Warning: this chapter contains references to semi-graphic violence and torture. Read with discretion!

Chapter Eleven

Of Hurt and Reconciliation

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity."

-Proverbs 17:17

Caudery was screaming. Nobody heard him. Or if they did, they didn't care. Everyone screamed in Hell.

Caudery was in constant pain, horrible continuous agony, which never ceased and never grew less. It didn't matter what was done to him or how. It was all the same. Endless torment. And it would be this way for the rest of eternity.

The centuries had passed by as though only grains of sand pouring in an hourglass, moving on forever as time itself had ceased to exist.

Everything had ceased. Everything had burned. Caudery had watched it. The universe had rolled back in on itself, like a scroll of parchment. The last battle between Heaven and Hell had raged across the the heavens, until at last the Darkness had been defeated for once and for all. The old heavens and earth had ended and the new Heavens and new Earth had replaced them.

Caudery didn't get to see the new creation. He had seen the battle. He had seen Righteousness triumph. Evil would never again taint the world.1

Then he had Fallen.

Fallen once more into burning sulfur, everlasting darkness and pain. So much pain. Caudery's last pair of wings had been ripped from him, just as the others had been so long ago, leaving behind only bloodied stumps and stray blackened feathers. All he had left of his former angelic nature was the tarnished halo and even that was only a grim memory of paradise lost.

Everything was gone forever.

The Bentley had burned.

Leather, metal and paint were reduced to smoldering ash and charred remains. His flat in Mayfair had vaporized, like water in a fire. Mrs. Alms was also gone, though Caudery knew she had gone to be forever in the place prepared for her by her Savior. A place Caudery had once dwelt before he had Fallen.

Oh yes, Fallen he had. There was no point in denying it now. He didn't saunter vaguely downwards as he so wished to believe. No, he Fell from Grace.

Fell.

The name dropped into his mind like a fleck of ice in an inferno. What had become of the angel? Returned to his original state in all probably. Being just what he was created to be, in the service of the Almighty.

Caudery leaned his head against the wall at his back. The abrasive, hard materiel was the only cool surface in this place. He tried to breath, but the blood in his mouth made him choke on the air. The air was hot, thick and dead. Very dead.

Caudery's head snapped back into the wall as another blow hit him.

He wished he could fight, but as every other time he had thought of this desire, it was utterly useless. He could barely move on his own. His arms were lashed tightly behind him, so tightly he couldn't feel his hands. His legs had been broken at the start of his imprisonment and they had never healed. He sat in his own blood and excrement, bones shattered and out of joint and yet somehow still alive. If such a condition could be called alive. His human body was beyond death, in a state of suspended existence, cursed to be so for the rest of forever, without ever rotting or turning to dust.

The demon wished he were dead, a wish never to be granted. He had not been created mortal and the immortal do not have the option of birth or death. Only eternity.

Caudery cursed the day when Evil had entered creation, cursed the moment his foot had slipped from the Path. 2

Oh why, oh why, oh why?

The question pounded over and over in Caudery's mind, driving him insane. Maybe he already was insane. He couldn't tell. The constant torment was enough to drive anyone out of their skull. He wasn't even sure if his skull was still in one piece. It felt like it was shattered, tiny fragments of bone stabbing holes in his skin and reducing what remained of his brain into bloody pulp.

"My God, is there no end?"

The words left Caudery's mouth in a pitiful squeak. Hastur spat in his direction. He had no pity for him. There was no remorse in his being. Only hate and he hated Caudery almost as much as he hated the Almighty. Now they were together in Hell and though Hastur couldn't kill Caudery, he could make what little life he had living Hell, even as he was being tortured himself. It was the one enjoyment the demon could get. He could never again torment a human soul or murder the innocent, but he could torture his fellow demons and that he did with intense passion.

Caudery felt a shoot of pain go up his neck as Hastur struck him again. There was a snap in his shoulder. Caudery saw pinpricks of light before his eyes. Another bone had broken. Caudery was sick, literally sick. He had nothing to wretch up but more of his own blood. His trousers were coated with it. His clothes were disgusting and destroyed beyond recognition. His snakeskin boots were still on his feet, barely identifiable.

Caudery felt the weight of a body hit the floor beside him. Using what little strength he had, Caudery turned his head. What he saw filled him with fresh horror.

The body lay on its side, the back facing him. The stumps of what had been six wings were just visible, dark blood seeping through the torn jacket. A few white feathers clung to the wounds. It was the body of an angel. The body slumped back, the head dropping towards him. Caudery saw pale blond curls stained red and a round face disfigured by gashes.

Caudery's scream caught in his throat.

