Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or events from Supernatural, which are property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Nor do I own the characters or events from Good Omens, written by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Please don't sue me. This is a fanwork, and I receive no money for doing this, only an author's creative satisfaction. :3
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Title: The Fifth World
Chapter 3/24
Word Count: 13,365
Fandoms: Supernatural & Good Omens
Characters: The Seven Archangels, Guardian Angel of the Eastern Gate of Eden, Serpent of Eden
Warning(s): Language, some violence, alcohol.
Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Post Date: Friday, July 6, 2012
Anno Domini 2,002 = "In the Year of Our Lord 2002" (AD 2002)
Annis Domini 1,995 ad 2,004 = "In the Years of Our Lord 1995 to 2004"
Anno 4,004 Ante Christum = "Year 4004 Before Christ" (4004 BC)
: : : = Change in P.O.V.
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2 Corinthians 7:06
Though if I should wish to boast, I would not be a fool, for I would be speaking the truth; but I refrain from it, so that no one may think more of them than he sees in me or hears from me.
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-Anno 4,004 Ante Christum-
It was the morning of the Eleventh Day, and all had not gone well in Heaven. On the Sixth Day God had created Man, and on the morning of the Ninth He had proclaimed that all angels were to bow down to Man, and love and revere him more than Himself. The second-youngest of the Seven Archangels, Lucifer, had visited Earth on the Tenth Day to observe Man, and had witnessed his Father's command for them to not eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He had flown home in a state of great agitation, and his younger brother Gabriel and older brother Raphael had tried to calm him, but to no avail. No, Lucifer would not be detained. He strode up to their Father's throne and laid out his opinion before him, calling humans 'flawed creatures' not deserving of Father's divine attention and mercy. His brother Michael—who loved Lucifer the most—had chastised him, sharply, at that. Lucifer had snapped at him in return. Uriel, Aniel and Zaphiel—the three oldest Archangels—stood silently by, but their faces were sad. Lucifer resumed his tirade, calling the existence of Man and Woman a mistake, saying they would only ruin the gem of a planet over which they had been given dominion. He pleaded with Father that wouldn't the beautiful world He had created simply be better off without them?
At this, Zaphiel stepped forth, defending God's decision, saying that if Father had meant to create Man and Woman with such supposed 'flaws', how could they truly be flaws? Lucifer had turned at him in anger, then—always the favorite, always used to getting his way—and Zaphiel felt the sad eyes of his elder siblings Uriel and Aniel upon him as they comforted the younger set of Raphael and Gabriel. Michael, Zaphiel knew, was standing alone to the side, riddled with pain over Lucifer's decision to speak out. It also burned Zaphiel's heart to argue with his brother, but he worried that Father might punish Lucifer if he did not rescind what he had said. Lucifer could still earn Forgiveness if he would only admit his err in judgment, Zaphiel pleaded, taking his brother's arm and looking into his eyes.
But Lucifer threw him off, shaking his head and spreading his wings out before Father, confidently imploring for permission to strike down the Man and the Woman living in the Garden of Eden, and stop them from spreading their disease across the Earth. Zaphiel stumbled back as a wave of righteous fury welled up from God, and they watched, helpless, as Michael was ordered to cast Lucifer—most-beloved, most-beautiful, the Morningstar—out of Heaven, and into the depths beneath the Earth. Other angels—who had foolishly loved Lucifer more than God—cried out in fury at this, and Father had Michael cast them down, as well. It was clear that an angel's existence required obediance, not emotion. This fact did not bother the other six Archangels, who were preoccupied with their sorrow and confusion as to why so many angels would agree with Lucifer. Afterwards, Father assigned angels to keep watch over the Garden, lest Lucifer still attempt, in some way, to bring harm to Man.
[ Uriel, the First Archangel, had been created on the Second Day, and had seen as the Land was divided from the Seas, on Earth. Aniel and Zaphiel had been created on the Third Day, as the barren Earth was sowed with seeds (but it had not yet rained, so none bloomed). Michael and Raphael had been created on the Fourth Day, as the Sun and Moon appeared in the sky. The youngest ones, Lucifer and Gabriel, had come with the Fifth Day, as all manner of birds took to the air and creatures swam in the sea. The Sixth Day, their Father blessed the Seven Archangels with titles befitting them and grounded in the Seven Heavenly Virtues. Also on this Day, He created beasts, Man and the multitudes of lesser angels. The Seventh Day was a day of rest, and on the Eighth Day He made the Garden of Eden.
Listed by age of creation, the original Seven Archangels embodying the Seven Heavenly Virtues were referred to by the following titles among their bretheren: Uriel the Pure (of Chastity), Aniel the Just (of Temperence), Zaphiel the Benign (of Charity), Michael the Dutiful (of Diligence), Raphael the Merciful (of Patience), Lucifer the Devoted (of Kindness) and Gabriel the Brave (of Humility). ]
-Anno 4,004 Ante Christum, After Several Days-
An angel stared out at the dusty wasteland surrounding the outer sides of Eden's Wall. He stood in the center of the Eastern Gate of the Garden, his sword unsheathed at his side, and felt a tingle in the back of his neck. He turned around, immediately enflaming it and narrowing his eyes at the stealthy figure draping in graceful loops over the wall. It seemed like a long, thick black line, uncoiling down over the stone (the stretching vines helped, undoubtedly), then dropping into the bushes at the foot of the Wall and slithering towards him. The angel's mouth tightened as he sensed tattered remains of Grace emanating from the creature, his hand calling the flaming sword to burn subtly hotter. Yellow eyes stared unblinkingly up at him from the ground as the creature stopped and the angel tensed, readying his sword to sever the creature's head, if necessary. The black thing—no arms or legs, how curious—rose up in the air, head bobbing slightly as it gained altitude. At knee-level, it hissed at him, revealing fangs, and the angel wasted no time in swinging his sword around. The creature retreated hastily, head again low to the ground as it hissed at him a second time, folds of its lengthy body rippling in on itself. The angel took a step towards it before his brow furrowed, shaking his head slightly as though to dislodge a peculiar thought.
Ssssssstops!
The angel glanced down at the creature curled up defensively just before the bushes at the foot of the Wall, and frowned. Vertically-slit yellow eyes bore up on him—almost beseechingly, almost accusingly—and the angel slowly advanced another step. The creature flailed in palpable fear as it retreated under the bushes, apparently not willing to leave completely.
Sssssstops, sssstops!
"Are you speaking to me?" The angel asked, with some small measure of amusement, as the creature—Serpent, he vaguely recalled Adam naming it—turned back towards him, warily eying his sword from where its head rested, on the ground.
Sssats dependssss. Sssshall you sssstrike me down, Guardian of sse Easssstern Gatesss?
Well, no matter its tattered Grace, this Serpent certainly knew how to get on an angel's good side. Not that it swayed him to be addressed by his title, you understand. It merely showed a certain level of intelligence—something which he could always appreciate. With a thought, his sword's flame blinked out, and he re-sheathed it, squatting down before the creature and peering over his knees at it.
"Well, if you can talk, and don't intend me any harm, I don't see why I would." Impulsively (but cautiously), the angel reached out his hand. Yellow eyes watched him, the Serpent said nothing, and the angel felt the air charge with tension. He resolved to ignore it, simply smiling slightly and held that suspicious gaze as his fingertips moved that extra bit, just brushing the shiny black scales on the Serpent's side.
"Were you cast down with my brothers, then?" The Serpent started badly in shock—despite his kind tone—jerking away from the gentle touch. The angel watched impassively, umoving, as it fled into the shelter of the bushes circling the bottom of the Wall. There was silence. He continued to stare at the bush for a moment, then straightened and turned around, walking the few feet back to his post at the front of the Gate. A few minutes of feigned ignorance later, the angel sighed and glanced back at the bush, grey-blue eyes narrowing.
"It's not very polite to stare, you know." The bushes to the right of the Gate shifted, and out of the leaves surfaced the Serpent's black head, yellow eyes peering at him. Thanks to the plant's supporting branches, they were now at eye-level. The angel's face was stoic, his hand reaching out to stroke the top the Serpent's head, gently. It hissed at him, retreating out of sight into the vegetation, and the angel's unreadable expression broke as he chuckled.
"Now, now. I promise I shan't hurt you, is that better?"
Like ssats meanssss anysssing. I sssee whats you Unfallen do stoo usssss.
