The Mad Teaparty
Prologue: Part Two
It was later in the evening when it passed through the charcoal black corridors, of the great Demon Lord Lucifer. The marble floors reflected the sin's face back at it, as the clown serenely made it's way to it's Master's chambers, wondering if there would soon be a time for him to return.
It had been nearly an infinite number of centuries since the great war, and the fall of many of the great Angels in Heaven including Lucifiel, the Morning Star, and Baru-who was now known as Barbelo, the sin of Wrath. There were many others, but none of them crossed the mind of Belial, it was to intent on it's destination-and the person it was going to see.
Before the reign of Lucifer, Sheol was a dead and barren place. The ground was hard and dry as a dirt black stone, the sky was a cloudless tepid gray, and any sign of life was almost certainly a mirage. That changed after Michael, the fire wielder, the great leader of Powers cast his twin from Heaven. When Lucifer arrived in Sheol he made himself one with the dead lands, and in turn gave the plain of Sheol life. But when the now beautiful land is harmed, it weeps Lucifer's crimson blood.
A right, a left-another left and two more rights, a flight of stairs and two lefts brought Belial to face the dark oak of the gargantuan doors of Lucifer's throne room. It walked in immediately met with the sight of the Hell-king's bloated body, which was hundreds of times what it should be.
It walked in a few feet before bowing it's head, keeping its eyes respectfully to the ground in the presence of it's Master. "Soon One will have your bride, Lord Lucifer. Your nine hundred and ninety eighth bride will be a refreshing addition to your...collection." It paused, as if expecting an answer from the vacant shell, but Belial knew that it's Master's consciousness resided elsewhere. "One already has a beautiful maiden in mind, Lord. One vows not to disappoint you."
Belial stood, having said what it came to say, and left the room at a hurried pace. Disrespect to it's Master, weather he could hear it or not was not allowed.
The clown knew that it was Lord Lucifer's only truly loyal servant. All of the other sins and upper class demons had their own agenda, making a twisted web of alliances, that instead of helping to catapult themselves into power, only hindered them that much more.
Belial took no part in any of these games the others loved so much to play, because when Lord Lucifer returned in all his malevolent glory, that he could not help but love, and want it. And then, and only then, would Belial be truly free.
As it continued through the maze of a palace, deep in it's own thoughts--the jester failed to notice a being coming in the opposite direction. Step after step, and it's eyes remained vacant and glazed over in nightmare-ish daydreams of the day it could hate Lucifer.
A man caught it by the shoulders of it's clean black coat, only for an instant before Belial disappeared in a haze of purple fog. The man's smirk, which seemed inseparable from his face only widened--he had managed to catch Pride off guard.
"Belial, Belial," he mockingly scolded into the empty hallway, "it seems you've been out of your head lately. Maybe I could help?"
Hesitatingly, the jester reappeared, almost materializing out of one of the breathing walls, a small, but noticeable frown plain upon it's delicate face. Venom dripped from every syllable:
"One would like to remind you, Asmodeus, that only Master can address One with One's real name without the penalty of death."
Knowing he had touched a nerve, Asmodeus, the sin of Lust continued with his favorite pastime: annoying Belial. In some twisted way, he loved it--it didn't want him, and that intrigued the sin and tormented his dreams at the same time. He could have any woman he wanted, on Assiah, or in Hell...but Belial was unattainable. Belial was the ultimate prize.
"My most sincere apologies, Mad Hatter." Lust hung his head, feigning shame. "But," he looked up, "if you're still having problems keeping your mind where you are...perhaps I could take you to my chambers and show you a few new ways to stay caught up in the moment?"
That...thing will never quit, will he? Belial shook its head in disgust, for once breaking it's usually calm mask to make a face. Never, would she ever even fathom doing anything of the sort with...
"Asmodeus-though One does remember turning down your offer last time we crossed paths," it paused not knowing how to put it without being redundant. It couldn't find any possible way at the moment-a quick exit was on it's agenda, so the clown let the sentence hang. "One is to serve only Lord Lucifer."
Belial turned on it's heel and began to saunter off, thinking it had won the brief battle of wits and tongues.
Lust on the other hand only smirked and shook his head, letting the jester get to the end of the hall before he muttered:
"Serving and servicing are two completely different things."
A conscience. Why does One need one, wondered the clown as it laid in the center of it's part of the castle. Belial didn't have a large section of the massive building to call it's own, but what it had was good enough. Using it's dark magick it took the dilapidated wing, which used to be fit for a worthless waste of space, and turned it into a beautiful forested area.
It was always night there, and the trees which nearly went to the high ceilings were always lit with fireflies. There was a huge boulder with a wedge cut out of it in the center of Belial's domain. It had covered the large, smooth flat space with hundreds of purple pillows, making it a comfortable place to lounge or to ponder--not sleep. Belial rarely slept.
Now as it sat there, arm lifted into the air, as if beckoning something, the jester was reminded of the child from Assiah. Why the girl popped into it's head eluded the sin, usually anyone it encountered that wasn't of importance to it's Master was forgotten.
