A lot of Asmodeus musings.. and the final battle between heaven and hell.
Probably the last chapter. I like Asmodeus! He's a little sleazy and a
little old compared with the rest of the angel Sanctuary cast. But he's got
that English dandy style!
Warnings: Hedonism and a lot of violence. And shameless quoting of Nietzsche (but at least it fits Angel Sanctuary...)
Thank you for R&R
**************************************************************************** **********
4 A matter of style
Cherubim Asmodeus was actually a minor judge in the high court of Heaven. But it was common knowledge that in his long time of service he never once had cared for his position. At the very bottom of his heart he despised the moral of Heaven. All rules were made by God, given to his followers but never being justified.
Asmodeus had long ago realised it. He had pondered it for a short while. So God was almighty. He had created them as he wished. He had created them as beings whose strongest need was to live in pleasure. So what were they to do? Follow their nature, of course.
He could accept that there were -maybe - Angels whose pleasure lay in pleasing God, lay in being pure and virtuous. But he had never come across such an Angel. Confronted with carnal need and material pleasures all those holy intents faltered. He had never once come a across an Angel who had not been corrupted - willingly or unwillingly.
It was ever so ironic that his destiny was to be a judge in Heaven, defending the very rules he only felt contempt for.
So Asmodeus devoted his life to 'earthly' pleasures. He loved all kinds of food and wine, he adored women, he delighted in gambling. (In fact, he had invented gambling. But that was only known to a few good friends...). He was a careful man, who avoided being caught by his own law very effectively. There were a few Angels whom he considered friends and congenial to himself. In those he trusted and confided his beliefs. For example Beelzebub, a Seraphim who surpassed even Asmodeus in his love for food and wine, but was by far to lazy and single-minded.
Among those who recently had taken to attend to his private meetings - which might have been called orgies by a more critical mind - where young Astaroth and the beautiful Belial. While Astaroth was a rather unwelcome guest - he usually sat down, looked beautiful but scary, and said nothing, and if he said something, it was just as scary as him saying nothing at all - Belial was the star and centre of all parties.
First of all, she was a witty, sly and amusing person to talk to. The way she twisted words and senses, the way she confused you, bewitched you... Then she was pretty, just so wonderful to look at, with her wild, shining eyes, her flashy smile, her scarlet curls. She was embodied esprit. And she knew it. And she was proud of it.
Many people thought she was puzzling, disturbing or even disgusting, because she was by far too old to still be androgynous. All Angels were born neither man nor woman, but it was usually decided pretty soon which gender one would become. But Belial still was 'hesitant'. But she had told him, quite openly, that she simply didn't want to become anything else.
But most important of all reasons to love her was : she perfectly understood his way of life. She had long ago and on her own realised the importance of pleasure. She knew lust. She certainly knew how to amuse herself. He didn't need to teach her. In his eyes she was perfect. She was his own saint, to his own religion.
***
He looked at the Angel before him. He was very young still, and yet very corrupted. He had been accused of some trivial crime, stealing if he remembered correctly. He had been from the slums of heaven and simply hungry. He wouldn't have stood a chance before the high court, hadn't there been Asmodeus. Asmodeus had liked the boy's looks and had only sentenced him to a small penalty.
The boy had been thankful and he had taken him to his house. It had not taken much to corrupt him. He was looking boyish and lithe, had watery blue eyes and a handsome pale face. Wearing a red wig, he was just perfect. Asmodeus stroked the soft skin, wanting to continue his day-dreaming.
How disturbed had his routine of enjoying his life become. Once he had taken every woman and man he wanted as a lover, had been able to choose and had, for a short time, been able to adore each of them. Now, no one was really enough. Something was missing. Pleasure was beginning to feel shallow, shallow as the purity of prayer. For a very tiny moment he had doubted himself. Could it be that he had been wrong all the time? Was he craving God after all, not his fellows?
But he was not. It was quite simple. It was not his love for God, but it was love. He, who had believed himself to have infinitely many hearts to give away, or no heart at all, had lost his heart in one tiny moment. The moment he had seen her first. His saint. Belial.
He tilted the boy's chin, looked into his eyes, searching. No. His body was satisfied, but his mind, his soul... they yearned for another soft skin, another pair of blue eyes, another arch of painted lips.
He stood. The boy was not understanding, but he didn't argue. He simply curled in the covers and smoked. Asmodeus walked to the window, watching the world beneath him. People were crowding. Armies, flying vehicles, weapons. The war was reaching its crucial point. The world had reached one of the darker valleys.
