A/N: Hi all! Basically, I lost a bet, and so here's a short piece centred around my least favourite character of Makai Ouji and another who never even appears on-screen. It's five conversations between the two of them, taking place at regular intervals over the space of about 8 years - my attempt to explain their shared history. And it's not even slightly canon. I don't know where most of this came from...

I would say that I hope you have more fun reading this than I did when I was writing it, but I'm not sure that's physically possible. Enjoy! ~CS

The Devil and the King of Israel, Act I

By CrimsonStarbird

"Angel!"

He opened his eyes to the sound of that incredulous voice. Unperturbed by the alien surroundings, or by the stranger who had spoken, he stretched; first with lithe arms and then with his great feathered wings. Many things were as he remembered: the breeze caressing his hair, the weight on his feet, the dryness of the air and the thirst of skin in the heat. These were the things that would never change.

"Ha! I actually did it! I summoned an angel!"

Many things were different. He glanced at the boy who had spoken, found him utterly uninteresting, and proceeded to examine his surroundings instead. Sun on stone and wind on stone; this was the dwelling place of humans, who feared nature's touch. There were many curiosities, things which had not been there to see the last time he had come to this world.

He took a step forwards and found that the motion came easily to him. The crisscross of ribbons around his lower legs tightened and relaxed with familial ease; mites of dust in the air swayed and danced with every step he took. He proceeded to explore the room in which he found himself with happy obliviousness.

"But- but-!" The triumphant declaration of victory became a startled stammer with barely a moment's pause. "You can't do that!"

He looked at the boy, and spoke himself, for the first time, with perfect curiosity. "Why ever not?"

"Because I've summoned and bound you, Angel! By the ancient rites, you must remain inside the magic circle-"

The one that the boy had called Angel cast an innocent glance over his shoulder, as if surprised to see the circle of chalk runes which he had left behind a long time ago. With a casual 'who, me?' shrug, he resumed his exploration.

"But I don't understand!" protested the boy. "You should be bound, for I am your master! I called you here and I – hey!"

Angel, who had not been listening, had reached the boy's most precious corner of the room, where necessary furniture and signs of regular living were replaced by towers of books. They would have been stacked to the ceiling if the boy could reach that high. Each one was leather-bound and handwritten; each one was clearly treasured by the boy, if he was indeed their owner, and each one was far more important than he was. Still, to him, they were as uninteresting as their student. He drew his finger across the top of one pile, frowning, and raised it towards his face as if – of all things – he was checking for dust.

"It's not like I have time to clean this whole room! I have far more important things to be doing!"

"Like what?" Mild amusement; an adult indulging a child.

"Like summoning beings from other planes and binding them to my will!"

The one called Angel glanced at the boy, as if seeing him for the first time. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Don't mock me, Angel! I was given this power and this right, for I am Solomon the Wise, the son of King David, and I have been chosen by God!"

"Oh?" In such a lilting, melodious voice, that single sound was politely curious and subtly mocking. "A child like you, the chosen of God?"

"I'm not a child! I'm ten years old!"

"That seems somewhat contradictory," Angel mused.

"I'll teach you to make fun of me! I have summoned you, and I am your master!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes! My Ring of Wisdom is my witness; the magic circles drawn in my blood mark our contract, and by my power I have summoned and bound you-"

"Sure, sure." Bored again, he optimistically turned back to the piles of books. Even that couldn't be without incident; one of his wings, far too cumbersome in this physical form, sent a literary tower tumbling to the ground.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! And pick those up!"

"Do it yourself."

Comically enraged, the boy had one foot in the air before he stopped himself with a sharp intake of breath. "Wait! I see through your ploy, foul creature!"

"Hmm?" Barely listening.

"You're trying to make me leave the circle, aren't you? The first rule of summoning is not to leave your protective circle – everyone knows that!" Everyone who knew that also knew the reasoning behind it: the summoned creature ought not to be able to leave the magic circle you bound them into unless you first left yours, which seemed a little redundant in this situation. But in lieu of experience, the boy Solomon had only instinct to go on, and pride. "Well, tough luck. I'm too smart for you!"

"Oh no, my evil plan has been foiled, whatever shall I do?"

"Ha." Solomon folded his arms, skin too pale from lack of sunlight crossed over an even paler cloth robe. "What you're going to do is obey my commands, for I am your master, Angel!" Angel had resumed his exploration of the room, forcing Solomon to turn on the spot to keep an eye on him without crossing the line of the circle of runes. "And I order you – wait, stand still! – to grant my wish!"

