#demoms

Prologue: An Unforseen Reunion

The Archangel woke up in a place that wasn’t home. At first, he thought he was dreaming, or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. He roughly shook his head, hoping the disturbing vision would vanish. To his disappointment, it did not. Standing up, he let out a small huff of irritation. Where was he? He had no idea. Looking ahead, he noticed he was in an alleyway. Beyond it, he heard the chattering of many voices and the sound of footsteps. He crept down the alley cautiously and carefully, emerging into a street that opened into a city of sorts. The city itself appeared bathed in a crimson glow from unknown sources. The pavement was stained a blood-like hue, and the buildings, made from volcanic stone and iron, exuded an aura of dark hostility. What stood out the most were the creatures infesting the streets: demons. At that moment, he knew exactly where he was. He was in Hell.

He immediately shrank back into the darkness of the alley, pressing himself against one of the walls as he sat back. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to escape this prison? And how did he end up here in the first place? So many questions and no answers. With a sigh of frustration, he began to scan the alley, searching for anything that might help him get back to Heaven. How? He had no idea.

His gaze suddenly stopped, landing on the mangled body of a deceased demon. How it ended up like this was beyond him, but he couldn’t care less. He approached the body with a look of displeasure. He had an idea, though he certainly wasn’t looking forward to it. Letting out a sigh of defeat, he began to roll in the blood pooling from the deceased demon. Once he was covered enough to mask his scent and part of his appearance, he turned back toward the street. Without hesitation, he made his way through the city, trying to find a way out while avoiding drawing attention. The smell that covered him was absolutely foul, but it helped keep his true identity hidden. The last thing he wanted was a fight with demons.

Things seemed to be going well as he traveled through the city; no one suspected a thing. That was until a group of demons approached him, their suspicious eyes scanning his bloodstained pelt. "Can I help you?" Azrael asked the group, keeping his tone mellow and devoid of emotion.

"My friend here says there's something off about you. And I think I smell it too. Who are you?" The tallest of the group, closest to Azrael’s size, asked, their tone laced with suspicion.

"That is none of your concern," Azrael replied bluntly.

At that moment, they got right up in his face, their blood-red eyes blazing with a threatening gaze. "There's something off about you. There’s no way you’re a demon."

"Neither is that guy, but I don't see anyone else complaining," Azrael meowed dryly, pointing his tail behind them. They foolishly looked behind them, giving Azrael the chance to turn and run. He pushed his way through the city at a quicker pace, hoping to lose them, but they managed to keep up, though they couldn’t catch him.

He found himself nearing a larger building with a mountain of stairs leading up to a church, right in his path. And of course, he couldn’t go back; the pesky demons were pushing through the crowd in the distance. With no other choice, he climbed the stairs and walked inside. It didn’t seem the group had followed him up, which he found odd. Today really wasn’t his day, and he couldn’t believe it could get any worse. Could it?

Taking a deep breath, he tried once again to figure out what to do. He had to get out of there somehow and wasn’t sure if the demons from before were outside. He was about to turn back and check when he noticed the music that had been playing had grown quiet, replaced by a commanding voice.

"You look lost. Though, all demons who enter are lost in a sense."

He looked around the interior of the church, which had rows of pews and an altar at the end. A little ways behind and above the altar, he spotted what appeared to be a throne, and on it sat the owner of the voice. But who this was, he didn’t have a clue. What he did know was that this was a bad situation. Azrael grew still and did not say a word. What was he supposed to say? This had been the last thing he wanted: any attention on himself. Yet here he was, with a room full of demons staring at him.

"Have your masters taken your tongue? Come, lost imp, and greet your sovereign," the voice spoke again.

Azrael sighed, finally choosing what to say. "Apologies for the intrusion, but I stumbled in here by accident. I really must be leaving," he said loudly.

"None enter the Church of Heresy by mistake. What must be so important that you deny yourself a prayer? I implore you; come and find what you seek!"

Azrael hung his head, knowing he wouldn’t escape this. After a few moments of thought, he began to make his way down the aisle, his expression revealing no emotion. He felt the eyes of the other demons watching him, which made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t show it. He stopped by the altar, his pure white gaze looking up at the gruesome creature. It was only a matter of time before someone realized who he was, and Azrael was just waiting for that moment. It seemed the universe truly had something against him.

"Now, what is it you seek, im—" The creature began, only to stop as he looked down at Azrael, a realization blazing in his fiery gaze. "What is this aura I sense from you?" he said, standing as his tail touched the angel wings decorating the back of his throne.

Azrael jumped back, his feathers slightly ruffled as the creature jumped in front of him. "Yes, that halo; the light of Father! Who are you, angel?!"