That tone was accusing, and the angel frowned.
"So you are a disciple of the Morningstar." That black head slinked out from under the leaves, the unblinking yellow stare watching him carefully.
Buts you do nots ssssstrike?
At this, finally, the angel withdrew his hand.
"You have not wronged me, and Father's punishment must be hard enough to bear." Yellow eyes flicked downward, and after a moment the Serpent stole back into the safety of the bush.
Sssey ssssent me ups here stoo makess strouble. There was a resounding sense in its tone that it disliked the paltry order, and the angel felt his lips twitch in an aborted smile as he nodded.
"I see. Well, I hope that goes well for you." An irriated hiss echoed from the innards of the bush, branches rustling as (the angel supposed) the Serpent's coils shifted along with the sentiment.
Like Heaven itss will! Buts if it doesssn'ts, ssey'll have my ssssskin.
"Oh my, that must be horrible!" The angel was honestly shocked. That certainly wasn't how things were in Heaven, even with how bad things had gotten with poor Lucifer. Yellow eyes peered up at him, again, and the angel smiled awkwardly. He reached out to the bush again, palm up and fingers curled slightly in an unassuming gesture of peace.
"I'm sorry. I can't really know, can I?" More rustling, and the Serpent's head emerged a final time, a finger's length from his hand. Its mouth opened slightly, revealing fangs, and it hissed.
Pray sssatss you never do.
It swayed closer, but the angel did not flinch. The Serpent's mouth snapped shut, head briefly rubbing at his palm, and the angel smiled at the trust inherent in the gesture. What might have been the Serpent's neck quickly wound around his wrist, then, causing that black head to bob closer. Grey-blue eyes met vertically-slit ones, each set quiet and firm. The Serpent let out another hiss after a while, looping down and around the angel's waist, then back up behind his neck. The angel forced himself not to stiffen as he felt moist air on his throat, the undulating folds of black snakeskin tightening around his pure body.
Sse Unfallen know no fear, do sssey?
"No." The angel said simply, moving casually as he allowed the squeeze around his abdomen, lifting a hand to run his palm over the thick coil around his waist. He felt the Serpent breathe.
I could bitess you.
It was a statement full of anger, hurt and revenge, and the angel ached at the despair of it. The smile on his face was calm, subdued, but by contrast his voice was warm and sure.
"If it would ease your suffering, go ahead." The Serpent shuddered, and the angel felt it curve up the front of his neck and around behind his head, to flick its forked tongue in his ear. He twitched involuntarily, stifling a reflexive giggle at the sensation.
You are a ssssstrange angel, Guardian of sse Easssstern Gatesss.
He smiled, and glanced up at the slitted yellow eyes almost boring a hole through him. The angel lifted his fingertips to stroke under the Serpent's jaw, chuckling kindly as its gaze half-lidded and it sank into the touch. What was more amazing was that—for all its threats—it hadn't bitten him.
"And you, my dear, are a remarkable demon."
-Anno 4,004 Ante Christum, One First Offense Later-
As soon as he caught sight of the now-infamous black Serpent winding down over the Garden of Eden's Wall behind the Eastern Gate, the angel leaped up in fury, sword flashing out in full flame.
"Reviled Tempter!" The creature hastily dropped under the bushes at the foot of the Wall, for cover.
Sssstops!
The angel paid no heed, his sword making quick work of that cover as it set the leaves ablaze, blue eyes burning with righteous anger.
"Despicable Beast!" The Serpent hissed again, thrashing as the angel snagged its tail and dragged it out from the roasted remains of the bush, nasty burns seeping like steaming red oil over black scales. The creature turned and lunged, fangs bared, but the angel dodged the strike, cuffing the Serpent on the back of the head and burning a brand of the flat of his blade there. The creature turned at the speed of thought, to strike again, but the angel raised his sword, pure holy light exploding out from him. The Serpent recoiled instinctively from the all-emcompassing, searing brilliance, flailing madly in pain. It coiled into itself tightly, trying to escape from the fiercesome, radiant Presence which burned at its tattered Grace.
Pleassssse—
The angel's Voice boomed out.
"Serpent." Yellow eyes squinted up at him in supplication, and the holy glow receded a little, enough that the Serpent could at least see the angel's face. The creature shuddered at the steely lack of emotion, and prepared for death.
"Your attempts to exit at the other Gates have been foiled by my brothers, so now you come to me." The angel paused, and against the fogged-out greyscale of its vision the Serpent could see him lower his sword. The blade was now close enough to neatly cleave its head in twain. The Serpent hastily folded its layers in upon itself, scrambling back into broken, burnt twigs and ashes. The angel did not follow, at first.
"You deserve death." The angel took a step forward, and the Serpent hissed belligerently, but it was all-but-blinded when that light pulsed stronger, and was forced to duck and again hide its eyes in the safety of a black coil.
"You deserve Father's punishment." Another step, and the Serpent lashed out its tail, trying to trip him, hurt him, something. The tip burned to ash just a hand's distance from the angel's skin, and the Serpent retracted the stump, trembling in agony. The light blinked out, and the Serpent felt warm fingers brush the injury. Without thought, its fangs embedded themselves into the back of the angel's hand. Poison slid past perfect skin, and it slivered its eyes open, victorious in landing a blow before its imminent death. The angel was smiling—even if the expression was a bit strained—as his other arm came around, gathering up the injured Serpent and cradling it in his arms. His Voice was gone, replaced by gentle tones.
"My brother, the Guardian of the Western Gate, chastised you for dooming Man to death, but did nothing more than prevent you from leaving the Garden." The Serpent slowly released its fangs as its re-formed tail curled tentatively around one bright arm.
"My brother, the Guardian of the Northern Gate, nearly destroyed you in your second attempt to escape. So, you tricked him, and fled back the way you came." Angelic fingers slid along blistering burns, knitting scales back together.
"My brother, the Guardian of the Southern Gate, did not forgive you as he believes the Fallen to be below forgiveness. He did not harm you, but neither would he let you pass." There was a little jerk as the angel stumbled, his voice heavy, and the Serpent's folds tightened reflexively around him.
"And I, their brother, am Guardian of the Eastern Gate." The Serpent braced itself for a sudden lethal blow, but the next moment brought not death, but an arid breeze. Its tongue flicked out tentatively, noting the scents of dust and the desert. The creature opened its eyes, and realized they were flying. It wasn't for long, though, as a moment later the angel touched down in a forest clearing, glancing up at the droplets of rain that heralded the very first thunderstorm.
The Serpent swiveled its head around, and hissed in recognition, pressing back into the angel as the dirt-smeared faces of Adam and Eve froze fearfully at the sight of them. But instead of surrendering the creature, the angel let it glide out of his arms and onto the ground. Once there, the Serpent hurriedly slithered off into the brush, not about to question its good fortune. But (once safely out of the open) something made it pause. It then twisted a ways up the nearest tree and peered at the trio through the leaves, just close enough to hear. The angel's voice was soft.
"You are good people, who made a choice not to listen." Eve flinched, and Adam stepped in front of her, protective. She clung to his back, watching the angel over one of Adam's broad shoulders. The Serpent watched as the angel smiled, and extended his hands, fingers splayed open. For a moment, nothing moved. Then Adam stepped forward, taking one of the hands. Eve, still afraid, did not. The Serpent heard the angel murmur, clasping Adam's hand warmly between his palms.
"And yet—is it so horrible? You have disobeyed, been punished, but may continue to live on Earth and are not being driven Below. You can choose your own path, of your own will. You can question Our Father's commands without dire repercussions." The angel's voice was too hushed to sound only comforting. The Serpent thought it heard sorrow.
"You are indeed the most blessed of all His creations." The angel's hand went to his belt, and he withdrew the sword, gently inciting it to ignite. Adam's eyes widened in the flicker of the flame.
"Please, take this. It is cold, and it will rain."
The Serpent watched as Adam's hand closed around the hilt, and the angel smiled again, although it seemed pained, somehow. He leaned down, gracing a kiss of benediction on the Man's forehead. Eve's hands reached around Adam, grasping the angel's arms and pulling him closer, and he laughed a little (the Serpent would swear to it), gently enveloping the humans in a hug with his long, strong arms. The angel whispered to them, this time too quiet to overhear. Then he stepped back, and spread his wings. The Man and the Woman drew protective arms up as the wind from his ascent blew in their faces, and the Serpent squinted as it watched the angel glide back towards the Wall of Eden. It remained staring for a moment or two, then coiled back down the tree. Freed from the Garden at last, it set to exploring the new world laid out before it.
