Inferno of God

6: In Which The Audience of This Story is Given a Lesson on Angels

He found himself in a dark room with a light resembling early morning, and after a moment of scanning, he recognized it as his old home, though much older looking. In fact, it was nearly destroyed, even the roof was cracked and bending. The entire place, he noted, was also covered in the same dark hue as his skin, giving it the appearance of having burned down. It saddened him to bear witness to, but he only allowed those emotions to be present for a moment. He had made it to Heaven, meaning there was much work to be done, and considering what the angels did to damned souls nowadays, he needed to move quickly.

On the surface, things appeared much more pleasant outside. His old white rose garden in front of the house sat unaltered, blooming as though nothing had happened since he left. It had been there since his creation, and was the first piece of beauty in the universe he had ever seen, while being walked outside for the first time. Looking back, it had most likely been a gift of sorts from God, as he had seemed a bit uneasy, and perhaps insulted when he found Satan adding more plants he had found around the area.

He began to open a nearby gate leading to the rest of the neighborhood, though, unlike the days he had lived there, when angels would regularly chat and occasionally play music around the area, the whole place was left completely barren, only adding to his house's depressed appearance.

Suddenly, he felt a cold hand grip at his shoulder, causing a chill to run from the back of his neck, throughout his body. After a brief moment of emotional preparation, he spun around, and practically gasped at the sight which greeted him. At first glance, it appeared to be that of an archangel, though it looked so horribly mutated, Satan could barely recognize it. It's wings had been completely stripped of feathers, and the entire body appeared to be covered in white, clayish flesh, making it's form appear much more bulky than it should. The substance even filled the angel's mouth and throat, giving it the permanent expression of a dead fish, and replacing any possibility of talking properly with the sound of muffled humming. To Satan, it was horrifying, but in a devastating sort of way. As much as he hated God for the man's past actions, he had long forgiven the angels. They were his friends and neighbors, some he would even go so far as to call them sibling figures, and long ago he had grown to understand that whenever they had been cruel to either him or Baal, they were just following orders.

The angel grabbed at his collar, but he managed to pull away, still, it didn't look like it was about to quit, and physical combat had never been Satan's strong suite, so he quickly found himself stooping so low as to run back into the house for a place to hide, eventually sliding into an empty cupboard in the kitchen. However, even with his head to his knees, breathing quiet, shallow breaths to avoid discovery, he felt obliged to at least try to help it. He even reasoned his way into the situation, that it would be useful to have someone to turn to if necessary, so, after creaking the cupboard door open just enough to confirm that he was alone, he slid himself out, and began searching through the drawers above it, eventually extracting a short, but sharp knife.

He readyed himself and began lurking around the home, stepping quietly to the drawing room as he heard the gothic humming being emitted in that direction. It was like something from the bad horror films the residents would occasionally discuss.

Approaching the room's entrance, he leaned against the wall beside the door, giving a final, nervous thought to his actions, then, in a dancerly fashion, stepped through the doorway.

Immediately, the archangel flung itself on top of him, pressing its hands deep into Satan's throat. He lifted the knife, and began cutting the flesh off of its hands, keeping the rest of his body still to prevent the angel from moving too much. Yet despite the discomfort of being unable to breathe, he would survive, technically, he would survive anything.

Thankfully, the being screamed and shoved it's hands upwards as he made the motion, giving him the opportunity to shove it off, and push it to the ground, kneeling on top of it so he could continue the procedure. He silently prayed that the move he was making was right, as he knew there was a large possibility that he was simply torturing it for no reason, but even so, he felt the attempt was worthwhile.

The being quickly weakened, and began to lessen it's grip, and a moment later, it passed out completely, allowing the job to be done easier and faster, without any more pain.

Once a large slit was running up both arms and legs, as well as the tips of the wings, Satan set aside the knife, and began stripping off the excess flesh. Throughout the entire procedure, there was no blood, (and yes, dear reader, angels do have blood, it's black and bears an uneasy resemblance of bile,) there was only the smooth, white skin he found underneath, looking exactly how an angel's skin should. Satan actually had to spend a moment staring at it, breathing deeply from the relief that whoever this angel may be, they will probably be alright, he hadn't even noticed the stress he had been under until that moment, and he kept holding on to the pale hand for the rest of the operation, perhaps for luck, perhaps out of kindness, or even to reassure himself, no one knows, for everyone is an enigma, and celestial bodies, even more so, the fact is, we will never fully understand them.

Upon uncovering the face and pulling the thick substance from the throat, a small gasp escaped Satan's lips. The angel he had been working on was Gabriel, his dear friend and younger brother figure, the one who had taught him after his creation, lying there in his short, stout body and owl's feather hair and horns like a neglected doll. Satan had always assumed that, in his six thousand years of living in Hell, if any angels had been left untainted, it would be Gabriel. Still, even without the fleshy shell, it was still entirely possible that he was still trapped in his mindless persona, a thought which forced Satan to quickly regain his composure, and call him out in a loud whisper, as he was too nervous to speak any louder. XXX

"Gabriel?" There was no response, so he tried more firmly, "Gabriel." He shook him, "Come on now, wake up."

The angel gently groaned, making Satan visibly relax. "Alright, just give me a moment," said Gabriel, and the demon did so, sliding backwards slightly to allow him the space to get his bearings.

As he tiredly sat up, he began to appear confused, "Satan?" It was said almost as a mix between a question and a statement, "What are you doing in my house?"

Satan frowned worryingly, opening his mouth to speak.

The angel spoke first, attempting to calm him, "No, don't look so concerned, I thought I told you that I've been trying the human process of sleeping. Hold on..." His eyes darted about the room, now fully conscious and aware. "Is this your house? Goodness, what happened to it?" He scrambled to a standing position, denying the help his brother offered, "Was there a fire in here?"

Satan put up a hand in hopes to calm him, "Gabriel, please don't exert yourself, slow down, and allow me to explain." He paused, to make sure he was paying attention, and began to speak. "After I was sent to Hell, God began to see the angels as a threat to his power, so, to prevent them from taking over, he changed all of you into mindless beings with no free will of your own."

"Hell? What on Earth are you talking about?"

The statement rendered him practically speechless, "Gabriel, I may have been a bit confused on that painful day, but I am fairly certain that you were present when my wings were cut off."

"My dear Satan, where do you get such ideas, we both know Master God would never allow such a thing."

Satan was now concerned and confused towards the state of Gabriel's mind, though, thankfully, he was creating a hunch, stating that what the man was saying was what he honestly thought of as the truth, "I know just as much as you do how difficult it these things are to accept," said he, "perhaps more, but at some point, you will have to for your own well being. Now excuse me, for Hell, which I should mention is a place for me to redeem sinful souls as a sort of punishment, as well as my current home, is currently experiencing a severe famine and plague, that needs to be rectified as soon as possible. As for you, I would recommend going home, and staying there for your own safety until further notice."

"Alright," Gabriel yelled to the figure, who was now slowly walking away from him, "one more thing though, how long has it been?"

He smiled softly, without completely knowing why, "Six thousand years have passed since you were properly conscious, now go rest, I trust that you are still quite uneasy."