The New Helel

Azazil I

A fresh breeze swept through the dock as the sounds of conversations filled the air. Azazil wondered how long it had been since the clock had struck. Has it been four hours yet? Ten? Twenty? With no one to converse with, he was used to losing track of time. Yet, even so, he had never gotten used to the feeling of incessant boredom as he waited.

Perhaps I should rest. He gently sighed and bit the inside of his cheek. But what if it's almost dawn?

He soon got his answer upon hearing a grating chime, which was known for its beauty. Unfortunately, as Azazil had heard it half a million too many times, his ears winced at the sound.

The chime resounded across the entirety of the Harbor, if one could even call it that. Rather than a typical tourist attraction with dozens of ships and restaurants, the "Harbor" was just Azazil's boat, some trees, and a rather intimidating bell tower.

The chimes had the expected effect of commanding attention to the bell tower, which worked in Azazil's favor. It also had the wonderful ability of shutting everybody up.

Azazil cleared his throat, trying his best to keep everyone's eyes on him. As he spoke, doubt lingered in his mind. The others may have been successes, but what if I fail this time?

Although his stomach sickened as he spoke, he tried to ignore the thought as best as he could. "C-Congratulations, new saints of Heaven. I am Seraph Azazil and today I will be, um, transporting you to paradise. I will help you settle everything you need and, ah, showing you around. N-now, please start boarding this boat," he said, pointing to his right.

No one dared to tell him that the boat was actually on his left.

Azazil grasped around for the boat, but his hands snagged only empty air.
Sweat dripped down his face. What if everyone thinks I'm not fit to guide them, or aren't satisfied with their service, or —

Azazil tripped over two of his six wings and plummeted into the water below.

Not long after, strong arms reached around his torso and pulled him up. "Hey, what happened?"

Azazil hung his head in shame. "Actually, erm, I can't see. So things like that happen a lot."

"I see," his rescuer said. "Would you like me to help you dry off? I can lend you my jacket while your clothes dry."

"H-huh? Erm, that's alright." Azazil mumbled. "We should really go to Shamayim now. I-it's a long journey."

*

A five year old held on to his mother and started kicking the deck out of boredom. "Mama, when are we going to get therrrrrrrrre?"

"Soon, my lovely child," the mother responded, unsuccessfully trying to comfort her son.

"But maaaaam, I'm bored and this boat keeps on rocking! I thought you said we were going to have fun here! I miss Daddy!"

"We are going to, when we get there," she replied. "Why don't you ask this kind young man something? He may even be fun to play with."

Azazil normally would've clarified that he was actually thousands of years old, but he couldn't bring himself to. His necklace—a silver cross through a loop—chafed his neck as it pointed to the West. He held the cold cross in his hand, a final gift from his Father. The memory of it brought a pang of sadness.

Suddenly, a little boy forcefully tugged at his cloak, causing Azazil to lose his balance. Not long after, his head hit the floor, causing the boat to rock. Azazil clenched his lips; he could feel some of the patrons glaring at him from their seats.