Chapter Two (Part One - Before The Banishment)

Belial was tired of the pretenses.  His conversation with Lucifer, his oldest friend, the worlds greatest fake.  His attire and his accent a great deception to the ignorant world in which Belial had spent the last seven years roaming.  There have been times when his old friend had dropped in, a new flamboyant outfit, a new accent perfected, little by little less of Lucifer was evident with each encounter.

It was no mystery that his absence from his home was received with a mixed review, not that Belial cared.  The infinite solitary nomad of realms was happier away from the solid reminder of memory and loss.  Some thought that his absence denoted a betrayal, some thought he was abandoning hope, many worried that the human world would consume him and he would forget everything.  He no longer remembered the real reason for leaving.

Not that any of this matters now, the great deceiver had told him much without having to vocalise it.  The bonus of being the greater demon of lies was his unfailing ability to read between the faintest of lines.  He knew that he is greatly needed back with the endless politics that plagued his kind.  He knew that Satan didn't just wish it, he was demanded to return.

First things first, he couldn't worry about how far the arms of his reception would open.  Belial couldn't think about how far the dagger may have been pushed into his back.  His saving grace was that he was one of the original fallen, one of the seven who heard the prophecies, who witnessed the shadowed truth about their exile from Gods true favour.  One of those who fully understand the depths of that favour would take you.  He couldn't worry about any of this now; Michael was reputedly on the move, and if it were to be Lucifer to give him this information, then it must be gravely serious.  The prophecies hadn't lied so far.

Seven years is not a long period to the immortal, he still knew who would be able to give him information, at whatever price necessary.  Belial had taken ten minutes to return to his spartan domicile, simply to slip on his silver ring, the ring that symbolised more than the fact that Belial was back in business.  After folding his secret photograph inside his combat pockets, Belial was back in the fresh air and striding with a more integrated purpose than he had previously.  He was going to see Moebius.  Moebius always had a price.

It was a two hour train journey to Northampton, a long reflective repetitive thudding process to another despicable haven to human depravation.  The incessant scent of monotonous mental carnage was thick in the air, a true sign that Humans lived here.  He kept his anger simmering as he passed by three muslim ladies, he let his anger stay within him as he heard a soap box preacher giving the Northamptonian inbreds their daily dose of bovine faeces about 'Jesus their saviour', and he passed hotly by the Jesus Army head quarters at the end of the stinking cattle market.

Belial crossed the heavy streets ignoring the screaming horn on the little bald strangers Mercedes, and the angry shouts of the hairy woman behind him.  He didn't even retaliate when the driver behind them all uttered a string of colourful and vivid profanities describing him less than endearingly as an over large mammary gland.  He didn't even reflect on the journey as he stood outside the 'Punch and Judy' pub.

As always the pub was empty barring a few old time regulars, glowering over at other tables with an ancient hatred.  But Moebius had always remained seemingly neutral to the war.  Her favours were usually granted to those that bribed him more, or that terrified her the most.

Without much surprise the barman recognised Belial immediately and didn't even bother to inquire as to which beverage he would like, simply just motioned to the staff entrance.  Moebius evidently was expecting him.  Belial nodded curtly and headed to the door over the stained blue carpet and through the door.

It had been seven years, and yet Moebius had not changed the decor in the hallway, still the same yellowing white walls and bare black stairs heading to the same shimmering red door.  This pub was Moebius' greatest facade, her domain situated right in the midst of a busy town, within a pub that few people entered, police never troubled about, and in full view of the whole town he paraded her greatest secret without being noticed.

The red door swung open at Belial's arrival.  Belial stepped through without so much as a courteous knock, into the black void like room in which Moebius dwelled and worked.  Belial could smell her here, he could feel her watching him, an ancient dislike boring through shrouded eyes somewhere in this room.

Moebius was a very extravagant lady considering her purpose and duty to all the ethereal.  Belial would never expected someone so lavishly conspicuous to be given the keys to all the portals and to time itself.  She was the guardian of the entrances to all the other worlds that only those that never died were consciously aware of.  Of course Humans were aware of their existence but their understanding was down to their belief, and thankfully they were invariably wrong.

Moebius herself had been an ugly woman, even in the most prominent years of her life never was she beautiful or adored.  She was tall and was as wide as any endomorph.  Her face was pock marked and her skin sallow.  Even her feminine features were overlarge and out of proportion.  But she was a necessary evil.  This didn't stop Belial detesting her very existence.

Moebius would use the portal of time frequently and return to the world as her younger self, though she was ageless now, the only human ever to be aware of the war, and the only human ever to be trusted with divine secrets.  She was the first human, long before humans were understood as the cretins that they are.  After her no more lesser beings were trusted.  She was the first abomination to ever scar this planet.

She was in this room, seething behind her maskless contempt at Belial's arrival.  His appearance ordinarily meant scars and bloodshed within her sacred temple of nothing; his questions were usually answered at a blades edge, or with long fingernails biting deep into her bearded throat.

"Let me guess, you're here to talk about Michael?"  her voice came from a small corner, the usual hideous rasp sought his ears from somewhere to his left.  Momentarily the lights turned on dimly revealing her home.  The walls were black and her collection of furniture was far too different to even be classed as eclectic.  Everything she owned was a trinket to her past, or tribute to her own divine self gratification.

"No just seeking your pleasurable company."  Belial always let his taunts hang, revelling in his own sarcasm.  His retort was greeted by a stony silence.  Moebius leaned forward and picked up a glass goblet containing a red liquid, she crossed her legs and drank deeply.  Her faced showed her obvious delight in the beverage.  Replacing the goblet next to a dim ball shaped lantern she smiled at Belial and beckoned him to a short aged wooden stool.

"No scars this time Belial, I will simply pre-empt your questioning by telling you everything, and then let you use the portal back home."

The End

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