NineteenMature

Eventually, a disused aircraft hangar came into view. Azrael turned left into the old runway and right into the hangar itself.

“We’re here,” he said.

They got off and Azrael grabbed his rucksack. They took a few steps forwards.

“Ah, Azrael, I’ve been waiting for you,” said Asmodeus, walking towards them. He quickly glanced at Chelsea.

“Well we’re here.”

“Good. Chelsea, would you give us a moment please?” Asmodeus asked.

She looked at both of them but walked away to look at some chalk writing on the metal wall. Asmodeus closed the short gap between him and the Angel.

“You told her?” he asked.

“I did. Did you realise the baby was Nephilim?” Azrael replied.

“Oh, Christ. I never thought of that.”

“I think that’s why they’re after her.”

“But why are the Demons after her?”

“The baby must be special somehow. One side wants to get the baby and the other side wants to kill it, perhaps,” Azrael suggested.

Asmodeus looked at him with a blank expression. “Now you’re just getting full of yourself.”

“How?” asked Azrael defensively.

“Okay, arguing about it won’t get us anywhere.”

Chelsea screamed. Asmodeus and Azrael turned around. Chelsea was being growled at by a large dog with its rib cage showing, as if the muscle had been cut away.

“Leave her alone, Kaleb,” said Asmodeus loudly so the dog could hear him.

The dog grunted and trotted over to him. He reached a hand out to the dog which it sniffed and rubbed against.

“Bloody Hellhound. We’ll talk about this later,” he muttered. When he spoke again, it was at normal volume. “Sorry about that, Chelsea, he’s not too fond of newcomers.”

“That, it, he... bones,” Chelsea stammered.

“It’s a Hellhound, creating in the fiery depths of Lake Inferos by Dark Elves.”

“Dark Elves? I thought they were all dead,” Azrael said.

“Almost.”

“What’s all this writing?” Chelsea asked.

“It’s nothing,” Asmodeus said hurriedly. He placed a hand on the wall and the writing faded away. “Just a ritual.”

“Asmodeus?” Azrael said.

“Hm?”

“What ritual?”

“Just an invocation.”

“An invocation of what?”

“Me. Fucking Satanists asking for my fucking help. It confused me at first because it’s the Old Tongue,” he said.

“Wait, what? The Old Tongue?” asked Chelsea.

“It’s the ancient language of Angels and Demons,” said Azrael. He noticed something out the corner of his eye. “Oh my Lord, you have a Satanic Circle on the floor.”

“I hate pentagrams. I can’t even get rid of it. The writing is just a summons but the Circle is a teleport. You are so lucky that people want nothing to do with the Angel of Death. Ugh, I’ll be right back; I need to deal with these needy people. Why can’t they go and worship someone that doesn’t actually exist anymore? Like God. Why?”

He stepped onto the pentagram and vanished.

“What did he mean then? About God not existing anymore?”

“About two thousand years ago, He told us about the plan for His Son. We all strongly disagreed and some even rose up against Him. He subjugated all the Angels, even the ones that hadn’t rebelled. Michael tried to escape, to warn him...

“Michael was caught and we didn’t see him for a while. When he was brought back, he was bloody and beaten. Michael was my best friend. He told me not to, but I... I had to avenge him. One night, I broke out of our cell and quietly visited all the others. I picked the locks and we rebelled again. This time we won, under my command. That’s when I was raised into the ranks of the Archangels.”

“Wow.”

Asmodeus reappeared in the place where the pentagram had been.

“Bloody hellfire. Americans these days!” he exclaimed.

The End

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