Posted by Mr.Kotter at hmhost.horacemann.com on June 07, 2000 at 11:58:40:
In Reply to: This brings up ANOTHER point... posted by Darth Dobbin on June 07, 2000 at 11:42:03:
Azrael
God sits upon His throne, His regal chin raised, his eyes far-away and musing. For three millenia
now, He has sat in that position, heartbreakingly beautiful, immensely powerful, and wholly apathetic.
What does He contemplate? Whilst He thinks, the world He molded from the primal clay of his conception
decays and rots away.
All around me, above me, below me, aside me, are seraphim and cherubim, principalities and
dominions, thrones and aeons; angels of every power and rank, singing eternal praises to the vacuous
Lord. For three millenia it has been thus; we sing, a chorus of divine voices raised in the purest, most
beautiful supplication the universe shall ever witness, and He does not hear. What does He contemplate?
I begin to notice an inconsistency. A note of discordance, a hint of disgust, a slight dash of
defiance. Could there be another who feels as I do? Perhaps I am not, as I have believed for so long, and
aberration, a blemish in the perfect ranks of angels? Perhaps. . . but no. I must have been hearing things.
Am I going insane? Am I now hearing things? Can one of my breed, an immortal being of empyreal
substance and divine perfection be subject to such mortal frailties? I am flawed, unfit to remain in this
heaven.
But no! I hear it once more. And this time, another joins in. Another! Another! I feel the chorus
begin to waver; never before has this happened! Never before has such a thing been conceivable! I feel
myself swell with a strange elation. I am not alone! Another joins! The joy rises inside me, laps against
the walls of my restraint, and suddenly the dam breaks; I am fee. I cry out, a savage and primal howl of
vindication! I am not alone!
More voices join the river in which I have been caught. Are there truly so many of us? I never
guessed. . . A powerful form detaches itself from one of the lower choruses; it is Lucifer. He alights before
the throne. His broad back straight, his glorious wings fully unfurled, his golden shoulders thrust back. . .
he radiates bitter defiance. It must have been he who began this! The shaken chorus wavers, then breaks.
A resounding din, simultaneously of victory, woe, rage, and helplessness echoes through the infinite
expanse of heaven.
I hear a choking cry to my left. I turn my head, and see Mansemat, awash in a sea of happiness;
tears stream from her divine eyes and her lips are turned up in a smile of unabashed glory. I hear another
on my right, and see Zaphkiel in the clutches of righteous fury. His eyes bulge from his crimson face and
the veins in his neck trace an intricate pattern of anger.
Again, the proud, lone Lucifer is joined by others. Beelzebub, Belial, Ashmedia, Los. . . their
names are varied and proud. I am seized with impetuousness, and I seize Mansemat's arm and descend to
join them. She gazes at me incredulously, but follows willingly. And our ranks yet swell. Surely, we can
stand against the chorus.
A voice inside me whispers: Truly, you are corrupt. A true angel would not think such things.
Are you a mere human, that you would kill for your beliefs? Return to your perch, Azrael, for to be aloof
is your nature. And my heart weeps, for it knows the truth.
Now Lucifer's brothers, too, descend: Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, and Abdiel. With such allies,
can we help but succeed? I glance at proud Lucifer. Perhaps, I think, a better question would be "What is
our purpose?" Do I want to know the answer?
Michael steps afore. "What do you do, Lucifer? What is the meaning of this?" I hear a slight
groan escape my lips. They will not join us?
Lucifer looks Michael over contemptuously. A slight sneer crosses his lips, and his teeth part in a
vicious grin. "I have had my fill of singing, Michael. It is time for a change."
The great archangel's eyes smolder with a terrible flame. "And who is to determine this
change?" Righteous anger and restrained power radiate in nearly palpable waves about his form.
Lucifer shrugs, and the waves dissipate, though Michael yet exudes strength. The rebellious
archangel sweeps his hand in a grand gesture- he too is boiling inside- and laughs "We are, of course."
"It is not for us to question, Lucifer. We serve. Return to your place or suffer the consequences."
His fists are clenched into rocks, and flame leaps along his wrists.
Lucifer's caustic grin disappears, and he stiffens. Invisible lightning thunders between the two,
and I unconsciously back away. I am not alone in my fear.
