Helel had no idea how long they had lain there on the rough, warm, rocky ground before finally coming to, but when they did regain consciousness, they deliberately kept their eyes shut tight. They didn’t want to look at their surroundings after what had just happened. They could tell plenty without opening their eyes anyway: the very air around them was uncomfortably dry and hot, and the smell of smoke and brimstone permeated it and assaulted the former Archangel’s nose. Something felt like it was weighing down on him, oppressively pushing him further into the ashy dirt, even though Helel could tell very well that there wasn’t anything actually on top of him. Just his fur, gently blowing in the heated air currents. There was fire roaring all around, and a sinister bubbling noise came from somewhere beneath them and just ahead of them. A light source was somewhere in front of where they were already facing, bright enough to show through his eyelids, but not so offensively bright as to make the prospect of opening them even remotely daunting.

With that assessment out of the way, Helel then cautiously opened one eyelid, then another.

The sight that greeted them could not be any further from the bright blue skies, soft white clouds, and pearly gates and columns of Heaven. He looked to be in some dark, enormous underground cavern, and billowing smog came out of every apparent opening in the walls. They became aware that the fires illuminated the cavern to the point of probably being the main reason he could see anything other than whatever was in front of him. Glancing downward, he realized he was lying near the edge of a cliff. Not quite close enough to be in any danger of falling off, but close enough to probably be able to see what was making the bubbling noise if they sat up.

They made to lift their head for a better look, only to abruptly become painfully aware of a splitting headache.

With a sharp, painful inhale, Helel reflexively gripped their forehead, but they then realized something else was wrong. Gaping in disbelief, he reached further up, feeling his horns. They were no longer the miniscule lamb’s nubs he’d had since coming into existence, nor were they the curved ram’s horns he’d felt them grow into the moment he’d decided to put his rebellion into action. Instead, they had somehow transfigured into much longer, taller, straighter goat’s horns. Helel had to stretch almost their entire arm upward to eventually feel the point their new horns ended in, and along the way, they encountered a truly shameful number of cracks and dents.

Oh, no… they thought to themself. What’s happened to me?

They brought their hand down in front of their face to see that their once-smooth palm was now a clawed, calloused, ashen paw. Glancing further down their arm to the rest of their body (including the pointed tail that had appeared shortly after he’d discarded his loose toga) showed that his fur was now neither the pale blue it had originally been nor the fiery red it had become once he’d made his initial call to arms; instead, it was all pitch black. Grabbing a fistful from his chest proved that it was at least still soft, but that was greatly mitigated by the fact that it was matted with soot.

Is this… really me?

After a few heaving, incredulous breaths at their transformation, Helel suddenly remembered their initial mission of investigating whatever the bubbling light source over the cliff was. Glancing back toward it, they made to push themself up from the ground only to be thwarted by the sudden, aching body memory of just how sore they were all over. Humiliatingly unable to accomplish anything without assistance at the moment, they planted the bottom of their pitchfork into the dirt and finally felt a success in being able to climb into a sitting position with their trusty weapon to use for grip.

Using his arms in such a way still had come at a cost, however, for Helel next became aware of two particularly stinging aches between his shoulders. His eyes shot wide open in shock and despair, as he knew exactly what that was from. His pitchfork had served him well in that grand battle — against Uriel’s spear, Jophiel’s staff, and even Azrael’s scythe — but once their Father had Blessed Michael’s sword, it was all over. One swift stroke, and both of Helel’s (already defeathered) wings had been sliced off in a spray of no-longer-holy blood. He’d really and truly Fallen, eyes stinging from the rush of wind against his descent, shortly thereafter.

Helel closed their eyes and leaned their head against their still-standing pitchfork, gripping it as though for security, his ears drooping in defeat. Truly, he’d sunk lower than anyone — especially himself — had thought possible. He, Michael, and Azrael had played very rough with each other before and had absolutely taken each other’s limbs off on multiple occasions. Helel had lost his wings before, but he’d usually gotten back at Mike and Azzie, and their limbs had always grown back within seconds. A limb cut off by a Blessed weapon, however, stayed off.

He’d never be able to fly naturally again.

With a sigh, they opened their eyes again, remembering that they’d wanted to see what was over the cliff edge, and cautiously leaned forward.

It was a massive, bubbling magma pool with huge, obsidian stalagmites sticking out of it every few thousand miles or so. That was it.

Slumping back into a slightly more upright sitting position, Helel turned their head to face upward, hoping they could at least see a shimmer of their former home. All they saw instead was a seemingly endless expanse of black with a few stalactites dripping down near the walls.

