I work for Satan. Some scholars would argue that I am Satan, but I think that's taking it a little too far. I'm actually just his personal assistant.

However, I used to work for Yahweh, though I suppose most just call him "God" now. I was an archangel back then, when the Garden of Eden was new and men had not claimed the earth for their own. I worked for Him faithfully, doing His dirty work for the first ten generations of mankind, from Adam to Noah. I was a messenger, a guardian, a lapdog, anything He wanted me to be. I even hunted wrongdoers for him, sullying my hands with their blood and sins. But, in the end, even a dog gets tired of being kicked.

The days blurred into years, the years into centuries, every moment filled the same old bitterness, until I saw her. It's really quite amazing how little you look down when you work in the clouds. But I did, one day, and I saw her hair shining up to the heavens like spun gold. I could hear the echoes of her laughter, bouncing off the mountain peaks and spinning up into the wide blue sky, the laughter so clear that it broke my soul.

Rain poured down in sheets as I descended to Earth, and the dark clouds above rumbled with God's disapproval. She was running, hands above her head in a futile attempt to ward off the downpour of water. Suddenly, she stumbled, and I instinctively reached out to catch her. My wings unfolded above our heads, shielding her from the storm. Lightning crackled above us, and I marveled at the sensation of her fragile mortal body shivering in my arms. Her beauty was ephemeral, I knew, but it made her even more precious, for though I felt the rapid fluttering of her mortal soul, I could also feel the vitality that simmered just beneath her skin.

I had been saved. She was my salvation. I continued to believe this for all the years we spent together – finally, I saw the meaning in life, laughing with her in the sunshine and holding her hand in the rain.

I was the first of the two hundred fallen angels that abandoned the constellations of the night sky to find the lights on earth. I fathered the first of the Nephilim, heroes of legend, beings that were both mortal and divine.

But she died, and the flood came. The Nephilim drowned with the rest of the tiny mortals, and I could hear their heartbeats fading as the deluge snuffed out the fires of their lives, one by one. It was meant to cleanse the world of its sins, but I believe it was a purge targeted towards those like me, the angels who traded their divinity for a heart.

I desperately wanted to return to heaven, to follow her soul as it floated away and leave behind the ravaged earth. But a fallen star can never return to its place in the sky, and the cosmos evolved without me.

As time went on, I tried to help these new, postdiluvian humans from my place on the ground; I used what remained of my former power to shield them from disasters and bring joy to their brief times on earth. But they listened to their god more than they did me, and He taught them to resent me. They followed Him blindly, listening to His lies and pointing their fingers at me. They learned to blame me for calamity, and I, in turn, gave up on them. If the world will always reject me, then I have every right to reject the world.

So now, I've made a new home for myself in the dark. I've become a desert demon, so I won't think of her when it rains. I thrive in hellfire. I fight God. I bathe the land in the blood of the humans I once treasured.

This existence suits me far better; my name, Azazel, means "to purge". I once scoured the earth of the unworthy, but now none are spared from my war of annihilation. I've terrorized humans for the last few millennia, and I've come to delight in their screams. I think the world's more beautiful this way, because the light is so much brighter when it's surrounded by darkness.

The celestial and the mortal have nothing on the infernal. If I can't reach heaven, then I will raise hell.