The stench of smoke, of killing was creeping to his nose. He turned away, his eyes drifting over his luxurious home. His hand reached for an apple, juicy, red. He weighed it in his hand, its redness, its freshness, its sweet scent... he laid it away, untouched.
Maybe it was really quite simple after all...
He went for his clothes. He took his favourite ones, black of course, and elegant and decadent. He took his hat. He took his walking stick. He send his room another wistful glance. But still... it was really quite easy to decide.
***
The forces of Heaven were in high disadvantage. Lucifel's followers had been few in the beginning, but now his army seemed to have multiplied. Thousands and thousands of angry, rebellious Angels, of horrible monsters and creatures of pure darkness. His spawns.
The forces of Heaven were powerless when it came to Lucifel. No one could fight him. He needed no more than his little finger to kill them all. They had lost all courage. They were beginning to lose their belief as well. Asmodeus could only sneer at them, as he walked between the soldiers. The rules were nothing. The love of God was nothing. Their purity was nothing. Their faith was weak. So weak that it needed only one Angel, a single rebellious Angel to make them crumble.
He walked to the high Angels, the leaders. Many of them knew him, disapproved his way of life. Many of them had warned him, that one day his blasphemy would find its end. It seemed that they were wrong. They would find their end.
He waited amongst them, saw their grim, strained faces, their lost hope. He saw the Army of Lucifel, swarming across the horizon, filling the sky with blackness. He felt a cold, harsh wind blowing over the plain where the final battle of Heaven should take place. Silence settled over the world.
And then Lucifer rose over his army. He was riding a horrifying beast : it had the wings of a bat, huge spans of thirty metres each, huge as a whole church, the colour of ashes, the scales of a snake, the eyes like burning coal. It shrieked, deafeningly, mocking the sound of the heavenly trumpets. It wings flapped like earthquakes. But above it all, a voice was heard, as clear as ice, as hard as stone.
"I challenge you, Lord! I, Lucifer, the Morning Star, challenge you! Answer my call!"
For seconds, everyone expected the holy light, the wrath of God, striking down as lightning from the darkened sky above. For minutes nothing was heard than the infernal flapping of the beasts wings. Then, slowly, a hollow laughter filled their ears. It made them shiver, made them wand to crouch in the dirt and cover their heads.
"So this is your answer, Lord?" Lucifer called when he had finished laughing.
"The Lord has nothing to say to us, anymore! God is dead!"
Like thunderstorm, the call rose from his army.
"God is dead!" And they charged forward. The army of heaven was frozen. God had left them. But still, when the first rebellious ones arrived, they fought, with the power and despair of those who have already lost. Asmodeus watched it all, staying where it was save, his eyes searching the ranks of both armies for a glimpse of red. He saw it. It was actually several glimpses of red.
A spot of screams and terror was Astaroth, who had spread his wings, wings of tainted ink-black and in his hands swung a terrible, two-headed axe, drenched in blood from head to toe, the blood of Angels. So he had already chosen his side.
Another spot of red destruction was on the far side of the battle. An inferno of flames burned the rebellious Angels alive, raging amidst it was a small, white-winged red-haired Angel. Ah, Michael, the brother of Lucifel, finally had decided where he stood. He had come to kill the one who had shared blood and life with him.
And then he saw her. She was riding a parody of a horse, with bat's wings similar to Lucifer's dragon, and hooves of burning coal and the fangs of a wolf. It spread havoc everywhere it came, and she did too, commanding a whole little army of those small but deadly beasts Lucifer had created, and she was casting black magic, the astral power of darkness. She laughed, so brightly that it was making everyone run who saw her, and she had spread her own, beautiful and almost black wings. Her red hair was ablaze. "For my Lord," she sang. "For Lucifer!"
Her smile... her ecstatic eyes... he knew why he loved her. She was a creature like a double-edged sword. One blade was a she-devil even more corrupt than him, beautifully dangerous and obscene, the other blade was a little, merrily smiling girl, fragile and vulnerable. He would forever adore her.
The battle raged, clearly in favour of Lucifer's Angels in the beginning, but soon it changed. It was Michael, and Michael alone, who saved the forces of heaven, his own power just as terrible and destructive as his invincible brother's.
The forces of the Morning Star were decimated rapidly. Soon all of the low creatures were slain, leaving only a few higher ranking rebels. Astaroth still fought in a bloodthirsty rage, his feet slithering in all the blood he had spilt.