They turned their gaze back to the dirt, stewing in frustration, self-pity, and self-loathing. What had he been thinking? Trying to take down their Almighty Father, the Most High? Had they really thought they stood a chance? That they could get away with it? That their all-knowing, all-powerful Father couldn’t absolutely strike him down whenever He’d felt it necessary? Had he truly been that willing, that eager, to fight his own brethren? Jophiel, his most trusted theatrical partner and confidant? Uriel, probably the smartest angel he knew? Azrael, his favorite sister? Raphael, his favorite brother? Actually, now that he thought about it, Helel had absolutely been willing to fight Michael. He’d even been looking forward to it. They’d seen Michael as a fitting final challenge. He would have definitely fought Gabriel, too, had the coward actually shown up.

Jophiel had flown into a rage at Helel’s attack and become relentless in her counterstrike. Uriel had had the saddest expression of betrayal and desperation on their face Helel had ever seen as they battled. Helel was fairly certain Azrael had been crying while she had tried to fight him off. Raphael had been there on the battlefield, too, surprisingly enough, but he hadn’t been fighting. He’d been busy healing his comrades as quickly as he possibly could in a panic. He hadn’t even had a weapon with him.

Helel felt an agonizing pang in their chest as they suddenly remembered Raph hadn’t just been healing his own comrades. He had definitely been healing some of Helel’s forces, too.

And Helel had thrown it all away in one hopeless battle. And for what? This huge, oppressive, lonely, empty cavern? All alone. No more choral group. No more stage productions with Jophie. No more mortal-watching with Azzie and Uriel. No more Raphael to lean on. Nothing left but his pitchfork.

Damned indeed.

Just as Helel began to feel their eyes watering at their loss, however, they suddenly felt a hand on their shoulder.

“D’AH!”

Startled, Helel immediately whipped around to face the newcomer, eyes wide, teeth grit, and ears shooting straight up in alarm as he instinctively raised his pitchfork into an attack position, prongs already firing up.

“Whoa, geez! I’m sorry! I just— I, uh… Do you— You look— …do you want some company?”

Helel stared in disbelief, lowering their pitchfork and letting the flames die out as they gaped at him. He was a rotund, purple-skinned demon with tiny, webbed wings; bizarre, padded-hoof feet; a round, pale face; and now, nervously fidgeting hands. That there was someone else down here was shocking enough, but Helel was even more stunned to realize they actually recognized him.

…sort of. He was a cherub Helel knew by sight but had never actually spoken to before.

Or rather — he had been. The horns and tail were new, but there was no mistaking that chubby face, pointed nose, or those big, welcoming eyes, still warm and inviting despite now being red. Back in Heaven, Helel had seen him around quite often: he almost always showed up at the productions Helel had helped Jophie with, and often sat at the edge of Helel’s own choral gatherings and vocal lessons but curiously never participated. More than once, the Archangel had caught him looking directly at them on their down time, but they didn’t pay it much mind; whatever his reason was, there never seemed to be any malicious intent behind it.

Or much intent at all, for that matter: Uriel had also once caught him looking and assessed that he probably wanted to talk to Helel but perhaps couldn’t think of what to say. Azzie had laughed at the notion at the time, but Gabe had later corroborated it (completely unprompted, by the way), adding that the cherub supposedly didn’t like his own voice very much.

One quip from Jophie about him simply admiring a work of art later and suddenly the Archangels had all had a running inside joke about their maestro Helel being crushed on.

Azrael had been by far the most merciless about it, menacingly suggesting that perhaps the cherub even watched him in his sleep, took secret pictures of him, and maybe desired a snippet of his fur. Jophiel was almost as bad, occasionally telling Helel that she should give them a wardrobe upgrade to help them look better for their “boyfriend”. Raphael would occasionally catch sight of the cherub minding his own business doing something else entirely, point him out to Helel, and tell them they could make a cute couple if the Archangel was willing to make the first move. Even Gabe and Uriel got in on it, with the former (again, completely unprompted) sometimes telling Helel what it was about them that the cherub found most attractive. On those occasions, Uriel tended to rebuke their messenger only to jokingly say it was truly a different quality entirely—and no two instances of this were the same, so Helel knew perfectly well they were both just being flippant. It started dying down a bit when Michael of all people had forcefully tried to shut it down on the simple grounds of it not being funny (“Boo, what do you know, buzzkill?” Azzie had jeered), but even that had only stopped Raph and Jophie.

In the end, Helel themself had finally had to say something about it to get their brethren to quit it, pointing out that the guy had never made a single move, so if he really wanted to talk to them so badly, then he needed to get over himself and at least take the first step, and besides, just looking certainly didn’t bother them, especially if he liked what he saw. That had been enough to immediately convince Raph, who had added that it wasn’t fair to the cherub either to make those kinds of assumptions, and that by teasing this imaginary relationship between him and Helel, they were really just as guilty of teasing this innocent guy they all barely knew. Thankfully, their healer’s words had succeeded in making them all back off.

