the_scapegoat: (Burn in Hell)
[personal profile] the_scapegoat
Your hands are dirty
You lie in filth
Tears come to your eyes
Get up and wipe them away
You try to breathe
It is so hard
Every thought a stillbirth
Your gaze so empty

You suspect you feel
that you are nothing
that there is no room in paradise for you
You whine and beg for mercy
at the end of your time
You're sorry for everything

Where is your god
Great and powerful
When will his kingdom come
Cold and magnificent
Start praying and shut up
No sympathy
No
No sympathy

Your lips are bloody
You wet yourself
You are pale with
insanity and in the face
You try to think
Totally destroyed
Every promise that was important to you
is no longer worth a thing

Do you believe that the tide will still turn
Do you want this insanity to end
You whine and beg for mercy
You're sorry for everything
You pray to God but God has
No time no time no sympathy




All there was was darkness. So very far from the light he had known. Immobile, heavy chains bound him from head to foot, and on him, blocking out all, jagged rocks pressed against him. But that pain was nothing to the still searing agony in his back. Stumps. That was all Raphael had left him wings. The physical pain was nothing compared to the pain of humiliation and abandonment, nor the anger that was growing.

That anger fermented down in that abyss. From that anger came the hate. A hate so deep and unrelenting. Yes, the Grigori disobeyed Him, knowingly and willingly. They conspired, making a pact with each other to stand fast in their choice. But He had overreacted, he believed that. No trial, no appeal, just immediate judgement and execution. Because this torment, this punishment was execution indeed. He had stripped him of everything.

Love. A gift given by Him to His last creation, but denied to His Host. Knowledge shared with them condemned. Their children slaughtered as monsters. To be kept in the Abyss until Judgement Day.

No. NO, he would not!

In his rage and pain he screamed, long and loud, wishing that the sound could be carried all the way to Him and knowing it wouldn't.

Bones mended, reforming him into something else. Time passed, meaningless to him, but still too long. They came to him. Grotesque, broken wings dragging, two hundred who had Fallen with him worked to free him. The Grigori still his.

Freed, he gazed up out of the Abyss to beyond that which he could see. He ascribed to him all sin, then he would earn that responsibility. Earn it well.

Something called to him, and he turned to the darkness once more. With his Grigori around him, he walked towards the sound in full knowledge of what called and what his path now was.

Date: 2009-06-27 01:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] faedefrance.livejournal.com
Jocelyn takes a seat beside her friend and listens to his tale. When he is finished she lays a hand on his, leans forward and presses a gentle kiss on his temple. "I have not forgotten my promise," she said softly, "Retribution willcome."

Date: 2009-06-27 03:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 1st-of-the200.livejournal.com
Azazeal smiles purely to himself as she kisses him so nicely. "Oh yes, retribution will come. I've waited a long time for it."

June 2010

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