"What intrigues me about that child..." Belial questioned aloud. Then, almost as soon as the last syllable left it's lips one of the jester's many pet butterflies landed on it's hand that it had lifted toward the night sky only moments earlier. The butterflies were abnormal--all of them were as big as dinner plates, and all were different shades of deep purple. The butterflies were Belial's only real companions—so it gave them the ability to speak to it. It brought it's hand down to look at it's friend and unbeknownst to the clown, it sighed.
You know the sorrow that the youngling harbors all too well, Belial looked to the butterfly waiting for it to continue as the creature slowly flapped it's wings. Both of you have more in common than you'd like to admit...and in a way she has accomplished what you still cannot.
It's blue eyes shot open as the full effect of what the insect had just revealed sunk in. The butterfly was correct, as irritating as it was--Belial, unlike the girl, was not free to feel as it wished. It was bound by warped judgement, and corrupt values of itself and others, while the girl, pure and innocent as she is can look it in the eye, and with no humor in her voice proclaim the hatred she has for her family.
Allowing it's body to pass halfway through the rock, the jester's head looked sullenly out upon the forest, "One is bound by One's own emotions, and yet the child's seem to set her free. Is One...weak? Is One blind to what is around, One?"
The butterfly, who had been robbed of it's perch in the sin's little fit, lazily waved it's wings at it's creator. You're correct.
"Correct in what manner?"
You since the time you lived in Yetzeriah, you always used your sexuality as a weapon to entice the male angels to succumb to you.
You would do anything to feel that motion once more, to suck on that vile male organ and hear the guttural sounds they make--that alone was one of the only satisfactions in life that you had. Sex was and still is taboo to angels, and it seems before you came along, there was no want or need for it.
You are the disease that started the plague that is cutting down angels one by one. Sevoharthe is executing more of his own men, than your side had in the last great war...if it weren't for you their army would be ten times stronger than it is now.
"One has done One's Lord a great service then." It watched as the butterfly took off from the pillow it was on to flap about the jester's head in frustration, before landing once more.
That is where your service to your lord ends. You then were so disgusted by the way men lusted for you, that when you realized that sex was not only a weapon, but an addiction. You quit giving those quick encounters under their desks or in closets, and tried to pretend to be everything you weren't...holy and innocent. Belial flinched, at the memories the insect was bringing up--those were times the jester did not want to revisit.
That's when you were raped was it not? When you were working in the lab, waiting for the Virtue Raphael when you were seized by a co-worker and taken advantage of in a back room. Yes, you remember how much it hurt--you remember the hatred.
Men do nothing but abuse their power and take advantage of the women, who lay back and let themselves be repeatedly harmed, was that not your logic?
Belial took a feeble swat at the butterfly, wanting it to shut up. It didn't want to hear about this again, but the winged creature only continued it's assault from the air:
So you took those drugs, to keep yourself from being one of those fated females. Have the best of both worlds, I assume? And then you fell, following the one man who never looked at you as a piece of meat, blindly as a lost dog. Each time you tried to seduce him he struck out at you in disgust--and you loved it--nothing as worthless as you was worth his time.
Your love is your weakness, Belial, it keeps you bound to a man that will never give you what you want, and you are blind because you cannot see it. You will forever be his most vile pet, his lapdog--and everyone can see it but you.
The jester out of nowhere grabbed the butterfly by one of it's shimmering wings and rose up out of the rock. It's face was serene as always, but it's eyes shone with murder--even if it was only an enchanted butterfly, Belial wanted to kill.
"One hopes this little insect took pleasure in being a kill joy, but One would like to inform this little insect that it is out of place in speaking to One in such a manner."
The butterfly was quiet and so Belial began to dig one of it's nails into the small creature's wings. Promptly being answered with a scream. "A screaming butterfly? Enchanting," snarled the jester through the corner of it's mouth. It was now tired of playing with the butterfly, so it made slow work of killing it, shredding it's wings from the outside in, leaving the body intact--letting it scream all it wanted.
"Enchanting, indeed..."
End of…Prologue: Part One
A.N.Okay, I apologize. This chapter is later than I would have liked, and it's shorter. Hey-I tried, but I couldn't squeeze anything else out-my inspiration was running out. Oh, and for the grammar and spelling mistakes, I do use spell check, but everything grammatically that I left, is there because that's how I have to write it for the Hatter, or it'll sound wrong.
I like the way in the first part where Mad Hatter calls Asmodeus a 'thing'—ironic in a very big way, really. The whole point of this part of the prologue is to show that right off the bat, that Mad Hatter isn't without feeling, or shame, or hurt…then again, Mad Hatter also hates, and spites. It truly is like us in a way…you know, except for the sexless thing.
Anyway—now that I'm done with the Prologues, I can start on the actual story part of the story. Yes! Keep checking back every week or so, I'm going to work for weekly updates, whilst trying to get Sober is Relative done too. Do review both. Katou and Hatter thank you...in some way...
Oh—and thank you to Firedanser27, Shiro Ryuu, VoodooPriestess, MidnightScribbler, and the Anonymous Violet, and sesshys desire for reviewing, and making me that much more willed to continue. You all deserve a cookie, and the opportunity to review again.