-Anno 2,644 Ante Christum-
The Serpent—although he hardly looked like one, now (except for the eyes)—sat atop a sand dune, expression bored as he watched what would-be peasants construct what would-be the very first step pyramid for the burial of who would-be the most-famous Pharaoh of the Third Dynasty of Egypt by his vizier, Imhotep. The "Pyramid of Djoser"—as it would come to be known—was being built right before his snake-slit yellow eyes in Saqqara, which would someday be an archeaological site northwest of the city of Memphis, Egypt.
The sun was hot. The Serpent yawned, showing fangs. He'd never really gotten around to getting rid of them. It'd only been a little over a millennium since the Garden, after all, and he enjoyed grinning at people and seeing them recoil in fear. But, on the whole, he was fond of these future Egyptians. They'd taken extremely well to the notion of multiple gods, and the Serpent liked being able to change into a cobra or a two-headed snake and be worshipped without question. If it angered Father Above, all the better. It was his job to 'cause trouble' for humans, after all, and he intended on doing his best.
He was musing on his most recent tribute when he felt an angel come up behind him. The Serpent rolled off the dune, spun around, flung sand at its face and coiled to spring. But something gave him pause. The Serpent squinted at the coughing angel, who was currently rubbing his eyes before sneezing, fitfully, a few times. The Serpent had to snort, but warily remained crouched, a good distance away.
"Not too good at stealth, are you." He stated this quickly, shiny black scales appearing in patches on random bits of skin, due to anxiety. He didn't think to will them away just yet, too distracted to notice. He was still getting the hang of this 'man' shape, and sometimes instinct just took over. That same instinct was currently screaming at him to get as far away as possible from the Unfallen standing in front of him. But the angel sniffled—rather disarmingly—and blinked, squinting at him with a hesitant smile around the sand.
"I-I suppose not? I'm sorry, perhaps I shouldn't have come up behind you unannounced…" The Serpent's eyes narrowed at the grey-blue of that gaze. He jerked suddenly in possible realization, and reached out his tattered Grace to check. The angel flinched as it brushed his own Grace, but didn't retreat, and the Serpent cried out, pointing.
"I knew it! You're that—from the Garden—" The angel gave an uneasy smile, hands crossing over his front in an absent-minded move of defense, grasping his elbows.
"A-Am I?" The Serpent sauntered up to him, eyes wide in disbelief, hands expressively gesticulating.
"Yeah! You bastard, where have you—" The Serpent paused, then drew himself up elegantly and coughed, looking away. "I mean, er." Another cough. "Thanks. For that." His impressive declaration was lost on the angel, who only blinked, befuddled, at him.
"For what?" The Serpent hissed in frustration, and waved his slinky (still getting the hang of the shape, remember) arms about in movements that were weirdly graceful.
"You—You let me out of the Garden! You didn't—" Recognition suddenly hit and the angel gasped, rushing forward to embrace him.
"Oh! Oh, it's you!" The Serpent wheezed and the angel hurriedly let go, backing up and looking sheepish but still happy. "I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you without—er—" The angel blinked at the patches of black scales on the Serpent's skin, and blushed a little, waving vaguely. "I-I mean, with quite a few new limbs, and at eye-level, and—" The Serpent grinned, unable to help it, and slung an arm around the angel's shoulder, turning him about to look at the pyramid.
"You've missed a lot. Look at that—human ingenuity. 's been a millennia or two, hasn't it? Where've you been?"
"Erm—Here and there. And I believe it's been one-thousand, three-hundred and sixty years, or thereabouts." The Serpent peered at him. The angel blinked back, oblivious. The Serpent snickered, ducking his head and hiding his laughter. The angel sounded affronted, now.
"I'll have you know, I was on the other side of the world! How was I to realize you'd be—er—" The angel prodded at his cheek to get his attention, sounding confused. "That is, why are you here, dear boy?" The Serpent looked up at him, still grinning a little, but now making sure to show his fangs.
"Hell's Field Agent at your service, angel."
"I—You—Oh." The angel appeared discomfited by this, and made to try and escape out from under the Serpent's slung arm. Perplexed, the Serpent let him go. The angel looked at him from a few steps away, now, expression pained.
"What's wrong?" The angel whispered in response.
"I'm Heaven's Field Agent." The Serpent felt his face break out in patches of distressed scales. "Your Enemy. Er, well—'Sanctioned Adversary', that is. Oh, my, what rotten luck." The angel glanced up, nervously, and made a shooing gesture with his hands. "Please—ah—I don't want to fight you. Please just leave?" The Serpent raised a brow. The angel smiled at him uncertainly, but the Serpent found his mouth curling into a frown, his expression sobering.
The arrogance. The angel was being polite about it, but obviously still assumed he would be obeyed, like he was naturally superior—and that…The Serpent straightened, fingers flexing slightly as he tipped his head a bit, looking at the angel differently. (Now, he was sizing him up.)
"I'm not leaving." The Serpent said slowly, gaze narrowing. "This is my Satan-given role, and I was here first." The angel stared back at him, seeming flummoxed, and gestured helplessly around with an outstretched hand.
"But—these people—they can't believe in so many gods, Father will—"
"Then let Father." The Serpent hissed back, personal anger coloring his tone with vengeful hate. "It'll only show how little he cares about them, if he strikes them down for having too little faith to worship just him." The angel met his gaze, endearing indecision giving way to something stubbornly virtuous and pure. (And in that moment, the Serpent realized he hated everything that blessed angel was—right down to his wholesome Grace and steadfast confidence.) His voice dropped low, that angelic expression no longer mild and bemused, but firm and controlled, like a warrior's.
"It is not your place to coerce them into sin, Snake." The Serpent hissed, again, hackles rising and the patches of black scales disappearing from his skin, yellow eyes glowing faintly orange as he began to fluff up his power, like a cat preparing to hiss. Wind started to whirl out from the pair, blowing up sand and causing clouds to bend towards them in a spiralling vortex.
"Did you forgetss the Garden, angel? Itsss my only place, and nots yourss to sssave them. Sssstand down if you don'tss wantss a fightsss." Blue eyes flickering with sparks of holy light met orange, and they stared at each other for a moment. The world held its breath. Fate revealed itself as the angel recited his orders, very softly.
"Angels exist purely to aid and revere Man. I cannot allow you to continue." The Serpent grinned maliciously. His jealousy and spite blazed hot, and here was a chance for revenge on a creature God still called his own. If a demon could strike an angel down… Said angel's righteousness and conviction smoldered coolly, as he watched his demonic foe, poised and waiting as said foe plotted to himself.
Snarling, the Serpent sprang at him over the sand, white wings arcing towards the sky.
The angel put out his hands, holy Grace swirling around them.
It was their first battle, but far from their last.
[ In the 14th Century (1400 BC to 1301 BC), the Egyptians embraced monotheism (worship of one god—in this case, the sun god, Aten) for twenty years before returning to their more traditional polytheism. Over the years, the Egyptians' traditional beliefs would be overtaken by Christianity, which, in turn, would be overthrown by Islam. (It should also be noted that "Egyptian religion" was claimed by both Heaven and Hell as a success, depending on what time period you looked at.) ]
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This particular angel and Serpent would have many more battles, over the ensuing millennia. They would work in their own area for a while, trying to build something up for their side, only to have the other show up and cause trouble. The angel helped humanity invent the magnetic compass in 1120 BC. He also helped influence the start of the Olympic Games in Greece, in 776 BC. The Serpent managed to taint the angel's victory by influencing the adoption of Draconian laws—that is, laws which listed death as a punishment—in 621 BC. The Serpent also picked a battle with Athens (the angel's pet city, with the Serpent's being Sparta) through whispering in the ears of the Persian leaders. Twenty-six miles from Athens on a plain called Marathon, 100,000 Persians fought 11,000 Athenians, If the Athenian soldiers lost the battle of Marathon, the people of Athens would flee to the hills. If the Athenian soldiers won, the people would stay and prepare for a seige by the invading Persians. The battle at Marathon raged, and the city waited anxiously for news.
