A Devil's Fate (A short Story)
A Devil’s Fate
People don’t choose their fears—
Their jealousies, envies and hates, they do. dlsiluk
Part I
Island of Semyaz
Semyaz is intimately related to the so-called ‘Old One’s,’ the ones who vanished before the dawn of man’s contemporary civilization. He vanished before man’s written history of course, yet he did survive the surprised attack of Ura’el the holy angel sent by God to bind, hand and feet of Semvaza and Azaz’el, the two angelic leaders, and bury them in a hole in the desert, and put unmovable rocks on top of them. And so this was done, for their sins were great in the eyes of God: they had both defiled themselves with the daughters of the earth, lay together with them, as they gave birth to giants sons who brought blood and oppression among the earth, thus, they were killed as well, in good time (the Giants).
Semyaz liked power as well as Azaz’el, and was given such power over his companions now, the ones Semvaza and Azaz’el commanded, yet this angelic beast, with the group of two hundred renegade angels was discontent.
As I was about to say, Ura’el when he came down from the heavens and chained Azaz’el under rocks and earth, Semyaz was vanished to a far off island in the Pacific; vanished to an island that now bared his name, vanished because he was discontent and perused like Azaz’el the flesh of the earth, thereafter; yet, Semyaz along with his accomplice who both taught incantations and the cutting of roots in addition to other sins, unto earth’s early inhabitants, he ruled with a club in hand, now only a lonely island was his domain. And so we are back on earth.
—Semyaz was given an island of his own to live on for the rest of human history, until the ‘End of Day’s’. But there was a problem, an irritating one at best, the island sunk into the deep of the sea during the day light, and at night it would rise to face the moon, and its surrounding constellations. A most tired some ongoing event, for the prisoner.
“Understand,” said Semyaz, with a harsh vile to his voice, as he spoke to the emptiness of the night, “Understand!” he shouted to the heavens with his hands thrust into, and up-to the heavens:
“Understand, whom ever enters my island they will be subject to me, I will destroy them,” he shouted at God these very words, and as he shouted he chanted the name: ‘Ura’el;’ yes, O yes, bellowing to God as if he was daring Him for a challenge, one that would be on an equal footing. Theretofore, he went about administrating to his unholy ground in solitude, his four-archer spot in the Galapagos.
Each evening Semyaz, as the island surfaced from several fathoms below the water, akin to a sunken ship, he could be seen [if one was looking] sitting on his throne, a huge rock shaped into one anyway, facing the moon. There was an abundance of time to think, and so he’d face the foliage around him, the creatures that crawled here and there, and the movement of the sky and talk, command as if someone was listening, as if he had an audience. He thought about the abyss, his old comrades were in, ‘… nasty fate…’ he’d say. But it was getting old, that is, hashing over the same issues, complaints; looking century after century in the sky as if it was God’s eye; looking at the same constellations; the humdrum of life was upon his mind and shoulders. ‘Could things get worse…’ he’d say, with doubt in his mind—perhaps.
Semyaz, new life would never return to him, in which he knew, that is to say, life as it once was before; life in the Pre-Satanic era, when Lucifer was the welcomed ruler of earth, before the cursed rebellion, before man came to populate the world. Even before the Moirommalit’s were heard of.
For the most part, Semyaz was a tall and hard muscled fallen angelic being, at one time a handsome looking brut for an angel, or so many had commented; now he was far removed from it; he was the reverse, tall and thin, and watered down looking, like a sponge, wrinkled by a thousand-years of being dunked in and out of the water, now an old man very old looking man; thin haired, and webbed feet, greenish skin, and large bug eyes. He had become part of his landscape you might say. He even had gills, all the ingredients to live in the sea, and a mammal touch to live on land amongst the earth creatures. And still there were slight orbs within his being that gave out a convinced current-wave—if you will, that he was once a supernatural living thing: all wrapped-up in a twisted package now.