It was Fell.

The remains of the angel were cut and torn almost beyond identification, bloodied and horrific. Caudery screamed for all his lungs could, mixed with black tears streaming down his face.

"No, Fell, not you. Not Fell, oh dear God, not this," Caudery cried. "Not you, angel. Not you, too."

Caudery gave a final scream and fell forward. He hit the floor and blacked out.

Then he woke up.

Caudery's eyes snapped open. He saw not the flames of Hell, but a blank ceiling.

The pain was gone. The sounds of Hell were gone.

Caudery lay there, feeling both freezing cold and burning hot at the same time. His bare skin was drenched in sweat and he was lying on the floor, tangled up in bed sheets. He had fallen out of bed. Caudery gasped for air, and warm oxygen-rich air filled him. He wasn't in Hell.

It had been a nightmare. The same, recurring nightmare he had experienced over and over again for years. He couldn't always remember the dreams, but always he had an unshakable sense of horror. This time Fell had been in his dream. He was certain of that at least, if nothing else.

Caudery sat up. He yanked off the sheets from around his legs. His body seemed to still be intact and unbroken. He shivered. His bedroom was warm, but he was cold with chills. All the sheets and blankets were wet from his sweat. And judging by the dark stains, some tears were mixed in with the demon's perspiration. He wiped a hand across his face. It came away damp and black.3

Caudery ran his fingers through his hair. His breathing slowed down to normal and his lungs stopped hurting. He stood and made his way to the bathroom in the dark.

Ten minutes later, Caudery was clean and dry, his freshly washed hair falling carelessly over his forehead. His hair was very long, the back of it brushing his bare shoulders. Caudery had no idea how long he'd been asleep.

A few hours? Days? Months?

Caudery stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the spare bed and kicking at the sheets. He dug his watch out from under the pillow.

The alarm had gone off, he was sure, but he hadn't heard it. He twisted the knob on the watch. The alarm had indeed beeped for 6 am, like he'd set it, only it was for 6 am two years ago.

Caudery groaned. No wonder his hair had grown so much. He darted out into the lounge. He threw back the drapes.

No morning sunlight poured in. He was greeted with an overcast sky, filled with clouds of an unnatural deep hue and an ominous glow.

It had begun.

The end was nigh.

Caudery swore and hastily got into his clothes. He did up his tie with shaking fingers. He ignored the flashing light on the answering machine. He snatched his sunglasses and mobile from the desk, barely noticing how the once-small fern had decided it should be a tree.

Outside the air was heavy and still, as though in anticipation for a storm. Caudery could taste the premonition. It tasted bad.

The Bentley sat waiting where he had parked it. Reaching in his pocket, Caudery realized he'd forgotten his keys. He retraced his steps. On the stairs he ran into Mrs. Alms, who couldn't have looked more surprised. 4

"Why, Anthony!" she cried.

"No time to talk now," he said.

"Well, yes, dear, but where have you been?"

"Later."

"What about your messages?"

"I don't have time to check my telephone, Mrs. Alms," Caudery shook his head.

"No, I didn't mean that," she said. "You had a visitor over a year ago."

"Uh-huh, sure. Tall and intimidating, in a long coat and a scowl on his face?" Caudery was thinking of Hastur.

"Not at all, dear. He was about my height in a sort of brown frock-coat, a patterned jumper and a bow tie. A flustered type of young man."

Caudery stared at her. "He came- Fell came here?"

"Oh yes, that was his name. A. Z. Fell, he said."

"Did he leave a message?"

"No, dear," she said, "he looked as though he wanted to, but was undecided."

"I see," Caudery said. The little spark of hope inside him vanished.

Mrs. Alms looked up at him pensively. "Is he a friend, Anthony?"

"He was, once."

Caudery dashed up the stairs past her.

With vigour, Caudery slid into the Bentley's driver seat. He ran a hand over the dashboard. A little dusty, but still beautiful. Caudery shook his head. There was no time for sentiment. Heturned on the car's engine.

His mobile phone began to ring.

Caudery glanced at the screen.

It was head office.

He blocked the call.

Caudery shoved a disc in and turned on the stereo.5

He ground the Bentley into gear.

Don't make a sound

Hold your breath

We gotta go because the Devil thinks you're dead…

There was one place he'd always been able to think, no matter what else was going on in the world. Soon there wouldn't be a world left. Caudery needed to think this all out before that happened. He turned the volume up to full blast, forcefully shut off his mobile and floored the accelerator.

Turn around

Face the door

Where you've been sleeping isn't safe anymore…

The car lept into traffic, dodging through a gap just big enough for a cheap paperback novel.

