiers they had just seen kill a man not a sunrise ago, smiling and drinking their alcohol. A soldier looked their way, his eyes widening a slight bit, and he wrapped an arm around his friend and flashed him a charming grin. He sluggishly but full of confidence came over, leaving his friend behind.
"Αζίρα; Πώς είσαι;" Azira? Is that you! How have you been?
he practically shouted. Azira looked with a serious face, as he squinted his eyes a small bit. A human meaning to be happy, is it not? Although Anthony knew it was meant to be accompanied by a smile. Passive aggression? Possibly.
"I've been well, Yohanan, how have you been? How are Alannis and your little boy?" Azira's face swelled up a slight bit with happiness; you could see it in the crinkle of his cheek, the wrinkles beside his eyes as his eyebrows shot up.
"Έχει μεγαλώσει, είναι ήδη 5 έτοιμος να αρχίσει να με βοηθά να υπηρετώ, και η Αλάνις σύντομα θα γεννήσει ξανά. Ο Τζόναθαν σκότωσε το πρώτο του άγριο ζώο τις προάλλες. Ήταν καταπληκτικό. Ο Ιησούς που είναι ή μάλλον ήταν τρελός." He's all grown up, he's already five, ready to start helping me serve, and Alanis will soon be giving birth again. Jonathan killed his first wild animal the other day. It was a proud moment.
He spoke with a big grin as he smacked Azira's shoulder, not hard, but as if that was such an easy thing to do. "Ah, good to hear. I must see how he is. Oh yes! I must give you the introduction of a very good colleague. Anthony, he's not usually in the area." Azira smiled as the man put his hand forward and Anthony shook it back.
"Οποιοσδήποτε φίλος της Αζίρα έχει θέση σε μένα. Από πού είσαι;" Any friend of Azira's has a place with me. Where are you from?
he spoke as Azira smiled politely. "Ah Machaerus, I have my job over there. I work as a Kohen, a lovely place just near the Dead Sea." Anthony spoke as the man's eyes sparkled.
"Ο παππούς μου ήταν από εδώ πριν μετακομίσει στην Ιερουσαλήμ. Ένα υπέροχο μέρος και είσαι ένας Κοέν, σάλομ αδελφέ μου." My grandfather was from there before he moved to Jerusalem. A wonderful place and you're a Cohen, shalom, brother.
He spoke as Anthony smiled. The man seemed a bit intoxicated but seemed lively in general. Azira seemed well used to his buzzing energy, and as two men opened the rusted metal and rotting wood door, the hinges squeaking so very highly. Two men came in, a buzz in their air, as Anthony's newfound friend stomped over and started speaking obnoxiously to them. Azira sighed softly.
Azira put up two fingers from his table to the tender as the worker took a barrel and scooped out two cups of alcohol and brought it over to the table. Anthony thanked the man as he gave a nod back and he returned to working.The place was alive, with almost all tables being used up, but after the Crucifixion, a lot came to drown their sorrows. A man in the corner with six others looked around, possibly in their 50's possibly. Anthony squinted and saw who was on the rickety stool; his eyes glistened as he held in sobs. He could see him swallowing them down his throat tightly so they didn't escape. It was Joseph, tired eyes watering but not daring to shed a tear. He held his head in his hands as all the men in that corner held scornful looks at the soldiers who danced around, drinking with their meager wage. Anthony's eyebrows sank. Dancing after killing the Lord's son, how could you forgive yourself?
Azira put a silent hand over Anthony's. Azira took his cup of alcohol and took a gulp, a bob in his throat as he sighed content, his eyes glistening a slight bit as Anthony looked at him wide-eyed. Azira liked these moments, where he could see the gears turning in Anthony's head, where his eyes widened and his head slightly leaned to the left. His red curls swayed in a way that only his could. There are not many people that look like Anthony; well, everyone is unique. With his hair color, you would most likely find him among Scotland, although his figure might make you lean towards Ireland possibly. Maybe there just isn't one person like Anthony. Scratch that, he seriously doubts there is one person since he isn't exactly a person, is he now? But none of that mattered; Anthony saw things in a different light. He saw two sides of people in this bar, which is why Azira wanted to take him. He saw soldiers and mourners, the abusers and the abused, bad and good. He didn't see the grays. He didn't see how these soldiers were meticulously raised to comply, some, if not most, abducted from their families, and many never to start ones of their own. How their boss doesn't just control their life alone but controls their families. One wrong word, wrong look, wrong action, and they were charged with treason.
