The cities of the plain had been good for Crowley. Hell had panicked after that Flood business and upped his quota to impossibly high levels. Fortunately, Noah's sons had taken that Be fruitful and multiply thing seriously, and four hundred and fifty years later, he had plenty of people to work on.
There were five cities very near each other in the fertile crescent - talk about convenience - and he'd been drifting between them for about thirty years, encouraging the inhabitants' wicked ways. Hell was quite pleased with his work. Sure, it was concentrated on one area, but they were getting record numbers, so they didn't care. And frankly, Crowley was getting lazy. After the first decade or so, the whole thing had kind of snowballed and his influence was barely needed. Content to watch, drink, and take the credit, he waited for the other shoe to drop.
It did one night in the largest and most disreputable tavern in Sodom. Crowley was sitting near the fire, drinking his fourth glass of the house wine, which tasted like his idea of rat piss but was the best to be had, when Epher, the red-faced brick maker, stumbled in.
"Two brothers," he announced excitedly to the room at large, which quieted to listen to him. "Two young brothers are come to Lot's house and are exceeding fair. The elder is tall and long of limb with dark chestnut hair. The younger is shorter and plumper but with golden curls. And both have the same bright eyes."
A susurration ran through the room at this announcement. It had been a while since there'd been comely visitors in the city. Crowley started counting down in his head and when he reached one, Kena'an's voice rang out. The beefiest and meanest man in town, and smarter than he looked in a crafty, intuitive way, he was the de facto leader of the local gang and very much enjoyed "getting to know" new people.
"Let's go and meet these brothers then," he bellowed. Slamming his cup on the table, he stood, along with every man in the room apart from Crowley, who had taken another sip of his drink to disguise his eye roll. There were only so many gang rapes a demon could witness, really, and he was in no mood to see another.
"I claim the younger first," Kena'an decided. He looked around at all the expectant faces. "And you, Ahrlai, can have the elder."
Crowley nearly spit out his wine. "Me? Why?"
Kena'an grinned unpleasantly. "You pleased me with that fire last week. Too bad those kids escaped, but we'll get them next time. You're smart, Ahrlai. I like that." He got a sly look on his face. "And don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't yet welcomed any of the visitors to our town…"
Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck! Well, yes, that's the problem, isn't it? Shit.
None of this frustration was apparent, though. Crowley merely shrugged. "Well, let's see if Epher is right about their comeliness, shall we?"
With a knowing look (sure, they all had sex with men, but some people were just queer), Kena'an led the gang out the door and up the high street to Lot's house.
By the time they made it to the house, they had gathered a noisy, lusty mob of about fifty men, young and old, from all parts of the city. Kena'an banged on the door.
"Where are the men who are staying with you, Lot? Bring them out to us so that we may take our pleasure with them."
A nervous, ferrety-looking man opened the door a crack, slid out, and closed it quickly again behind him. Holding up his shaking hands, he said, "Brothers, please do not do this wicked thing. These… men are my guests. I cannot have them harmed."
Crowley noticed the odd pause and the fear which radiated off the man. Something was wrong here. Well, more wrong…
There were angry rumblings starting in the crowd when Lot added, "But look. I have two virginal daughters. I will bring them to you in place of my guests and you may do whatever you wish with them. Just do not harm my visitors."
"Stand aside!" yelled a voice from the mob. "We'll have them all."
"Let us through!" called another.
Kena'an was indignant. He was a fourth generation Sodomite and Lot had only arrived in their city a few years before – somehow avoiding the customary greeting. "Who are you, foreigner, to judge our ways? Just for that, you're going to get worse when we're done with them."
As if there had been a signal, the men began to flow forward, clearly intending to break down the door and take the guests inside. But as they did so, the door opened and two very fair men indeed reached out to pull Lot back inside. Stunned, Crowley froze, but the others pressed all the more eagerly toward the little house, given this brief glance at their prey. He wasn't paying attention when the zealous cries turned to screams.
"Help! I'm blind!"
"I can't see!"
Oh, fuck me. That was Gabriel. And whatshisface – Aziraphale.
Well aware that this meant trouble, Crowley slipped out of the now staggering, wailing crowd, and around to the back of the house where voices were coming from inside.
"Lot, do you have anyone else here—sons-in-law, sons or daughters, or anyone else in the city who belongs to you? Get them out of here, because we are going to destroy this place. The outcry to the Lord against its people is so great that He has sent us to destroy it."
"My daughters are betrothed, my lords. I'll go fetch their fiancés."