Neither the angel nor the demon could affect the outcome of a battle or a war, but they could affect individuals. But they had already done all they could do, and now the result of this battle would be determined by whose will was stronger—the defending Athenians (the angel's side) or the attacking Persians (the Serpent's side). The angel and Serpent hovered overhead, caught in their own fight—invisible to the mortals below—and tearing into each other with all the fury of Heaven and Hell. Eventually, the Serpent felt his Persian side weakening against the steadfast conviction of the Athenians, and was forced into defeat. The angel discorporated him, and it was only many years later that the Serpent would hear what the final totals for casualty lists of the Battle of Marathon had been. 6,400 Persians soldiers died, as opposed to 192 Athenians.
The Serpent had his revenge with Socrates, taking great relish in the fact he caused the well-known philosopher to attend his trial with quite the arrogant attitude. The angel had been distraught. In 216 BC, against Rome, the Serpent basked in Hannibal's victory. He'd grown bored with Rome, anyway (even though it was wonderfully corrupt and hedonistic, the world needed a change—Hastur and Ligur had been quite clear on the Orders from Beëlzebub concerning Rome's Fall), and it was just as well that the once-great empire lost 70,000 men while Hannibal's lost only 6,000.
The bumbled Western calendar was entirely the angel's fault, however. It jumped straight from 1 BC to 1 AD, therefore making 1-100 AD the 1st Century. Calculations for time from then on resulted in such annoyances such as 1501-1600 being called the 16th Century. This made the different terms of identifying the centuries hard to remember, as years beginning with what should logically be the century number would actually be the number after. Another example would include the years 701-800 being referred to as the 8th Century. If the angel had had the common sense to point out the need for a year zero between BC and AD, however (thus making the 1st Century 0-99, the 8th Century 800-899 and the 16th Century 1600-1699), it is entirely possible century terminology would be much easier to understand, today.
The birth of Christ was naturally a time of great upheaval. Many angels walked the Earth in vessels, for the first time. The angel was surrounded by his brothers and the Serpent had to resort to stealthy means to avoid being smote on sight. (He would later claim this is how he learned to blend in with humanity so well.) Thirty years later, Christ was on the Cross, dying, and as his spirit fled Above, the angel's brothers departed Earth to minister to the Son in Heaven. As the Field Agent Stationed on Earth, the angel was forced to remain at his post. He felt not only the terrible hole the loss of the Son's presence on Earth tore in him, but also the sting of loneliness from once again being the only angel on Earth. The Serpent, try as he might to deny it, had also built up a begrudging respect for the Son, and while the lack of Christ's presence did not cripple him with sadness as it had his Sanctioned Adversary, the Serpent still felt a small twinge of pain at the absence. Christ had been the sort of rare, powerful man that the Serpent found himself determining three truths about: he was kind, humble, and completely incorruptible.
The Serpent and the angel had been fighting for over 4,000 years, and the incarnation of God on Earth had just been called up to Heaven, along with the rest of the Heavenly Host on Earth. If there was ever a time to set differences aside and commiserate with an Enemy, this could be the only possibly excusable occasion. Even Heaven had to grant that—and Hell? Well, Hell would simply say it would be the best time to take advantage of his Adversary's weakness and make the angel Fall. (Not that the Serpent would, but that's what he wrote in his report of the event, afterwards.)
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-Anno Domini 34-
The Serpent can't see straight—in fact, there are about three identical angels sitting across from him, their outlines hazy and wobbling. He also can't seem to remember how they got here, but right now, tonight, he just can't bring himself to care enough to sober up and think it out. There'd been enough of that all day, and right now 'drunk' is the preferred state of operation.
(For both him and his Sanctioned Adversary, apparently. But neither of them wants to think about sides, right now. Right now, it just hurts and after all the other angels helped usher the Redeemer, King of Kings, Angel of the Endless Skies, Lamb that is called Emmanuel, Prince of Heaven, Savior of Man, Son of God and Light of the World back to Above, also returning, themselves—after thirty-some years down on Earth—it was hard. Not so much on the Serpent, who could breathe a little freer without running into a fresh-from-Heaven smite-happy consecrated lower-ranking angel everywhere he went, but on the other angel—his Sanctified Adversary. For that angel, after not having been back up on Heaven for so long—four millennia thirty-eight years ago—to have his brothers around him for a few short decades, only to lose them again… for that angel, the Serpent knew it had been hard. And the Serpent still had some form of Grace, as a Fallen—tattered as it was—so he still felt bereft when the Son left Earth. It'd made him ache, too, and the Serpent didn't know if it was Earth's influence from these past four thousand years, or something else, but—but right now, they didn't have sides. They were just two man-shaped beings, memories of Golgotha excruciatingly fresh in their minds, and they were getting drunk. This time tomorrow they'd be enemies again—back to beating the snot out of each other at every chance they'd get—but right now, they were just drunks.)
"And I 'member when sse mother-hic-blesser was baptissszed! Don'tssha 'member ssat? I 'member sssat. Damn sssstubborn as a mule. [1]" The angel nodded sagely, clumsily sloshing wine over his front. A response seemed beyond him, at the moment, but the Serpent plowed on ahead, anyway, gazing transfixedly at the lamp on the wooden table between them. "Sssstubborn boy. Son, whatssever. Why'd He sssend Hiss boy down here jusst to die, eh? Whasss yer ineffable plan fer sssat, eh?" He pointed accusingly at the angel, eyes going crossed as his brow furrowed, trying to make the three angels become one. The angel blinked at him, then smiled drunkenly, waving his wineskin around with a laugh.
"'s th' point, dear boy! See—" The angel gestured emphatically, spilling more wine as his face grew intense with meaning. "See, th' humans. Can't go 'round doing 't fer themselves. Since Eden an' Ave—er, Adam an' Eve—they've been s-suff'ring, yeah? So no humans work, fer dyin'. Nope, already suff'ring! But th' Son—" He pointed straight at the Serpent's nose, whose vertically-slit eyes widened in belated understanding. "Th' Son's Him on Earth, yeah? Inn'shent as a Lamb. So, 's… 's showing Him's love fer th' humans. Makin' His Son go, a'mean. Suff'ring. Him suff'ring fer… fer them. Y'see?" The angel beamed proudly, but his face crumpled soon enough, looking troubled. He sniffled, whimpering softly and rubbing the back of his hand against his nose as his eyes grew teary. "Good lad, though. Horrid way t' go. Wasn't 'llowed t' help—'gainst th' rules. …Was a good lad." The angel repeated, miserably, lower lip quivering. The Serpent snorted, waving a hand and miracling the angel's wineskin full, again.
"Sssshuts up, wiss sssat. More wine!" The angel tipped to the side a bit with the added weight, but regained his balance (with some visible difficulty) and nodded, leaning back in his chair.
"Much ob—obligd—Thanks, dear." The Serpent hissed, snapping his fingers in irritation.
"Buts sssats doessn't make sssense, angel! God, ssssuff'ring? Whasss sse point of sssat?" The angel giggled, raising a finger, but the Serpent growled menacingly (mockingly) and the angel fluttered his fingers, grinning stupidly as he relinquished the floor. "Don'tss interrupts! Now, I sssaid… whatss?" The Serpent looked mystified, eyes narrowing in thought. "Hey! Don'tsss keep cloning! Hassssn't been infented, yets!" The angel peered into the mouth of his wineskin.
"Somethin' 'bou'… Not makin' sense? But tha''s th' ineff'ble plan, ol' boy!" The Serpent cut him off, just as the angel was winding up to really get going.
"Noooone of ssat, hey! Bloody ineffable plan!" The angel gasped in horror (belatedly realizing he should be horrified at such cursing), and the Serpent's smirk turned sharp as his fangs manifested. (It was still diluted, due to the alcohol.) "Gives its a sssoughts. Whasss you an' I fightsings for, eh? Whass parts of yer 'ineffable plan' is sssat?" The angel blinked at him, appearing befuddled, his vision sliding over the Serpent's features, his forehead knitting.
"Wussat?" The Serpent hissed, tangling his tongue around the words. It flicked out, revealing the forked tip that tended to show up when he forgot to hide it. The angel caught sight of it, and seemed transfixed.
"'sss jusst, sse fightsing—sssstop sstaring ats my damned sstongue!" The angel blushed (turning the already-healthy, rosy flush encompassing his neck and cheeks even redder) and smiled disarmingly. The Serpent hmphed in his throat, but leaned back, fingertips tapping over the neck of his own wineskin as he looked off, mumbling.
