Updates will be every Monday.

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No one was really keeping track of time anymore. After all, it was hard to tell day from night with the sun and moon obscured from all of the pollution. War was never-ending. Famine was just the new reality for the scant humans that were left. Death. Death was everywhere.

Demons ruled the world now.

It wasn't meant to be this way. Adam really thought he was going to build a better world. He wondered now as he looked over his dominion, what his friends were doing. Was Pepper still ruling Asia? Did Wensleydale develop an American accent? Did Brian still like ice cream? Did ice cream even exist?

Did they still hate him?

Adam wondered where God was. If She ever existed, as he was told, why did she allow him to destroy the world She supposedly loved? Why did She abandon her angels? At least Satan was there when it all happened. At least his father had led the battle. At least he gave them all a choice after he had won the Great War.

Fall, or be destroyed.

"Master Young." A familiar, polite voice roused Adam from his musings. "It's good to see you awake. Your slumber was quite lengthy this time compared to the others."

"How long?" He kept his back to the only person he felt he could trust. The man who pulled the trigger that day. Who may have averted Armageddon had the brick gone through his boyish skull instead of the clouds.

"Twenty years, give or take, I think. Though I was never one to keep up with the times. So."

Adam Young, the Antichrist, the Adversary, the Destroyer of Worlds, closed his eyes, felt the heaviness of all he had caused on his child-like shoulders, and felt tired. He was not a child anymore, though his body stayed frozen in time. How old was he now, he wondered. Fifty? Eighty? Five hundred years old?

Adam stood at the precipice of his tower, overlooking the dark kingdom hundreds of feet below him. "Did you tell my friends I was awake?"

"They are aware, my Lord."

"Please don't call me that, Aziraphale."

Adam finally turned around and faced the immortal being whose voice always seemed to bring him some comfort, though it was colder than when he'd first met him.

"Only if you stop calling me that, " he replied primly.

The kindness in his voice wasn't the only thing that Adam missed about the former angel. The tightness in his chest always grew more apparent when he looked at him. Though he'd only known Aziraphale for a handful of moments before the world ended, he had gotten a glimpse of all the years he'd spent on Earth. He and...

"Right, sorry," he smiled weakly, "Azirath. I forget."

"That excuse has run its course, I believe, Adam." He offered a twitch of his mouth in place of a smile.

He never smiled anymore. If he did, whoever it was aimed at would do better to run for their lives.

Adam took stock of the demon before him. The once platinum-blond curls were now silver tresses, combed straight and slick behind him, past his shoulders. Not one strand out of place. His skin was a pale white, never to flush pink again. His once soft physique was hardened, the body of a soldier. He wore a modern black lounge suit, a black tie, and a red shirt underneath that matched the irises of his eyes.

"I've heard things... Azirath. Things about you." Adam swallowed down his grief. "I hear you've gained my father's favour. That promotion is soon in order."

Azirath bowed stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. "From your mouth to Satan's ears." He stood erect once more. "A feat I have hoped to accomplish for quite some time now. May the rumours ring true."

Adam nodded grimly. "I've also heard of the..." he stifled a shudder, "accomplishments that have made this possible."

Azirath blinked once, a sign he understood his meaning. His expression gave nothing else away. A heavy pause floated between them.

Adam shook his head in disappointment. "What would Cr-"

"Best let the dead lie," Azirath interrupted quickly, his eyes glowed slightly in warning, his voice never wavering. "Will you be attending the Recognition Ceremony? Is that why you wished to see me?"

"I wished to see you because I think you're the only friend I have left," Adam said dryly, though his heart threatened to break. "Except for Dog."

The little Hell Hound by his side barked once in assent.

Azirath cast his eyes to the ground briefly before giving Adam a small nod. "I'm sorry to hear that." He really was. Because that meant Adam had no friends at all. Because Azirath was a friend to no one. Not anymore. "In any case, it's been a pleasure, as always, but I do have duties to attend to."

Adam nodded. "I might stay awake for a bit. Maybe send another letter to the Them. Can we talk again soon? Maybe have tea, like before?"

Azirath bowed deeply this time. "As you wish. My door is always open to you." Not that he had a choice in the matter.

"Thank you, Aziraph... Azirath."

