The New Helel

Azazil II

Azazil's consciousness lay in a nightmarish maze, subjected to all its horrors. Instead of a mighty spirit, it was a minuscule droplet. Repeated attacks had weakened it greatly.

However, the shipwrecked boat of a soul started to repair itself. Slowly, but surely, it rose up and started to soar.

*

Azazil opened up his sightless eyes, flinching when the chilly air hit his face. He sensed the presence of multiple people.

Their scent and manner of speech were familiar, yet he could not think of how. Vile, overwhelming scents harshly penetrated his nose. He attempted to rid himself of the noxious smell, but soon found that he had lost all feeling in his arm.

Their low, hushed voices were close, but he could not make out what they were saying. Something about the quality of their voices was off, somehow. He could almost tell what it was ... Then he felt the feeling of a rough, hard touch as he was carried around. The noxious smell, the raspy voices, and the rough hands ...

Ah. Azazil frowned in distaste. Those evil things ... demons.

*

Azazil was carefully transported to a plush, queen-sized bed. Candles lined the walls and wilted flowers were dispersed throughout the room.

Every day, an elderly maid with terrible breath and dragon feet would come in, hold him, and bend his muscles so they wouldn't atrophy.

Azazil hated every second of it. Don't touch me, you demon! Yet all his screams could not change the fact that she could not hear him. Do you even know how worthless you are?

As expected, his thoughts were to no avail.

One day, the dragon maid didn't come. Instead of heavy footsteps that dragged across the floor, they were light and airy.

"W-who are you?" Azazil demanded. The demon chuckled.

"It seems that you have recovered your voice. I was anxious that you would never heal."

"I said, who are you?" He scowled.

"That is a bit rude, is it not? But I suppose I shall answer. I am one of Gehinnom's few grand dukes and the master of this residence. You may call me Dareios."
*
"Would you like some tea and cookies? Or a book? I have some in Braille." Dareios offered.

Azazil grimaced. "I have no words for your kind."

Dareios ignored Azazil's hostility. "I am in possession of a book about overcoming racism. I believe that you shall benefit greatly from that."

Azazil ignored what he was saying and plugged his ears.

Dareios seemed unaffected. "My, you have such an eloquent manner of speech. I wonder who taught you to articulate your words."

Azazil rose, attempting to get up from his leather seat. However, his legs had not recovered yet, and he started to fall. His face was so close to the warm, wooden flo-

Dareios caught him in time, but his save was clearly unwelcome.

"G-get your filthy hands off me, y-you fiend!" Azazil attempted to hit Dareios, but moved too slowly.

Daerios frowned for the first time since meeting him. "What a shame. It seems that you won't cooperate with me at all."

Azazil stayed silent and prepared to strike Dareios again, but his hand was quickly caught. 

"I had high hopes, but I suppose they were all for naught." Dareios said as he gingerly opened the ornate door. "Good night."

*

Azazil slowly recovered from the fall as the months passed. He was quicker now, and did not need the help of another to function. He could walk, and even run for short periods of time.

Every week, Dareios knocked on his door to converse with him. At first, Azazil responded by yelling slurs. Then it was a shove. After that, it was a book to the face. No matter what method, his answer was always no.

He could tell Dareios had been growing impatient. He was curt with Azazil, and only visited him out of obligation. What obligation, Azazil had no idea.

Azazil closed his eyes as he contemplated what had happened. Before long, he heard the familiar rap on the door. One, two.

Azazil had gotten his hands on a glass of holy water earlier in the week. His blessed necklace, which he always carried with him, occasionally produced things he could use to protect himself.

As the door opened, he threw the glass. It shattered on Dareios' face, the glass embedding itself in his soft flesh. As the man began to scream for help, Azazil felt a sense of pride. Perhaps now that blasted demon will leave me alone.

Dareios screamed, blinded by the water. He stumbled off to the nearest water source and frantically wiped his sleeves on his face. Anything to get the holy water off.

Azazil heard faint yelling as Dareios stumbled down the stairs. Then there was only silence.

Yet Azazil didn't mind. The corners of his lips tugged up. Finally, that vile creature got what he deserved.

*

"Did you hear?" Azazil heard the maids whisper the day after. "The young lord's face is horribly disfigured! How terrible!"

Terrible, huh? Azazil thought. More like laughable. After how much trouble those nasty demons caused for his Father, they deserved to suffer.

Azazil laid on the soft bed, a smile playing on his face. Maybe, just maybe, his Father would be proud of his son.

Eventually, he smelt the familiar scent of vanilla pass by his door. Dareios was nearby.

Azazil originally planned to do nothing, but before he could think, his body moved on his own. "Nice face, eh?" he shouted through the door.

The door crashed open almost immediately. Dareios' light steps had turned heavy, and his calming aura was almost murderous.

"Just what did you say?"

Azazil scoffed. "You heard me. I said you have a nice face. Are you so insecure that you can't take compliments?"

Dareios stepped once towards Azazil. They were only three paces apart.

Azazil ignored the alarm bells ringing in his head, telling him that he was doomed. His face curled in disgust. "Going to hit me now, are you? Just like the rest of your kind?"

Dareios took another step forward. "What did I ever do to you?" He asked in a heavy monotone. It seemed less like a question and more like a statement.

Azazil dug his nails into the palm of his hand. "Are you seriously asking me that? After all your kind has done?"

"I didn't ask what 'my kind' did to you. I asked what I did."

Azazil bitterly laughed. "Everything, what else?"

Dareios narrowed his eyes. "'Everything' tells me nothing. I need specifics."

Azazil shrugged flippantly. "Do you really think you deserve an explanation?"

Dareios crossed his arms over his chest. "The only way we will see progress towards our goals is if you cease these childish games. It is your choice and yours alone."

"I still don't see why you're all worked up. Your kind should really learn how to relax, you know. This is why no one likes you."

Dareios took another step forward, but then sighed and turned towards the door. "It is a shame that you do not wish to cooperate. I will be taking my leave now."

"Coward," Azazil whispered under his breath. "Guess you can't take confrontation after all."