I know you thought

Your faith was gone

But I'm as real as the fire that you're on…

Horns blared, brakes screeched and Caudery didn't care. He went down the street the wrong way, jumping the kurb and causing a broad state of panic all around him. Still he didn't care. He had his eyes to the sky above, watching those menacing clouds with dark brows furrowed in worry.

It wasn't good.

Don't be afraid

Stand up and fight '

Cause I ain't leaving here alone tonight

Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

It might just save your life…

He reached the park and stopped the Bentley.

It might just save your life…

Caudery shut off the engine and got out. The atmosphere was thick and heavy; a tempest was brewing. Caudery flicked out his tongue. The air smelled of rain. An unnatural rain. Caudery studied the sky gravely. Soon it would be here and he didn't have the foggiest clue of how to combat it.6

He could go to head office, the real head office, the one which was Up and not Down. He could request an audience with Him. Caudery wasn't sure if the Almighty would see someone as low and insignificant as he was. He knew God had a heart for the lowly, but Caudery no longer had any pull in Heaven. No allies. No connections.

Caudery kicked a loose stone on the pavement and headed for the cafe. By habit, he sat at the small table for two by the window where he and Fell had frequently sat.

A young and far too cheerful waitress came over. Caudery ordered tea. She remarked how ugly it looked outside.

"Ngk." Caudery shrugged as the wind picked up.

"Much better off staying in here," the waitress said, putting the tea in front of him. "It's hell out there."

Caudery shook his head. "Not yet."

The weather continued to worsen. Caudery watched as he drank his tea. The world wasn't due to end just yet, but it was preparing; groaning from deep within the earth's core. The natural world always reflected the spiritual one and it was in agony.

Caudery left the waitress a nice tip. It was probably the last tip she'd ever have, if Caudery could read the signs. The temperature outside had dropped and rain had begun to fall. People pulled their coats closer around themselves as they hurried on their way, oblivious to the turmoil around them.

Caudery wandered into the park, his feet traversing slowly over the familiar paths. He pulled a loose cigarette from a pocket and lit it. He worked on the cigarette as he walked, the smoke curling away into the bitter wind. He walked the entire length of the park, going past the fountain and the duck island, circling back around to where the Bentley was parked. Caudery dropped the cigarette end and ground it under his heel.

He heard a cough, or at least it sounded like a cough, but could just as easily have been a growl. He looked up.

Two figures were loitering by his car. One was tall, and one was short. The tall one had just lit a cigarette from his hand.

Caudery sucked in breath through his teeth.

Both characters turned towards him.

"There he is, the flash bastard," the short one growled.

"I told you what would happen next time I saw you," the tall figure said with a sneer most unpleasant. "What would happen when you failed."

Caudery stopped. He had excellent night vision and even in the twilight while wearing his sunglasses, he could clearly see who was waiting for him.

Leaning against the side of the Bentley was Hastur and next to him was the shorter, grubbier figure who turned out to be Ligur. Both of them had their filthy hands on his car. This angered Caudery, but he dared not do anything. The duo could very easily destroy the Bentley, after they had destroyed him.

"We've been looking for you," Hastur said. "Looking for two whole bloody years, Crowley."

"What do you want?" Caudery kept his words to a minimum. The less said, the less chance he would trip himself up.

"You know," Ligur croaked.

"Do I?" Caudery fingered the ring of his car keys in his pocket.

"You do," Hastur said, stepping away from the Bentley.

Ligur followed his move.

Caudery took a step backwards off the path. He knew exactly what they were here for. They were here to get him. He just couldn't stand to see them wreak his car.

Just move away from the Bentley, just move away from the Bentley, he pleaded internally.

They did and moved closer to Caudery. He let them, with each step they took, he took them deeper into the park, walking backwards and not taking his eyes off them. He knew far better than to do that. One false step with Hastur could be fatal. A look from Ligur could be the end of your existence.

As Hastur and Ligur closed in on Caudery, he was fully aware that his escape routes were being cut off. The Bentley was beyond reach and making a run for it wasn't an option. They'd just get him in the back. As long as he could see them, he had a chance to react.

The heel of Caudery's boot hit metal. He looked down. He'd backed into a fence. On the other side was the water. This was it. He could move no further.

"Put your hands where I can see 'em," Hastur said.

With reluctance, Caudery removed his right hand from his pocket and placed both hands on the fence. "Well?" he asked.

"Take off those sunglasses. You don't need 'em now."

"No."Caudery refused. He drew the line at his shades.7

Hastur reached out and curled his thumb and forefinger around the bridge of Caudery's glasses. Caudery twitched as the glasses slid off his face. Hastur closed his hand over the sunglasses. There was a crunch.