Adam turned his back to the demon once more.

Azirath turned on his heel and marched with purpose. Along the way, he passed many who would jump out of his way fearfully, bow, and shout "Hail Satan." To which he'd respond in kind without pause.

There was good reason to fear any Duke of New Earth, but Azirath, in particular, inspired a healthy dose of terror in demons both on Earth and in Hell. At first, right after the end of the world, demons scoffed at the clean, well-mannered, former Principality. Azirath was quick to teach them all a critical lesson; manners and courtesy have absolutely nothing to do with softness. They still found him odd. He wasn't like the other demons at all with his refined taste in clothes, his impeccable posture, his eloquent speech, and his stranger still particularities in singling out red-headed humans to serve him in whatever went on behind his chamber doors.

All that time spent on Earth, he'd gone native, they would say, and no one thought twice about the peculiar Duke again. Not if they intended to continue living.

Azirath's guards joined him as soon as he reached the ground floor. Being invited to Satan's monstrosity of a castle, that had been built on the back of demons and humans alike, was always a tedious affair. Being summoned all the way up to the tallest tower was particularly annoying. All those stairs! Quite tedious , Azirath thought.

"Azirath!" Called a familiar voice.

Azirath halted as he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Hastur." He turned to face the Duke of Hell who charged right into his personal space. His guards made a move to stop him, but Azirath waved a hand dismissively.

"If you think you're going to get the promotion, think again! I've been playing this game much longer than you have," he spat with an evil smile.

Azirath seemed unafflicted and stepped forward, merely inches away from Hastur's nose. "Rewards are based on merits, not time on the job," he replied simply. "I have just as much a chance to win Satan's favour as you, though I must say," he gave him a closed mouth grin, "my rooms on the six-hundredth and sixty-sixth floor have a spectacular view."

Hastur spluttered. "Six-hun- you bastard," he groused with jealousy. "Those were my rooms! They gave them to you?!"

"Oh, my dear fellow," Azirath replied with a mild pout, "Had I only known to whom those rooms were originally assigned to you, I would have declined."

Hastur shot a hand to Azirath's throat, only to flinch back suddenly with a yelp.

"My, my," Azirath lamented as a red-bellied black snake emerged from his coat, neck flared and ready to strike again. "Scarlet, that wasn't very polite, now was it?" He crooned lovingly while he tickled her under her jaw. "He should learn to keep his filthy little hands to himself. Or lose them."

"Ow! That fucking-"

"Now, now, Hastur, name-calling is really beneath our status, don't you agree?" Azirath made an about-face and continued his trek toward the exit. "You should get that looked at," he called over his shoulder, "it would be most inconvenient if you discorporated before you see me get my promotion. Though it seems a new body is in order for you anyway, reeking as you do."

"Oh, you'll pay, you pansy bastard!" Hastur cradled his hand gingerly and tried not to whimper too loudly.

For a Prince of Hell to slip out of Satan's castle unnoticed was an almost impossible task, yet Beelzebub had managed it. Not a moment too soon either. They knew that Azirath loathed tardiness. He considered it rude. A high offence for him that not many got away with. It was lucky that Beelzebub was a whole rank above him and part of the Dark Council to boot, or Azirath may have caused them some trouble already.

They had matched up their respective watches ages ago in order to meet discreetly in moments like these, and he was due to arrive any second.

The prince had chosen the home of a human, in what was known as the slums, for their meeting place. No one would think to look for them here. It was almost a perfect location for them, they had thought, until they realized that the place also housed a young woman with bright red hair.

"Make yourself scarce, woman," Beelzebub commanded. "And cover your head."

They could not afford any distractions.

"Yes, milord," she breathed and ran to the kitchen.

Beelzebub tapped their sharp nails on the table they were seated at, listening to the murmurs coming from the women preparing their miserable meal. Gossip was always good to keep track of so they honed in on their conversation.

"They say that the Duke spent so much time on Earth pretending to be human that his body grew accustomed to needing food."

"Rubbish. Demons don't need to eat. Or drink. Or breathe. Stop spreading nonsense. If they do anything like that it's because they fancy it."

"Satan eats. I've seen him."

"Shush! Don't say that name here, if you can help it."

"Is it true that demons don't have genitals?"