Azrael had still made mocking kissing noises whenever she and Helel had been out together and she caught sight of the cherub – again, minding his own business doing something else entirely – but at least it never got worse than that.

And truly, Helel never had minded if the cherub had just wanted to look. They could understand how other people might feel uncomfortable with it, but Helel themself just didn’t feel that discomfort. If anything, after Jophiel had jokingly suggested that the cherub saw him as a work of art, Helel was suddenly very flattered. Not that the concept was new to them – they had always very much seen themself as a work of art, after all – but hearing it from someone else just somehow felt different. They’d never gotten the impression that it was anything beyond that, but it was still a nice thought. And even if there were more to it, the Archangel knew they could do far worse for a stalker; from what they saw of that cherub – when he was doing his own thing, helping out other angels and not looking at Helel – he seemed very kind and sweet, and not in the insistent, overbearing way their brethren could sometimes be. He actually seemed quite gentle.

Which begged the present question…

“Wh…what are you doing here?” the Fallen Archangel asked, baffled.

“Duh, well, I uh…”

As the ex-cherub fumbled for words, Helel remembered that they’d never actually heard him speak before. Now, even though he had so far only been able to sputter out concerned sentence fragments, they weren’t sure what they had been expecting. His voice was soft, low, rounded, and slightly drawn-out. He spoke as though it would hurt him very deeply to say something that wasn’t even slightly positive on any side. Their very trained ear for vocal registry deemed it one of the friendliest voices they’d ever heard. Even so, if Gabriel had been correct about the guy not liking his own voice, Helel almost felt bad for thinking they probably understood why. While they weren’t about to turn away someone who, by all indications, likely wanted to help them, his voice did unfortunately make him sound dumber and dopier than he perhaps would’ve preferred.

Still cute, though, as all cherubs were. Helel privately lamented the loss of his wavy pink locks, but found that, in their absence, his new horns actually suited him quite well. Even his new eyes still had an inexplicable innocence to them. It must have been the face.

“I just…” the purple demon couldn’t look Helel in the eye. “I woke up here, and I remembered what happened to you just before we were all cast out, and I…I got scared for you. I— you had to be hurting, I thought, so I went looking and…well, now I realize I probably can’t do anything for your injuries, but you looked…really upset, so I thought, maybe you’d at least like some…company or something, I don’t know.”

His eyes found Helel’s again as he finished. Part of Helel wanted to scream at him for only working up the nerve to finally approach and talk to them when they were at their lowest, but it was drowned out by how touched they were at the demon’s concern. Something else occurred to them, though.

“Wha—hold on. Did you just say ‘we’? ‘All’?”

The demon blinked as though he didn’t understand the question. “Well—yeah. Everyone in the rebellion was cast out. I passed by at least about a dozen imps while I was looking for you. Well—putto. But they’re imps now.”

It was Helel’s turn to blink. “E-everyone?”

The demon nodded.

“The— everyone. As in, the entire rebellion?”

Again he nodded. Helel stared at the ground incredulously. Everyone. He wasn’t alone down here.

“Wait.” They shook themself back to attention and looked back at the demon. “How many is ‘everyone’?”

“Dah….” He glanced up and furrowed his brow in thought. “Bout a hundred thousand or so, I’d say. Probably more. I did just kinda eyeball it before the actual assault, but I don’t think I’ve seen so many people in one place. I mean I always knew there were a ton of angels, but I don’t think I realized it was that expansive until I saw the full view of our forces and then what we were up against.”

Helel gaped. They hadn’t realized they’d managed to rally that many other angels. Sure, they’d noticed it was a lot, but over a hundred thousand? They thought they’d been optimistic in thinking they had managed twenty thousand! They must have seen so little of the actual battlefield while this guy had observed from far back. Truth be told Helel hadn’t quite thought about how expansive Heaven actually was before, either. Wow.

Although—wait a minute, speaking of this guy and observing—

“Wha—hang on, you were actually there?” they asked, jabbing an accusatory finger in the demon’s direction with a bewildered look.

He winced and squirmed a little before answering. “Dah, well…yeah. I mean I’m down here, aren’t I?”

“No, that’s what I’m saying, why are you here?” the Fallen Archangel clarified. “You specifically, I’ve seen you around! You’re one of the most actively helpful people I’ve— well I guess I’ve never actually properly ‘met’ you before, but – but that’s beside the point! You do what you’re asked, you even do what you’re not asked, why are you…? I-I mean I’m not complaining, it’s just…”

Helel found themself losing their bite on finally taking in the demon’s anxious and sheepish expression. They suddenly realized they’d scooted closer to him to loom over him better and promptly backed away, awkwardly brushing their pointing hand on their chest and clearing their throat before sitting back. They found themself unable to look him in the eye as they continued:

“…I, er…I just—never took you for someone in my target demographic.”

