#lesser evils

initial thoughts on switchover for those also considering behind the cut.

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baal throws hands with Khorne (mephisto occasionally tags in bc no one hates more than literal hatred, arms up small man). tzeentch is trying to out-wit the likes of Belial and Mephisto. slaanesh is tempting the archangel with pleasure while andariel and duriel are absolutely livid to where they declare open war on them. diablo and azmodan are in an arms race against nurgle because that damn God needs a bath.

khorne gives the archangel excitement. weirdly the most chaste of the chaos gods. literally somehow hates everyone but the archangel, they don't really think about it. possessive, arrogant, yet chivalrous only to the Archangel. grand displays of violence against the likes of Baal and his kin, blood spilled in their name. jewelry of bones, weapons crafted with horns and sinew. the Archangel would know no luxury for Khorne is the embodiment of battle and war. beauty is wearing the skins of your enemies and reveling in adrenaline. it is the highest source of the grand divine.

sadism reigns as a dominant thought in the likes of nurgle. the most dangerous to be near. his care delves into the likes of self-experimentation and allowing despair to reap its crop. the archangel is infected, all to better themselves and thrive in the breath of death. humble is a word foreign to the likes of nurgle; he speaks common tongue and his speech lacks elegance and poise. his intentions held gold, but his actions are rusted silver.

tzeentch grows and shifts. the tides never waver, life is at the water's mercy. their light is warm yet plagued with afflictions. the Archangel would be embraced by the likes of libraries, each brimmed with tomes and books from times long extinct. they wish to see this interest grow and learn, to rise beyond what path they led and become astry to a beckoning forest. it calls for them, whispers dancing in the gentle breeze so tantalizing they'd feel its essence upon their tongue. come now, be whisked away. feel the grace of change for they'll emerge as the spouse of a great god. why wallow in the care of other sins when they soil their hands with the likes of filth?

slaanesh's words drip with a succulent pleasure. an addiction soon grows. fly with them amongst the artistry of the many, feel their hands upon your body, leading you towards a paradise glazed upon only in myth. their name would become a lie, replaced by the likes of sweet endearments that rot the minds of the many. stay for a while, ignore the cries of the far off demons. pain and anguish, why would you want the likes of them tending to your every need when pleasure and creativity lies at your feet? the Archangel must resist the temptations less their fate be sealed by the likes of the dark prince.

all of this? imagine the anger that rips apart the inards of the Prime Evils. to be sized up like they were scraps of meat on a hook ignites their fire. they feed each off of one another's sins; they might not be one in body nor spirit, but their unity finally shines under the marks of history. once enemies of another they find common ground in annihilating the competition, they'll not be made fools by the likes of foreign gods. this sign of cooperation shown by the Evils intimidates the High Heavens. they worry for what lies behind tomorrow's veil. where one falls, a greater threat rises. which of the lesser Evils do they prepare for? in the end, the answer is obvious. against better judgement the Council assists their sworn enemies, if only for they are familiar with their kind than the gods of another realm.