Azrael locked eyes with him, showing no fear or emotion. "I told you. I came here by mistake, but you didn’t listen," he said coldly.

Laughing, the creature spread his torn and tattered wings. "I thought angels didn’t make mistakes." He noticed a change in his tone, now less aggressive. "Why do you look familiar? Which of my siblings are you?"

"Siblings?" Azrael questioned, more to himself, confused and a bit shocked. He’d thought this was just another of the many royals ruling over Hell, but something about him was different, almost familiar. But what? And why?

"If you must know, I am Azrael, the Archangel of Death," he said, his voice still cold, though puzzled.

There was silence in the church, broken only by the crackling of the creature’s eyes. Then he started laughing, seemingly out of disbelief. "I knew I recognized you! That also explains why you don’t recognize me, Az. You weren’t there, after all."

Azrael’s expression showed a rare sign of emotion: shock. "Lucifer? Is that really you? I can’t believe it..."

"Been a while, hasn’t it? Come," he said, "let me show you around Pandæmonium, since you got lost before." He gave some orders to his demons in Latin before leading Azrael out of the church. "By the way, my name isn’t Lucifer anymore, brother, nor is it Satan. I am Diablo now, and I am the Devil."

"Diablo, huh? That’s going to take some getting used to. You look so different. I never would have recognized you. I still can’t believe it. I never thought I’d see you again!" Azrael said, his voice filled with shock, though his expression was mostly back to its emotionless state, except for a small shine of joy in his pure white eyes.

"As I you," replied Diablo. "And do watch your step. The Cleaners haven’t burned today’s dead yet, so there are still some corpses on the streets." Diablo warned.

Just as Azrael was about to say something else, he slipped on exactly what Diablo had warned him about, face-planting into one of the dead bodies. He jumped up, spitting off to the side in disgust, his ears pricking at the chuckles of passing demons. "Today is just not my day..." he said with a frown.

Diablo chuckled and continued down the street, all demons moving out of his way. "If you were anyone else, you’d be dead already. As you can guess, I’m not too fond of our siblings up in Heaven anymore."

"I wouldn’t think you would be. And if I’m honest, no one is really too fond of me anymore, even though I didn’t do anything..." Azrael muttered, a slight hint of anger in his tone, barely noticeable.

"Well, you know them, hating everything related to my ideas. Though, that doesn’t justify discriminating you."

"No, it doesn’t. And I never really had any problems until you were cast out. Everyone views me as a traitor, convinced I’ll continue what you started. It’s just not fair." Azrael sighed. "What did I even do?"

"I'm not surprised they started targeting you for merely associating with me. Even if you were neutral, I suppose they see you as..." He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, sighing away a sulfuric breath. "...Just another rebel who didn't take action."

"Which is not true," Azrael said dryly. "Even after all this time, it still hasn't changed." He turned his attention off in the distance for a moment; his gaze held some kind of emotion, but it was hard to tell what. "I've really missed having you around. I don't have anyone I can just talk to anymore."

Diablo stopped for a moment and stretched himself out. "Same here. You have no idea what Hell has done to me." Turning to Azrael, he took a quick breath and continued, "Well, looks like we're at the docks now."

"Yeah... You know, I never thought I would be disappointed about going back to Heaven." Azrael said, slightly amused, as if he couldn't believe his own words. "I'm surprised  haven't questioned why I'm here."

"Not really much to question, is there?" Diablo answered sarcastically. "You either climbed down from the Gates or you appeared out of nowhere."

"Well, actually I—" Azrael began but was immediately cut off by his brother.

"About time, Charon. A little bit behind, aren't you?" Diablo spoke as the ferry approached the docks. His attention then turned back to Azrael again, his head tilted a bit as if being weighed down on one side. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing. It's not important." Azrael replied, then turned to step off the docks but paused, looking back at his brother. "You know, this doesn't have to be the last time we ever speak again..." He pointed out, a bit of hope sparking in his tone.

Diablo smiled with joy. The first time he'd seen his brother smile in eons. "Then I will await the day with delight."

"Is this one traveling, Diablo?" asked Charon as he swapped the loads the ferry was carrying. "If so, where to?"

"Here," Diablo said, moving his wings mysteriously. Then out of thin air, he pulled a couple of gold coins. "A coin for your travels, brother," he said, tossing the coins to him, "and another for anything you wish to ask Charon. Speaking of which," he continued to Charon, "he'll be heading for Mount Brimstone in Wrath."

Reaching out an oversized wing, Azrael caught the coins on his feathers, which were still stained red with blood. He'd definitely have to clean that off before he got back to Heaven.