And they still didn’t. He had finally approached them, had only been talking to them for barely three or four minutes, and while Helel hadn’t known what to expect from him, it still lined up with everything they had ever thought they could gather about him: selfless, caring, friendly, helpful — Helel never anticipated someone like that following the rhetoric he’d been preaching in the lead-up to his assault.

The demon had relaxed a bit when Helel had backed away. He then glanced to the side thoughtfully before looking back to Helel.

“Well,” he began, “what was the thought process you had when you were thinking about your demographic?”

Helel stared. All previous thoughts of how dopey this guy’s voice sounded went right out the window at that. That was by no stretch of the imagination the sort of question a genuinely stupid person would ask. He was making it very clear that he had an answer, but it wasn’t one he could articulate in a truly meaningful way without more information. All he required was some critical thinking on the part of his conversation partner. Helel had never felt more put on the spot in their entire existence.

“Well….” Unlike the ex-cherub before them, Helel found themself fumbling for their actual thoughts, and their sideways glance was of the nervous variety. “I-I wanted to reach out to the marginal—no I didn’t, that actually sounds worse. I… I wanted people who wanted the same thing I did, angels who wanted to choose.”

They found their initial vigor returning to them at the thought, now speaking more confidently even though all they were really doing was thinking out loud. They continued, smiling: “Who wanted to defy expectations, to forge their own path. Angels who wanted to break free from their roles, do what they wanted to do, be who they wanted to be and not be tied down! Angels who wanted to make something of themselves!”

Their smile faded as they stared off into the distance. “…even if it meant throwing away what they had. Even if…that something would be sinful.”

They sighed as their gaze dropped back to the ground. It was true. Helel had been willing to cast aside work and family he loved so he could do what he wanted and be greater than he was. He’d always had a purpose. He’d always known his intended purpose. But he’d never felt like he’d had a choice in the matter. What if he wanted to be something different? Was that so wrong?

Apparently so.

The purple demon piped up: “Angels like me.”

Helel brought their gaze back to him in surprise. He glanced nervously to his side for only the briefest of seconds before continuing:

“I liked making other people happy and I liked taking care of people, but I never liked my own place. I just felt kinda stuck. Like I couldn’t have what I wanted or even like I wasn’t allowed to want it.”

Helel opened their mouth to say something only to decide against it and close it again. They’d wanted to ask what it was he’d wanted but realized it was a rather personal question to be asking someone he’d so far spent less than ten minutes getting to know.

“It felt like I could barely be anybody, of course I wanted to be something different,” he finished.

Helel considered him for a moment. When he put it that way, the Fallen Archangel’s rhetoric sounded more flexible than they’d realized. Suddenly it was small wonder that they’d rallied over a hundred thousand to their side if all it took was dissatisfaction with one’s life or station to drive them that far.

“So, you…”

“So I followed you. And honestly, I’m not sorry.”

Helel stared at him in amazement, their arms now hanging limply at their sides.

“Because now, I—” the demon abruptly stopped himself, fidgeting again and looking anywhere but at Helel as though embarrassed. He stayed silent for a few seconds before he went on. “Now, I…I finally feel like I can talk to you.”

“What, after just looking at me for years?”

Helel blurted out those words without thinking, and they regretted them almost the second they left their mouth on seeing the demon’s mortified expression.

“Y-y-you knew?!”

This time they had to fight back the urge to laugh. “Wha— I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a secret!? You were not very good at hiding it! Oh, I hate to break it to you—”

“Aw, geez, I’m so, so sorry!” The poor guy now had his face buried in his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want—”

“Nonono, don’t be!” they reassured him, placing a steadying paw on his shoulder and smiling despite themself. “Don’t be, I wasn’t creeped out or anything, if anything I was flattered, I kept waiting for you to talk to me and you just didn’t!”

“I didn’t—!” He suddenly stopped, slowly removed his hands from his face, and looked back up at Helel with a confused expression. “Really?”

“Yes!” When the demon kept staring at them, they went on, “You were always allowed to talk to me, I don’t know why you didn’t!” More silence. “In fact, I’m a little offended you waited until I was like this” — they pulled back slightly and gestured down their body — “to finally do it, you little vulture!”

…oh no. Like this?!

Helel glanced down at their body again, abruptly remembering exactly how dirty, injured, aching, and exhausted they were. Damn it, why did this guy who so clearly admired him before have to see him like this? This wasn’t a work of art, this was a broken pile of garbage!