"'sss jusssts… all ssis fightsing, yeah? Whasss sse points?" The angel frowned foggily at him.
"'s our jobs, you know. Orders—" The Serpent interrupted him, yet again.
"From Abofe and Below, I gets ssats, angel, 'ss nots whatsss I—" The angel tipped his head.
"Then what?" Frustrated, the Serpent lapsed into silence, glaring off at a spot on the dirt floor for some time. When the words finally came, they were slow. He didn't look up.
"Don'tsss you… ever, I dunno… gets ssick… ahf fightsing?" The angel blinked at him, but the Serpent still didn't look up. Long, demonic fingers caressed the neck of his wineskin in an absent, nervous gesture.
"Sick of it?" The Serpent nodded at the prompt, but otherwise didn't elaborate. He just heaved a sigh, slumping back into his chair further, limbs shaking out in such a way as though they were trying to get rid of the bones.
"Yeah… Well. 'ss nussing, angel." The Serpent looked up, his grin bright and brittle. "More wine?"
[1] The Serpent was referring, of course, to the events that took place just after the Son's baptism. (Specifically, the events of Matthew 4:1-4:11, included here for your enjoyment.)
1 Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.
2 And after fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry.
3 And the tempter came and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread."
4 But he answered, "It is written, 'Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.'"
5 Then the devil took him to the holy city and set him on the pinnacle of the temple
6 and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.'"
7 Jesus said to him, "Again, it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.'"
8 Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory.
9 And he said to him, "All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me."
10 Then Jesus said to him, "Be gone, Satan [2]! For it is written, 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.'"
11 Then the devil left him, and behold, angels came and were ministering to him.
[2] Naturally, this was not entirely accurate (and the Serpent's words didn't quite make it to print exactly as he'd said them, either). The truth was, when the Son had related this story to Matthew, the name got changed from "Crawly" to something a touch more dramatic and sinister, to really 'resonate with the audience' (or so Matthew had insisted, at the time). The Serpent had been rather miffed about it, ever since (even though, deep down, he did grudgingly think the Son to be a rather tolerable bloke, despite the fact that he—the Serpent, a denizen of Hell—was logically supposed to hate him).
: : :
This brief moment of drunken camaraderie did not change much. In fact, it changed nothing, as both sides (not Heaven and Hell, but the angel and the Serpent) mutually agreed never to mention it again. In 70 AD, the Romans killed 1.5 million Jews in Jerusalem. In 250 AD, the Mayans entered their Golden Age. In 361 AD, Emperor Julian "The Apostate" of Rome tried to reinstate pagan religion (a bold jab by the Serpent). In 410 AD, Rome was sacked, but the invading General tells his troops not to kill needlessly nor harm churches (the angel's firm response). History is too full of many monumental events taking place all over the world (some at the same time) to name all the ones involving these two Enemies, here, but one particularly memorable conflict between them occurred in what would-be China, during the Tang Dynasty.
: : :
-Annis Domini 710 ad 755-
The Serpent watched as the angel prodded the poor boy of ignoble birth into a place of good standing in the military, and couldn't help but want to spite him. He bided his time, and kept hidden as the angel patted An Lushan on his head, told him to be grateful and humble for all his good fortune, and went to bask in the dawning Golden Age of the Tang Dynasty. As the years ticked by, the Serpent took great pride in slowly corrupting the self-declared "adopted son of Yang Guifei" with the taste for power his high position had given him. The Emperor loved him, because his concubine loved him. And from there it was so easy to ensure An Lushan's political safety, from the simple fact that the Emperor would hear nothing against him. The angel returned too late to reverse it, for now Yang Guifei's second cousin Yang Guozhong (also a high-ranking man) had caught onto An Lushan's schemings and was trying to make him outright rebel. The political damage was undoable when An Lushan finally did so, and it caused the Serpent to grin to himself at the angelic woe he sensed from his millennia-long opponent. He stayed out of sight.
An Lushan did not disappoint. Truly, it had been rather stupid of Emperor Xuanzong to give the man 160,000 troops (and thus, the means for a coup), but the Serpent wasn't really complaining. At the close of 755, the Serpent (invisible to the mortals, of course) hovered above the beseiged city of Luoyang on the side of An Lushan and grinned at his counterpart across the way. The angel, of course, was on the defending side of the city (and General Feng Changqing). After a staredown, the angel rushed him in mid-air and the Serpent followed suit, hissing as the angel flared his holy aura to try and blind him. But the battle below was bloody and irreverent and the Serpent felt the power of the damned pulsing through him. He snarled and bit at the white wings, clawed at that pure face and relished the cries of pain. The result of the battle below did not depend on them—no, the battle was all the humans' doing, even despite the hand they'd had in the background. But the result of their battle hinged on if good or evil won, below.
The Serpent felt victory, he could taste it, and swelled with strength at all the evil overpowering the honor, beneath them. He cackled—a horrible, fetid sound—as he broke wing bones, plucked out feathers and generally enjoyed getting the best of his opponent. Blue eyes glared up at him in righteous anger as the angel struggled, and the Serpent flicked his forked tongue at him, leaning in with a conspiring taunt.
"Feel likess joining the winning sssside, yets, angel? I couldss arrange—" The angel spat at his cheek, and the Serpent laughed. He released his hold, snagged the bloodied, snapped wing and cartwheeled the angel around him, white wings beating powerfully as he built up the centrifugal force.
"A ssssshame!" He hissed in ferocious glee, yellow vertically-slit eyes trained to the angel's face. It was in pure agony, clear as day, and the Serpent lapped it up like milk. He adjusted his grip, and heard the pleasant cracks as a few more bones broke. The angel gasped in pain, but held the rest in, and the Serpent was slightly disappointed. He shrugged—resulting in another snap of bone—and whirled the angel around faster and faster, until he let go and watched the angel fly clear out to the edge of the city. Eyes narrowing, he estimated the trajectory and beat it there before the angel could land. Indeed, he helped him land, building up his momentum before he abruptly folded his wings in and dove, feet-first, pressing them into the spine of the angel's most recent corporation—that was about to change—and drove his foe into the dirt with all the force he could muster. With another evil laugh, the Serpent climbed off the angel and took his shoulder, turning him to face the sky so those blue eyes could see his gloating face as they darkened.
"I win." Those eyes flared in holy affront, but the body gave up just as after he said that, and a flash of light—the angel—shot skyward out of it. The Serpent watched the speed of this, amused. He wondered how long it would take the angel to get another body, so they could continue their never-ending feud. He turned to watch the battlefield, and grinned to himself.
Either way, it'll never get boring around here.
-Anno Domini 763-
The Serpent supposed he should've seen it coming—nothing bad lasted forever. An Lushan's rule was short, as he was killed in an assassination in 757 arranged by An Qingxu, the heir-apparent, who was becoming nervous that another of An Lushan's sons would be named as crown prince. An Qingxu was killed in 759 by Shi Siming, a childhood friend of An Lushan, who gave An Lushan a proper burial. [3] But honor amongst humans rarely lasts, and soon Shi Siming was considering giving the title of crown prince to not the heir-apparent, Shi Chaoyi, but another son, Shi Chaoqing. Shi Siming grew cruel and prone to killing his servants, and after one ridiculous request that Shi Chaoyi managed to fulfill (but not to Shi Siming's satisfaction), Shi Chaoyi's generals threatened to defect if he did not find a way out of his father's punishment (in this case, death, once the campaign was completed). Shi Chaoyi ordered for his father to be kidnapped from his tent, and convinced Shi Siming's General Cao to go along with the plot. Shi Siming was killed on the way back to Shi Chaoyi's encampment, as one of the kidnappers feared he would be rescued. In 761, Shi Chaoyi then declared himself Emperor, but failed to garner support from the other generals. As the war went on and they were defeated numerous times, these generals defected back to the Tang side, and, in 763, Shi Chaoyi committed suicide.
The angel didn't look exactly smug, but definitely irritatingly relieved, as he stood atop the highest horizontal roof pole of the Chinese palace, arms crossed and light brown hair—not blond, like last time—wavy around his shoulders, covering his ears. The Serpent moodily slouched opposite him, on the other end. Their wings—flawless as always, indicating that the angel had quite recovered from their last great injury in 756—arced out behind them in masses of subtly-shifting white feathers, keeping them perfectly balanced. The Serpent spat at his counterpart, unable to take the silence anymore.