"Oh?"

A satisfied smirk. "That's right- whoa!"

Without warning, Angel had leaned in over the circle's boundary and seized the boy's hand. The action was sudden, but not malicious; after the initial shock – Solomon was fairly certain he remembered reading that nothing he summoned should have been able to cross that magical circumference – it was indignation that caused him to try and pull his hand away. The other was having none of it. Though his fingers were gentle, they had the strength of iron, and he barely seemed to notice Solomon's distressed flailing.

He peered closely at the silver ring the boy wore on his finger. It was far too extravagant for an ordinary young boy of such a humble – the mountains of books excluded here – residence. No – it was the heritage of a king, and Angel, who knew such things better than anyone, could feel the authority it commanded. He reached out a finger to touch it before thinking better of it.

"I see," he remarked cheerfully, releasing the boy's hand at the same instant that Solomon decided to put all of his strength into pulling free. As a result, Solomon went flying backwards, tripped over a stick of chalk he had left just outside the summoning circle, and ended up sprawled flat on his back.

He pushed himself into a sitting position to glare up at Angel, who blinked innocently. "You did that on purpose!"

"Who, me? Never."

Solomon glanced angrily from the two now-vacant summoning circles to the great winged being standing in the centre of the room, and sighed. His eyes closed; his shoulders slumped. "Oh, what's the use? Go away. I'll dismiss you, or whatever."

"Really?" He seemed disappointed. "But then I won't get to hear your wish."

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"No, really, I'm all curious now."

The boy pouted. "I don't care any more."

"Then what was all that 'I summoned you, I am your master' about? I suppose you're just a child without conviction, after all."

"Stop calling me a child!"

Angel cocked his head to one side and waited. "I guess," Solomon muttered eventually, pushing himself to his feet and brushing himself down ineffectually, "That if you are going to grant my wish after all… you could probably stay a bit longer."

Angel removed a pile of books from the only chair in the room, despite Solomon's threatening glare, and sat down. With his oversized wings, it was difficult to get comfortable, but it was important for effect. "So, what is it you desire so much?" he asked, placing his hands together in his lap.

"What I want… what I really want – is to go outside."

They looked at each other in the silence. He was serious. Slowly, deliberately, Angel raised his hand and pointed at the door. When Solomon continued looking at him, still waiting for something dramatic to happen, he inquired, "Have you tried the door?"

"Of course I tried the door! It's locked, and my father has the only key. Even if it wasn't, it's kept guarded day and night by my father's soldiers. I'm a prisoner, here in this room. I've never been allowed to go anywhere else for as long as I can remember."

"I see. I suppose that makes this marginally more interesting."

"But every day," Solomon continued, "I sit at the window and I can see the world below. There's a town out there, and people to talk to, and traders and storytellers and even a library – where they have even more books than I do, can you believe that? I've read about all these things, but I've never been able to experience them, for I'm trapped in here. So that's why my wish is to go outside for a day, and see what the world is really like."

There was a long pause. Halfway through Solomon's speech, Angel had decided that the chair was too uncomfortable after all, and had stood up. Now he was too busy trying to straighten his wings to notice Solomon had finished speaking until the boy prompted, "So, what do you think?"

"Hmm? About what?"

"Well, you have wings, so I was thinking you could easily fly me out of the window and down to the market place. Then I can explore the city, and you can bring me back here at nightfall, and the king would never have to know that I was gone. What do you think?"

"Not interested, sorry."

"You are bound to obey my commands, Angel!"

"But helping out with such a mundane wish sounds so boring. For a moment, I really thought you were harbouring a fascinating secret desire."

Solomon frowned. "Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, becoming king."

"King? Why would I want to be the king?"

"Well, for starters, you wouldn't have to use forbidden summoning magic every time you wanted someone to talk to."

Scarlet embarrassment crept across Solomon's pale cheeks. "I did not call you here because I was lonely, it was so that you could fulfil my wish!"

"But it's such a boring wish!" Restless, Angel began pacing again, losing all interest in the boy once more.

"I don't think it's boring! And at least look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Angel did not. He was over by the single window now, drawn by the warmness of the breeze on his wings. He placed his hands on the stone sill and looked out over the town below; at the sandy buildings and the ant-like people. "Let me put it this way," he began. "What if, in your entire life, you only had one wish, and you spent it like that?"

"It'd be worth it, for that one day."

"In what way?"

"I'd be able to see things I've only read about, for one thing."