Anthony looked at his drink as Azira finished his, a sigh and flush on his face. "Are you not going to drink, my boy?" He spoke as Anthony looked at him, his face a slight flush as he avoided his eye. "I hast not. It's—gluttony. I don't need any of this to sustain my body." He spoke as Azira raised his eyebrows and his eyes squinted in a smile as he laughed, his hands reaching to his mouth as his body jerked. Anthony looked shocked, his face red with embarrassment. "What's so funny! I don't, you don't either!" He spoke, pushing his chest out, crossing his arms, and rotating his face to the side. Azira still jerked, his shoulders bouncing up and down as a pure smile held on his lips. He held the table to keep stable as Anthony finally looked back to see the man wipe a small tear off the corner of his eye.
"You're upset?" Anthony looked, reaching across the table to examine his expression. It didn't look like sadness. He placed his light fingertips on Azira's chin, seeing the raise in eyebrows and the heat that crawled up his neck to his ears. Azira knocked his hands away in a flurry, his heart beating loudly. Was this a symptom of the angel being so near? It's hard to believe God would have a built-in function in their corporations to stay away from each other. "No, I was just… umh? Giddy? I don't know why a tear fell." He looked at Anthony, whose eyes widened as his curiosity peaked. "Is your body dysfunctional?" He spoke as Azira shook his head intensely. "No, no, I've had mine checked, but 15 years ago… It couldn't be." Azira bit his lip as he wondered. "Yesh," Azira spoke as a man with a big build and a long beard came over and raised an eyebrow, not with the same buzzing energy as the other humans, who danced and sprang. He raised an eyebrow as Azira smiled. "I was just laughing and a tear shed from my eye. Why?" Azira spoke as the man slipped a smile and chuckled a small, deep, and eviscerating bit.
"Δάκρυα χαράς, φίλε μου" Tears of joy, my friend He said with a taut smile on his face.
"Oh, I am just so very sorry to hassle you then." Azira spoke as the man snickered.
"Εσύ; Συγνώμη, αμφιβάλλω." You sorry? I doubt that.
He spoke, his hand in a half-arsed wave goodbye as Azira's face softened and Anthony's hardened. It's almost as if he had forgotten, the sweet lull of Azira's presence was a show, really. Where other demons had fear and anger, Azira had something so scary that Anthony was sure even the Lord would tremble with apprehension. He had a slow, eroding temptation. Honey in a beehive. He had seen his 'updated' file; it sat right on his desk. He knew he had committed unnamed atrocities, yet he still sat in front of this fallen and let the smell of dusk and comfort and the dark, emerging smell of Azira take his senses.
Although... he didn't really have anything to hold against Azira. His acts were, firstly, part of his job and, secondly, unnamed. Even Anthony knew heaven had a thing for exaggeration. Especially bad deeds. Azira could not help an old woman bring home her valuables, and it would be marked as an atrocity. So he did take Gabriel's filing with a hint of salt. Although Azira here in front of him felt... odd. He doesn't see Azira as a demon, never has, but rather nearly an equal. Maybe. And he wasn't sure exactly how to change that, maybe through distance. But as much as Azira's company meant a lot in the moment, he will move on. Do his job until this world dies and he goes to the next... the next planet. Maybe Alpha Centauri, a personal favorite, but who would he talk to on his lonely planet?
Azira looked across the table, Anthony deep in thought as he stared. Unnoticed, the angel really did drop his guard around him. Azira took his chin in the palm of his hands and looked at Anthony, really looked at his creased eyebrows as the loud shouts between what seemed like the mourners and soldiers waved across the hostelry. He didn't pay in lieu of notice as the angel, as well, seemed to not notice. Outside their own bubble, there were punches thrown, stools thrown, pants and shouts of worn-out men as their bubble still stayed unharmed. "Ah, let's keep it cordial, men, don't you think?" Azira spoke as the soldiers froze. They stayed still for a minute before scuffing the losing mourners once more and with a ricochet of annoyed murmurs, they sat down at their tables as the beaten-up and some bloody mourners left. Anthony looked at them leaving; his heart ached. He shouldn't be here. "Guard commander, sir." The men spoke as Azira nodded lightly and looked at Anthony, who looked wide-eyed at Azira, who tilted his head in confusion. "I have to get out of this hostelry. I'm, um, needed. I appreciate your drink. I..." Anthony stood up, his sandals scuffing the sandy floor.