"That's better," Ligur said. "I prefer to see your discomfort displayed on your face. Much more amusing when eyes are widened in panic, right, Hastur?"

"Exactly right," Hastur agreed.

Caudery swallowed.

Ligur hit him first, straight across the eyes. Caudery was dragged back to his feet by Hastur, using his tie and chain as leverage. Hastur twisted the chain around Caudery's neck and held onto the tie while Caudery choked.

"Nice easy job," said Hastur. "Simple little job, wasn't it? Deliver the Antichrist and report back."

Hastur switched the tie to Ligur's hand, who jerked it downwards. "Something no demon should screw up," Ligur said, staring at Caudery with his glowing red eyes.

Caudery couldn't breath, but he wasn't going to show it.
"Yeah?" he gasped.

Ligur's next move sent Caudery's head smashing against the metal fence. Down he went. Caudery lay on the ground, hoping the less he moved, the less the superior demons would hurt him.

Hastur would have preferred it if Caudery fought back. Somehow a struggle made him feel that his tormenting was more valid. Ligur didn't care one way or the other. He just enjoyed what he did.8

"Get up." Ligur kicked Caudery in the ribs with a heavy, dirty boot.

Caudery did as he was told, using the fence to balance himself.

"You're pathetic," Hastur sneered at him. "Hardly worth being called a demon, you are."

Caudery grinned hysterically at him as a line of red started down his face. "I guess you're right, Duke Hastur," he said in a croak of a voice. "Guess I am rather pathetic."

He grimaced as Ligur hit him somewhere that really hurt. Caudery almost doubled over, holding his middle with his arms.

"A-aren't you worried about the people noticing?" he gasped out. "The city is b-busy this time of night."

"I'm afraid no one will notice, Crowley," Hastur hissed with menace.

"An' if they do, they won't interfere," Ligur leered. "I'd take care of that. After we take care of you."

Caudery's right eye was beginning to swell shut. With the other he saw Ligur withdraw a long object from the depths of his overcoat. It was a wooden rod with nine long, knotted leather straps coming out of one end. The straps had bits of glass and metal embedded in them, which caught the light from the streetlamps.

Caudery felt the blood drain from his face in horror. It was a cat-o-nine-tails. Ligur was going to beat him to death. With a nasty grin, Hastur took out his own whip.

Caudery braced himself. He took the first few strokes standing upright with teeth clenched, but began to cry out as the glass and metal shards cut into his skin. The whip didn't damage his clothes, but he felt each lash tear through his flesh just as if it had.

Both Hastur and Ligur dealt him an equal amount of flogging, showing no leniency. Caudery's shirt clung to him as the wounds deepened and bled. He knew the two other demons were enjoying this extensively. A guttural cackle from Hastur proved it. There was a reason why they were dukes of Hell.

Caudery gripped the metal bars of the fence in agony, his fingers numb. The next few lashings took him to his knees, then the ground. The mud felt wonderfully cool on his blistered, swollen face. He didn't move and let the other demons do what they wanted. He was in too much distress to do anything about it.

In the midst of the pain, Caudery was suddenly aware that the beating had ceased. He turned his face upwards, getting mud and grass in his mouth. Hastur and Ligur were standing over him, the whips gone from sight. Caudery waited for them to finish him off. They didn't.

Hastur reached down and grabbed the collar of Caudery's jacket. Caudery found himself all of a sudden on his feet, swaying unsteadily. Hastur's fist connected with his jaw. Caudery was certain a tooth broke as he fell to his hands and knees, coughing blood. His sunglasses were dropped in front of him.

"Now run, Crowley," Hastur said. "Run and don't stop."

Caudery grabbed his glasses, shoved them on his bleeding face and scrambled to his feet while wheezing.

Then he ran.

Caudery ran and ran for all he was worth. He ran madly, blindingly through the streets of London. He didn't know whether he was in Soho, in Mayfair, the park or even in Westminster. He just knew he had to run. To take the Bentley wouldn't be safe, and in his present state of mind, driving would be about the worst thing he could do. Caudery was sure they were on his tail. Hastur wasn't one to let him go this easily.9

Caudery stumbled on, pushing aimlessly through the crowds of people. His vision was getting patchy.

He saw a door ahead of him. The shade was drawn with a closed sign. The door was locked. He opened it anyway. The shop bell jingled.

Caudery dragged himself through the gap and shut the door after him, re-locking it. He was vaguely aware of a voice calling from somewhere in the back of the shop. Caudery gasped, trying to get a breath. A smell of leather bindings and dusty parchment reached his senses. He tried to steady himself against the door.