It was seldom if ever, humanoids came upon his island, and when they did, it was during the day, and as the island sank, they’d be gone, making his revengeful heart even more infectious to those around him, meaning he could not displace his anger as willed; being a demonic plant-life creature now. Annoyed and disturbed as I was saying, he was, no matter what eventuation took place; no matter how comforted he was, no matter how much he wanted to leave the island for boredom sake, he never left the island in fear he’d defile himself again, and be cast into utter darkness. Even pleasures that once obsessed his mind, now diminished to a small dribble of water, sprinkled his mind; nothing in comparisons to how it used to be (and how it used to be is nondescript). Yet he pitied himself horridly—with his stricken face, his constant defensive rigid body posture. ‘Oh yes,’ he told himself, he had a right for pleasure, just as much as anyone should have, but he took too many liberties before, when he was not being restrained, and was paying the price now.
Part II
The Visitation
Semyaz looked up from his throne, cursed heaven again, as he had done almost daily for a number of millenniums, did his sound incantations, shouting spells into the night’s air as if to call on the Greek god’s of old, which he was one of them at one time, as a result, he was worshiping himself in essence.
The inky dark night was especially haughty this evening, even for him, as he felt his skin quiver (it was twilight), caused by a premonition possibly, one of the so called ‘Old Ones,’ ghostly haughty was approaching; ‘…if not…?’ he told himself, something was different, something in the makings [demonic-peculiarity he called it). The shadows in the face of the sky seemed to have scars, tares; and these faces seemed to be making faces back at him as he looked up, demonic faces; drifting faces, so he noticed as he checked out one detail to another. It was drifting from downward by another island beyond his; from the big island some ways off, so far he could only see it as a shadowy mist; it was coming to his tiny inundated island.
‘What is it?’ he mumbled, while, squinting his eyes at the dark blisters lit faces within the hollow of the night clouds; reflections, moonlight reflections, showed the faces becoming thicker. Who were these faces of, they all looked familiar. Odd he thought, very anomalous. The longer he stared the more he could see the face of Azaz’el, his old angelic friend, and possible Buer and Gusoyn, the hermits of the big island beyond his, demonic creatures. They were at one time Agaliarept’s henchmen of the underworld; they both turned into demons after the Pre-Satanic era came to an end (prior to the time of Adam). They were at one time shopkeepers, and builders of cities, sadly, now deformed; one was handsome with blond hair, the other like a stuffed penguin—his belly overlapping to where he could not see his feet. He farted so much he could have played the flute.
They had vulgar features—in person and in the configurations in the night’s emotional sky. ‘But Azaz’el is…’ he wanted to say dead, but it would have been the wrong word, such creatures like he and Azaz’el do not die, ‘…buried alive,’ yes, that flooded his cerebellum for the moment, but not dead. Then approximating, Buer manifested himself by his side.
‘A surprised visit,’ said Semyaz to Buer, adding, ‘How come I can see Azaz’el’ in the ghostly arrangement in the smoke-like clouds?’
‘Alas,’ said Buer, ‘I think he may have escaped from his incarcerated environment… (a long pause took place as Semyaz stared at Buer] and, and….”
‘And what Buer?’ said [freakishly] to Semyaz.
‘Well, I hate to tell you but I will he is doing what he does best, cohabitating with one of his natives on the big island.’
There was a long, very long silence in the dialogue. It was an unbelievable statement, yet, possible thought Semyaz: or so he told himself, trying to convince him it was possible, but how, he was buried by an archangel?
[Mental deliberation] Yes, possible, but not likely, he tossed inside his brain a second time, yet reasonable, but not practical. Yet, it would be like him, he told himself, like him, if he was free from his shackles; very much like him he repeated within his thoughts, should he had gained his freedom, he would surely be testing his liberties with human flesh again—that goes with out saying; the very thing that got him in trouble in the first place; actually, that was the very thing that got both of them into this mess.
