the_scapegoat: (Burn in Hell)
Kein Mitleid lyrics )

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.
the_scapegoat: (made of awesome)
(OOC: Not connected to any RP. Meta comments always welcome.)

How Far The Humble Fall

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5

"So tell me more of these dark places that you go."

Azazeal had moved off away from the bar, so that Adela could speak in private with him, and to also watch how Bethany reacted to all the open sexuality happening all around her in the club, and especially with Emily who was now leaning close to her as Bethany still stared at him. The spark of first crush jealousy was all but flowing from her, and that pleased him no end. He stroked his long fingers down Adela's neck.

Cut for sexual situation and mention of drug use )
the_scapegoat: (ORly?)
"When the angels present themselves, the devils abscond." - Arabic Proverb

When I first saw this, I was understandably annoyed. As well as being a complete untruth, I find it insulting at the very least that the appearance of an angel would make me, or any of my Grigori, leave and allow them the advantage.

But on further consideration, I'm really quite happy for humans to believe this ridiculous notion. If they feel the presence of an angel will protect them from a demon, I'm quite pleased to let them have that false sense of security. Considering how many misguided sheep there are out there who believe they have an angel watching over them, guarding them from harm and from evil, and how wrong they are. Angels do watch, I should know, I was a Watcher once, but that is all they are permitted to do, and then report to their Master on how well -- or not -- His sheep are behaving. It certainly isn't a one angel to one human ratio either. Not that I wish to defend my former brothers, but they really have better things to do.

So if a human thinks he is protected by his very own angel, then it can be an opportunity...and a pleasure to...to shatter his illusions. So, after some thought, I do like this idea. It only helps to work to my, and my brothers', advantage.
the_scapegoat: (Emo tear (animated))
"The God that holds you over the Pit of Hell, as much as one holds a spider or some other loathsome insect over the Fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; his Wrath towards you burns like Fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the Fire; he is of purer Eyes than to bear to have you in his Sight; you are Ten Thousand Times so abominable in his Eyes as the most hateful, venomous Serpent is in ours....you are thus in the Hands of an angry god, 'tis nothing but his mere Pleasure that keeps you from being a at this Moment swallowed up in everlasting Destruction." - Pastor Jonathan Edwards, from "A Joseph Campbell Companion" edited by Dian K. Osbon

The long distant past

They knew as soon as their hearts decided to go with the women, human and Fae, that they would be cast out. Two hundred, led by Azazeal and Shemyaza united together in their disobedience, not one Grigori would break ranks to save himself. Together they discovered the pleasures and desires that His other Creations were granted. They loved them, begot children on them, and a few -- the Fae -- closer kin than humans especially loved them in return. Among the first women that had approached was Perie, a young Sidhe, who had been the one to catch Azazeal's eye. They loved and made love as did all those around them.

Then came the men, and the Grigori befriended them, giving them knowledge that He had not revealed to them. Astrology, astronomy, maths, science, art, and the skills that Azazeal chose to share with them. To them he gave the knowledge of how to forge weapons and use them. To the women, he showed how to beautify themselves with cosmetics. And seeing His Creations with sword and kohl, He sent down the archangel, Raphael.


Bind Azazael hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dûdâêl and cast him there.

There was no opportunity to defend themselves, no chance to explain. As his brothers fell, Azazeal fought with Raphael. The fight, long and brutal, with neither giving ground took them high into the sky. Even knowing the inevitable end, Azazeal refused to concede until he realized they were going so high, almost to Heaven itself, and that had been the archangel's goal all along. For then, as they broke apart, a searing pain tore into his back, and he could already feel himself falling. Bones were snapping and twisting as he tumbled out of control. He could feel Raphael following him as he tried to turn and face him again, but he couldn't. Before him, the earth opened up, and he fell into darkness, as the Lord had commanded. There, weakened from his Fall, and what was left of his wings a useless broken mass of bone and muscle hanging from his back, he lay on the ground. Craning his neck up, he saw Raphael standing over him, and before he could move, the last indignity as the remains of his wings were ripped off, leaving only bloody stumps. The rest was tolerable after that as he was chained onto the rock, jagged and rough rocks placed on top of him, and his face covered so that he could no longer see the light. Then came God's last pronouncement on him.

And the whole earth has been corrupted through the works that were taught by Azazael: to him ascribe all sin.