There was a sound of running footsteps, a moment of silence, and then a tentative… "Gabriel? We've been sent to destroy the city?"
"You know of the Lord's pact with Abraham."
"Right, we were sent to see if we could find ten righteous men in the city."
"And if we couldn't, we were to destroy it."
"Oh. I didn't know that part."
"No."
Another long pause. Crowley could almost see the angel's consternated expression.
"We haven't looked very long…"
There was an annoyed tsk.
"There were four dozen men out there who wanted to rape you! What more proof do you need of their wickedness?"
The lesser angel's voice was a little shaky when he responded. "But this is a city of thousands. They could just be a vocal minority…?"
"Aziraphale, if you can find nine more righteous men by dawn, then we'll spare the city. You've got about ten hours. Try to not to get hurt. Raphael will be upset if you need another corporation so soon and the way these men hurt can't be fixed just by getting another body."
More footsteps and silence. Crowley chanced a peek in the window to see Gabriel's dark head bowed - in sorrow or prayer, he wasn't sure - as the Messenger sat in a corner, arms wrapped around his knees. Then the demon was gone, following after Aziraphale, and trying to figure out what to do.
Darting and weaving through the buildings, Crowley tracked the angel through the streets, hoping that his presence would be disguised by the thick cloud of evil that hung over the condemned city. He followed him through the dark streets, into dens, taverns, and private homes and watched with narrowed eyes as Aziraphale attracted a lot of the wrong kind of attention. The demon couldn't say exactly why he was doing this, but he had a clear memory of receiving a cool cloth when he'd been expecting a flaming sword so he pressed on.
Turning down one particular alleyway, Crowley saw a thin, leprous man sneaking up on the oblivious angel peering through a window. The man's dark hair was matted and his eyes fever bright, but he looked like the had the wiry strength and will to fulfill whatever cruelty he had in mind, be it robbery or rape. In an instant, the demon was at his heels, claws extended. One quick swipe and he'd left four parallel gouges that severed the man's Achilles tendon and he fell to the ground. Aziraphale turned at the noise, seemingly aware for the first time of his danger, but by that point Crowley had already melted back into the shadows.
Aziraphale left the area quickly and once again, Crowley followed. There were two other close calls that night before the dispirited angel returned to Lot's house; not that he knew about them.
Returning to his spot under the window, Crowley heard, "How went the mission?"
"I found no one…" came the lesser angel's small voice. "Men, women, even small children, corrupted beyond redemption…"
"Then we do our duty in the morning."
"And Lot? Did he find his sons-in-law?"
Gabriel snorted. "They thought he was kidding. Or mad. Only the immediate family will be spared."
A soft sigh. Then a reluctant, "Yes…"
Crowley didn't care about the destruction of the town, of course. To have so many people arriving in Hell earlier than expected would make his superiors happy. They tended to see things in the short-term. And he didn't give a damn about anyone who lived on the plain. But there were still two things that bothered him.
The first was that God was apparently willing to wipe out entire settlements when things didn't turn out the way He wanted. The Flood and now this? Crowley thought He was acting like a petulant child who was about to lose a game. Oh, He'd made that covenant with Noah about never drowning the world again; sealed it with rainbows and all that shit. But He had been oddly unspecific about fire, earthquake, or other natural disasters. And the demon planned to be well away before he discovered what it would be this time.
Secondly, that plaintive note in Aziraphale's voice tugged at some vulnerable part of him. It wasn't that he cared about the angel's unhappiness, but as a pawn himself, he could relate to the desperate wish that things be different. Suddenly and uncomfortably reminded of his general powerlessness, the invisible shackles chafed and he remembered why he generally tried not to think about these things. Damn the angel for that, anyway.
Still, he didn't have time for this. Dawn was less than an hour off, judging by the light in the sky. Crowley hurried home to gather up his few personal belongings, then started to make his way out of the city.
Unfortunately, the path that led to the only gates into or out of the city went right past Lot's house, and as Crowley passed, Gabriel, Aziraphale, Lot, and his family came out. The demon flattened himself against a nearby residence, hoping not to be noticed.
"Hurry!" he heard Gabriel say, "Take your wife and your two daughters who are here, or you will be swept away when the city is punished."
Lot seemed to hesitate, but Gabriel grabbed his hand and his wife's, while Aziraphale took the hands of his daughters and together they led them safely out of the city. Crowley followed surreptitiously. As soon as they crossed the gates, Aziraphale cried, "Flee for your lives! Don't look back, and don't stop anywhere in the plain! Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away!"