After an hour of quiet pondering inside his skull, he told Buer, ‘Yes, inevitable, it would be inevitable; anything for pleasures sake, that is exactly him, right to the core, yes, O yes.’ The more he paced back and forth from the rock which was his throne to the ocean front, then back to the foliage of the jungle where Buer was standing [a flat affect of his face], he was becoming more frustrated: ‘…how could this be…’ he pondered, ‘why does he get to escape and have pleasures as he pleases, and ‘I am stuck here,’ unfair was shifting back between his mind and his stomach, down to the center of emotions in his bowels.
‘I assure you my friend, Semyaz, he was there a moment ago, with Innina-Anu, princess of the island, and most beautiful, he was laying with her, laying naked, flesh and blood to his monstrous body,’ said Buer with an antagonizing and jeering voice.
‘Brother Buer,’ said Semyaz with a slight exhausted stare, ‘where is Gusoyn, your companion of sorts?’ For some odd reason, it just occurred to Semyaz to ask, for it seemed they both were always together, like two peas in a pod.
‘Oh! (he said with a jerk to his throat, trying to clear it) he is watching them make love.’ This aroused Semyaz even more: with desire, hate, envy and jealously all twisted in knots inside his guts now, to no bounds. It was all too hard to digest, his eyes started to turn burning red like a great apes; horror belled out of his nostrils, red with envy: anger nesting in his every thought. His viper tongue now slid out, over and down his jaw—shuddering like a snake with forty eyes wondering whom to attack; he looked like a vampire in heat, bloodthirsty, and wanted revenge; and anyone, and I mean anyone would do, would do right this minute. As hungry as he was for pleasure, or revenge, it was envy that got him; he wanted what his old friend had, which was his friend’s mate, envy yes, but envy with having the same rights he had, for they both committed the same sin, the same crime. Ah yes! When it is our turn for justice, we want it fair and square; but when we give it, we could careless—injustice prevails. He was acting like a mongoose after a snake: shaking his head almost in a 360-degress angle, and pounding his feet on the ground like a mad bull. Buer got a little fearful, him being on Semyaz’s island, and he having all the power there, he was just about to leave when Semyaz grabbed him: ‘Take me to them…!’ he commanded. For he had heard that the beauty of the princess’ flesh, was like polished glowing gold, fresh with a perfect scent —and her curves were precision made; breasts that filled everyman’s desires, and her sweet, sweet thighs, were like a crimson toned rainbow, tantalizing just to look at.
He now was telling himself he’d take her, and boy would he take her—and drain her until she was completely his, crush her body if she resisted; yes, he would take her away from Azaz’el, whom was the fallen leader and had so many times before [with him] raped and tore children away from their parents and used them as parts to his love machine, whomever he wanted he took, be it daughter, wife, mother or child. His mind now was working overtime, he had come to the conclusion, he would take her away from this so called ex-colleague of his, who put his curse on him, or better put, he was the cause he was cursed in the first place, or so he told himself; thus he would do as he would do, what he had planned now in his head, if Azaz’el could escape, why couldn’t he. Maybe God had forgotten his spell he put on him and Azaz’el. This would be a protest, should he need to have one after the fact—‘Yes, yes,’ he thought, a protest to God Himself: after he had his pleasure and revenge. Plus, Azaz’el was simply trying to intimidate him with his shadowy face in the night sky—kind of a show off thing, knowing he was stranded on this dreadful pathetic, lonely island in the Pacific, but he’d show him soon.
Part III
The Surprise
With the lust of a madman, and the hateful furry of a bull he grabbed Buer tighter and swifter than a shark, they were leaping over solid ground and water in spite of their dimensions, and were on the big island within a few minutes.
Bellowed Semyaz with a smug face: ‘I will make him share her!’
Buer looked at him hesitantly, added, ‘He wasn’t there when I left, but it is possible, he did return, if so than what? (It had been a few hours now since Buer had left the big island.)
‘Yes, yes, but he’ll be back, and when he comes he will face the consequences.’ Buer smiled.
