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| Heaven. The ethereal paradise. Where a bunch of high and mighty feathery assholes sit on their thones and high horses and proclaim themselves wise and understanding and better than anything and everything beneath them. The ones who make the decisions with no credentials, nothing backing them other than that's the way it had always been, that's what they were made to do. A system with no checks, no balances, just a brainwashed acceptance of everyone else's power and status and where you ranked on the big, old, messed up food chain. It made Belphegor sick. In hell, at least, you were created from nothing. You fought and ate and struggled to survive. You earned your place and you worked to keep it. Anyone and everyone challenged you, and if you slipped for even a second, there was a horde just waiting to rip you to pieces. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't nice, it wasn't pure... but it was better than the clown show Michael was running. Better than blind, moronic acceptance and reverence of a piece of shit that would take an angel and erase everything they'd ever gained through thoughts and free will, just because it didn't turn out exactly like she'd planned. And that's exactly why Belphegor's fighting his way back. Why, after getting his royal ass handed to him, after almost dying by the holy swords of the seven brainwashed bitches (and he's only including Patience because, let's face it, Michael's done more than a number on her) licking at Michael's golden, fleece-lined sandals, he's at the goddamn pearly gates again. Because something about this place has his stomach turning, has his feathers ruffling. And it's not just the cherubs and love and harmony and grace. No, it's more than that. It's Michael. It's the Virtues. It's those words that Michael said, so plain and so unassuming, but words that seem to have settled in Belphegor's very bones, scraping like hooked knives against his very essence. There were memories he didn't quite have, holes in his life, but he'd always associated that with the chaotic beginnings demons normally had. Now, though, doubt has been placed in his mind. Some poisonous little feeling that makes his stomach turn and his insides boil. Makes his hatred for this place, for the damned angel running it burn hotter than any fires in hell. And this time? Belphegor's not going to be sent running back to Earth, tail between his legs. No, this time? It's going to end with Patience free from Michael's perverse re-education. The only difference, in the end, is who walks away with their life. Bel... or the Archangel. |
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