Azira looked at him, his eyebrows sinking into a cautious confusion. "Heed no dime to my name. If you must leave, go." Azira spoke lightly as Anthony looked at him one last time. He left the hostelry with haste, his heart beating loud and courageously as he swung the doors open and shut. The demon left in his chair took the other's drink that sat there untouched; he took the whole thing in one big gulp. He slammed it down with a resounding thump, but it didn't even make a sound as the guards' laughter rang out. He felt that all-knowing loneliness. Over these last years, he had worked close to these Roman soldiers, came to know many, but he had never come to know them as much as he knew Anthony. He saw men embrace each other at the deaths of a colleague; he saw men have unshed tears as they returned to their homes after war; he saw the wives of many crumble to the floor when Azira, as guard commander, told them the news.
He wanted to feel that emotion. He wanted to feel like the ground had sunk once more in despair or grin so wide his cheeks hurt in bliss, fear warm tears running down his face, not the ones he was cursed with but the ones that come only with extreme sorrow, extreme happiness. Sometimes around Anthony he feels just a touch of that bliss. As his cheeks heat up and his jaw slacks. Anthony is just so authentic in himself, in his emotions.
Azira took to the counter and paid for his drinks as he left the hostelry, waving goodbye to the majority of his men as he roamed the streets. Days pass easily for him. It seems like a night-to-day cycle is just too fast. What was Eden a blink ago now spread to different countries, different cultures, small and big. Landlocked and islands, all so vast, all growing in their own ways.
He was just in China not 6 months ago. The Eastern Han Dynasty, just starting but barely a mere year before. Such beautiful buildings, Emperor Guangwu who now had a son on the way it seemed. The lucrative trading was doing well, after the Roman soldiers decided silk was their new forte, although with the sheer amount of silk the Romans were buying, which like many things led to the Roman Senate trying to ban the men from wearing silk. Appropriately, China was focused on protecting these vital overland and maritime networks from nomadic threats, particularly the Xiongnu.
6 months ago... time does fly as they say. Although he has been in the Roman army since it first began, 550 BC. Established by King Servius Tullius, the early Roman army system required citizens to provide their own weapons and armor based on their wealth. Soon, with what humans do best, abuses came up fast; slaves introduced around 2575 B.C. had not stopped, if honest, it escalated. Fast at that, with the slaves making up one-fifth of the empire's population. All mistreated, all different, none of the matter of morals. Pregnant slaves worked to malnutrition, many losing their children. Where the western world didn't agree on same-sex relationships keeping to coitus, the Romans didn't agree, and although that seems great in theory, a lot of same-sex ideals didn't come from a sexual orientation but a symbol of your status, mostly inflicted on male slaves. No matter the age.
Azira himself has never even kissed, as they called it now. A human, he didn't have a preference for gender, looks; he sees humans as humans, maybe a little degrading and dehumanizing to himself, but he wasn't a human. Maybe that's why he took company in Anthony—
he bumped shoulders with a human. An elderly woman, hunched over her walking stick, shaking with her hands. She seemed to still work with a wood-joined basket on her back, a blue-banded white apron over her old, slightly withered clothes. Azira steadied her and took pity. "I apologize," Azira spoke as the woman smiled up, seemingly anyway; he could see with his not-at-all-good vision the blotches of her mouth upturning."No need, lovely evening, is it not?" She spoke, the sun shading down as he saw its grayscale shades slowly waving its goodbye to the earth as the moon, which looked further away, came from the other side.