Quickly, not to anger Semyaz, Buer took him to the Princess’ abode, there in a canopy bed she lay, naked, her breasts covered by her arms, her legs slightly opened, her smooth stomach exposed to his inquisitive eyes and thirsty mind. They both stood in the arc of the doorway drawling as if they were beasts ready for the kill. Semyaz noticed Azaz’el wasn’t there, ‘Aye, yes that is great,’ he whispered under his breath. Then all of a sudden she woke, looked about whispered in a comforting and feministic voice, a luring voice: ‘Is that you, is that you my sweet, my Azaz’el?’
Semyaz, now assured Azaz’el was gone for the moment, stepped out and forward bravely from the archway, as Buer remained standing back, just where he was before, behind Semyaz, and in back of the arch. He stepped slowly to her bed, she looked frightened: her eyes opened wide, ‘Azaz’el, have you changed forms?’ she asked, for she had never seen Semyaz, she concluded; Semyaz wanted to say yes, but he had too much anger inside, and revoltingly said ‘No! I am Semyaz, and you will contain my child, and without hesitation, he jumped on the bed, and entered her by force.
She did not fight, so noticed Semyaz, not as he expected her to anyhow, as he would have expected her to had she been his old friend’s lover, or should someone take from him what was his, he would hope she’d fight, but she didn’t and that was on one hand good, on the other a bit nervy. He pondered this, as he was still inside of her, adding: “…why does she not fight, or say: ‘Azaz’el will revenge me?’ This kept going in his mind, as he remained mounted, and almost broke her spine, on the bed.
Then Semyaz looked behind him, and Buer was gone, he could be heard in the hallway though, talking to someone. ‘Aw,’ moaned Semyaz, ‘it must be my enemy Azaz’el.’ Then as he pulled himself out of her, she covered herself up—jumped out of bed as she sat in a thin wooden chair not far from the canopy-bed, somewhat trying to hide under some covers, as if a fight was about to take place. As if to protect her from what was coming. Then a shock came, a huge figure stood outside the archway, but it wasn’t Azaz’el: mortified, he looked closer, then at the covered princess, whom said with a pathetic tone, ‘Ura’el-lllllllllllllllllllllll-!!!!!!!!!!!!’ He knew now he was to be taken to the pit, the abyss, or possibly to be thrown under rocks and bound like Azaz’el was. As Ura’el stepped in closer, Semyaz knew he could not escape, no one escaped from Ura’el, no one at all, ‘I’ll go without force should you tell me what I want to know?’ knowing he’d have to go anyway, but he was hoping Ura’el would weigh the moment and save his energy for another battle, and tell him what he wanted to know.
And so Ura’el gave him his word he’d tell him, once he was bound and tied with chains, and his word was beyond reproach, not as Semyaz’ was. Then as he cast him down into the upper part of the pit, and just before he was to toss him lower into the abyss’ darkness, he explained: ‘The echoes of Azaz’el’ revenge was heard by Buer, and he made a deal with Buer and Gusoyn, who made a deal with the princess to entice you off your island, to again defile yourself, and thus, end up with the same punishment, the same fate he was now suffering, thus, he knew your weakness, and wanted company.’
Said Semyaz, ‘You mean to tell me, Azaz’el is still buried?’
‘Yes,’ responded Ura’el.
‘And what was the cost of this to Azaz’el?’
The princess would gain the treasure, for demonic beings have no use for them, but she would be their slave sexually. And so you see, your bellowing to the Most High was not only heard by Him, but by your archenemy.
Semyaz Meets Azaz’el in the Pit
And there his sarcophagus drifts
Beneath the towering abyss cliffs
Stretching out of the dark deep
(With all its weight, sealing his fate),
No light, —no day, only binding chains.
Lost, forgotten in the sands density…
Where no travelers have yet been
No roads or skies to befriend
Faceless skeletons, silent voices
They all embrace in this veil of dark
Embrace, by looks: face-to-face
Hungry, to fill the emptiness of space.