Asmodeus spotted other Angels among them now, that he hadn't noticed before. Beelzebub, he registered with surprise. Mammon. Barbelo. Many of his friends. He smiled a grim smile. They were forced to back away, now, they were cornered, circled. And finally, the battle nearly came to a halt. Both Armies were breathless, bleeding, nearly erased.
The clatter of weapons became quieter. Angels and Angels looked at each other wearily, for the last time. Asmodeus watched them. Threw a careful glance at Lucifer, who was smiling, still, victorious. Then he went and took the leads of a horse held ready by a young boy. He mounted it, and rode through the panting lines of Heaven's army, slowly, deliberately nearing the highest of Angel's, the high court, his fellows, his critics.
He smirked. He lifted his hat.
"I'm sorry. But I believe this to be a matter of style."
" Fare well, my heavenly brothers..."
And he spurred his horse, and laughingly rode across the battlefield, changing sides and his heart was light. They, were loosing, his side, but he was happy. He spread his wings and watched as they were blackening slowly. Why hadn't they before? His heart had always been here...
"Welcome! You're late!" Belial called from where she was casting curses still, keeping Heaven at a distance. She could not lift her hat, she had lost it some time ago. But he could.
"I'm just fashionably late, my love," he called back.
But then the final battle really began. It was a fight just between the two brothers. Michael and Lucifel. It was terrible and strange and surprisingly short. And to everyone's astonishment, Michael won. He raised his sword to kill his treacherous brother. Lucifel smiled. The sword crashed down. In the matter of a second the forces of Heaven and the few remaining of Lucifer gasped.
The sword had been buried in the body of a woman. She fell and died without a word. Her significance was lost to everyone, only that she had been an Angel of Heaven and she had saved the Arch-enemy's life. And Michael's face twisted in agony. He cried. Yells, unintelligible, repelled by Lucifer's icy facade. The sword, raised again, slashing down. Lucifel had been hit. Lucifel fell, without struggle. His face was smiling still, as the earth opened beneath him and he fell, deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Belial's eyes went wide and heard her sob, choked and quiet, and then she jumped of her horse and went after him, hurling herself into the darkness. He was frozen, unable to do anything. Why had she... she who never would love anyone truly...
But the earth didn't stop devouring them. The flame sword was raised again and again in desperate fury, the small Angel who carried it was at the edge of madness.
"Brother!" he yelled.
"Lucifel!"
And they fell, into the darkness.
They fell.
Warnings: Hedonism and a lot of violence. And shameless quoting of Nietzsche (but at least it fits Angel Sanctuary...)
Thank you for R&R
**************************************************************************** **********
4 A matter of style
Cherubim Asmodeus was actually a minor judge in the high court of Heaven. But it was common knowledge that in his long time of service he never once had cared for his position. At the very bottom of his heart he despised the moral of Heaven. All rules were made by God, given to his followers but never being justified.
Asmodeus had long ago realised it. He had pondered it for a short while. So God was almighty. He had created them as he wished. He had created them as beings whose strongest need was to live in pleasure. So what were they to do? Follow their nature, of course.
He could accept that there were -maybe - Angels whose pleasure lay in pleasing God, lay in being pure and virtuous. But he had never come across such an Angel. Confronted with carnal need and material pleasures all those holy intents faltered. He had never once come a across an Angel who had not been corrupted - willingly or unwillingly.
It was ever so ironic that his destiny was to be a judge in Heaven, defending the very rules he only felt contempt for.
So Asmodeus devoted his life to 'earthly' pleasures. He loved all kinds of food and wine, he adored women, he delighted in gambling. (In fact, he had invented gambling. But that was only known to a few good friends...). He was a careful man, who avoided being caught by his own law very effectively. There were a few Angels whom he considered friends and congenial to himself. In those he trusted and confided his beliefs. For example Beelzebub, a Seraphim who surpassed even Asmodeus in his love for food and wine, but was by far to lazy and single-minded.
Among those who recently had taken to attend to his private meetings - which might have been called orgies by a more critical mind - where young Astaroth and the beautiful Belial. While Astaroth was a rather unwelcome guest - he usually sat down, looked beautiful but scary, and said nothing, and if he said something, it was just as scary as him saying nothing at all - Belial was the star and centre of all parties.
First of all, she was a witty, sly and amusing person to talk to. The way she twisted words and senses, the way she confused you, bewitched you... Then she was pretty, just so wonderful to look at, with her wild, shining eyes, her flashy smile, her scarlet curls. She was embodied esprit. And she knew it. And she was proud of it.