Where was he? He couldn't be-

Caudery took a few staggering steps forward and collapsed on the tiled floor.

Fell was in the backroom of his shop, doing his accounts on his old computer. He had experienced a burst of mental energy and was using it the best he could. It was at least a good distraction. The computer was slow as usual, but it did the job well.

He was just working through the month of January when he heard a rattling at the front doors. Then the bell dinged.

"We're closed!" Fell hollered, fairly certain he had locked the doors earlier.

He typed another column of numbers into the computer.

A loud thump came from the somewhere in the front of his shop.

Fell stood, grumbling. He kept his reading glasses perched on his nose as he had every intention of returning to his work.

Fell emerged from the bookcases all ready with his defense speech.

"Look, when I say we're closed, I really mean we're closed. There's a sign on the door-"

Fell stopped. There was no one there. He stepped out from the stacks.

"Oh!"

He saw a crumpled form on the floor right in front of the shut doors. Fell hurried over. The motionless mound was definitely someone. Someone who appeared to be badly injured. The person was dressed in dark clothing and boots which struck Fell as familiar. The head was off to the side, but hidden behind long, black hair.

Fell got to his knees and gently moved the wet strands of hair away from the face. He gasped when he saw the features, streaked with mud.

"Caudery! Oh, good Lord."

It was indeed Caudery, lying unconscious on the floor of Fell's bookshop, with suit torn and sunglasses cracked. He was soaked to the skin and filthy. The dark stain slowly creeping across the tiles from Caudery could only be blood.

The angel felt all his former animosity towards the demon fade. He didn't hesitate a moment, and gathered up Caudery's still form and carried him to the backroom.10 The sofa was quickly cleared of extraneous books and papers and Caudery laid out upon it.

Fell darted upstairs into the bathroom and fetched what bandages and supplies he could find before inspecting Caudery's injuries. He pulled up the coffee table close to the sofa and sat on it. He put all his supplies next to him, then turned to the demon.

The first thing Fell did was to remove Caudery's glasses. They were almost completely broken in half. The left lenses was nearly gone.

Caudery's scratched, bruised face was revealed. He had two very puffy and deeply coloured black eyes. The right side of his face was so badly bruised Fell doubted if Caudery would be able to open that eye for weeks. A split lip was the only other facial disfiguration Caudery had, and the blood hadn't been coming from his lip. Fell wiped the mud and grime from Caudery's face with a damp cloth.

The angel then looked down to Caudery's feet. The fabric of the sofa was slowly changing colour where Caudery's trousers touched it. Fell carefully removed the demon's boots and the socks, which were very wet, but with water, not blood. Next came the trousers. Caudery's legs were indeed bleeding, the thighs showing considerable cuts. Fell got a rag and began dabbing at the wounds. When the bleeding was stayed, he moved up.

Fell gently lifted the chain from around Caudery's neck and placed it on the coffee table. He then undid Caudery's tie and waistcoat, attempting to move him as little as possible. Caudery's shirt was damp to the touch. Fell's hand came away with red on it and it wasn't fabric dye. Fell quickly unbuttoned the shirt. What he saw gave him sober pause.

Caudery's chest and stomach were crisscrossed with raw red slashes, bleeding freely. Fell worked on stopping the flow of blood. White yarrow did the job very quickly. The wounds were deep and reminded Fell of the beatings Roman soldiers used to receive when they had disobeyed orders. By observation, Fell estimated Caudery had been lashed more than sixty times. The usual amount of forty lashes would have killed a normal human being. It might not kill a demon, but was enough to mortally harm him. 11

Fell began to cut some bandages into strips. He was sure Caudery's back could use some attention as well. He was just about to see if he could turn Caudery on his side when the demon stirred.

As he came to, the first thought Caudery had was that he was naked. His torso and legs felt cold and exposed. He definitely didn't have his boots on, as there was something soft under his feet. He moved his hand down his side. His chest was completely bare, as were his legs, but he realized his shorts where still there. His whole body hurt, that he could tell for certain. Caudery opened one eye half-way and saw Fell, barely a few feet away from him, holding a bloody cloth and a pair of scissors. Caudery shut his eye tight and screamed.

"Caudery, stop!" Fell grasped his shoulders as Caudery fought him.

The demon was weak, but he wasn't going to give up now. Fell was forced to hold him down while Caudery continued to beat him off and tried to get up from the sofa. Fell's ears caught the sounds of something or someone trying to get in the front doors of the shop. Caudery looked like he was going to scream again.