"Are you stupid?"

"Sally, cover your head!"

"I can't find my shawl!"

A light breeze swept through, and Azirath stood before Beelzebub with a slight bow in greeting.

"Salutations, my lord." One could almost mistake his tone for sounding merry.

"Azirath," Beelzebub acknowledged. "Have a seat."

"Interesting meeting place." Azirath turned up his nose and gazed around the bare, filthy room as he sat down. His red eyes landed on blue. At least the prince had banished the flies this time.

"The ceremony is in three days. Are you ready?" Beelzebub asked gravely.

"As ready as ever," he replied bored with a sniff.

The prince shook their head. "I can't stress enough how this may be our only chance," they ground through their teeth.

"Yes, yes." He waved off their concern. "I'm quite certain I'll get the job."

"I know you will. I've been informed already."

Azirath raised their eyebrows in mild surprise. "Do you have it, then?" He asked, discreetly.

"I do." Beelzebub glanced around the room and searched for enemies, or nosy humans then pulled out a box and slid it across the table.

Azirath stared at the box for a moment before gently placing his perfectly manicured fingers on it and opened it. A golden flask lay within, and he felt his breath catch. The last time he'd made a transaction like this, it was the other way around and with a different demon entirely.

He took a steadying breath to dispel the memory. "Blessed by a priest? Catholic I hope. Or a Buddhist monk? Those are the best. Though probably extinct..."

"Blessed by an angel."

Azirath snapped his red eyes to the prince.

"An archangel," Beelzebub added for good measure. They watched as Azirath's eyes glowed with malice.

"Who?" He asked, as if he were just mildly curious.

"Doesn't matter."

"Gabriel then. I know you're protecting him," he smiled. "I can't imagine why." He narrowed his eyes and smiled wider, showing some teeth this time. "Unless you're taken with him? Hm?"

"Shut it." They kept their calm, their objective of the utmost importance.

"Have you ever heard of the term," Azirath chimed as he tapped his fingers on the table, "star-crossed lovers?" He smiled sadly. "From Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It's used to describe relationships destined to end in tragedy."

Beelzebub smirked and leaned forward. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Azirath kept his polite and deadly smile, but his nose twitched and his nostrils flared. "Did you happen to glean any information from my dear, former supervisor that might be of interest to me?"

"He didn't destroy Crowley," they answered flatly and leaned back in their chair.

Azirath had flinched at the sound of his name. "Oh?" He flicked a crumb off the table. "And you believe him?"

"I do."

The Duke scoffed and shook his head.

"Azirath, I need to know that our goals are still in alignment."

Azirath sat up straighter and glanced around the room again. His eyes landed on the group of women in the kitchen. "Of course they are. Why would I be here otherwise?"

"You've been rather... zealous over the last couple centuries. Maybe you've grown to like your new role. Maybe you've aligned yourself with Satan's ideology, after all."

His eyes were glued to the woman in the shawl. "Hardly."

Beelzebub grew aware of where his gaze landed. "You could be destroyed on this mission, you are aware?"

Azirath was still as a statue, his eyes giving off a slight red glow, his pupils growing wide when he caught a small flash of auburn. "My indifference over that fact is precisely why you chose me to do this."

The distraction was apparent and made Beelzebub nervous. "Azirath, I want him destroyed as much as you do."

"Doubt that," he muttered.

"If you can't get a clean shot at the ceremony, you must refrain and wait for another opportunity. Are you listening to me?" They slammed their hand on the table.

Azirath whipped their attention back to the prince. "Do you think me stupid?" He looked down at the box and took it gently, placing it inside a leather satchel he manifested from thin air.

"I just don't want your thirst for vengeance to make you rash."

He scoffed again. "Me? Rash? We're immortal, Beelzebub. We have oodles of time for thwarting, conspiring," he gave them half-smile, " fraternizing with angels, and all that." When Beelzebub gave him nothing but a bored expression, he stood up and adjusted his sleeves. "Now, if you'll excuse me, something has come up. We're done here, yes?"

Beelzebub watched him look toward the kitchen impatiently. "You risk much with these temptations of yours, you know? I can't keep covering for you."

"You can. And you will," he retorted matter-of-factly. "Vive la révolution," he finished with faux enthusiasm and stalked to his target.