Many people thought she was puzzling, disturbing or even disgusting, because she was by far too old to still be androgynous. All Angels were born neither man nor woman, but it was usually decided pretty soon which gender one would become. But Belial still was 'hesitant'. But she had told him, quite openly, that she simply didn't want to become anything else.
But most important of all reasons to love her was : she perfectly understood his way of life. She had long ago and on her own realised the importance of pleasure. She knew lust. She certainly knew how to amuse herself. He didn't need to teach her. In his eyes she was perfect. She was his own saint, to his own religion.
***
He looked at the Angel before him. He was very young still, and yet very corrupted. He had been accused of some trivial crime, stealing if he remembered correctly. He had been from the slums of heaven and simply hungry. He wouldn't have stood a chance before the high court, hadn't there been Asmodeus. Asmodeus had liked the boy's looks and had only sentenced him to a small penalty.
The boy had been thankful and he had taken him to his house. It had not taken much to corrupt him. He was looking boyish and lithe, had watery blue eyes and a handsome pale face. Wearing a red wig, he was just perfect. Asmodeus stroked the soft skin, wanting to continue his day-dreaming.
How disturbed had his routine of enjoying his life become. Once he had taken every woman and man he wanted as a lover, had been able to choose and had, for a short time, been able to adore each of them. Now, no one was really enough. Something was missing. Pleasure was beginning to feel shallow, shallow as the purity of prayer. For a very tiny moment he had doubted himself. Could it be that he had been wrong all the time? Was he craving God after all, not his fellows?
But he was not. It was quite simple. It was not his love for God, but it was love. He, who had believed himself to have infinitely many hearts to give away, or no heart at all, had lost his heart in one tiny moment. The moment he had seen her first. His saint. Belial.
He tilted the boy's chin, looked into his eyes, searching. No. His body was satisfied, but his mind, his soul... they yearned for another soft skin, another pair of blue eyes, another arch of painted lips.
He stood. The boy was not understanding, but he didn't argue. He simply curled in the covers and smoked. Asmodeus walked to the window, watching the world beneath him. People were crowding. Armies, flying vehicles, weapons. The war was reaching its crucial point. The world had reached one of the darker valleys.
The stench of smoke, of killing was creeping to his nose. He turned away, his eyes drifting over his luxurious home. His hand reached for an apple, juicy, red. He weighed it in his hand, its redness, its freshness, its sweet scent... he laid it away, untouched.
Maybe it was really quite simple after all...
He went for his clothes. He took his favourite ones, black of course, and elegant and decadent. He took his hat. He took his walking stick. He send his room another wistful glance. But still... it was really quite easy to decide.
***
The forces of Heaven were in high disadvantage. Lucifel's followers had been few in the beginning, but now his army seemed to have multiplied. Thousands and thousands of angry, rebellious Angels, of horrible monsters and creatures of pure darkness. His spawns.
The forces of Heaven were powerless when it came to Lucifel. No one could fight him. He needed no more than his little finger to kill them all. They had lost all courage. They were beginning to lose their belief as well. Asmodeus could only sneer at them, as he walked between the soldiers. The rules were nothing. The love of God was nothing. Their purity was nothing. Their faith was weak. So weak that it needed only one Angel, a single rebellious Angel to make them crumble.
He walked to the high Angels, the leaders. Many of them knew him, disapproved his way of life. Many of them had warned him, that one day his blasphemy would find its end. It seemed that they were wrong. They would find their end.
He waited amongst them, saw their grim, strained faces, their lost hope. He saw the Army of Lucifel, swarming across the horizon, filling the sky with blackness. He felt a cold, harsh wind blowing over the plain where the final battle of Heaven should take place. Silence settled over the world.
And then Lucifer rose over his army. He was riding a horrifying beast : it had the wings of a bat, huge spans of thirty metres each, huge as a whole church, the colour of ashes, the scales of a snake, the eyes like burning coal. It shrieked, deafeningly, mocking the sound of the heavenly trumpets. It wings flapped like earthquakes. But above it all, a voice was heard, as clear as ice, as hard as stone.
"I challenge you, Lord! I, Lucifer, the Morning Star, challenge you! Answer my call!"
For seconds, everyone expected the holy light, the wrath of God, striking down as lightning from the darkened sky above. For minutes nothing was heard than the infernal flapping of the beasts wings. Then, slowly, a hollow laughter filled their ears. It made them shiver, made them wand to crouch in the dirt and cover their heads.
"So this is your answer, Lord?" Lucifer called when he had finished laughing.