But the man stopped. "No, my lords, please! Your servant has found favour in your eyes, and you have shown great kindness to me in sparing my life. But I can't flee to the mountains; this disaster will overtake me, and I'll die. Look, there is a town near enough to run to, and it is small. Let me flee to it. Then my life will truly be spared."
Exasperated, Gabriel replied shortly, "Very well, I will grant this request too; I will not overthrow the town you speak of. But flee there quickly, because I cannot do anything until you reach it."
With a grateful bow, Lot seized his wife's and youngest daughter's hands and began to hurry away, the older girl trailing behind.
Surprised to learn that Zoar would be spared - it was just as wicked as anywhere else - Crowley decided to follow Lot there and lay low for a couple of months before moving on. But what was the point of leaving that city's wickedness to infect whatever new cities sprang up in the old's place? Surely some thought had gone into this plan, but Gabriel was treating it disturbingly casually. It didn't make the demon feel any better.
Nor did it help when Aziraphale tilted his head, turned to look directly at him, and said fiercely, "You! "
Or when Gabriel swiveled to look at him, too. "Aziraphale? You know this demon?"
Not taking his eyes off him, Aziraphale replied, "This is the demon Crowley that I've mentioned in my reports. He's a clever and dangerous enemy."
As flattering a description as it was, Crowley was no match for two angels, especially not when one was an archangel, and his mind was desperately searching for a means of talking his way out of the situation and somehow escaping. He'd opened his mouth to speak when Gabriel interrupted – rather rudely he thought.
"Well, I don't have time for him and he cannot be allowed to jeopardize our work. This is your job, Aziraphale. Deal with him. I'll handle with the rest." Unfurling his wings, the Messenger took to the sky.
Crowley watched Gabriel go with relief. Aziraphale wouldn't hurt him, right? Not after the last time... He realized shortly thereafter what a stupid assumption that was to make.
"You did this, didn't you?" Aziraphale demanded of the demon. "The city. The people. How could you?" It was a much more effective question after he'd thrown Crowley to the ground and pinned him there.
"It's my job," grunted Crowley. "Why do you have to come around and fuck it up?"
Aziraphale turned a livid red before hauling off and punching Crowley in the face. "Because it's my job, serpent. And I'm not going to sit by and watch you corrupt these people. There were children in there…"
Sliding quickly out of the path of a second attempt, the demon extended his claws and raked them across Aziraphale's chest in order to try and slither out from underneath him, but the angel tripped him with a vicious kick to the back of the knee and he fell again, rolling into a more defensive position.
"It's their choice," he hissed. "It's always their choice. I don't force anything."
Jumping forward, the angel brought a knee up to connect sharply with Crowley's solar plexus. The demon retaliated with a head-butt that left him seeing stars, but by the way Aziraphale reeled back, he'd got the worst of it.
Staggering slightly, Aziraphale laughed mirthlessly and pointed back at the gates. "That is not a choice. If you're born in there, you don't get choices."
As Crowley tried to get his eyes to focus again, a fist came out of nowhere for another punch, but he snatched a hand out, caught it, and squeezed it hard enough to break bone. Getting a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble, he let go of the hand and sank his fangs deeply into Aziraphale's shoulder, tasting angel blood. With inhuman flexibility, he got his feet flat on Aziraphale's chest and pushed off, separating the two momentarily.
"They have choices. They can choose not to participate, not to join a gang, not to rape anyone…"
He directed a kick at the angel's head and Aziraphale didn't quite manage to dodge in time. It clipped the side of his head, spinning him around. Apparently unable to stop the spin, the angel seemed to throw himself into it with all the momentum he could gather and opened his wings out wide, turning them edgewise like the blades of a very large fan. There was a snapping sound as the left wing connected solidly in the middle of Crowley's back and Aziraphale grabbed him from behind. With a pained cry, Crowley swiveled and lashed out blindly.
Pulling the injured pinion out of the reach of the demon's claws, the angel spat, "You mean they can choose to be a victim rather than a bully. What kind of choice is that?"
Crowley used his leverage to flip the heavier being over his shoulder, but with the iron grip Aziraphale had on his arms, one got badly dislocated in the process as the angel's back hit the ground. He was intending to plant a knee in Aziraphale's stomach, but a leg came up and blocked him. The demon clawed at the exposed thigh instead, nicking the femoral artery, and stomped on one of the angel's wings pinned beneath him.
"The kind of choice your people seem to like," he retorted, panting heavily from the exertion and holding his useless arm stiffly to one side. "The one where you have to suffer a whole lot if you want to do the 'right' thing."