And there he was to remain until Judgement, where he would be cast into the fire. As he was punished Gabriel was setting the children of the Grigori to war with each other until everyone was destroyed. But the angels had forgotten one thing in their cleansing of the sins the Fallen had committed. The men lived and the women lived. Perie lived and would live for a very long time, and Azazeal had given her the secret of how to summon him when the time was right.

Now

I laugh in the face of anyone, human or angel, who dares to lecture me on His love and benevolence. He is an angry god, an intolerant god, who when faced with something he does not like, throws a temper tantrum and throws all his toys away. He wants to keep you ignorant so that you do not question. He demands your love and obedience, but He does not care for you. What Father would punish him children so harshly for falling in lust love? He is vengeful, intolerant, and wrathful, and I am so amused at all those of you who cannot see that.
the_scapegoat: (lighting cigarette)
(OOC: Takes place right before this post)

Followed you from dawn of time
Whispered thoughts into your mind
Watched your towers hit the ground
Lured your children never found
Helped your kings abuse their crown

In the heart of feeble man
Plant the seeds of my own plan
The strong and powerful will fall
Find a piece of me in all
Inside you all


Locked down tight

The rain fell steadily, but Azazeal didn't appear to be getting wet as he lit a cigarette and watched through the window at Jocelyn and her father talking. Soon, so soon, she would be leaving for the Fortunate Island to complete her training, coming another step closer to her inheritance and birthright. Slowly, Azazeal's plan was growing to fruition. Oh, it still had a way to go, but if there was one thing the Fallen Angel possessed in plenitude, that was patience, and the passing of years meant little to him.

He knew this was how it would be. Why else, after all these centuries, had he finally given Faelyn the clue -- the key -- to reviving her long dead husband, an answer which she had all the time. He had known the moment he had stepped into Jocelyn's nursery when she was but an infant and cradled her in his arms. That was when she became his. As much as his own son, Malachi, was. No, more. His son was half-demon to be sure, a fulfillment of a prophecy, but there was that human side that made him weak, unpredictable. And while Malachi was engaged in bringing End of Days about, his humanity could still let him down with bouts of conscience and caring. Not to mention Mephistopheles' interference in getting him pushed aside. Of course, he had his revenge on that demon by sending him on an endless tour through the various levels of Hell. He was still angry. Angry at after millennia of attempting to fulfill this prophecy, Lucifer did little more than cast him aside once his child was ready.

No one else knew his plan, and he intended that no one would until it was too late, but in the end, not only would Heaven be overthrown, but he would do the same to Hell. And that girl -- young woman -- currently laughing at something her father had just said, would be key. She might not be pure Fae, but it flowed into her from both sides from lines strong and ancient. Perie had once proposed they could have had a child together, a blend of demon and Fae blood, and quite rightly, he had dismissed it as being too dangerous. Such an offspring would be uncontrollable.

But Jocelyn...

Jocelyn was so obviously her mother's heir, and with the ambition and determination to match. She understood already the meaning of Power. He had known all that as he held her as an infant, and it had only become more and more obvious to him as she grew. Yes, he would use her to complete his own desires, but she would be more an ally than a puppet. Since his Fall, he had always held a soft spot for the Fae, especially the Unseelie. They were kin. When his plan succeeded they would rule together, Unseelie and Grigori, over what would be left of the remnants all the others.

Through the window, Jocelyn kissed her father goodnight and left. After a couple of more minutes, Azazeal turned up his collar, the rain now falling on him, wetting the shoulders of his coat and dampening his hair. He threw the cigarette aside and walked into the chateau, taking care not to trip any of Faelyn's wards.
the_scapegoat: (Schoolboy)
(OOC: Not connected to any RP. Meta comments always welcome.)

How Far The Humble Fall

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Follow You Down (by Gin Blossoms)

I know we're headed somewhere, I can see how far we've come
But still I can't remember anything
Let's not do the wrong thing and I'll swear it might be fun
It's a long way down when all the knots we've tied have come undone
Anywhere you go, I'll follow you down
Anyplace but those I know by heart
Anywhere you go, I'll follow you down


"Bethany! Where are you going?" The girl halted by the stairs at the sound of her mother's voice. She had hoped to get by without being noticed. It was too late, by her parents' standards for her to be going out even though it was Friday, and they would not approve of the clothes she was wearing -- that Ian had bought her - nor the thick make up she was wearing. Fortunately, her father had not arrived home yet, so she had only her mother to contend with.