"Right, fine, the rebellion's over. Break out the harps and start singing praises." The angel blinked at him, canting his head at first, but his expression sobered. He looked away. The Serpent ground his teeth in annoyance, flinging out his arms.
"You won. What, no gloating? My boys lost, got killed, didn't bring down the bloody Tang Dynasty. Your sodding Golden Age can continue in peace." The angel glanced at him sharply, blue eyes cutting and serious. The Serpent's insides squirmed, uncomfortably. He was quietly relieved when the angel redirected his gaze to the palace courtyard.
"Don't you understand? No one wins—not in a battle like this." The angel put a hand to his mouth, and the Serpent felt a wave of disgust well up within him as those blue eyes grew misty. The Serpent bit through the sodding emotional pause.
"Could've fooled me. I'm pretty sure I heard people celebrating down there, and—"
"Do you know how many people died because of this rebellion?" The angel burst out, suddenly, whipping back around to face his eternal foe, expression taut and feathers fluttering madly to keep his balance. Reptilian eyes blinked at the vehement reaction, and, for a moment, the Serpent couldn't respond. Nonplussed, he vaguely tried to figure the numbers in his head. Bugger, math always failed him.
"Uh…" It was just as well. The angel rambled on, obviously distraught.
"Over thirty-three million souls!" It should've made the Serpent delighted to see the angel so anguished, but—instead, the Serpent found himself reasoning with him, tone almost annoyed.
"Angel, this is war, and humans die all the—"
"Fourteen percent of the world's population is dead, all killed within eight years!" The angel turned from him, shoulders tense but quivering, obviously overcome. "Eight years of politics and rebellion and battle and pointless hate!" The Serpent felt his throat lock up, and coughed to clear it. He glanced away nervously before closing his eyes and forcing a nonchalant, uncaring tone.
"Guess I've done my job, then." He saw the punch coming (even with his eyes shut), but didn't bother to dodge it. He flew, and landed hard, the tiles of the roof cracking beneath his back. The Serpent winced as a few broken ones dug into his spine, slivering open his eyes as he rubbed his jaw. The angel stood over him, hands fisted at his sides, blue-grey gaze fixed and hard on his.
"Don't you say that." It was an undertone, almost, but it didn't quite sound angry. More… frustrated? Disappointed? The Serpent wasn't sure what to think when those hurt—(oh, that's what it was)—eyes softened. He managed a croak.
"Don't say what?" The angel sighed, shoulders slumping and he looked off towards the courtyard, again. His stance was wide and unguarded—the Serpent could easily discorporate him with a well-aimed kick. [4] But instead, the Serpent just lay there. He was feeling lazy (or something). It was probably the fault of the sun-warmed roof tiles (because that was a reasonable conclusion, really).
"Don't try to distract me and take credit for what the humans have done to themselves." The angel's gaze was unfocused and distant, achingly pained in the way only Heavenly beings can be. The Serpent felt a familiar twinge of jealousy, but shoved it down with a strained laugh as he sat up, grimacing as his broken back was still in the process of knitting itself together.
"Heh. Can't blame a demon for trying." The angel seemed to blink, then, and glanced down at him. The Serpent thought he saw a ghost of a smile—a bare remnant, a memory of the kind angel he'd met at the Eastern Gate. (…It made him remember warmth.)
"No. I suppose I can't." The Serpent nearly smiled back, but caught himself in time, turning it into a leer.
"Next time, I'll discorporate you. Consider this a freebie." The angel raised an eyebrow, gaze fond but voice cool and face ostensibly unflappable.
"You honestly shouldn't make such threats when you know perfectly well who would have won, had we fought this time, d—" The Serpent peered curiously up at him as the angel cut himself off, blue-grey eyes now looking out at the city as he not-so-subtly ignored his stutter. "Demon. Well. Until next time." White feathers twitched as muscles moved, and soon the angel was airbourne. The Serpent watched as he climbed through the sky, wings skimming the clouds as the angel disappeared into them and out of sight.
The Serpent dropped his head back between his shoulder blades, staring upward. He hadn't expected the angel to help him up—it wasn't like they were friends, after all, and it would've been odd, and wrong. But he replayed the angel's near-smile in his head, and let himself chuckle a little. They might not be friends, but they were consecrated good rivals. It was nice to have someone always there, someone predictable, someone who understood this world. His superiors were so behind-the-times it was more pathetic than funny, really. The Serpent snorted to himself, feeling the last of his vertabrae realign, and pushed himself off the broken roof tiles. He stretched, arms above his head, back arcing and cracking a little. Then he sighed, relaxing. His own wings (perfectly fine, as he'd had the sense to call them in just before the angel had punched him) spread out from his back with a thought.
China was boring. Perhaps he'd best head elsewhere.
[3] The Serpent always privately suspected the angel's interference in this arc of the circle of assassinations, given that Shi Siming chastised An Qingxu before he killed him, judging him as though privy to certain facts. ("You were a son, and you killed your father and usurped his throne. Heaven, Earth, and the gods cannot tolerate you. I am attacking the bandits on behalf of An Lushan, and I will not listen to your flattery.")
[4] The kick would catch the angel off-balance, and make it easy to pounce atop him. Next, they'd roll off the roof, scuffling in midair and too tangled up together for either to be able to fly away. The Serpent would get the angel beneath him, and said angel's corporeal body would fatally break on impact with the ground. Thusly managed, it would be far too easy to discorporate him, and then the Serpent would have the world to himself for a few days while his nemesis went through the paperwork to procure a new body.
: : :
After the turn of yet another millennium, the rivalry between the angel and the Serpent continued as per usual. Beowulf (a steadfast, moral and firmly entertaining epic poem of heroic deeds) spread quickly over much of Europe, while The Tale of Genji titillated Japanese Heian court nobles with endless scandals (concerning the women in the life of the protagonist, "The Shining Prince"). Hungary became an officially Christian state in 1000, and, in 1001, Danish invaders defeated English forces. Predictably, in 1002, an English king massacred Danish settlers, and almost a year later, in 1003, Leif Erikson discovered what would be called the New World. Other achievements and horrors came and went, but the angel had to draw the line when his counterpart went too far.
: : :
-Anno Domini 1,009-
Perched atop a hill in Jerusalem, this particular Christian church had seen much strife. It was damaged by fire in 614, when the Persians (under Khosrau II) invaded Jerusalem and stole a very important Item from it. In 630, Emperor Heraclius marched proudly back into the city and restored the Item to the church, which had been rebuilt. For a few centuries, future Muslim rulers would keep this (and other sites) preserved for Christian worship, even allowing it to be used as living quarters. Fatimid Caliph Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah succeeded his father at age eleven in 996, and until 1004 there was not a visible shift in ruling style. Al-Hakim was a Shiite, and for the first eight years of his reign acted much like his Shiite khalif predecessors by favoring Shiite interpretations, exhibiting a hostile attitude towards Sunni Muslims, and admirably tolerating the "People of the Book" (that is, Jews, Sabians and Christians) who lived under his rule.
In 1004, at age nineteen, al-Hakim declared the People of the Book were no longer allowed to celebrate Epiphany or Easter, and outlawed the use of wine, which placed a strain on the Christians (who used it in their rites) and the Jews (who used it in their festivals). In 1005, al-Hakim required People of the Book to wear black belts and black turbans, to differentiate them from Muslim citizens. Christians were ordered to wear an iron cross necklace, and Jews to wear a wooden calf necklace (to be replaced by a bell necklace, when in the public baths). Sabian women were required to wear one red shoe and one black. Muslims also received similar commands, such as women being forbidden from showing their faces in public and it became a crime if one entered a public bath-house with one's loins uncovered. In addition to these more personal restrictions, al-Hakim closed many clubs and other places of entertainment.
But all of this was nothing compared to how his policies shifted in 1007, when al-Hakim's preference for Shiite Islam cooled, and he adopted a more tolerant attitude towards Sunni Muslims while beginning to show hostility towards People of the Book. Of the church mentioned before, it was rumored al-Hakim believed the annual worship of the Holy Fire to be a fraud, and ordered its destruction as well as that of its related buildings. The church, having stood in relative peace for so very long, was razed—only those items which weren't easily destroyed managing to survive.
This building was the Church of the Holy Sepluchre. Its significance came from the long-held belief that it had been erected over the spot where Christ had been crucified, also encompassing the sepluchre into which he was placed after death, and from which he Rose from the dead.
