by Roy Bright
The angel Dominions is the first to speak. “What do you mean – you have come to be made aware of a powerful artifact? What artifact? Who or what has made you aware of such a thing?”
Judas smiles, although sighing at the same time. “I would rather not divulge that, my Lord; suffice to say I trust this information and the person who has delivered it. I would prefer not to get anyone into hot water over this if I can avoid it.”
Dominions eyes him with suspicion. “Well, be that as it may Judas, I still want to know of this artifact to which you refer.”
Judas licks his lips, the dryness within them irritating him. He grins a little, subtle but noticeable.
The Council members once again shift in their seats.
The angel Cherubim leans into the table, his eyes narrowing, “Well, Judas?” he asks, intrigue getting the better of him and feeling the need to force the issue.
Judas smiles, “Azazel,” he says, looking down at his feet for a moment then raising his eyes to look at them once more, “the artifact is Azazel, the demon sword of power, and I intend to conquer it and bring it to arms.”
The Council bench erupts with angels shouting at him and talking over one another.
Seraphim stands and remonstrates with him, asking if he has taken leave of his senses, furious with him for even thinking of bringing such a request before them.
Principalities joins his brother, berating the lesser angel, questioning whether his intention is to bring doom upon them all.
Judas shakes his head, frowning, and he looks at each of them, waving their arms and shouting at him, venting their frustrations before he has even had a chance to explain, to try to get them to see sense that his plan is a necessity for the survival of all. In that brief moment he hates them, hates that they would be such cowards, that they would not trust him to accomplish the mission. How quick the mind changes he thinks to himself, annoyed that the earlier compassion displayed by the Council has now evaporated, gone in an instant.
Jesus stands and attempts to bring the room to order, pleading with his fellow angels to calm themselves and allow the meeting to continue.
They are having none of it. They continue to rage and argue, arms flailing in the air.
Samael laughs, his brow furrowed, his eyes wide. “This is turning out to be one fantastic day,” he says while clapping his hands together.
“Quieten down, Samael,” Michael says, snapping at him.
“Oh come on Mikey, you can’t say you don’t find this amusing? Look at them – have you ever seen this lot lose it so spectacularly?”
He is just about to reply when Judas’ voice booms out.
“ENOUGH!” he roars, his annoyance apparent. “That. Is. Enough!” He stares at each of the Council members.
“How dare you!” Dominions states, outraged at the lesser angel’s lack of respect for them, for him.
“How dare I? How dare I?” Judas repeats, his eyes wide with anger. “How dare you, how dare you all! You all sit here, pompous, pontificating, pretending to have the well-being of humankind in your best interests and yet you do nothing.”
One by one, they ease back into their chairs, stunned by his outburst. Only one other has ever spoken in such a manner and his fate did not end well.
Judas’ temper continues to bubble and boil and he speaks through gritted teeth, pacing up and down in front of the bench. “Here I was earlier, taking the blame for the events during Lucifer’s rise, trying to calm the waters so that you may see reason in my request to end these troubles once and for all – and how do you repay me? Like this, with pathetic whining and bickering, not to mention the fact that when the Apocalypse occurred, you did nothing… NOTHING!” he reinforces his accusation, stabbing an index finger at them. “If it hadn’t been for Gabriel lending a hand, as little as it was, then we would’ve seen absolutely squat from you… the mighty on high.” He turns his attention to Michael and the others. “And where was the great Hellwatch while I was diving off buildings, setting myself on fire, and getting the living shit kicked outta me by the Devil, hmmm? I didn’t see you guys charging in to save the fucking day.”
Michael steps toward him, rage burning in his eyes, his fists clenched, his face a canvas of furious intent, ready to tear into this lesser being, but before he is able to respond, Jesus intervenes, taking charge of the situation.
“Okay, gentlemen, that’s quite enough.” He looks at Judas, his eyebrows raised. “I think you’ve made your point.”
Judas takes a deep breath, realizing that he has let dangerous feelings get the better of him, allowed himself to lose control. It is a side of him he promised Charlotte he would work on, try to curb, and yet he hasn’t been able to, not here at least. Shame hits him, deep and penetrating, and feelings of self-loathing course through him.
Jesus stands, running his hands through his hair. He takes a couple of deep breaths, closing his eyes as he does, composing himself. Opening them, he smiles at Judas. “Okay, let us now replace anger and fear with reason and compassion, shall we?” He glances at everyone in the room and all nod their heads, including Judas. “Good, good,” he says, relieved, then turns to face Judas. “My friend, you must realize that what you ask is something of grave concern to us all.”
Judas shrugs. He is about to speak, to try to say something profound, but stops, deciding against it.
Jesus sighs once more. “The demon sword Azazel has one purpose, Judas, one goal and that is to manipulate whomever believes they control it. Its endgame is to secure a position of power at all costs, into the hands of authority where it can wreak havoc. All of the swords of power feel that way, constantly jockeying for position, their own desires and means foremost in their minds.” He steps out from behind the table and makes his way over to Judas and, upon reaching him, places his hands on his shoulders. “Friend, you cannot wield this sword, the responsibility in doing so is too great for even the strongest of our kind. It is true that it would grant you immeasurable power…” The angel’s attention snaps to him, his movement sharp, fast, and focused. Sensing he may have ignited more desire in him, he is quick to follow up with further explanation, “…but that power comes at a terrible price, a price that cannot be paid.”