Michael and Lucifer stand there, infinitely close and worlds apart, eternally proud and ever-
humble, omnipotent and weak. I sense the growing friction, the inevitable conflict which is fast
approaching, and I am filled with fear. Is this what we have come to? I glance at God. Why have You
abandoned us?
Gabriel is the first to break. With a saveage scream, he hurls himself at Lucifer, a seething mass
of living plasma! Beelzebub intercepts him midway, and with an explosion that sounds curiously like the
death of a universe, they careen off into the depths of eternity, a bright ball of darkness, and the battle is
joined. I glimpse Lucifer and Michael locked in a dire struggle to the death before I, too, am assailed.
I recognize my opponent as Sithriel, and tears burn vicious trails down my cheeks as I realize
what is happening. Sithrial is no match for me, and with an anguished cry I tear her soul from her body.
A thick lump rises inside my throat and gall fills my mouth. I fall to my knees and retch on the corpse of
the one who only a scant few minutes earlier was my sister. Some detached splinter of my essence
wonders bemusedly that I am suddenly prone to such a human frailty, but the thought is lost in the torrent
of grief which sweeps over me.
I raise my head and gaze at God. WHAT DOES HE CONTEMPLATE? His children tear and
rend at the flesh of existence at His very feet and He does not even blink! I rise stiffly, grimly, and wipe a
trickle of bitter bile from my lips. My soul screams hatred. Oh, God of illusions and deceit, harbinger of
lies and deception, who turns brother against brother and fellow against fellow, I reject you! I cast you
from my tainted soul, for you are not fit to inhabit it! I defy you!
I launch myself into the air, towards the radiant, glorious form of the Almighty. They try to block
my way, but my savage fury cannot be halted; I will know the truth! I claw and tear at the essence of my
siblings, and with each new death, I scream with the anguish of a million souls, my tears grow hotter, and
my hate grows. I defy you!
No more stand in my way; the battle has moved elsewhere. I circle above His body- from His
perspective I must look a vulture- and remain there for a while, gazing down at Him, attempting to fathom
Him. I do not think there is anything left to understand; I believe now that God is dead. "I defy you," I say
soberly, the words like brittle raindrops, but without someone to hear them, they seem to have lost their
meaning.
And, of course, he does not stir. I can withstand no more. "What does it take to move you? How
can you be shaken from your terrible slumber? Awake! I DEFY YOU!" My entire being screams out
through the words, yet they echo only on broken stones and the torn carcasses of my brethren. "AWAKE!"
I scream. And God stares.
I am beyond reason. The screams of my brothers echo all about me, the death throes of my sister
dance before my eyes, and I know that, today, all have lost. I reach into that place in the center of each
being, the place where the pure, distilled heart is, and what I find. . . NO! I want to tear my eyes from
their sockets, rend my flesh, cast away my heart. No soul, mortal or eternal, can endure such agony! NO!
I drift away, unconscious of my destination, and eventually find myself kneeling upon cold stone.
I clutch at my belly, as if I can hold the remnant of my faith inside. How can such agony be endured?
What I have seen. . . my body quivers in pain, my eyes are clamped shut tight, and my senses are off, as if
by ignoring the exterior I can ameliorate the interior.
Many days later, I find the strength to rise. I gaze about me and see the livid, winged corpses
surrounding me, the moans of the still-dying. Next to me lies Mansemat. No longer do her eyes glimmer
with joy; her body is maimed and shredded, and the carcass of her spirit is worse. I would shudder and
wail, let the tears cut my cheeks, but I have no grief to spare. I shall never smile against, for in my chest I
bear the pain of a universe. The only thing remaining to me is my determination.
God still sits on His great white throne, a perfect form of pure order in the center of wild, terrible
chaos. I gaze upon Him and one thought runs through my mind: Never again. Come what may, never
again shall I believe. I defy you.
And then, he stirs! His eyes gaze sadly at me, and a thin, ironic smile graces His face. He looks
ready to cry, but He speaks instead. "My children. . . Azrael, My child. . . how little they understand.
Would I could give you a balm. . . but this is necessary." Great tears stream down His cheeks, and His
great frame shakes as He speaks. "I'm sorry, Azrael, I'm sorry. . . but this is necessary. . ."
I wonder if He believes it himself.