The angel hovered over the wreckage, Grace lit with tempered holy fury and deep sorrow. He did as much as he could, protected what he could and ballasted parts of the building to prevent their collapse. With the might of evil driving the actions of al-Hakim's soldiers, however, he could only do so much, and so the angel was forced to watch as holy stone crumbled and holy wood burned. He felt a pulse of darkness, and raised his eyes. The Serpent was floating just above the destruction, grinning wide and emanating satisfaction. Blue eyes narrowed as the demon crowed.
"So sorry, angel. Al-Hakim couldn't help but come to despise the Christians, and this is just—"
They dropped together, a tangle of limbs and white feathers as the angel tackled him in midair, palm shining white as he pressed it to the Serpent's head. The demon laughed off the attempted smite, spinning them around, grunting as he vied for control. They wrestled while the ground came up at them.
"Can't smite me like this, angel! Too much evil in the air!" The angel remained stonily silent as they grappled, putting all his concentration into gaining the upper hand, and when they hit the ground it was the Serpent who gasped in pain, bones in his legs shattering against broken stone and splintered wood. The angel moved to straddle him, hands pinning his wrists to scorched rock. The demon hissed at the undiluted contact with holy ground, wisps of steam curling lazily upward from his corporation before he shielded himself. The fire all around them didn't call any attention, either—its flames licked, but did no harm to the two supernatural beings. A blue-grey gaze simmered with hurt buried so deeply that his stare only came across as blank.
"You had no reason to do this. These people are innocent! People of the Book, only living here, accepting the conditions of being under Muslim rule—they are good! They put up with the persecution since it means still being able to live and worship here in this holy city, and you—" A pair of angelic tears welled up, and the Serpent winced as they landed on his skin, sizzling as they scalded one cheek. The twin angry, red blisters didn't heal, and yellow serpentine eyes glared up at his foe.
"Sssshut up. It's my job to do harm, and jussst because I put the idea in al-Hakim's head doessssn't mean I knew he would—"
"Stop lying to me." The Serpent froze, at that cold, unforgiving tone, and found himself looking up into hard eyes. The angel's grip on him made his yet-unbroken bones creak, and he hissed involuntarily in pain and fear.
"Whatss?" The angel glared at him, placing a palm on the Serpent's chest and manifesting his Grace so that it glowed. The demonic creature shuddered, fangs manifesting at the threatening holy light.
"That night, don't you remember? You said you were sick of this." Foggily, memories came trickling back and the Serpent grimaced at the content of them. He looked off and muttered under his breath, making a conscious effort not to hiss.
"I was drunk." The angel shook him, voice rising in affront.
"Don't make excuses! And stop lying!"A slap across the face, this time, and the divine contact left a red, hand-shaped burn beside the two smaller, circular ones. The Serpent hissed up at him angrily, for that, wriggling a little, trying to escape. He was held firmly down.
"Sssstop that! Sacred angel. Look—" He fixed his gaze up on his counterpart, annoyed and frowning. "I haven't lied to you, alright? This whole thing—" The Serpent nodded his head, indicating the ruins around them. "—was al-Hakim's idea. Not mine. All that stuff about Christians and Jews and Sabians having to wear certain things? Mine." He grinned cheekily up at the silent angel, fangs prominent. "Nothing like people getting annoyed with a ruler. Great consequences, from that."
"And that night?" The Serpent shifted his shoulders, looking off uncomfortably.
"What about it." Non-glowing fingertips (when had the angel restrained his Grace?) brushed over the Serpent's forehead, and the touch—surprisingly—wasn't painful. That angelic voice was soft, but guarded.
"You said you were sick of fighting. Then you appear, bragging over things like this. Which is it?" The Serpent started to gather his energy, and the angel tensed, but the demon kept it firmly within his own body, not aggressive, presumably healing. Snake-slit eyes were still directed away as he mumbled.
"Don't know what you're talking about. Fighting you's all in the job—right, oh Sanctioned Adversary." It inadvertently came out like a question, and the Serpent felt the angel pause, parse his words, hesitate. Seizing his chance, the Serpent instantly changed forms and quickly slithered out of the baggy folds of his clothes and away into the rubble, hiding. He watched as the angel blinked, his forehead creasing while he slowly stood. The angel methodically searched his surroundings with tendrils of Grace, and the Serpent shrank back as those blue-grey eyes locked on him. But the angel did nothing—merely stood, gazing in his direction. After a few tense minutes, the Serpent watched as the angel's wings finally spread out from his back, scruffy from their tussle and still radiating Grace as he took flight.
The Serpent tried to forget that analyzing stare and the short conversation, but couldn't shake off the memory. No matter how hard he tried, it stuck with him, accordingly blossoming and festering over the years as his mind grew around it, striking up ideas that were rejected over and over until at last, he couldn't ignore it anymore. One thought remained lodged firmly in his head, and one day the Serpent finally allowed himself to see it, consider it. Soon after, he sought out his foe.
-Anno Domini 1,012-
He knew the angel would be in Jerusalem, right now. Al-Hakim had just announced that all Christian and Jewish places of worship were to be destroyed. Predictably (after a few hours of observation), the Serpent found the angel rushing madly about the city, trying to temper as much destruction as he could. The demon touched down quietly behind him, and the angel spun around quickly, ready to blast him with Grace, but the Serpent held up his hands in a gesture of uneasy peace. The angel kept his hand raised, but the Serpent hadn't expected any less. Feeling the righteous fury and sorrow emanating from his Enemy, the Serpent ducked his head, submissively, keeping his eyes on the angel.
"You don't like this, right?" Angelic brows rose as he stated this, and his opponent's stare turned dubious. After a lengthy, assessing staredown, the angel spoke, quietly.
"No." The angel gestured around him with a hand at the mindless destruction, grey-blue eyes still sharp and focused on the Serpent. "This kind of radical persecution is completely unnecessary." The demon almost smiled at the suspicion, but kept his face carefully serious.
"You want to take a break? How about I help with the damage?" The angel's stance immediately shifted to offensive, tone steely and accusing.
"You dare try and tempt while true believers suffer? I daren't trust a demon to such work!" The Serpent quickly waved his hands in front of him, palms-out as he backed up, eyes wide.
"No! No, that's not—!" The angel took a step towards him, anger seeping into his expression, wings still aggressively arced out.
"Begone! I have no time for your tricks!" With that, the angel whipped back around, returning to his task of miracling some stone to withstand the destruction and saving as many truly holy artifacts as he could. The Serpent's shoulders slumped, and he sighed, eyes closing momentarily as he rubbed a hand in his black hair, frustrated. He frowned to himself, then shook his head and took flight.
He headed for another burning temple, but kept carefully off the holy ground. Telling himself this small work of charity would be worth it, the demon made vendors' stands fall, keeping people from rushing into the scene. He waved his hand, jettisoning a few rabbi out from under where they had been pinned in the rubble. His tattered Grace flinched at the contact with the holy men, but the Serpent grit his teeth and continued evacuating. When no one else was inside, he moved on to a church, or another temple, or a place of Sabian worship.
Hours later—when all the fires had burned out and the persecuted People of the Book were mourning their losses safely in their homes—the Serpent sat on a rock overlooking the city. He waited, watching the skies. Soon he spied the tell-tale form of a figure with wings, and in another moment the angel was standing beside him. The Serpent continued watching the city. The silence didn't last long.
"Why did you help." It was a statement of fact, nothing else, and the Serpent let a moment pass before glancing up at his foe, out of the corner of his eye.
"I needed to talk to you." The angel's brows descended, instantly suspicious, and the Serpent continued on, speaking deliberately. "I knew you wouldn't talk to me unless I proved myself trustworthy. That is why I helped." The angel glared at him.
"You are a demon. Nothing could make you trustworthy."
"I know that, too." He conceded this easily, but started to grin. "Despite that, you're in my debt, because I helped." The angel stiffened, but the Serpent continued on, relentless. "Luckily for you, all I want in return is for you to listen to what I have to say. Just this once. How about it?" The angel peered at him, mouth tight and drawn. The Serpent allowed his grin to shift into a leer. "Unless you'd rather I ask for something a bit more—"
"Speak, but make it quick." The demon chuckled to himself at the clipped, prissy tone, glancing out at the city with a light smile on his face. It felt more natural than it should've.
"As you command, oh Mighty Principality." The angel bristled next to him and the demon grinned devilishly to himself.