"Hm, I must agree. Although I enjoy sunrise more," Azira spoke, smiling at the woman who took a bittersweet look. "Ah, when you get to my age, your body gives out. Each sunrise means having to push its limits more. Another day of ache. It would be better if I died." She smiled as Azira looked at her with wide eyes; his white eyes didn't seem to disturb her. "Oh, don't say that. What about your children?" He spoke, a bit shocked, really. Humans all value their life. And if they don't, it's a loud affair, not the nice quiet this woman held in her shaking voice that trembled the same as her hand. Her wrinkles ran down her face, her tanned skin hatched to a gold in the light. Her hazel eyes looked up to the sun, slowing down the sandy dunes that were to their front. "My children are grown. They have lives, family. My husband, rest his soul, died years ago. I work like a farm animal for this empire." She spoke, a small smile still present at Azira, who looked at her sadly. "You really wish to die?" Azira spoke a murmur as the woman nodded slowly, unsure, unsure in the fact that Azira didn't seem like a normal man. He might just be a man that can make that happen.
About to leave, Azira rested his hand on her shoulder as she smiled, knowing. Azira moved his hand to the basket she carried on her back as he took it off her. Her back didn't pain; it felt light. So did her feet, as if walking right above the sandy floor. She walked home. Azira walked back to his 'home,' the same as the last time he was here, seeing Jesus. The man would be fully dead by now, he was sure. If not, he hoped God would have mercy, grant him the mercy as he did that woman.
The next day he walked over to the cart of apples, where he saw the woman. Now she was replaced with what seemed like a next of kin. He tugged a small smile. She had gone in her sleep. Mercy or not, he couldn't just demand her death; it was coming soon anyhow. He just gave her one last evening sun and one last night of painless sleep. She drifted from her world to the next. Death, a good friend of his, helped anyhow. She was in the area here, well, with Jesus, death was a big job indeed. And why not use his connections to the fullest?
"Azira."
"Beezlebulb! Just how have you been?" Azira spoke as Beezlebulb rolled their eyes. "Heavens boy has been crucified, I assume." They spoke in a buzzing undertone as Azira nodded. "Yes, although there is apparently to be a resurrection." Azira spoke as Beezlebulb's expression sank. Their once almost pleasant mood soured as fast as warm milk. "A resurrection, you say. Satan, Lucifer isn't going to be happy about this, you know. When did you find this out? You will need to be called in to him." Beezlebulb massaged their cranium, a human habit they picked up, not much unlike himself; he was sure he had a few 'quirks'. "Found out just today off the earth angel." Azira spoke; he didn't like going to see Lucifer, he had been twice now. One for his arrival and the second when he tempted Eve, his first achievement for the dark lord.
"Well, off you pop. Lucifer doesn't like waiting." Beezlebulb spoke. Azira swore he saw a small smirk plastered on their face as they descended into the ruby ground.
And not 5 seconds later, where Beezlebulb was greeted with rock, he was greeted with a scorching fire, Lucifer with his theater. He was pulled down as he landed with an 'oof'. Lucifer was looking out his huge window spanning the length of a whole wall of the room, over Hell's landscape. Devils savaged down below in the pit, as they call it. Azira was kept with a select few demons; they were reliable and they had the very few corporate bodies Lucifer found. Azira had his body from God; gift or not, he was grateful he could blend in with humans a lot more steadily than his colleagues. Lucifer turned around; soft white curls ran down to his shoulders, lovely ringlets that brushed his golden neck jewels that held up his garments, brushing his shoulders. With cherub cheeks and small, faint lips, pale skin that looked like it soaked up the moon's essence. Cheeks slightly pink and his lips always up-turned, he walked with a grace that isn't found down in these parts any longer. Although Azira knows as well as any demon, devil, sinner, and undead that behind those hope diamond eyes there was a sinister, predatory stare. Walking with glides towards Azira, he stood in front of him. Lucifer was around 6'8", towering over all beings in Hell, showing his status really. He smiled a tight smile.
"Ah, Azira, how has Earth been?" Hook.
"It's been well, nothing good." Azira nodded.
"Jesus's Crucifixion, a hard watch I say." Line.
"For Heaven's son, you could argue it is deserved." Azira spoke; he did dislike lying to a superior.
"And he is to stay dead?" Sinker.
"No."
"No?" Lucifer said, his eyes falling to Azira who stood very much below him. "I have heard from the earth angels, and rumors that Christ is to be resurrected in 13 moons." Azira spoke. Lucifer's eyes, once a lovely blue, seemed to darken. "And then what?" Lucifer spoke, his anger boiling. "Then the people are to see he is real, that Jesus is the prophet, sire." Azira spoke as Lucifer giggled. "Oh, a human a prophet! Don't make me laugh. I mean they are completely below us, and she sends the malicious ones down here with me! Inconceivable." Lucifer's smile widened slightly, taking his long black wings to his side. "Unsheathe your wings, Aziraphale. I do know how uncomfortable it is to hide them," Lucifer added, dripping with a comfort that he tried too hard to replicate. Certainly, as uncomfortable as they were, it was unheard of in Hell to show them. Since his arrival, his wings had never been shown down in these dark pits.