"I'm just going to Jessica's. I might sleep over." There was a pause, and Bethany thought that her mother might just poke her head out of the kitchen, but instead she answered. "Okay love, but be sure to text me when you get there and when you leave for home."

"Will do, Mum!" She was almost out of the door when her mum called out again.

"And if you hear from Toby, tell him to call, he's been gone all day."

"Okay!" As quickly as she could she sut the door and headed down the drive of their mock Tudor detached. There at the end of the driveway, leaning so casually against the wall, was Ian. She smoothed down her mini skirt and hoped her makeup looked good as she walked towards him with a smile. "Hi."

Read more... )
the_scapegoat: (cherubim strikeout)
As we come into a time of deep religious meaning for many, it seems fitting to ask how you balance your own religious morals with those of your muses? Do your beliefs play into the way your muse reacts to things? How much research do you feel is necessary if you take on a muse who holds beliefs totally opposite from those you hold in your personal life? Would you be able to comfortably play someone so unlike yourself?

I chose to answer this prompt from Azazeal's account, as he is really the muse this question most applies to. Personally, I am agnostic when it comes to religious beliefs (although I do have a slight leaning towards more pagan beliefs), but I grew up in a Church of England household. Now, when it comes to my other muses, I find that either just glossing over their beliefs or a bit of research goes a long way. [livejournal.com profile] civ_barbarian is a pagan, but as there is next to nothing known of the religion of his people, I have a lot of leeway in what I can use for his beliefs or not. Plus, aside from celebrating the main pagan festivals, it does not really make up a great part of the modern Hsu. Power, profit, pleasure -- in that order -- is really his religion. I write/have written three Muslim muses, two of those being historical in a heretical Islamic sect, so it is a matter of research on the Nizari rather than Islam as a whole. The other is [livejournal.com profile] seesonlysmoke, who is both modern and a devout follower. I do research, plus I mostly use the general knowledge of Muslims and its tenents, and honestly, I'm more concerned with accurately depicting a Kashmiri freedom fighter and what it's like to live in a region that I'm unfamiliar with than his religion.

Azazeal has proven quite different. Being that he is so very connected with Judeo-Christian lore, and I have to start with the Bible and Apocrypha to be even slightly familiar with his origins and that has been quite an exercise. My own knowledge of Christianity is quite basic, learned from my childhood at Sunday School, and face it...CoE churches are 'Catholic Lite' and a close examination of Biblical texts were more of an option than required reading. Angels are the good, wholesome characters with white wings and tinsel halos.

At first it wasn't too difficult as I merely went from HEX canon, which in itself does not necessarily follow source material, but it is canon for the show. However, as I got more into delving into Azazeal's character and the whys and wherefores of his fall, I began to research more into his origins, and it has been a fascinating journey, and I must thank [livejournal.com profile] fannyfae's writer for helping point out some excellent sources, and in tying in with Fae mythology which also really works for him. In the end, while I have learned a wealth of information about the angelic choirs, demonolgy, etc, it has not changed my lack of belief in the Judeo-Christian god. Indeed, whereas before I didn't give it much thought, now I view the Bible and attached books even more as mythology akin to the stories from, say, Greek-Roman mythology.
the_scapegoat: (Who me? "Ian")
(OOC: Not connected to any RP. Meta comments always welcome.)

How Far The Humble Fall

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

Chapter 3: "When a great moment knocks on the door of your life, it is often no louder than the beating of your heart, and it is very easy to miss it." - Boris Pasternak

"I've never heard of it." DS John Ellis was at his desk and looking through the report that had hastily been written up for him regarding the previous night's raid. He glanced up at the CID Detective Inspector who had headed up the investigation.

The DI shifted a little uncomfortably. He prided himself on knowing the town and all the questionable haunts. "Nor had I, sir. Or it seems anyone in the department or even Vice Squad. The Angel's Den kept a quiet profile and a very select clientele, who are being very tight lipped about the place."

Ellis sighed. This was frustrating, and a little embarrassing, that he didn't know anything about a hardcore BDSM club where drugs were passed around like cocktails being right on his doorstep. It should be the type of place that would immediately stick out in such a middle class, quiet town. That as well as the thought horrified him that it was going on under his nose. "What about the tip that was called in? Anything on the caller?"