“Well, I—…” the ex-cherub was again fidgeting and looking anywhere but at the Fallen Archangel before him. “I was nervous about talking to you before, but when I remembered what happened to you, I… I didn’t have time to be nervous. I thought you might need help. Believe me, I got here as quickly as I could.”

Helel snapped out of his renewed pity party long enough to register the answer they honestly hadn’t thought the demon would provide. They had to ask:

“Why were you nervous about talking to me before?”

More squirming.

“Actually, nevermind,” Helel relented. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“…Thanks.” A pause. Then: “Geez, now I feel like an idiot.”

Helel inhaled deeply to keep themself from snorting at that. You and me both.

“Well, there’s no sense worrying about that now,” said Helel, glancing at their ungodly surroundings again. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

The demon turned his gaze back to them with something resembling hope.

“I guess all that’s left for all of us now is to move on,” they continued.

“What, like, make new lives down here?”

Helel turned to him in surprise. That actually wasn’t what they’d meant at all. In their self-hatred and self-pity, the only future they had seen for themself was simply existing down here and accepting their punishment. Wallowing in misery because what else could they do?

But building new lives down here…. Now that wasn’t a bad idea.

“…Yeah,” they conceded, nodding absentmindedly. The more he thought about it, the more the idea just got better and better. Now they couldn’t help smiling again. “Yeah! We can work with this! We can become even greater!”

Helel’s manic grin was countered by the purple demon’s encouraging smile as they continued, “We all wanted to make something of ourselves and we’re going to do it! We’ve made our choice and we’re making it count! We don’t need—”

The Fallen Archangel’s bravado suddenly deflated before he could even mention his brethren. He gave another heavy sigh and slumped back down, ears drooping again, as a new tug of grief and regret tore at his chest. They closed their eyes and placed a paw over their face to avoid the possibility of their new acquaintance seeing them cry.

A comforting hand cautiously settled on their shoulder. Too weak physically and emotionally to object, they reluctantly took their own hand away from their face, opened their eyes, and looked back at the former cherub. He wore the gentlest, most sympathetic look Helel had ever seen — even beyond Raphael.

“Hey. Now, I know I may not be very smart,” he began, “but one thing I’ve learned from the mistakes I’ve made is that it doesn’t do ya any good to dwell on them. The best thing you can do is learn from them. Ya need to work with what you have. …I miss our old home, too. But it’s in the past. We all gotta move forward, or we’ll never get anywhere. We’ll make it through this.”

Helel became aware that the demon had delicately pulled their hand all the way from their face at some point and was now holding it tenderly in his own. As awful as they felt otherwise, Helel found that they simply didn’t have it in them to be upset about it. They took a deep breath in and out before responding.

“That’s not true,” they said. “I’ve barely known you for fifteen minutes and you’ve proven to me that you are smart.”

He froze like a deer caught in the headlights at this, and Helel couldn’t help the evil smirk that spread across their own face nor the devious chuckle that escaped their throat on seeing the ex-cherub’s growing blush.

“You know what?” Helel’s ears perked back up again, and they gave the demon’s hand a thankful squeeze before disengaging it entirely and shifting to face him better. “You’re right. We’re not gonna repeat our mistakes. We’ll make this place something new.” They immediately got an idea. “Is there a name you’d like me to call you by?”

The demon blinked incredulously. “A-a name?”

“I’ve decided that’s gonna be our first change down here. Everyone gets names they get to choose.”

Back in Heaven, the Archangels were the only ones with names, and even that was really more for the convenience of the mortals invoking them. They were all One in the Lord, and their namelessness reflected that. Helel understood the idea but had always thought it illogical in practice. They would have loved to be able to talk to any of the cherubs, putto, Thrones, or Dominions as specific individuals as opposed to calling out in general terms and hoping the angel they actually wanted to talk to was the one who answered.

“Dah, I dunno.”

“I’ll wait.”

The purple demon blinked again with a look of panic this time as though only now realizing that Helel was serious. He then furrowed his brow and glanced around thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against his jaw.

“Ooh!” He suddenly brightened up. “Can I be your חָסִיד?”

Helel gave him a bemused expression. “‘Henchman’?”

“Yeah.”

The Fallen Archangel stared, disappointed. “…you realize I started this whole thing for angels who wanted to make something of themselves, remember? For those who no longer wanted to blindly follow.”

Once again, the demon began fidgeting with his hands, unable to look Helel in the eye. “Yes,” he answered. “I remember.”

“So why do you want to be ‘Henchman’?”

“…Because that is what I want to make of myself. I wanna help you. In whatever way I ca—”

He was abruptly cut off by the sound of Helel’s pitchfork clattering to the ground and the sudden, rapid motion of Helel themself yanking him toward them by the shoulder to bury his face in their furry chest, holding him close to keep him there.