Judas shakes his head, “I can control it my Lord, I know I can. I know I have it in me to take charge of this demon and use its power to save them all, to save us all, to make sure Charlotte is safe, that she survives.”
Jesus removes his hands from his shoulders and takes a step back, “What have you been told, and where has this information come from?”
He takes a deep breath, runs his hand across his mouth, and shakes his head, “As I said, my Lord, I would rather not say, but my source has said that in all cases, in order to defeat the great evil a sacrifice must be honored. My source said this is not the first time such an event has taken place – it has happened before, in other realms, and I will not allow her to be harmed or have her sacrificed as you were, no decent father would allow such a thing.”
With a rare grimace of disgust, Jesus takes a further step back and then turns away. He returns to the Council bench and sits down, adjusting his position in his seat, correcting his posture so that he is the very essence of officialdom. “Judas Iscariot, you are hereby forbidden by the Eternal Council to seek out the demon sword Azazel and use its power for your own ends. We will hear no more of this, is that understood?”
Judas’ face contorts with anger as he approaches the bench, “My Lord, you are making a grave mistake.”
“My words are final, Iscariot, there is nothing more to discuss.”
He winces at the use of his last name. In all the years that he has known Jesus Christ, he has never referred to him as just ‘Iscariot’ and it hurt a great deal. However, his defense mechanism is not one of subjugation or pity and he reacts the only way he knows – with more anger. “My Lord! This is a mistake, I will not allow my daughter to—”
“She is not your child, Judas. She never was
. And we are done here.”
“We are not done! I will have my request served. I will take on this mission!”
“You would defy the will of the Council?” Jesus asks, rocketing out of his seat, slamming his hands onto the bench.
“For her, I would defy the very will of God!” Judas slams a fist into the bench with such force the impact echoes around the chamber.
Jesus slumps back into his chair in shock, stunned by his friend’s defiance, by his choice of words. He is unable to respond and can only shake his head in disbelief, the corners of his mouth curled into an attempt at smiling. Not that there was anything to smile about, as Judas’ behavior has a touch of madness to it and he fears the angel may soon cross a line from which he cannot return. He takes a moment to regain his composure, noticing that Judas is doing the same.
Judas runs both of his hands down the front of his face. “My Lord, please, I beg you – allow me to take Hellwatch and retrieve the sword, so that I can once and for all put an end to this madness so that this realm – our realm – may not suffer the same fate as others in the universe.” He opens his eyes wide, pleading. “My Lord, I am begging you!”
Michael has heard enough. He steps forward, his face like thunder, his eyes burning with anger. “There are only two ways in which you will gain control of Hellwatch,” he says, causing Judas to turn and face him. “One, if I give it to you, or two, you take it by wielding Azazel. Neither of those things are going to happen Iscariot, not ever. Therefore, if you care for The Light as indeed you say you do, I suggest you learn to do as you are told and find another way to stop this war of which you speak.” He bows toward the Council, turns, and walks away, beckoning to his lieutenants in the process, “Gentlemen, we are done here.”
The angel Powers, who up until this point had remained silent and contemplative, stands and addresses the room. “Well, I think we have heard quite enough as I for one do not wish to see a small act of insubordination grow into something more serious. Not again. This, I believe, concludes our meeting for today.”
The Council members stand and file out one by one through a door at the back of the chamber. Only Jesus remains, his gaze lowered, staring at the bench.
Judas stands in front of him, his gaze also lowered. This had not gone as planned. His first meeting with the man he betrayed two millennia ago and this is the way he acts before him. He feels sick to the pit of his stomach, ashamed of his actions. But all of that pales into insignificance knowing the information that has been passed to him from his source – a sacrifice must be honored for the war to end. He will not allow her to be taken from him, not like her brother was.
Jesus raises his head and looks at him, seeing great sadness in his eyes. His heart sinks. “What happened to you my friend?” he says quietly, his eyes searching, his face forlorn. “What has happened to you?” He stares at him for a second longer, then stands and makes his way out of the same door as his fellow Angels.
“She happened, my Lord,” he whispers, his gaze returning to the floor. “She happened.”
“Judas,” Gabriel says as he approaches him, his voice soft.
In all of the arguing, Judas had forgotten that Gabriel was there; such had been his quietness during the meeting.
“What now?” Gabriel says, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “What do you intend to do now?”
He raises his head. “What now?” he says, screwing up his mouth and breathing out hard through his nose. He turns and strides away from Gabriel toward the main doors.
“Judas! Where are you going?” Gabriel says, his arms outstretched.
“I’m going to get that fucking sword!”