"No, sir. We know it was a young girl. She told us drugs were all over the place, and that she was being used as a sex slave. We rounded up all the girls there, but none have come forward to admit they were the caller."

"All we can hope for is that once she knows she's safe and won't be harmed any more, she'll speak to us." He didn't sound to hopeful. He always felt so badly for girls forced into that kind of position, but they were always to afraid to speak openly about the horrors they'd been subjected to for fear of recriminations. And with the trade with the former Eastern European countries, such things were becoming even more common. "What about the Madam?"

"Mistress Adela?" The DI smiled. "Or rather Esther Keech. She's in the cells still, just calmly sitting there. The only thing she requested was to call her solicitor, which she did, and she's been cooperative otherwise. Hasn't told us a bloody thing, but..." A very cool one, that woman. She didn't seem perturbed at all her club had been raided and closed down, and that she faced a long sentence herself. "We'll question her again once her brief gets here."

Ellis nodded. "I'd like a word with him when he arrives." Not exactly proper policy on which he prided himself, and his station, but he was curious as to the woman and who would represent her.

*** )
the_scapegoat: (Kissing groupies)
(OOC: Not connected to any RP. Meta comments always welcome.)

How Far the Humble Fall
Chapter 1

Chapter 2: "Sometimes I've been to a party where no one spoke to me for a whole evening. The men, frightened by their wives or sweetie. The ladies would gang up in a corner and discuss my dangerous character." Marilyn Monroe

His back supported by the couch, Azazeal sat on the floor between the legs of the club's dominatrix and owner. One leg was bent, his arm on his knee as his head rested against her fishnetted thigh. Around them people spanning the entire length of the sexual spectrum mingled. This club catered to all tastes and lifestyles. While, where they were in the bar area was mostly for socializing and meeting up, the plush couches around the edge of the room for me intimate pleasures that might also please the voyeurs. The more private rooms -- well some of them were -- upstairs were for more serious play. Music, a thumping industrial beat, although not overpoweringly loud filled the place. A haze of thin smoke, and the sweet smell of cannabis permeated throughout, and pot was the mildest of the drugs available. Patrons could also partake in E, Acid, cocaine. One of the rooms even functioned as an opium den. Indeed, the whole club was a den of vice and would undoubtedly cause an uproar by most of the middle class surburbanites in this commuter belt town...if they knew about it.

Cut for sexual content )
the_scapegoat: (Dance with the devil)
(OOC: I'm going to attempt to write a continuing fic using prompts. I want to keep this separate from his RP, but of course, muses and muns are still more than welcome to comment.)

How Far the Humble Fall

Chapter 1. "Poor sods don't have any clue of what's about to happen to them. But then, maybe that's for the best."

Cassie was dead. Malachi, although growing far faster than any human child, was still a child. It was just a matter of waiting until he did become old enough to prepare him for his destiny. Until then, he had to be protected, kept away from Ella Dee. Naturally, he was taking measures to see that the immortal witch would be far too distracted by her own problems to think about Malachi, and for that he had Remiel. In the meantime, Azazeal had time to spare, and as the old adage went, 'idle hands are the devil's tools.'

Since the trouble at Medenham Hall had begun, the police had been somewhat frequent visitors. What with Thelma Bates' death and now Cassie Hughes' 'disappearance'. It had been then that Azazeal had taken note of the Detective Superintendent, not paying him much attention at first. But he knew, as he knew all of them, who the man was. That angelic knowledge now set him on a plan that would, at the very least, be an interesting diversion.

Detective Superintendent John Ellis enjoyed a successful career with the Hertfordshire Constabulary, if fairly unremarkable. He had graduated from Hendon Police College somewhere in the middle of his class. A few years in a patrol car as a constable, then he applied, and was accepted into CID. There he had done his job well, showing a knack for good, solid police work. Solving a couple of important cases had done his career good, and he slowly rose up the ranks to Detective Inspector. His career might have ended there, never being able to break into the higher echelons of the police, waiting for retirement. Then he had exposed the corruption that had affected nearly all those within the detective ranks. Taking bribes, protection, false confessions, even drug dealing. Yet, he was untainted. Incorruptible, and got promoted.