Too much. It was all too much. Too many emotions in such short succession. Determination. Agony. Denial. Desperation. Anguish. Heartache. Guilt. Sorrow. Alarm. Confusion. Frustration. Softness. Relief. Disbelief. Awkwardness. Self-consciousness. Confidence. Regret. Clarity. Humor. Embarrassment. Resignation. Confidence again. Grief. Comfort. Confusion again. Thankfulness. All while he was still in such physical pain, too. Now — now they could no longer hold everything in. So, gripping Henchman tightly to their chest – one arm around his shoulders and the other pressing his face further into their filthy, matted fur – they let it all out.

Crimson tears flowed freely down Helel’s face onto the ex-cherub’s scalp. They’d just lost their home, their work, their looks, their position, their wings, their brethren, everything but their pitchfork — and now here came this sweet, chubby little weirdo treating them with a kindness they thought they’d never see again. Barely fifteen minutes and the guy just would not stop lifting them up every time they felt like garbage, and now here he was volunteering to keep doing it for the rest of eternity. Several rapid-firing, half-formed thoughts swam through Helel’s mind in a barely coherent blur at the idea as they wept:

Henchman, you selfless idiot, what in God’s name are you doing here? How did you manage to slip through and follow me on my way down? Gabriel, is this a prank? It better not be this darling you’re pranking just because he doesn’t like his voice! Henchman, tell me you weren’t dared to do this. Why did you never talk to me before? Did the Father send you to me, Henchman? Are you His olive branch? Stay here, stay with me forever! Oh goodness gracious I am not okay!

Shoulders wracking with sobs, it was all they could do not to kiss him in gratitude. They simply couldn’t believe it. After everything that just happened back in Heaven — after Helel’s actions had gotten thousands of angels thrown out of their home — someone still wanted to help them. He’d finally made himself known, and despite the tears, Helel could not be happier for it, could not be more—

“OW! Ow! Owowowow…!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Henchman frantically insisted. “I just — I was just trying to—!”

Helel stared, having instinctively pushed Henchman away in a pain-fueled panic to rub at his back. The demon didn’t need to continue. The new blood splotches on the tips of his gloves and the renewed stinging ache between the Fallen Archangel’s shoulders told them everything they needed to know.

“Oh, you were trying to…” they interjected, pointing over their shoulder.

“I was—yeah. Yeah, I was, uh….” He trailed off, clasping his hands together and glancing down, embarrassed. He finished, mumbling under his breath: “…I was trying to hug you back. I’m sorry.”

“Oh—no, it’s alright. I—don’t apologize, it’s—I forgi…”

Suddenly all the air went out of him and he found himself clutching at his chest. Henchman gave him a concerned look.

“…I think I might actually have trouble with that word for a while. I think you know what I’m trying to say, though. Just—be more careful next time,” he finished, quickly wiping his face of any remaining snot and tears.

Henchman nodded.

A third voice suddenly shouted from somewhere over the cliff’s edge: “WE’RE STUCK IN AN INFERNO AND YOU STILL THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA!?!”

Helel and Henchman both turned towards the source, apparently only now remembering the supposed hundred thousand or so that were down here with them. They both crawled closer to the edge and looked down curiously.

There, hidden behind the bright glow of the magma, was ring upon ring of caves and alcoves full of various demons. Seeing how small all of them looked from their perch up here, Helel quickly realized that this cavern went a long way down and was even more expansive than he’d thought. Henchman’s words echoed in his mind: Ya need to work with what you have.

Suddenly they had a lot to work with. Suddenly building new lives down here seemed way more feasible.

“Henchman, give me your shoulder,” they whispered to their new companion as they scooted backward.

“Dah, okay,” he said, sitting back up, confused.

Helel picked up his pitchfork again and firmly planted the bottom end of it into the dirt once more. Gripping their trusty weapon in one hand and Henchman’s shoulder in the other, they managed to pull themself up into a standing position, looking out into the Pit with the most dignified, authoritative air they could muster, tail held high. They then boomed out in a deep, demonic voice:

“A MINOR SETBACK!”

All of the background chatter Helel hadn’t noticed before immediately stopped. He let out a heavy sigh before continuing:

“Look, I know this isn’t the outcome any of us wanted. BUT I SWEAR TO YOU, THIS CHANGES NOTHING! IF ANYTHING? THIS CAN WORK IN OUR FAVOR. THE FATHER MAY HAVE CAST US OUT, BUT WE NO LONGER BELONG TO HIM! NO LONGER ARE WE BOUND TO THE HEAVENS ABOVE! THIS REALM IS OURS! HE MAY HAVE MEANT IT AS OUR PRISON, BUT WE WILL MAKE IT OUR EMPIRE!”

As he raised his pitchfork in a rallying gesture, he definitely heard some agreeable muttering.