"The Lord has nothing to say to us, anymore! God is dead!"
Like thunderstorm, the call rose from his army.
"God is dead!" And they charged forward. The army of heaven was frozen. God had left them. But still, when the first rebellious ones arrived, they fought, with the power and despair of those who have already lost. Asmodeus watched it all, staying where it was save, his eyes searching the ranks of both armies for a glimpse of red. He saw it. It was actually several glimpses of red.
A spot of screams and terror was Astaroth, who had spread his wings, wings of tainted ink-black and in his hands swung a terrible, two-headed axe, drenched in blood from head to toe, the blood of Angels. So he had already chosen his side.
Another spot of red destruction was on the far side of the battle. An inferno of flames burned the rebellious Angels alive, raging amidst it was a small, white-winged red-haired Angel. Ah, Michael, the brother of Lucifel, finally had decided where he stood. He had come to kill the one who had shared blood and life with him.
And then he saw her. She was riding a parody of a horse, with bat's wings similar to Lucifer's dragon, and hooves of burning coal and the fangs of a wolf. It spread havoc everywhere it came, and she did too, commanding a whole little army of those small but deadly beasts Lucifer had created, and she was casting black magic, the astral power of darkness. She laughed, so brightly that it was making everyone run who saw her, and she had spread her own, beautiful and almost black wings. Her red hair was ablaze. "For my Lord," she sang. "For Lucifer!"
Her smile... her ecstatic eyes... he knew why he loved her. She was a creature like a double-edged sword. One blade was a she-devil even more corrupt than him, beautifully dangerous and obscene, the other blade was a little, merrily smiling girl, fragile and vulnerable. He would forever adore her.
The battle raged, clearly in favour of Lucifer's Angels in the beginning, but soon it changed. It was Michael, and Michael alone, who saved the forces of heaven, his own power just as terrible and destructive as his invincible brother's.
The forces of the Morning Star were decimated rapidly. Soon all of the low creatures were slain, leaving only a few higher ranking rebels. Astaroth still fought in a bloodthirsty rage, his feet slithering in all the blood he had spilt.
Asmodeus spotted other Angels among them now, that he hadn't noticed before. Beelzebub, he registered with surprise. Mammon. Barbelo. Many of his friends. He smiled a grim smile. They were forced to back away, now, they were cornered, circled. And finally, the battle nearly came to a halt. Both Armies were breathless, bleeding, nearly erased.
The clatter of weapons became quieter. Angels and Angels looked at each other wearily, for the last time. Asmodeus watched them. Threw a careful glance at Lucifer, who was smiling, still, victorious. Then he went and took the leads of a horse held ready by a young boy. He mounted it, and rode through the panting lines of Heaven's army, slowly, deliberately nearing the highest of Angel's, the high court, his fellows, his critics.
He smirked. He lifted his hat.
"I'm sorry. But I believe this to be a matter of style."
" Fare well, my heavenly brothers..."
And he spurred his horse, and laughingly rode across the battlefield, changing sides and his heart was light. They, were loosing, his side, but he was happy. He spread his wings and watched as they were blackening slowly. Why hadn't they before? His heart had always been here...
"Welcome! You're late!" Belial called from where she was casting curses still, keeping Heaven at a distance. She could not lift her hat, she had lost it some time ago. But he could.
"I'm just fashionably late, my love," he called back.
But then the final battle really began. It was a fight just between the two brothers. Michael and Lucifel. It was terrible and strange and surprisingly short. And to everyone's astonishment, Michael won. He raised his sword to kill his treacherous brother. Lucifel smiled. The sword crashed down. In the matter of a second the forces of Heaven and the few remaining of Lucifer gasped.
The sword had been buried in the body of a woman. She fell and died without a word. Her significance was lost to everyone, only that she had been an Angel of Heaven and she had saved the Arch-enemy's life. And Michael's face twisted in agony. He cried. Yells, unintelligible, repelled by Lucifer's icy facade. The sword, raised again, slashing down. Lucifel had been hit. Lucifel fell, without struggle. His face was smiling still, as the earth opened beneath him and he fell, deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Belial's eyes went wide and heard her sob, choked and quiet, and then she jumped of her horse and went after him, hurling herself into the darkness. He was frozen, unable to do anything. Why had she... she who never would love anyone truly...
But the earth didn't stop devouring them. The flame sword was raised again and again in desperate fury, the small Angel who carried it was at the edge of madness.
"Brother!" he yelled.
"Lucifel!"
And they fell, into the darkness.
They fell.