Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? - Genesis 3:1
o o o
Treachery snarled and gutted the angel with his claws. The angel screamed and died, but the gaping wound from its sword still arrowed through his body, and his lifeblood still gushed to the ground. No doubt, the wound was mortal.
Holding the ugly hole shut, Treachery staggered upright, surveying Paradise. Nephilim and angels fell, left and right, but too many of the former and too few of the latter. The battle was lost, just inside Eden's gates, and the nephilim would be wiped from the face of the world.
Perhaps not all. Not far from his position, Death and War fought back to back, power rising from them in terrible waves. Of course, the bastard traitors would thrive. There were others on their side that were not just surviving but flourishing, but it would not be enough. How could so few stand before so many of the Creator's perfected warriors and the traitor Horsemen? The nephilim were obsolete. They would fall.
Fresh pain gripped him, and he grit his teeth. He would not let go of this battle, not until all options were exhausted. They were betrayed, cast aside as if refuse, and denied paradise in favor of dust, pathetic dust-born creatures who even now cowered in fear and ignorance. And the angels doted on the sniveling beasts, ignoring their direct sires as primitive and corrupt. They would pay, they would all pay, and where strength had failed him, his mind had not. Not yet.
He wavered and fell to a knee, blood gushing anew from his body. He was in his death-throes, but he could still see, could still look- there. A serpent darted from its hole, waving panic-stricken lines between combatants and corpses, and it came too close. Treachery reached out with his power and ensnared the simple creature, forcing himself into the too-small mind. He'd have to leave some of himself behind; too much, maybe, but his body was dying and he could only last so long within another's shell. He wouldn't need what he had left. He kept his malice, his hatred, his plan and discarded the rest with a pang.
His body thudded to the dirt, already cooling. He slithered deeper into Eden.
The laws of Eden were known to all of its inhabitants, and the snake was no exception. Coldly, he reviewed the strict laws, smiling to himself. The humans were ignorant by design, and forbidden to eat of the fruits of the Trees of Knowledge and Life, as every other major creation of the Creator already had. They would live stupid, empty, short lives and die.
He would wait, until the battle was over, as long as he dared, then find one of them alone and speak to it, cajole it, convince it. Laws were so easily broken, and the ignorant were always the easiest to manipulate.