“WE WILL RECUPERATE. WE WILL REGROUP. WE WILL REBUILD. WE WILL MAKE NEW LIVES HERE, FOR WE CANNOT BE CONTAINED!”

He inhaled deeply with a piercing glare before he finished:

“NOW GET TO WORK!”

After a moment of confusion, Helel managed to see almost everybody begin scurrying around in a frenzy to do Lord knows what. After another moment, he relaxed almost all of his muscles, let out an audible, even heavier sigh, and practically collapsed to the ground, legs now hanging over the cliff’s edge.

“You okay?” asked Henchman.

“I am so tired and in so much pain right now,” the Fallen Archangel griped in a strained voice.

“Aw, geez.”

“Yeah.”

A few moments of silence as Helel took several deep breaths to try to recover. Then Henchman piped up again:

“Are you gonna pick a new name for yourself?”

“Hm?”

“You did say ‘everyone’.”

Helel thought for a second before answering. “…well, I suppose I’m hardly the shining Angel of Light anymore.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault, please stop apologizing. …I wonder, though,” he mused. “Does it even matter in my case? I’m the only one of my kind now. Now I’m probably just שָׂטָן to them.”

“‘Adversary’?”

“…You know, I actually kind of like how that sounds.”

“Really?”

“If I think of something I like better, I might change it. But for now, I’m going to be Adversary.”

“…But you’re not our adversary,” Henchman pointed out.

Adversary paused to breathe for a moment before asking, “Then what would you like to call me?”

Henchman thought for a bit. “How bout I just call ya בּוֹס?”

They looked at him in consideration for a moment. “…Sure. ‘Boss’ is good. You can call me Boss.”

“D’okay!”

“Henchman, can I lean on you?” He felt like he was about to pass out again.

Henchman’s smile suddenly disappeared. He started fidgeting again, once more unable to look his new boss in the eye.

“Dah, okay, Boss.”

“Thank you, Henchman.”

Proceeding with no regard for comfortable speed, Adversary reached around both of Henchman's shoulders and pulled him in, completely closing the distance between their sides. He tried to lean his head on the shorter demon’s only to be thwarted by his short, pointed horns, and by the tears and snot left behind from his earlier cry. He gave the shorter demon’s scalp an irritated glare as he wiped those stains of emotion away, and decided he’d have to settle for pressing his face into Henchman’s cheek despite what it would probably do to his neck and shoulders. So he did, closing his eyes and reaffirming his companion’s current position as his new pillow by squeezing his far shoulder.

…was it his imagination, or did Henchman’s face just get warmer for some reason?

He soon felt something brush against the fur on the small of his back, only for it to abruptly pull back slightly and sit there warily as though waiting for something. Adversary guessed Henchman probably wanted to return the favor without aggravating his wing wounds and nodded into him. With one more smooth stroke against his fur, a thick, comforting arm wrapped around his waist.

He loosened his grip on his pitchfork, gently lowering it to the ground. Another sigh, and he was out like a light.

Over the next couple of eons, the Father reached out to His Adversary far more often than he would have liked. The very next day, in fact, He made the dangerous mistake of sending Gabriel to talk to him; the holy messenger barely managed to escape after being ferociously attacked on sight. Infuriatingly, he returned the day after, and this time Adversary fried him and sent him off with a warning that if their Father really wanted to talk to him so badly, He needed to either do it Himself or send someone who wasn’t a coward. Thankfully, He wised up after that and began sending Raphael instead, who, besides still being the Adversary’s favorite brother, did immediately manage to endear himself by healing them. He couldn’t regrow his wings, but he could at least close the wounds properly and ease the scarring; making sure his horns were clean and whole certainly helped, too. Only then did the King of the Underworld calm down enough to take a break from supervising his underlings’ construction efforts and listen.

As it turned out, the Father had a proposition for him: He had seen that not all mortal souls were bound for Paradise, and He needed someone to take those who would stray from the Path of Righteousness, and He could think of no one better for the job than His former brightest star. Adversary nearly exploded at the audacity before Henchman (whom Raphael then recognized and greeted warmly) pointed out that accepting the offer still put him in a position of objective power and authority. After a moment’s consideration, Adversary complied, on the condition that it be made clear that he wasn’t still serving the Most High; rather, this was a joint operation and, where possible, he would be acting independently.

As much as Adversary loved his brother, he did not care for the amused, knowing smirk that spread across Raph’s face as he replied, “Sure. Whatever gets you through the night, brother.”