[As Semyaz meets Azaz’el]
People don’t choose their fears—
Their jealousies, envies and hates, they do. dlsiluk
Part I
Island of Semyaz
Semyaz is intimately related to the so-called ‘Old One’s,’ the ones who vanished before the dawn of man’s contemporary civilization. He vanished before man’s written history of course, yet he did survive the surprised attack of Ura’el the holy angel sent by God to bind, hand and feet of Semvaza and Azaz’el, the two angelic leaders, and bury them in a hole in the desert, and put unmovable rocks on top of them. And so this was done, for their sins were great in the eyes of God: they had both defiled themselves with the daughters of the earth, lay together with them, as they gave birth to giants sons who brought blood and oppression among the earth, thus, they were killed as well, in good time (the Giants).
Semyaz liked power as well as Azaz’el, and was given such power over his companions now, the ones Semvaza and Azaz’el commanded, yet this angelic beast, with the group of two hundred renegade angels was discontent.
As I was about to say, Ura’el when he came down from the heavens and chained Azaz’el under rocks and earth, Semyaz was vanished to a far off island in the Pacific; vanished to an island that now bared his name, vanished because he was discontent and perused like Azaz’el the flesh of the earth, thereafter; yet, Semyaz along with his accomplice who both taught incantations and the cutting of roots in addition to other sins, unto earth’s early inhabitants, he ruled with a club in hand, now only a lonely island was his domain. And so we are back on earth.
—Semyaz was given an island of his own to live on for the rest of human history, until the ‘End of Day’s’. But there was a problem, an irritating one at best, the island sunk into the deep of the sea during the day light, and at night it would rise to face the moon, and its surrounding constellations. A most tired some ongoing event, for the prisoner.
“Understand,” said Semyaz, with a harsh vile to his voice, as he spoke to the emptiness of the night, “Understand!” he shouted to the heavens with his hands thrust into, and up-to the heavens:
“Understand, whom ever enters my island they will be subject to me, I will destroy them,” he shouted at God these very words, and as he shouted he chanted the name: ‘Ura’el;’ yes, O yes, bellowing to God as if he was daring Him for a challenge, one that would be on an equal footing. Theretofore, he went about administrating to his unholy ground in solitude, his four-archer spot in the Galapagos.
Each evening Semyaz, as the island surfaced from several fathoms below the water, akin to a sunken ship, he could be seen [if one was looking] sitting on his throne, a huge rock shaped into one anyway, facing the moon. There was an abundance of time to think, and so he’d face the foliage around him, the creatures that crawled here and there, and the movement of the sky and talk, command as if someone was listening, as if he had an audience. He thought about the abyss, his old comrades were in, ‘… nasty fate…’ he’d say. But it was getting old, that is, hashing over the same issues, complaints; looking century after century in the sky as if it was God’s eye; looking at the same constellations; the humdrum of life was upon his mind and shoulders. ‘Could things get worse…’ he’d say, with doubt in his mind—perhaps.
Semyaz, new life would never return to him, in which he knew, that is to say, life as it once was before; life in the Pre-Satanic era, when Lucifer was the welcomed ruler of earth, before the cursed rebellion, before man came to populate the world. Even before the Moirommalit’s were heard of.
For the most part, Semyaz was a tall and hard muscled fallen angelic being, at one time a handsome looking brut for an angel, or so many had commented; now he was far removed from it; he was the reverse, tall and thin, and watered down looking, like a sponge, wrinkled by a thousand-years of being dunked in and out of the water, now an old man very old looking man; thin haired, and webbed feet, greenish skin, and large bug eyes. He had become part of his landscape you might say. He even had gills, all the ingredients to live in the sea, and a mammal touch to live on land amongst the earth creatures. And still there were slight orbs within his being that gave out a convinced current-wave—if you will, that he was once a supernatural living thing: all wrapped-up in a twisted package now.