"And how will that help? Do you really think you'd be content with that? Once you've seen these things, once you've been free for a day, once you've seen the truth of the world out there, do you truly believe that you'll ever be satisfied being a prisoner for the rest of your life?"

"Yes." Stubborn, that boy, and still most certainly a child.

"It will change nothing for the better, and much for the worse, because you will be all the more aware of what you did not have, and will never have again."

"But-"

"Do you think that it will make you any happier, or any less worthless? You'll still be powerless. You'll still be a prisoner. If you ever want to achieve anything, you'll be dependent on others to help you for the rest of your life. To have but one wish, and to waste it on something so fleeting…"

"Shut up!" Solomon suddenly yelled. "Okay, so maybe it was a stupid wish. But it's still better than your idea!"

"Why?"

"I have absolutely no intention of being king. Leadership and responsibilities don't interest me at all. It's someone else's job. I only want to stay here and learn."

"Aren't you the son of the current king?"

"Only by blood; by name, he refuses to acknowledge me as an heir, and has locked me up here. Which suits me fine."

"Apart from not being able to see the outside world."

"Apart from that, which has no bearing whatsoever on me not being concerned with ruling anywhere."

"Also your utter powerlessness, and your contentment to live out your entire life as a prisoner."

"There are ways of achieving power in this world other than by becoming king."

"Not for you," Angel said, and smiled. Finally turning back to the room, he perched on the stone windowsill with white wings raised behind him, fixing the boy with bright eyes. "Unless the king is defeated, you will never leave this room."

Small, uncomfortable, and maybe even a little afraid. But still Solomon said, "So be it. I bear no ill will towards my father, and I have no wish to see him killed; not now, nor when I am old enough to rule myself."

"Very noble of you. Very short-sighted, and very foolish, of course. But even that would be acceptable, if it were the truth that you spoke."

"It is the truth!"

"Then are you to tell me that you have never desired revenge on your father, nor dreamt about claiming your birth-right, or finally achieving the freedom and power that presently you can only imagine?"

"I… I've thought about it. But it was never going to be a reality, so I gave it up, and I'm happy now."

"I can make it possible."

"Angel…" It was spoken as a warning, but not to the other.

"I am certain of it. Not now, but when you are old enough, you will become the king, and you will have true freedom. Something to fight for, and a reason to live – if you only had one wish, wouldn't that be a much better use for it than a single day-trip, soon over and quickly forgotten?"

"I… no! You're just trying to confuse me! I don't hate my father, I don't want to overthrow him, and I certainly don't ever want to be king!" At his side, his hands balled into fists. "Get out of here, Angel! I don't want to listen to your lies any more!

Angel had no intention of going anywhere, not now that things were getting interesting. "I believe you! Really, I do. But won't you just explain one thing to me?"

"What's that?" Solomon demanded, suspiciously.

"If it's true that you never want to be king, then why are you still wearing the Ring of Wisdom?"

"I don't know what you mean by that," the boy responded, and it was a lie.

"The ring that symbolizes wisdom; that was given to you, a mere child, by God himself, along with powers that men can only dream of – if you truly don't seek power, why do you wear it so proudly? If you don't wish to rule, then why summon me and bind me and seek to make me follow your orders? If you are truly content with living a pathetic life, safe within the walls of your prison, with only the dusty words of men far greater than you for company, then why do you introduce yourself as the one who was chosen by God? To prove your worth, to flaunt your own power, to see what you were truly capable of - isn't that the real reason why you called me here?"

"I… you… but…"

"You weren't given the wisdom of kings by God so that you could waste it in this prison for eternity. You were meant for so much more, and you know it."

"And you… can make it real?"

"Is it not the purpose of man's being to strive for more than he has? It is acceptable to dream; it is important to believe. You were chosen for a reason. If that is your wish, then I can promise you that it will come to pass."

Solomon averted his gaze. His hands were tight fists; the silver ring, worn on his thumb as it was still too big for his fingers, glittered in the shadows. "Then do it, Angel."

Only silence followed his solemn words. Silence, and guilt, and insecurity, and doubt. "Angel-" the boy tried again, looking back to the window, but the other had vanished. Alarmed, he glanced around, but he couldn't possibly have missed that figure. He ran to the window and leaned out, but the white-winged being he had named Angel was neither above nor below. He had gone.

After all, there was no longer a reason for him to stay. Children were boring, and far too easily swayed – even those, so it seemed, that God had chosen. It had been a pleasant diversion, while it had lasted, but the boy, though promising, had proven no different from any of the others in the end.