Sally worked as quickly as she could. The shawl was proving tricky, her hair was so long and cascaded in waves. It was challenging to manage on the best of days! Imagine trying to get a handle on her unruly mane under such distress! Rumour had it that the Duke paid handsomely for ginger slaves, men and women alike. No one knew exactly what happened to the Duke's charges, only that they were never seen again. He was a spy for the rebels, their side, but a demon could never be trusted. So it was with great anxiety that Sally found herself face to face with the demon she'd only heard stories about since she was a child.

"Hello," Azirath greeted the wide-eyed woman with as much warmth as he could muster, which wasn't much these days.

With nothing but a look, the other women scattered.

The poor woman dropped a bowl of flour and stammered. "H-h-sorry, sir, I mean, Duke, sir. He-hello."

They both made to pick up the bowl, but Azirath was quicker. He was so close, and Sally couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, despite his eyes that were the colour of blood. She'd never met anyone so clean and nicely dressed.

"Here you are, dear lady." He held out the bowl for her to take.

With trembling hands, she took it. "Th-thank you."

"Tell me," he said with a slight air of seduction, "why do you cover," he reached for her shawl and tugged it free, "such lovely locks from the world?"

The shawl came away quickly. It had already been lopsided and falling. He folded it neatly and offered it to her. She took it as well, fingers brushing lightly against his.

"I, erm, Lord Beelzebub said-"

"I see." He stepped closer. "I will not harm you, my dear. I give you my word. Though I know it doesn't mean much coming from my kind," he sneered. "What is your name?"

"Sally, sir." She made an awful attempt at a curtsy.

"Is this your home?" He motioned around the shack they were in.

"No, sir, I mean, yes. Mrs Flint took me in."

"Ah, so you have no family of your own?" Azirath inquired, even more interested.

"I'm not sure. I had a brother, but we got separated..."

The demon nodded solemnly. "You owe this family a debt?"

"Yes, sir."

Azirath took a breath and eyed her hair, left eye twitching for a moment. "I wouldn't be a very good demon if I didn't try to tempt you into serving me instead." He smiled weakly. "My home is quite lovely. You'll be well-fed, the best food money can buy. Clean water to drink and bathe with. I will pay your debt to this family, of course. What say you?"

Clean water? Food? Bathing? "Wha-what would my duties be?"

He shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. "We can discuss that later. Say, have you ever seen a book?"

Sally's eyes widened further. "No, sir."

"Ah!" He seemed genuinely pleased. "I have an extensive collection. I'd love to show them to you," he purred.

Sally twisted her apron in her hands with uncertainty.

"Come now," he insisted, "shelter, delectable meals, clean water, good wine, a warm hearth. Surely that's something you'd never hope to see in your short mortal life."

The thought of all those wonderful things made her eyes water. "And... you won't... hurt me?"

"Upon my honour," he crossed his heart.

Such a handsome, well-mannered man. Everything about him, save the eyes, was something out of a fairytale. A prince come to rescue her.

"All right," she breathed.

"Excellent." He preened and clapped his hands. "Shall we then?" He extended his palm and waited.

With a deep breath and a shaky hand, Sally sold her soul to a devil.

AN POST NOTES:

Thank you for joining me on my purely self-indulgent and dark whim! If you've read Ineffable Timing, I'm using my same HC. As you may have guessed from this chapter and my tags, there will be lots. Of. Angst. Dialogue heavy. And Satan is very... twisted. There will be violence, dark musings, and sex. So, you have been warned! This is my darkest fic yet, but those of you who have read my other stuff know that I'm a sap and a hopeless romantic... so... without giving anything away... there may be hope for our favorite characters yet.

I'd still love a Brit-picker! Haven't found one yet!

I will try to post every Monday and post some art as well. The reason I'm posting now is because I'm starting a 10 week writing class and I have exactly 10 chapters of this fic completed. So, It'll motivate me to finish this up at about 15 chapters or so... especially if I've got some cheerleaders who leave me lovely comments. ;)

No hate please. If this isn't your cup of tea, just be polite and read my fluffier GO fic, Ineffable Timing. :D

You can find me and the art for this story on IG and tumblr mordellestories follow #blessthefallenau for updates!