It was seldom if ever, humanoids came upon his island, and when they did, it was during the day, and as the island sank, they’d be gone, making his revengeful heart even more infectious to those around him, meaning he could not displace his anger as willed; being a demonic plant-life creature now. Annoyed and disturbed as I was saying, he was, no matter what eventuation took place; no matter how comforted he was, no matter how much he wanted to leave the island for boredom sake, he never left the island in fear he’d defile himself again, and be cast into utter darkness. Even pleasures that once obsessed his mind, now diminished to a small dribble of water, sprinkled his mind; nothing in comparisons to how it used to be (and how it used to be is nondescript). Yet he pitied himself horridly—with his stricken face, his constant defensive rigid body posture. ‘Oh yes,’ he told himself, he had a right for pleasure, just as much as anyone should have, but he took too many liberties before, when he was not being restrained, and was paying the price now.
Part II
The Visitation
Semyaz looked up from his throne, cursed heaven again, as he had done almost daily for a number of millenniums, did his sound incantations, shouting spells into the night’s air as if to call on the Greek god’s of old, which he was one of them at one time, as a result, he was worshiping himself in essence.
The inky dark night was especially haughty this evening, even for him, as he felt his skin quiver (it was twilight), caused by a premonition possibly, one of the so called ‘Old Ones,’ ghostly haughty was approaching; ‘…if not…?’ he told himself, something was different, something in the makings [demonic-peculiarity he called it). The shadows in the face of the sky seemed to have scars, tares; and these faces seemed to be making faces back at him as he looked up, demonic faces; drifting faces, so he noticed as he checked out one detail to another. It was drifting from downward by another island beyond his; from the big island some ways off, so far he could only see it as a shadowy mist; it was coming to his tiny inundated island.
‘What is it?’ he mumbled, while, squinting his eyes at the dark blisters lit faces within the hollow of the night clouds; reflections, moonlight reflections, showed the faces becoming thicker. Who were these faces of, they all looked familiar. Odd he thought, very anomalous. The longer he stared the more he could see the face of Azaz’el, his old angelic friend, and possible Buer and Gusoyn, the hermits of the big island beyond his, demonic creatures. They were at one time Agaliarept’s henchmen of the underworld; they both turned into demons after the Pre-Satanic era came to an end (prior to the time of Adam). They were at one time shopkeepers, and builders of cities, sadly, now deformed; one was handsome with blond hair, the other like a stuffed penguin—his belly overlapping to where he could not see his feet. He farted so much he could have played the flute.
They had vulgar features—in person and in the configurations in the night’s emotional sky. ‘But Azaz’el is…’ he wanted to say dead, but it would have been the wrong word, such creatures like he and Azaz’el do not die, ‘…buried alive,’ yes, that flooded his cerebellum for the moment, but not dead. Then approximating, Buer manifested himself by his side.
‘A surprised visit,’ said Semyaz to Buer, adding, ‘How come I can see Azaz’el’ in the ghostly arrangement in the smoke-like clouds?’
‘Alas,’ said Buer, ‘I think he may have escaped from his incarcerated environment… (a long pause took place as Semyaz stared at Buer] and, and….”
‘And what Buer?’ said [freakishly] to Semyaz.
‘Well, I hate to tell you but I will he is doing what he does best, cohabitating with one of his natives on the big island.’
There was a long, very long silence in the dialogue. It was an unbelievable statement, yet, possible thought Semyaz: or so he told himself, trying to convince him it was possible, but how, he was buried by an archangel?
[Mental deliberation] Yes, possible, but not likely, he tossed inside his brain a second time, yet reasonable, but not practical. Yet, it would be like him, he told himself, like him, if he was free from his shackles; very much like him he repeated within his thoughts, should he had gained his freedom, he would surely be testing his liberties with human flesh again—that goes with out saying; the very thing that got him in trouble in the first place; actually, that was the very thing that got both of them into this mess.