He was in intense pain certainly, though it was mostly tolerable, but at the moment Crowley was feeling almost… relieved. He'd been indolent for years and the chance to do something - anything near what he could do - was wonderful. He couldn't say he was thrilled about being attacked, but in fighting back he felt strong, powerful, well-matched, in short, he felt like a demon again. Spending too long alone around humans often made him forget more than the basics of his true nature. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had gotten lost in the lies he'd told. The angel helped him remember who he was.
Aziraphale didn't appear to be able to get up and he was losing a lot of blood very quickly. Still, his eyes flashed angrily as he looked up at the demon. "If being right were easy, no one would learn anything."
"Consider this a valuable lesson then, angel," retorted Crowley as he kicked him in the head so hard that he knocked him unconscious. Out cold, the angel couldn't heal himself and Crowley watched blankly as he bled to death.
By the time their fight was over, Lot had reached Zoar and the sun had risen fully over the land. Holding his injured arm, Crowley turned to see where Gabriel had gone.
The archangel was hovering over the city, shining brightly, arms outstretched, and head thrown back. It wasn't a hopeful glow. He was pulsing a deep, angry, fiery red. It hurt to look at him, but the demon couldn't look away. God's power was often like that. No matter how horrible the actual event, it was impossible not to gaze in wonder.
Dark clouds began pouring into the sky in just the same way they had after Eden and before the Flood. God may be powerful, Crowley thought, but sometimes He wasn't very creative. Then again, once you've got something that works, why change it? It was easier to focus on such trivial things than what was actually happening.
Gabriel began to speak then, his voice sounding strained and unnatural as it echoed against the buildings.
"Lo, the judgment of the Lord is upon you. You have sinned, and in your wickedness, have caused your own destruction. Behold the power of the Lord and repent. May He look with mercy upon your souls."
A scream began in the cities, as if from one throat, but made up of thousands of voices. Heedless of their cries, the archangel shone all the brighter as blue tendrils of power began to crackle around his body. Without further warning, a massive lightning bolt issued from Gabriel's hand, landing squarely on the tavern where Crowley had been sitting the night before and blowing it apart. More lightning bolts shattered the most important buildings as burning sulfur began to rain from the sky.
Numb at first, the demon wondered what the people had done to bring such destruction upon them. Did God really have such a problem with rampant homosexuality? It didn't produce children, but it didn't harm anyone, either. Then, as if hit with one of the burning bolts, it struck him that that wasn't what this was about. This was about violence and rape. This was about power and the abuse thereof. Corruption. And while none of it had been Crowley's idea originally, he had encouraged the people in it. Threatened by Hell, he'd pushed them so far that they lost all their compassion, understanding, empathy; had become no better than animals. Maybe the angel was right. Maybe they had lost their free will, or more accurately had given it away, and he'd taken it to pretend it was his own. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
All below was panic and chaos. Burning skies, burning buildings, burning people. Crowley wouldn't see anything like it again for thousands of years. The wailing shouts continued until there were no more tongues left to issue them. Charred foundations of former glory, the silent streets of the dead cities were littered with the bodies of the damned.
Crowley watched it all in shock and horror, unable to do anything, unable even to move without becoming violently nauseous. He didn't want to draw the archangel's attention in any event. None of those people had meant anything to him, but no one deserved to be burned alive. The demon glanced at Aziraphale's body. At least he'd given him a relatively painless end.
Finally, it was done. He'd almost thought it would go on ceaseless and cruel forever. But the horrible noise did eventually cease and was followed by an even more horrible silence. Crowley lay on the ground feigning death as Gabriel surveyed the scene and then slowly flew away. It must have been imagination on the demon's part as there was no way at such a distance that Crowley could have actually seen a glint of tears in his eyes.
After some time spent in the stillness, Crowley roused himself. Without looking back at the city, he began to slowly trudge towards Zoar. Halfway there, he encountered a pillar of salt. Its presence was strange and unaccountable and gave him a deeply uncomfortable, melancholy feeling.
By the time Crowley made it to Zoar, Lot and his daughters had gone. Not daring to stay without them and the protection they afforded, the demon wandered on.
(1) If this seems unlikely, consider that the population of the United States of America in 1776 was 2.5 million people. Two hundred years later, it was nearly 300 million. So, if the population of a region increases a hundred-fold every two hundred years, there would have been about 100,000 people in the area for Crowley to wile.
(2) Figuratively, of course.
(3) Albeit a rather successful one if God Himself had to deal with his projects…