"I don't appreciate these games." The angel pointed out, a tad testily, and the Serpent sobered, shrugging.
"Right." He stood in one fluid motion, shoulders rolling back as his hands slipped into his pockets and he glanced seriously over his shoulder at the angel. "We're both tired of this stupid fighting, yeah? So I've got a proposition for you." The angel's brow started to darken in suspicion, but the Serpent ignored it, holding up a hand in a nonverbal request to finish, voice plain and matter-of-fact. "Nothing malicious, I promise. What if we just… stopped encouraging things, on such a large scale?" The Serpent waved his hand out, at Jerusalem. "Like this. This is a big deal, but I could've easily stopped it before it got too far." He grinned again, showing fangs. "We can both see the paths the future could take, so you know I'm right." The angel looked as though he'd swallowed a lemon, arms folding over his chest as he looked away, lips pursed in denial.
"The future is a mystery." The Serpent interjected immediately, pointing to drive it home.
"To humans. It was never hidden from us. Look, all I'm saying is that this—" He searched for the word, snapping his fingers before landing on the right one. "—excess is completely unneccesary. You were right, there's no reason for it to get this bad. So why don't we agree on something like prevention?" The angel peered over at him, layers of engrained mistrust not quite enough to cover a flicker of curiosity.
"What are you proposing." The statement was flat, seemingly uninterested, but it still made the Serpent grin a little. He held out his hand, fingers slightly curled and the gesture open and honest.
"Nothing bad, really. Just a… pact. A deal, if you will." The angel's brows descended, his jaw set and he eyed the extended hand like a speck of dirt.
"I'll agree to nothing of the sort. Deals with demons are forbidden." The Serpent silently cursed that the angel'd caught on to that phrasing—but, no matter. His smile turned sharp, almost strained. He hated it when his advantages were neutralized, but this was too important an idea to lose over a squabble of semantics.
"Just an understanding, then. An arrangement-sort-of thing. Nothing official, nothing tying either of us but our word. How's that sound?" The angel squinted at him, otherwise unmoving.
"What kind of arrangement?" The Serpent waved his hand, outlining possible terms.
"That we tone down our influence—just a bit, don't worry—and stop making the humans do anything too bad or too good. Y'know what I mean? Let them accomplish some stuff, and we can balance it out between us, yeah? Otherwise, we'd stay out of each other's affairs, and do our own stuff without getting discorporated. It's bloody nuisance, that—know what I mean? But, point is, we'd still be able report to Above and Below about making progress here on Earth." The Serpent plunged on, seeing the angel about to object. "No, really! It'd work, 'cause I'd promise not to tempt or sow more discord than necessary, and you'd promise to tone down that religious do-goodedness you're so blessed talented at." The angel blinked, flushing a little at the compliment, and the Serpent felt his lips curl into a snake-like smile.
That was his mistake, as the angel immediately stiffened, the blush disappearing as he glared accusingly at the Serpent. Now—clearly indignant—his arms fell from their defensive position, hands propping themselves on his hips.
"You're just trying to fool me into a trap—it's obvious you have ulterior motives." The angel sniffed, affronted. "Trusting a demon. I'm not that naïve!" With a proud toss of his head, he took flight, and was gone in the blink of an eye. The Serpent stared for a moment, then blessed to himself, kicking a rock nearby in frustration. He'd almost had it! Sanctified, stubborn, suspicious angel! He snarled, fingernails digging into his own palms. So close. Was it too much to ask for an angel of the lord to trust a goddamned demon—just once?
-Anno Domini 1,020-
The Serpent didn't expect it when, eight years later (and after much behind-the-scenes fighting with each other), the angel approached him. His face was tight and worried, and he seemed to have received a Revelation. The Serpent asked him about it, but the angel would only shake his head and say that in the times to come, the world would need some unity. So, the angel might not have been quite in his right mind when he agreed, but the Serpent wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. They shook hands, after settling on an arrangement (with slightly-altered and more detailed terms than in his original proposal) both of them could live with.
: : :
Time continued on much as it had, but over the years the ferocity of their interactions lessened. This easing of tension culminated in the Serpent sleeping through much of the 19th Century. When the Serpent found the angel after his nap, his Adversary offered up a (surprisingly not holy-water-laced) bottle of wine to greet in the new year (and new century) in 1900. The angel didn't say much, just offered the Serpent a placid smile and said it was good to have him back.
Things between them grew quieter—almost amiable—after that. The angel had settled up in London in early 1600 by opening a bookshop to help spread the Good Book, and now the Serpent bounced around to different countries, slightly unsettled by the thought of having gained a comrade. They were Enemies, after all, they couldn't be friends. Demons didn't have friends (because if they did, they'd only be other demons or humans, and would thus stab said demon in the back). But it didn't change the fact that the Serpent found himself calling on the angel more often than not, seeking out his company and even going so far as to ask him for a favor.
It was a very specific favor, involving a meticulously-insulated thermos—what cared the Serpent for anachronisms, if they were only for his own personal use?—and a good amount of a certain liquid. It hasn't been a potent liquid to start with, really, but after the angel blessed it for him it was far more dangerous to any demon than ordinary holy water. Water blessed by angels completely purged a demon's "True Essence of Self" from existence, while water blessed by the Pope or truly pious Catholic cardinals would greatly injure (without possibility of regaining its previous power) a demon's Essence. In contrast, water blessed by common pastors or priests would only moderately injure a demon's Essence. Weakest of all, water blessed by a few words (and possibly a rosary thrown into the water, for flavor) from an ordinary human's mouth only scalded the very surface of a demon's Essence (with recovery of power quite possible, afterwards).
But this was a sidebar, a precaution, should the demon ever find himself on Hell's bad side. (He had a sneaking suspicion this fraternization with his Enemy might give cause for some sort of internal audit, and the Serpent wanted to be prepared, should Hastur and Ligur ever show up at his residence.) As the 1600s passed, the Serpent watched, amused, as the angel's stock dwindled. He really was a very good bookseller when he wanted to be—kind, helpful, kept his shop well-lit and even gave discounts, should his customers seem to be in dire need. After a while (once they hit the 1700s), the Serpent noticed that about half the books on the emptied shelves weren't regular Bibles. He leafed through a few, but the angel caught him and scolded him. The Serpent's brows raised, and the angel blinked, then blushed in shame, holding one of the books close to his chest, mumbling something about it having typos. He couldn't sell a book with typos—it would be immoral, after all—but there really were quite a few with such typos. The Serpent made the mistake of listening to his curiosity and asking about it, and the angel's eyes lit up.
The Serpent did find himself snickering at the "Thou Shalt Commit Adultery" Bible, as well as the "Buggre Alle This" Bible (even though it was tame, at best). But the angel went on and on about the rest of his collection, and the Serpent raised a brow when the angel came to the Bible where someone had added three verses around the time when Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden. He peered at the angel, who smiled enigmatically. The Serpent huffed, asked if that was really what the angel had said to God and smirked when the angel puffed up and insisted it was the truth.
After the first apocalypse in 1990, they finally admitted they were friends, and that their loyalties lay with one another and Earth more than anywhere else. The next few years were spent keeping under Heaven and Hell's radar, and both quietly did their accustomed lines of work, trying not to call attention to themselves by changing anything too drastically. After the rescheduled apocalypse of 2000, they conferred with each other, finding it strange that it had been ten years with no word from Above or Below. The Serpent suggested they consider themselves lucky, and from then on they let themselves relax a bit, but still kept tabs on each other, in case one should suddenly get called by their superiors.
Nothing happened, and the Serpent firmly shoved it out of his mind. The angel, however, fretted over it now and then, but never mentioned his worries to his friend. He merely settled into his old routine and kept a lookout for anything odd. (And if both he and the Serpent had inscribed Enochian on their own ribs in 1990 to avoid detection, well—Heaven and Hell were none the wiser.)
[ To reiterate and clarify the degrees of potency and respective effects of Holy Water…
Blessed by an angel: Completely disintigrates a demon (like being drenched in flesh-eating acid)
Blessed by the Pope or a Catholic cardinal: Greatly injures a demon (like a limb being melted off)
Blessed by a common pastor or priest: Moderately injuries a demon (like receiving bad burns)
Blessed by an ordinary human with a rosary: Mildly injures a demon (like being hit with boiling water) ]
~END CHAPTER THREE~