After an hour of quiet pondering inside his skull, he told Buer, ‘Yes, inevitable, it would be inevitable; anything for pleasures sake, that is exactly him, right to the core, yes, O yes.’ The more he paced back and forth from the rock which was his throne to the ocean front, then back to the foliage of the jungle where Buer was standing [a flat affect of his face], he was becoming more frustrated: ‘…how could this be…’ he pondered, ‘why does he get to escape and have pleasures as he pleases, and ‘I am stuck here,’ unfair was shifting back between his mind and his stomach, down to the center of emotions in his bowels.
‘I assure you my friend, Semyaz, he was there a moment ago, with Innina-Anu, princess of the island, and most beautiful, he was laying with her, laying naked, flesh and blood to his monstrous body,’ said Buer with an antagonizing and jeering voice.
‘Brother Buer,’ said Semyaz with a slight exhausted stare, ‘where is Gusoyn, your companion of sorts?’ For some odd reason, it just occurred to Semyaz to ask, for it seemed they both were always together, like two peas in a pod.
‘Oh! (he said with a jerk to his throat, trying to clear it) he is watching them make love.’ This aroused Semyaz even more: with desire, hate, envy and jealously all twisted in knots inside his guts now, to no bounds. It was all too hard to digest, his eyes started to turn burning red like a great apes; horror belled out of his nostrils, red with envy: anger nesting in his every thought. His viper tongue now slid out, over and down his jaw—shuddering like a snake with forty eyes wondering whom to attack; he looked like a vampire in heat, bloodthirsty, and wanted revenge; and anyone, and I mean anyone would do, would do right this minute. As hungry as he was for pleasure, or revenge, it was envy that got him; he wanted what his old friend had, which was his friend’s mate, envy yes, but envy with having the same rights he had, for they both committed the same sin, the same crime. Ah yes! When it is our turn for justice, we want it fair and square; but when we give it, we could careless—injustice prevails. He was acting like a mongoose after a snake: shaking his head almost in a 360-degress angle, and pounding his feet on the ground like a mad bull. Buer got a little fearful, him being on Semyaz’s island, and he having all the power there, he was just about to leave when Semyaz grabbed him: ‘Take me to them…!’ he commanded. For he had heard that the beauty of the princess’ flesh, was like polished glowing gold, fresh with a perfect scent —and her curves were precision made; breasts that filled everyman’s desires, and her sweet, sweet thighs, were like a crimson toned rainbow, tantalizing just to look at.
He now was telling himself he’d take her, and boy would he take her—and drain her until she was completely his, crush her body if she resisted; yes, he would take her away from Azaz’el, whom was the fallen leader and had so many times before [with him] raped and tore children away from their parents and used them as parts to his love machine, whomever he wanted he took, be it daughter, wife, mother or child. His mind now was working overtime, he had come to the conclusion, he would take her away from this so called ex-colleague of his, who put his curse on him, or better put, he was the cause he was cursed in the first place, or so he told himself; thus he would do as he would do, what he had planned now in his head, if Azaz’el could escape, why couldn’t he. Maybe God had forgotten his spell he put on him and Azaz’el. This would be a protest, should he need to have one after the fact—‘Yes, yes,’ he thought, a protest to God Himself: after he had his pleasure and revenge. Plus, Azaz’el was simply trying to intimidate him with his shadowy face in the night sky—kind of a show off thing, knowing he was stranded on this dreadful pathetic, lonely island in the Pacific, but he’d show him soon.
Part III
The Surprise
With the lust of a madman, and the hateful furry of a bull he grabbed Buer tighter and swifter than a shark, they were leaping over solid ground and water in spite of their dimensions, and were on the big island within a few minutes.
Bellowed Semyaz with a smug face: ‘I will make him share her!’
Buer looked at him hesitantly, added, ‘He wasn’t there when I left, but it is possible, he did return, if so than what? (It had been a few hours now since Buer had left the big island.)
‘Yes, yes, but he’ll be back, and when he comes he will face the consequences.’ Buer smiled.