It was that fact, that he was impossible to corrupt that had Azazeal's interest now. No one, not even the holiest saint, was incorruptible. However, DS John Ellis had kept himself very clearn. He didn't smoke, and rarely drank alcohol. He had a nice wife, a homemaker and two now nearly grown children, a boy and a girl. Their house was detached and in a cul-de-sac, but it wasn't extravagant, easily affordable on a DS' salary. They owed a little money, a mortgage, car payments, and a little on a credit card, but nothing too bad. While, they weren't a heavily religious family, they did go to church, at the Abbey, nearly every Sunday.

In a word, Azazeal thought he was terribly boring. Now it was time to liven up the man's life.

TBC
the_scapegoat: (Watching wall)
One Word Prompt: Blasphemy

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

Walking down the High Street, Azazeal turned at hearing the man swear. He knew what he would see, of course, but it was still far more interesting to watch than to just know. There, parked on a double yellow line was a white delivery van, and there was the balding, beer-gutted white van man tearing off the parking ticket from the windshield.

A little further down, and a woman with her child came walking out of the newsagents. She was holding the child's hand, almost dragging him. "For God's sake, Thomas, I said no more sweets!" He smiled to her and the boy as they passed him by.

Another woman, this time at the bus stop, was fumbling in her handbag for some loose change for the fare. "Goddamn it!" she cursed under her breath as she rooted around the bottom of the bag, clearly not finding the 'exact change, please'.

Into the shopping centre, he wandered, following a long married couple. The man huffed impatiently. "Fer Christ's sake, Jean, how many more bloody shoe shops do you have to go in?"

Blasphemy was everywhere, and what amused Azazeal most about it was the simple fact that every single utterance he heard, not one of them truly realized what they had said. The reluctant shoe shopper called himself a devout Christian, attending church every Sunday like clockwork. The woman at the bus stop called herself an atheist. Not one of them, or the many others, in this very street, who could be heard taking God's name in vain, would even recall five minutes -- even seconds -- later that they had blasphemed. It was just so common everywhere, that the words had lost their meaning. They were just words to them, filler words to punctuate their frustration. The atheist didn't really believe that God would damn her handbag. Nor did the man truly think that Jesus would come down from Heaven himself to persuade his wife stop shopping.

Yet each and every one of them had broken one of God's commandments. Not that they thought very much about breaking the others either. But it did always satisfy him that it was possible they might ask His forgiveness if they broke one of the other commandments, it would never occur to them to do so for swearing His name falsely.

And God only knew that made his task that little bit easier.
the_scapegoat: (Watching from above)
"It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time." - Samuel Johnson

New Mexico Territory, 1884

Azazeal leaned against the frame of the second-floor courthouse window, cheroot tucked into the corner of his mouth, watching the fascinating scene below. The freshly white-washed triple gallows sparkled in the strong sunlight as three condemned men were led up and took their places directly behind each of the nooses.

Two of the men were hardened criminals. Their list of crimes stretching back years, and nearly all of them violent. They didn't matter. Whether they died today or next week or next year, there was no doubt where their souls would go. It was the third man, a young man barely out of his teens, and he looked up at the courthouse window with fear, knowing that he would find no stay of execution from this judge, who had earned a swift reputation as a hanging judge. The charges were false, the conviction a foregone conclusion. The boy's family had appealed to the judge, begged and pleaded to let their son live -- he's a good boy, never meant no one no harm -- but Azazeal wouldn't relent, and there was something in the tone of his refusal that stopped their pleas and encouraged them to leave quickly and quietly before they shared the same fate.

"It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives..." The preacher was now standing before the condemned, facing the crowd and holding his bible up high, the man's high collar hiding Azazeal's mark. The young man stood shaking, barely able to stand and not from the gut-wrenching fear of facing death, but from the torture and from what Azazeal had made clear would follow. No death would be very quick, the fires of Hell eternal. However, to the expectant crowd, he looked strong and healthy, a man capable of the rape he never committed.

From his vantage spot, Azazeal turned slightly as he felt an arm wrap over his shoulder and greeted Perie with a smile. Her glamour on the boy was working well.

The preacher continued his sermon, bidding the crowd to bow their heads at the end to join in a prayer for these poor souls before them. "...And may the Lord have mercy upon their souls. Amen."

