Chapter 11 (PArt One - Before the Banishment)

Belial could hardly believe what he was seeing.  The battle was over and the fledging angel had surrendered to them, this greeted by a rampaging animal torture.  Aamon was laughing as he plunged his dagger into her right shoulder.

A sickening rouge seeped over her white gown and spread viciously across her chest.  The blonde angel let out an ear piercing shriek and her eyes rolled in her head then finally shut as her tall body slumped down the wall behind her.

Saracen, a big set demon, one of Belials most trusted lieutenants simply laughed heartily as though watching an episode of only fools and horses.  Timon grinned wickedly and widely.

Timon himself was a slighter man, very athletic and wiry, but wicked fast.  He had few scars upon him as he was notoriously too sharp for his opponents.

Belial was sickened by the act displayed before him.  Swiftly, deftly, and still armed with his dual rapiers he leapt upto the balcony from the floor below.

"The Fledgling has surrendered, we are not animals you will desist with the torture Aamon."  Belial had landed between Saracen and Timon so suddenly that both demons reeled back a few steps.  

Aamon looked unwaveringly at Belial, a small smile played terribly across his face like a discordant violin.

"Give me on good reason why I shouldn't slice this limp fish up.  Why should I be denied my spoils from this battle?"  Aamon put his rapier to the Fledglings throat.

Belial was caught once more again by the astounding frail beauty which she held.  Perfectly proportioned cheekbones and scarlet lips seemed a perfect contrast to the scene around them.  He was looking at a poetry from many millenium behind him, a different world where beauty meant service to God.  She was a dazzling stunning reminder as to why he was standing here, and why he was challenging Aim on his actions.

"There is no honourable spoils in slaughtering those who have held there hands up to your care.  We aren't beasts, we are not the demons that thousands of years of propaganda have made us out to be.  If you know anything about being a demon Aamon you will drop your rapier and help Saracen and Timon carry her back to the chamber for interrogation."  Belial tried to keep his voice level.  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Timon and Saracen look at each other in disbelief.  Just behind them Lucifer and Beelzebub arrived to witness the scene.  Ahead of him, behind Aamon, Satan and Aim landed.  Abaddon remained on the dancefloor below him looking up with a concerned interest.

Aamon seemed to consider Belials words for a moment.  But it was a moment only to decide where he would plunge his right hand rapier.  It was the fledglings left shoulder that felt the sting of Aamons defiance.

"What are you going to do Belial?  Are you going to plea for this wasps life?  Is this gibbons survival worth more to you than the victory around us?  She will be interrogated, deeply, and from within."  Aamon furrowed his brow in mock controlled rage.  The truth is, there was nothing controlled about this demon, and Belial saw his meaning.

That a Demon of his order could consider fornication with a Seraphim was disgusting enough, let alone the act being forced without consent.  As Aamon raised his rapier again, Belial threw his body at him.

A hard head connected with Aamon's left flank, a thud louder than the angry shouts of protest of the Demons around him echoed from the brick walls.  Aamon fell with a clatter and a growl.  

Both sprawled Demons found their feet, eyes locked on the others and hands tight and stressed ready to fight.

"There is no victory against me Aamon, not for you."  Belial hissed his warning.  The collision with Aamon had flattened the small spikes in Belial's hair and some of the Angels blood had dripped on his tight face.  There was a blaze behind the dark sockets in Belials face that should have been warning enough, but for Timon and Saracen advancing behind him.

Belial caught a flash of light from the rapier of Timon just in time to swerve and grab the Demon.  Ordinarily the Demon may have escaped with deft footwork, but a careless step and over confidence was to be his downfall.  

As Belial wrapped his arms around the man Timon was propelled into Saracen.  The wooden guard around the Balcony broke and sent the two tumbling toward Abaddon.

Aamon took this moment to run at Belial.  Time seemed to slow down for Belial, his hand reached out to the shoulder of the angel, swiftly plucking out Aamons dagger and then guided the dagger at the oncoming acolyte.

The shot was so quick, the knife had disappeared from view, no arch or trajectory path was visible.  It was one second in Belials hand, and the next millisecond buried deep in Aamons throat.  As Aamon feel, a spray of burgundy left a grotesque arch upon the walls of the club, drenching an awestruck Aim and Satan.

Before a word was said there was a yell from below.  Abaddon was engaged in battle with Timon.  Saracen had crept away from the fight in an uncharacteristic reluctance to enage.  Timon had no such sense,  he was flailing wildly at the swift ducking and diving Abaddon.  Enraged, Belial leapt from above rapier pointed downward aimed at the head of Timon.  Beilals leap and aim was true.

Destiny begins, never before had a Demon wilfully killed its own, never before had they turned on themselves.  An unbreakable rule lain down by the fallen, had been broken by one of the fallen.

Belial understood Moebius now, he would need all the luck in hell.


The End

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