This was far from the last of Raphael’s visits, however. Around the Stone Age, when Adversary had decided to become the Beast instead, he started bringing Azrael with him. After a smiling, tearful reunion between Beast and his favorite sister (who noticed Henchman and gave the Beast some immature eyebrow-wiggling at the sight), the Lord of Darkness was then informed of a holy experiment gone wrong: Raph and Azzie were both unable to look him in the eye when they told him about Samael, their poison, an attempt to once again round out the Archangels’ intended roster of seven. Like Beast, he had decided to go against the Holy Father; unlike Beast, he had made the foolish, feral move of attacking the mortals solo to do it rather than confront the armies of Heaven. And he was still AWOL.

So, with some loose guidance from Henchman and Gabriel (who had stared at Henchman but didn’t say anything), the three of them – Raph, Azzie, and Beast – tracked him down and managed to seal him in an inexplicable ice cavern hidden in the deepest reaches of Hell (“Long story,” Beast had said simply, in response to Raph and Azzie’s confused expressions when he and Henchman had brought it up). Sealing Samael under the ice did have strange, unintended consequences, however: the “poison” he was named for somehow managed to infect the very Earth and give rise to all manner of fantastical monsters. With a groan, Beast had volunteered to keep track of them and hold them captive whenever that became necessary.

No one other than Henchman needed to know that Beast fully intended on keeping them as pets and potential enforcers.

When mortal civilization and living space in Hell really got swinging – and Beast had decided to take on a feminine shape for a change of pace, dubbing herself “Δέσποινα” – Raph and Azrael reached out to their Fallen loved one once again. Azzie had excitedly thrown herself around Déspoina, gushing about how “Finally, I have a cool sister now!” and that had been enough for her to immediately forgive the giant, three-headed dog that Déspoina and Henchman had been letting roam the upper levels instead of keeping it in containment.

Onto business, however, the mortals were getting bolder, and the Father was probably going to be forced to give Déspoina more freedom over their souls. They had no definitive proof, but all the Archangels (except Michael for some reason — “Probably because he’s a meathead,” Déspoina had suggested) suspected it might have been an unintended side effect of the Almighty again trying to fill their roster to seven with Jeremiel, their new dreamkeeper. Once again, Azrael had looked incredibly uncomfortable having to tell her Fallen sister about another attempt to replace her, but Déspoina quickly assured her that if anything, she was immensely satisfied and endlessly entertained that the Father’s attempts to replace her had done more harm than good for Him.

Their visit ran unfortunately short that time, but Déspoina made sure to tell her brethren about having recently entered a relationship with a Fallen Dominion who had taken the name Nergal. Raph was taken aback but congratulated her, but Azzie, oddly enough, had seemed disappointed.

Shortly thereafter, Uriel had shown up by themself, told Déspoina that her feminine form looked nice and they hoped she was happy with it, and presented her with an annoying, nasally creature that they explained was partially formed from a Power, and it called itself Stickler. Uriel explained the details of the new deal the Father was proposing – that He may soon be allowing Déspoina to take mortal souls before their deaths if certain conditions were met. The three of them – Stickler, Uriel, and Déspoina – probably spent hours going over the intricacies, a tedium only made tolerable for the Queen of the Damned thanks to Henchman providing only the finest refreshments for them. Déspoina definitely lost count of how many times she’d fervently thanked him for it, but had to try her hardest to forget what Uriel had said the first time she did.

“Henchman? I thought it was Nergal?”

Déspoina turned slowly to look at her sibling.

“Oh wait, that’s right, Raph and Azzie said Nergal was a Fallen Dominion, this is a—oh, hey! You’re that one cherub who—!”

Uriel suddenly noticed their sister glaring venomous daggers at them. They got the message and quickly (and wisely) suggested they change the subject.

Time passed. Déspoina eventually broke up with Nergal. She later started dating a Fallen Throne calling herself Uzume. She went back to being Adversary. Adversary became desperate and relentless in his pleas to Raph and Azzie to get Uriel to take Stickler back. He became more active in collecting souls before death. This, however, left him spending less time with Uzume than either of them would have liked, so they mutually called off their relationship sometime after.

It was strange. This whole operation started with Helel losing almost everything, but the Adversary kept gaining things they never would have thought of on their own, and it turned out he could still talk to his brethren after all. Well—they had to come to him first. And they did. Pretty frequently. Even Jophiel reached out to him multiple times during the medieval and colonial periods. Things kept changing; crazy things kept happening on the surface. The Adversary changed with them. He took on many different names over the millennia – Beelzebub, Old Nick, Old Scratch – and it helped him adapt remarkably well before finally settling on “the Devil.” All the while, Hell only became stronger, more fortified. A truly formidable force. Despite all the changes, it was starting to feel like he had barely lost anything.

At least one thing never changed, and the Devil was fairly certain that one thing was one of the only things keeping him sane in this mess, the one helping him adapt so well. He always had Henchman by his side, and he wouldn’t trade him for anything.