"Amen." The crowd echoed in blissful ignorance that such prayers fell upon deaf ears.

The hangman went from one man to the next, asking for last requests and then covering each man with a hood and then the noose. The boy, when asked, shook his head dumbly, Perie's magic not letting him speak and protest his innocence once again and say that it was not him who raped the Mexican girl, but that she had been seduced by the judge himself. With nothing to say, the hood was placed over his head and the rope tightened about his neck.

Off to the side, the hangman then stood by the levers that would release the trap doors simultaneously. He looked up to the window, waiting for the judge's nod.

Azazeal was about to give it when he saw a figure making their way through the crowd towards the gallows. Even if she hadn't had the flame-red hair there was no mistaking who it was. He hissed in sudden anger, nodding quickly for the hangman to send them all to Hell. The doors opened, but just as they dropped there was a flash of bright light and the boy's rope broke, dropping him to the ground.

Even Perie had drawn back from him, seeing the demonic seep into his eyes and not wishing to be so near to his rage as he turned and stormed out of the room.

Ella! This time he would get that interfering witch.
the_scapegoat: (Fallen angel (b&w))
"To place oneself in the position of God is painful: being God is equivalent to being tortured. For being God means that one is in harmony with all that is, including the worst. The existence of the worst evils is unimaginable unless God willed them." George Bataille

[locked to those who know Azazeal's true nature]

So many humans today forget that. The message is God is love. They believe that He is not only omnipotent and omniscient, but omnibenevolent too. They believe He forgives through His only begotten son. That He not only hears their prayers, but that He answers them too. That He picks their lottery numbers for them. They stand their in their churches, the best being the evangelical ones, praying, preaching and singing His praises and then claim to be filled with His love, inspired by Him to pass the 'good word' to some poor, unsuspecting bastard.

Now, dismissing for the moment the fact that He has no interest in such trivial matters, they forget that from the beginning He has always been a jealous and vengeful God. Remember the orders He gave Adam and Eve? Wiping out all but one family and two of every beast? Sodom and Gomorrah? The plagues? The list can go on and on, and those are just the ones against His most loved of creations. It would be so much longer if, I were to add His actions against the Fae and those of us who have Fallen.

So why is it that He is so fond of mass genocide against His most favoured -- aside from the fact that He just can't face the fact His third attempt is His worst failure? It is because He not only allows evil to exist, He created it as He created all. He let the Morningstar rebel and Fall, and he allowed my brothers and I to also Fall, knowing full well what role we would then fulfill. To perpetrate evil and encourage sin.

Mad, isn't it? This loving God, whose priests preach forgiveness and salvation, is the one who made it possible for you all to sin in the first place. He wants you to fail and then humble and humiliate yourself on your knees in His house, and most will never know until Judgement what their fate will be.

Why does He do this? Why does He allow his creations to suffer? Why not just ask for their love and give it in return? Not even I can answer that. But instead of thinking that Satan is evil incarnate -- or I or any demon -- humans should remember the evil He created and perpetuates, solely to trip you up. Tell me, is that the action of a kind and loving God?
the_scapegoat: (Fallen)
One word prompt: God/dess

God. El. Allah. Jehovah. Yahweh. To name just a few.

God does exist.

God isn't a woman.

He is very much the God of the Old Testament.

Jesus is not God.

God does not listen to you.

God forgives.

Just thought you humans people should know that.

[locked to those who know who Azazeal is]

I was once part of the Angelic Host.

I loved Him as all those of us who were left did. But there is no room in all His love for him to have a rival.

The Lord our God, is a jealous God.

We were supposed to watch, but they saw us, came to us. And we fell in love. With Fae, with humans.

I sinned. My brothers sinned.

He cast us out, and we angered Him still more (after all, once you go so far, you might as well sin all the way). I taught humans how to forge weapons and also cosmetics. My brothers taught them other arts and knowledge.

Knowledge that He forbade humans to have, but why shouldn't you share in that knowledge?

To me, He ascribed all sin. In His eyes, I corrupted the Earth. And I was buried in the desert, beneath jagged rocks and into darkness.

I escaped and joined my brothers, both Nephilim and the other Fallen for eternity. Now the War comes and the fight begins.

Accept Him into your life, and God forgives all sin for just a small indulgence...

...except those of Angels.

June 2010

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