"We're definitely closed!" Fell yelled with a hand over Caudery's mouth. Fell concentrated and put up a spiritual force-field around the bookshop. This was specifically tailored to block any supernatural entities who might be in the area and shield Caudery's presence from them. The only being they would sense in the shop would be Fell. No one would know Caudery was there. Fell removed his hand when he was sure Caudery wouldn't scream anymore.

Caudery gasped for air, his eyes barely open as he stared up at Fell.

"Don't move," the angel said. "You're making it worse."

He put his hand gently on Caudery's chest. Caudery grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to push him away.

"Bastard," Caudery said in a choked voice. "Would you torment a dying man?"

Fell paled as he realized Caudery thought he was going to kill him. Fell shook his head, placing his other hand on top of Caudery's clenched ones. Caudery's whole body tensed.

"I am not going to discorporate you," Fell said.

Caudery groaned, shutting his eyes tightly as he continued to fight the angel, though less energetically.

"Caudery, stop this. I'm not going to hurt you. I am trying to heal you."

Caudery tried to talk, making himself cough. A trickle of red escaped his mouth. Fell reached out, catching the blood on the cloth. Caudery struggled for air. Fell saw Caudery's exposed fangs and the forked tongue, the demon being unable to hide them.

"Pleas-s-se…" Caudery gasped, "take your hands away. They- they burn."

Fell sat back, startled. It had never occurred to him that his touch might be damaging to Caudery. 12

Once Fell let him alone, the demon quieted. His breathing slowed. He reached up and found his face bare.

"Where are my sunglasses-s-s?" Caudery asked.

"Broken," Fell replied, indicating the pair on the table beside him.

Caudery feebly attempted to conjure up a new pair with a snap of his fingers. Nothing happened. Caudery's hand fell back to his side.

"Gone again," he sighed. "Powerless."

A demon without powers was far easier to exorcise than one with all his supernatural qualities intact. Fell knew this full well and so did Caudery. Fell ignored his instinct. No one was going to be dying today.

A thought crossed Fell's mind as he looked at Caudery's shattered sunglasses on the table. Perhaps they weren't to protect his eyes as much as to cover them. As if Caudery's eyes were something he was ashamed of. Fell looked back at Caudery.

"Caudery, look at me."

"Ngk." The demon turned his head away.

"Look at me, now," Fell insisted. "Show me your eyes."

"Oh hell," Caudery spat. He turned towards the angel and opened his eyes all the way.

For the first time, Fell saw why Caudery always wore the sunglasses, even when he didn't need to. Two bright orange eyes with slitted vertical pupils like a reptile's stared back at him.

"Goodness, Caudery," Fell said, though not very shocked in reality.

"Happy now?" Caudery held his gaze for a moment longer, then shut his eyes again.

Caudery didn't show signs of endeavouring to fight the angel anymore. Fell stood and got more clean rags and a bowl of fresh, warm water. He also made a pot of tea. Caudery hadn't moved at all when he returned.

Fell didn't feel at all surprised about Caudery's eyes. Almost all demons had strange eyes, even angels' eyes were not exactly what would be called normal. Fell's, for example, were a light blue with highlights of silver and gold.

Fell dipped a cloth in the water and rung it out.

"So, you are a kind of… lizard?" he asked, prompting.

Caudery's orange eyes snapped open and glared at him.

"I'm a snake, angel, a s-s-snake!" he hissed indignantly, getting himself worked up into a frenzy. He started to cough again. A broken tooth landed in his hand. Caudery squinted at it. "Oh, I knew he broke one," he moaned, coughing more.

"Don't get excited," the angel said. "Here, drink this."

Caudery took the mug. "What is it?"

"Tea. Lavender and chamomile. It will help sooth you."

Caudery looked at the tea with a wary eye and tasted it. He had some more and became still, letting Fell dab at the lacerations on his torso and legs. He didn't flinch as much. It would take a while for the cuts to heal, but they already hurt less. Whether this was from the herbs, Fell's kindness, or a little angelic miracle, Caudery didn't know.

"You can open your eyes," Fell said. "You don't have to keep them shut."

Caudery peered at him through one partly open eyelid. "They don't bother you?"

Fell shook his head, his reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "Why should they?" he spoke without a trace of mockery or contempt to his voice.

Caudery opened both eyes all the way and stared at the angel. The angel who was applying ointment and dressing to a demon's wounds, who should be instead occupied with exorcising him. An angel who had the demon's blood all over his trousers and jumper and didn't seem to notice.13

"Why are you being kind to me?" Caudery asked.

"It's my nature," Fell replied. "The Almighty says to be kind to one's enemies." 14

"Angels aren't kind to demons, they obliterate them."

"It was the right thing to do!" the angel defended himself.