"As you wish." Azira unsheathed his wings as Lucifer looked with a focused gleam. As Lucifer glided across the floor, Azira stood still, heart beating loud, but he held the same expression. "Azira..." he whispered. The room, once a roaring warmth, turned a silent cold. "If I were to get a whiff of this 'earth angel contact' as anything more than just that... Oh my dear, I'd send you to Purgatory." He spoke, his long, nimble fingers with pointy nails slowly creeping up to Azira's neck. They caressed near his Adam's apple as Lucifer's chin sat on his shoulder, looking up at him with those impish eyes, a light glee found in playing his games. "No, light-bearer. They are nothing more," Azira mumbled, a shake to his voice as Lucifer wrapped his wings around Azira's shoulders. "'Cause if the..." Lucifer paused, a smile sounded. "Up," he coaxed, a pop to the end of the words, and a light laugh came after. "Found out, oh, authoritative Mother would not be nice to that poor, poor bête noire." He dripped in condescending bliss. "And you do know she likes to leave her... Mark. Our scars are the same, child." He spoke, running his nails down Azira's spine where his scar held strong, and then across his shoulder blades in a cross motion. "I won't let it happen again." He sunk his head, a rage building up in his throat, so much he could taste the metallic taste of his blood. "I expect so," Lucifer spoke, his wings unclasping the man as he, in the speed of light, stood before Azira once more.
"My gratitude is ceaseless." He spoke, his eyes closed tight. "If you encounter that earth angel once again, Azira, do I say I like their work. The Crab Nebula is a personal favorite. Maybe you are more like it, my little imp. Lethal radiation, high-velocity shock waves, and stellar winds. I mean, your conversations can strip the little thing of their title, just like that nebula strips atmospheres for its neighbor." A passive aggression reeking in his sweet tone. Lucifer walked back to his window before walking through it and going onto his porch to oversee all of his subjects. He looked back, a soft smile now back. And as fast as he came to see the light-bearer, he was taken back to his office in the damned.
Beelzebub, being near, peeked their head over as Azira groaned. "Our darkest lord isn't thrilled then?" Beelzebub smiled as Azira scoffed. "Take a chance." The people here in this department kept everything moving, the ones who fell with Lucifer. They don't know heaven, though. Morningstar made sure of that. These demons are completely loyal. Where the red little devils who drank and cheered all day were, there was a number like himself not like that.
Hell has different people for different jobs, devil's purely as Lucifers creation whitch is why they are kept in the pitt, useless ugly things. The damned, himself and his colleagues were in this sector, many here had access to earth, some didn't like Eric. Beezlebulb being the Duke of hell took that as their sector, they kept earth tarnished, tempted and forever hating (even if they do that on there own). The third was the Coven, where the humans were kept, some in very small cages, some in the burning sea of hell. Horrible humans were even scripted into trees, each branch a limb and even a twig being snapped sent harrowing pain as they screamed to high pitch it made your ears ring for minutes after. There were other methods as for one they could never stop walking, doesnt matter what pace, but there sullen deep purple legs that agonising pain made every step as bad if not worse than the last. Pitiful really. Then the undead a very small minority that lived upon the Coven humans. And Lucifers ugly little devils were the bearers of the humans pain.
Although Lucifer knew about Anthony. Knew exactly what Anthony does up in heaven. Satan, how was he foolish enough to think the Light bearer wouldn't notice.. but Anthony never left.. well until at the hostelry, he could have said no to the drinks. Not covered Aziras head with his wing all those years ago in Eden, but he is going to get Anthony in trouble the longer this goes on. Selfish as he is he doesnt want another fallen, for a good angel such as Anthony to be sent to the dark pits such as himself. He needs to keep distance.
A nebula.. flowing eminence of a dead star. A cosmic star nursery, Ofcourse Anthony would have his creations even in death be something so beautiful it can even be called a rebirth.