Eighteen
Judas is angry – no, furious – as he stomps down the gleaming white corridors leading to his personal living space. He curses to himself at the Council’s lack of vision, of their failure to understand, and their blatant disregard for Charlotte’s safety. They’ll be sorry, he tells himself, they will realize I am right when it’s too late. His lips tremble, the bitter words resonating inside his head. Well, I won’t let anything happen to her, not a chance in Hell. He stops and places his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “For the love of all that is holy, get a grip Judas.” He stays that way for a few seconds, staring at the ground then tilts his head back, takes a deep breath, and carries on walking. As he rounds the corner that leads to his accommodation he spies the stout figure of Samael who is propped up against the wall to the side of his door.
Samael smiles at him and pushes himself off the wall with his shoulders. “Well,” he says, rubbing his chin, “that couldn’t have gone any better if we had actually planned it.” He grins.
“You’re kidding, right?” Judas replies, his eyes wide, and his head shaking a little. “Were you even in the same meeting, Sammy?”
Samael claps his hands together and guffaws, performing a little sidestepping dance as he moves closer to Judas. “You are completely missing the point, Jude, mate. They were never going to grant you permission to go after Azazel.”
He shakes his head, throws his hands into the air, and then jabs them back onto his hips. “Then what on Earth was the point in you tipping me off and sending me in there asking for it in the first place?” Judas says, feeling his anger rising again.
Samael’s grin stretches wider and he rubs his hands together; the actions of a man who’s schemes and plans are coming to fruition. “Because, my dear boy, we need this level of defiance from you before Azazel will even consider letting you enter his lair. One does not simply walk into the belly of the beast all noble and pure of heart, no! You need to be… damaged in some way or another.” He smiles.
“What, and you don’t think betraying the Savior qualifies me?”
“Well it would have, Judy, if your sins hadn’t been all forgiven and stuff. You’ve simply been too much of a good boy recently babe.”
Judas rubs his face with both hands and lets out a short, sharp laugh. A laugh that borders on the insane. “Oh Sammy, what have you gotten me into here?”
“Legend, my friend. I have gotten you into legend, or at least the annals of it.” He clasps a hand onto Judas’ shoulder. “Come, I’ll allow you to treat me to a drink while we discuss what you must do next.”
“I’m providing the drinks now?” he asks, his face a mixture of astonishment and annoyance. “Could this day get any worse?” Shaking his head, he opens the door to his abode and ushers him in.
Nineteen
A solitary hooded figure stomps along a narrow rocky road deep within a barren valley, bordered on each side by gigantic lakes of lava, while jagged mountains paint the backdrop to the infernal landscape. The ornate armor worn beneath his cloak clanks and jangles as he crunches along the dusty track, his huge legs cutting a swathe through sulfur steam pockets causing the foul and obnoxious mist to swirl around them. He grins as he breathes in the poisonous air, relishing the sweet taste infiltrating his nostrils, and he closes his eyes and lifts his head upward, looking into the vivid red maelstrom that is the sky. The toxic air feeds him, enriches him. It strengthens his soul, damned as it is, and although to many this is Hell, the place to endure an eternity of anguish and suffering, to him it is home.
The highest General in Lucifer’s army and second in command only to the Prince of Darkness himself, Malphas has been his most trusted advisor since The Fall, the event in which God cast down the rebel angels, imprisoning them in Hell for all time. He was there in the Great War as angel fought angel, brother against brother. He stood proud alongside Lucifer as they battled for control of Heaven with a ferocious and unwavering determination. When it was all over, God having put paid to those who would stand against the throne by casting them into the abyss, his loyalty to his master had remained fierce, stronger than ever. And it is that level of loyalty and devotion that has him grinning widely as he makes his way to the Tower Castle, to the throne room at its summit and the inner sanctum of Hell – he has news, important news that would see his
master rejoice and bestow more favor upon him, something he enjoys a great deal.
As he continues to march along the path, he holds up to his face one of two artifacts that he is carrying and examines it, its significance once again causing him to smile.
The piece itself is unremarkable in both design and appearance. A small, simple diamond-shaped stone tablet that has one word carved across it surface… Mavet, from the Hebrew word meaning death. It is one of the Seven Seals, symbolic artifacts of immense, holy power.
Malphas clutches the Seal and mumbles to himself, “Now we have the fourth.” He smiles further, examining the other, similar item, “And you my friend make number five. Today is a grand day indeed.”
Lava explosions erupt around him as he approaches the end of the causeway and the beginning of the long ascent. He grunts as he climbs the many broken and decaying steps, trudging toward the gigantic gates leading into the Tower at the very heart of Hell.
Malphas lays his massive and powerful hands upon the castle gates and screws up his face as he pushes hard. They open without a sound and he follows their trajectory, stepping inside.
The lower chamber is one of only two floors; pristine, well-kept, and neat in every detail, a stark contrast to the desolate world that lies outside, very much resembling the inside of the great cathedrals that once stood in the realm of man before Lucifer had his way with the world. At various levels within the massive superstructure, stained glass depicts the very opposite to that of which would be found in such places intended for the Creator. Pictures of horrific beasts, death, destruction, torture, and mutilation adorn the walls, providing grim viewing indeed for anyone not attuned to the nuances of this world. Dignitaries of Hell and other high-ranking officials stand dotted around the first floor of the Tower and they turn to eye him as he stomps toward his destination, his loud footsteps echoing across the chamber.