"So why are you helping me now?"

"Because we're friends and this is what friends do."

Caudery was a little confused. Fell had just contradicted himself twice in under a few minutes.

"S-s-so, we're both friends and enemies," Caudery hissed uncertainly.

The angel huffed. "Whatever. Finish the tea and turn over. I need to treat the rest of your injuries."

Caudery swallowed the rest of the tea and put the mug on the coffee table. He eased himself upright and shook off his shirt. He then laid down on his bare stomach, feeling some slight embarrassment at his partly exposed state. Caudery rested his chin on the sofa arm and remained motionless as Fell cleaned the wounds on his back.

"How did you receive these lashes?" Fell inquired as he reached for another cloth.

"Eh, punishment," Caudery muttered.

"Punishment for what?"

"S-s-something I did or didn't do," Caudery said.

"And that was?" Fell pressed the cloth on the wounds to absorb the excess blood. Caudery winced. "I don't know! They didn't give me the details while I was being flogged. All I know is it's got s-s-something to do with the Antichrist. Some mistake. I did it again."

Fell was examining the cuts on Caudery's back more closely as he was treating them. He saw old scars of various ages mixed in with the new. The oldest marks looked to be at least two decades old.

"This has happened before, hasn't it?" Fell asked.

"Me making mistakes?" Caudery said. "Many times."

"No, being tortured, Caudery."

The demon didn't answer, but his hands twitched nervously.

"Caudery?"

Again there was no reply.

Fell got off the coffee table and knelt so he was at eye level with Caudery. Caudery's eyes looked everywhere but at Fell's face.

"Caudery."

The angel's voice sunk to a soft whisper, losing all of the former celestial archness and becoming simply the voice of a friend.

Caudery finally looked at him. He didn't speak and he didn't need to. His eyes told Fell what he could not in words. His orange eyes held pain and fear in them. Underneath his cool and calm exterior, Caudery was anything but tranquil. He was a demon very much afraid.

Fell found himself torn. He was torn between being repelled at what Caudery was and feeling compassion for him. He was also feeling anger at those who had done this to him. Even as an exorciser of demons, Fell hadn't tormented any of them.

"Why?" Fell asked.

Caudery turned away and buried his face in the sofa cushions.

"Not… good… enough," came the muffled reply.

Fell stiffened in indignation. "I should think I am good enough," he retorted. "I am an angel after all."

"Not you!" Caudery flung himself upright. "Me! I can't, I'm not…"

For a moment, Caudery looked completely helpless, like a small child on the verge of tears. He dropped his face into his hands, mumbling words Fell couldn't hear. Fell finished cleaning the wounds, then bandaged all up them with herbs.15 Caudery was senseless to everything around him. Fell worked until Caudery's entire torso and thighs were wrapped up, every lash covered and treated.

"Done," Fell said, sitting back.

Caudery looked up at him with glazed eyes, then down at his chest. He listlessly ran a hand over the bandages.

"Can't go back to my flat," Caudery said insipidly. "Hastur knows where it is. And the Bentley…"

"You're not going anywhere," Fell said. "You're staying. It's safe here."

"S-s-safe," Caudery repeated in a hiss.

"Yes, safe."

Fell gathered up the scissors, rags and leftover bandages along with the other supplies.

"Safe," Caudery said again, lying down on his side and curling himself into a loose circle.

Fell left to deal with his stained clothes, taking Caudery's shirt, jacket, waistcoat and trousers as well. Fell returned in a clean jumper and trousers and with a bottle of whiskey. He found a black and red snake coiled up on the sofa, sound asleep. The snake's middle and tail were neatly bandaged. Fell's eyes went to the tapestry on the wall. He looked from the snake there to the one on the sofa.

"Of course," Fell whispered. "It was him after all. So that's why Caudery asked about the Garden. I should have known. Silly of me."

Fell set the whiskey on the table. He placed Caudery's snakeskin boots beside the sofa. The angel felt himself smile at the snake as it began to softly snore, the forked tongue flicking out.

It was a great sign of trust for the demon to change his form in the angel's shop. It showed Caudery trusted the angel to not harm him, to see that no harm came to him. Caudery was allowing himself to sleep in his most vulnerable state without any protection. Without his powers.

Fell got a blanket from upstairs and draped it over the slumbering demon. The snake didn't stir. Fell then left him. He went to his desk and poured a glass of wine for himself. He sat down with The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and a pad of blank paper in front of him.

He had a lot to think about.

As the days had slowly changed, so had Adam. The boy was more and more not himself. Not even Mr. Young could dismiss it by a wave of his hand or saying "it will be fine." Arthur was no longer sure his son would be fine. When any lad of sixteen, (almost seventeen), missed meals, it began to become a serious matter.