Quickly, not to anger Semyaz, Buer took him to the Princess’ abode, there in a canopy bed she lay, naked, her breasts covered by her arms, her legs slightly opened, her smooth stomach exposed to his inquisitive eyes and thirsty mind. They both stood in the arc of the doorway drawling as if they were beasts ready for the kill. Semyaz noticed Azaz’el wasn’t there, ‘Aye, yes that is great,’ he whispered under his breath. Then all of a sudden she woke, looked about whispered in a comforting and feministic voice, a luring voice: ‘Is that you, is that you my sweet, my Azaz’el?’
Semyaz, now assured Azaz’el was gone for the moment, stepped out and forward bravely from the archway, as Buer remained standing back, just where he was before, behind Semyaz, and in back of the arch. He stepped slowly to her bed, she looked frightened: her eyes opened wide, ‘Azaz’el, have you changed forms?’ she asked, for she had never seen Semyaz, she concluded; Semyaz wanted to say yes, but he had too much anger inside, and revoltingly said ‘No! I am Semyaz, and you will contain my child, and without hesitation, he jumped on the bed, and entered her by force.
She did not fight, so noticed Semyaz, not as he expected her to anyhow, as he would have expected her to had she been his old friend’s lover, or should someone take from him what was his, he would hope she’d fight, but she didn’t and that was on one hand good, on the other a bit nervy. He pondered this, as he was still inside of her, adding: “…why does she not fight, or say: ‘Azaz’el will revenge me?’ This kept going in his mind, as he remained mounted, and almost broke her spine, on the bed.
Then Semyaz looked behind him, and Buer was gone, he could be heard in the hallway though, talking to someone. ‘Aw,’ moaned Semyaz, ‘it must be my enemy Azaz’el.’ Then as he pulled himself out of her, she covered herself up—jumped out of bed as she sat in a thin wooden chair not far from the canopy-bed, somewhat trying to hide under some covers, as if a fight was about to take place. As if to protect her from what was coming. Then a shock came, a huge figure stood outside the archway, but it wasn’t Azaz’el: mortified, he looked closer, then at the covered princess, whom said with a pathetic tone, ‘Ura’el-lllllllllllllllllllllll-!!!!!!!!!!!!’ He knew now he was to be taken to the pit, the abyss, or possibly to be thrown under rocks and bound like Azaz’el was. As Ura’el stepped in closer, Semyaz knew he could not escape, no one escaped from Ura’el, no one at all, ‘I’ll go without force should you tell me what I want to know?’ knowing he’d have to go anyway, but he was hoping Ura’el would weigh the moment and save his energy for another battle, and tell him what he wanted to know.
And so Ura’el gave him his word he’d tell him, once he was bound and tied with chains, and his word was beyond reproach, not as Semyaz’ was. Then as he cast him down into the upper part of the pit, and just before he was to toss him lower into the abyss’ darkness, he explained: ‘The echoes of Azaz’el’ revenge was heard by Buer, and he made a deal with Buer and Gusoyn, who made a deal with the princess to entice you off your island, to again defile yourself, and thus, end up with the same punishment, the same fate he was now suffering, thus, he knew your weakness, and wanted company.’
Said Semyaz, ‘You mean to tell me, Azaz’el is still buried?’
‘Yes,’ responded Ura’el.
‘And what was the cost of this to Azaz’el?’
The princess would gain the treasure, for demonic beings have no use for them, but she would be their slave sexually. And so you see, your bellowing to the Most High was not only heard by Him, but by your archenemy.
Semyaz Meets Azaz’el in the Pit
And there his sarcophagus drifts
Beneath the towering abyss cliffs
Stretching out of the dark deep
(With all its weight, sealing his fate),
No light, —no day, only binding chains.
Lost, forgotten in the sands density…
Where no travelers have yet been
No roads or skies to befriend
Faceless skeletons, silent voices
They all embrace in this veil of dark
Embrace, by looks: face-to-face
Hungry, to fill the emptiness of space.
[As Semyaz meets Azaz’el]
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:18 PM
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