In the past week, Adam had skipped every meal but Sunday dinner. On Sunday he hadn't eaten a thing, merely sat at his place and stared off out the window.

"Adam, are you quite sure you're alright?" Arthur approached him afterwards.

The boy looked at him unseeingly, as when something unimportant intrudes into your world.

"Quite sure," Adam repeated.

The way he said it convinced Arthur the boy had no idea what he was saying. It had come out automatically, like a robot reciting lines it has been programmed to verbalize. Mr. Young reached out and touched Adam's shoulder.

"Adam, if there's anything you need to talk about, anything at all, I hope you'll come to me. I'll listen."

Adam looked at Mr. Young's hand on his shoulder, then his eyes went to his face. Adam's own face was completely blank and void of any expression, either good or bad. Then he slowly pulled his lips back in a grin. It wasn't a natural grin. It was wild and almost demented.

Mr. Young took his hand away in alarm.

Adam murmured "Quite sure" again and left.

Mr. Young had never been a man of great imagination, but he began to imagine all sorts of things in regards to Adam. He came up with many theories, each one more wild and frightful than the last. He even thought of an alien taking over his son's body, which for Arthur Young, was quite a feat. 16

He didn't say anything to Deirdre. No need to cause her more worry, he decided. She had a baby to take care of.

As for Adam, the boy himself had almost no idea what was happening to him. He was aware of the change at first, but as the spirit inside of him slowly took over more and more of him, he became not much more than a shell, a hollow entity. The real Adam was compressed and hidden away. He was no longer in control of his functions, of his thinking, or of his actions. Eating, drinking and other normal human activities were no longer of importance. The demonic spirit had but one purpose. It was to bring the times to an end, and Adam was the being it had chosen to accomplish that.

Adam knew something was wrong. He knew there was something going on. It might be all in his mind. Just stuff he thought was happening and really wasn't. That didn't seem right to Adam. He tried to reason through this and couldn't quite do it. He had learned about the spiritual scene at the manor. Adam had heard about demonic possession, at least he thought he had, when he could still think. If Adam had known just what was happening to him, he might have had a chance. Yet, even if he had, Adam was only a human boy and a rather ordinary one at that. He wasn't versed in spiritual warfare and in battling powers, demons and principalities. He didn't stand a chance.

Slowly, he drifted into the background just as a body slips under the surface of the water; slowly and silently, without the least resistance.

And then he was gone.

Adam was no longer Adam. The thing in his head had taken over. It looked out from his eyes, used his voice, limbs and mind. The demon was in control.

Notes:

-All scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.

-Credit for Might Just Save Your Life belongs to Brandon Heath.

watch?v=r0HO6WFXvIs

1 The very last battle over humanity had raged in the heavens, the last struggle between good and evil. The Devil and his angels had been thwarted and cast into the depths of Hell for all eternity, as written in the book of Revelation.

2 He could no longer remember why he had Fallen to sin, only that he had. It haunted him and would do so for eternity.

3 Demon tears were the opposite of an angel's. Like wings and halo, the silver tears turned the colour of dead blood.

4 Shocked would be a better word, as she hadn't seen anything of Caudery for two whole years. She had no idea he'd been asleep the entire time in his bedroom, wrestling with his own demons.

5 Which strangely had NOT turned into Queen…

6 Truth be told, Caudery was not a fighter. He had never been, not even when he was an angel.

7 They could kill him, skin him, hang, draw and quarter him, but the sunglasses stayed. It was his last ounce of freedom.

8 If such a dark feeling as he had could be called something as light as joy.

9 Hastur liked to with play Caudery like a cat plays with its catch, such as a mouse or small snake. It was all terror and hurt, and to Hastur it was a game.

10 The angel was a lot stronger than he appeared.

11 Hastur and Ligur had stopped counting after they hit seventy. If they had beat Caudery any longer than they had, they would have killed him. At least, destroyed his human body.

12 Before meeting Caudery, Fell hadn't actually physically touched a demon before. He had only discorporated them.

13 And Fell always noticed how he looked. His attire was always neat and orderly. Except for now.

14 Romans 12:20 says: "On the contrary: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head."

15 Fell used a salve made of Echinacea and Ashwagandha. Ashwagandha is a plant that is rejuvenating. It can be used in all conditions of weakness and chronic debilitation. Echinacea is antibacterial and antiviral. It can be used for fighting infection, snakebite wounds and skin disorders.

16 Frighteningly, Mr. Young was almost right on the money with his last wild guess. Only the thing wasn't an alien.