Author's Note: Eight chapters of this story were posted the summer of 2004 under the name 'Metatron's Choice'. This is the reworking/continuation of said chapters; to fans of the earlier version: glad you found your way back.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dogma or its characters, I only play with them. Lucifer and the plot are mine, so back off.
Enlightenment
Chapter 1: There and Back...Again
"Take your best. Fucking. Shot."
Silent Bob stared at the demon in disbelief, clutching Glick's driver with unsure fingers.
"No, seriously I'm not kidding, take it," Azrael said in an encouraging rush. "Come on, Bright Boy," he said mockingly, unbuttoning his shirt. When he got to the last button, he motioned for patience, then quickly licked his finger, and ran it down the front of his shirt. Steam rose from the line he traced, and when he reached his belt, he gripped both sides of his shirt and tugged. The shirt ripped open, revealing his slightly hairy chest.
"Don't you know anything?" he cooed. Bob glanced at Serendipity, who nodded, and drew Bethany closer to her.
Silent Bob shrugged his shoulders in compliance, then wound back for a swing.
Idiots, Azrael thought to himself. He knew that when the driver connected with his torso, it would rebound immediately, as if the fat mortal had taken a swing at an inch of solid steel. Idiots.
Silent Bob swung to bring the driver home. Just before impact, Azrael had a premonition.
Aw, fuck!
"…routine possession my ass…"
"…explaining to do…"
"…where the fuck have you been!…"
"Your audience is required. Get up."
The harsh voices echoed inside Azrael's head, painfully bouncing off his skull like a cracked-out pinball. Goddamn you Serendipity, he thought. With a sigh of aggravation, Azrael heaved himself to his feet to look at the other demons face to face. As it turned out, there was only one demon, and this particular one had no face. Scraps of charred skin clung to his cheekbones, and tiny eyes vehemently glared at him from well within the sunken sockets. Azrael looked away in disgust.
"You've got far worse ahead of you, friend," the demon said, noting Azrael's discomfort at his features. He grinned, (well, more like shifted his jaw; seeing as he had no lips, one couldn't tell if he was grinning or not). "Sammael is not pleased. Follow me."
Azrael trudged along the behind the demon. This had always infuriated him, how other demons could be higher in the ranks than he, and, given his present situation, Azrael was therefore more sour about it than ever. Now, chances were he'd be demoted before he'd get a promotion. His mind worked furiously as he was led down tunnel after putrid tunnel. Hell was bad enough being a demon, since even they had their fair share of torture – it kept them in line, in Sammael's view. But to endure Hell for all eternity as just another lowly bastard in the Pit? No. He would not let them saw off his horns. Ever.
Now his fate rested in Sammael's hands, and the odds were not stacked in his favor, (were they ever if your fate was up to him?) for a number of reasons: 1) Sammael hated interruptions, as it took him away from his concubines (whom he was with at all times, so you had better have a damned good reason to interrupt his pleasures,) 2) Any time a demon was led before his throne, it always ended the same – said demon came out devoid of horns. 3) Azrael had been told that Sammael demanded an 'audience' with him. And that was never a good sign.
I'm fucking screwed, he thought, as they continued to spiral down and down into the bowels of Hell. There were no torches, and the red glow of the Pit had long since faded away, plunging them into complete and utter darkness, but the screams of the victims overhead continued to ring in their ears. He had to think of a way to save himself. Sammael would more than likely order the removal of his horns on a whim – he probably wouldn't care less or think twice about it. Unless….he had a reason to…
Removing his sweat-soaked hat, Azrael began to fan himself, as his mind worked furiously. He had to make himself useful to Sammael, make it worth his while to spare him. Maybe he could tell the Pope to declare himself infallible? That might work… Or maybe he could inspire the Christ bitch to commit suicide? That would certainly put God in a bind, no doubt.
"You screwed up."
Azrael turned to the demon, annoyed that his thoughts had been so rudely interrupted. "Oh, really. I hadn't noticed."
"Better lose that tone friend. I'll rip out your tongue and roast it like a marshmallow. And you know Sammael will do much worse."
"Why do you care what sort of punishment I get? And why the hell do you keep calling me 'friend'!"
"Because you and I aren't so different."
"Oh, really, I hadn't noticed that either," Azrael snapped.
"We both resided in Paradise once."
Azrael stopped cold. The demon stopped just ahead of him, then turned round. Azrael scrutinized him closely in the dim light.
"Who are you?"
The demon's glare did not falter, but as Azrael looked at him, his image began to change. The horns melted away, and his face reconstructed itself, resulting in the most beautiful countenance Azrael had ever dared to look upon. Then, came the wings.
Azrael couldn't believe his eyes. The figure was immaculately dressed in white, and two equally immaculate wings fanned far over his head.
Azrael blinked, and instantaneously, the image disappeared, and in its place, the demon was stillglaring malevolently at him.
"Lucifer?" Azrael choked.
"You may not have been an angel, but you once resided in Paradise. You, too, fell due to your insatiable pride. Be proud, and you will have that which makes you proud stripped from you. Lose it. Like in Paradise, it will not serve you here." With that, Lucifer turned on his heel and continued to stalk down the tunnel.
Azrael's jaw was almost touching his chest. Noticing that he was not following him, Lucifer turned around.
"Tardiness is not looked upon with esteem, you know," he warned. "Friend."
Azrael shut his mouth and closed the gap between them. Lucifer led on.
Azrael's mind was buzzing more than ever now. If his punishment was to be worse than Lucifer's, he would not stomach it. Before he could come up with a concrete plan to save his neck, the passageway opened up suddenly, leading them into a cavernous room that reeked of carrion. Two large torches lit the room, their white flames fluttering as Lucifer and Azrael walked past them. The walls themselves seemed to glow with their own inner fire, and everything appeared wavy, a distortion caused by the intense heat. Azrael blinked the sweat out of his eyes, as he gaped at gargantuan obsidian gates that now barred their path, towering endlessly above their heads. The scrollwork on the gates was unbelievably intricate, and every curve reflected the light of the torches, presenting the illusion that the gates were nothing but a mass of writhing serpents. Then, there were the Hounds.
Azrael couldn't help recoiling slightly upon seeing the guardians of Sammael's lair. Why they were called the 'Hounds' of Hell, he couldn't understand, because except for having four legs, they didn't remotely resemblecanines. They looked more like breathing gargoyles, carved out of the blackest glass. The massive pair of black beasts sat on their haunches on either side of the gates, their blood red eyes glinting maliciously in the eerie torchlight. As they walked toward them, the beasts stiffened, letting out growls so low one could hardly hear them. They aren't meant to be heard, Azrael realized, clutching his chest as he felt his sternum vibrate violently under the low decibels. Finally, when they were only a few yards away, both Hounds reared up on their hind legs, causing the ground to tremor. With earsplitting roars, they unfolded huge, black, leathery wings and proceeded to beat them, the force of which threatened to knock Azrael from his feet. He clutched his chest again, hoping to prevent his sternum from splintering beneath the pressure of the deafening roars. Their faces were angular with broad snouts, and their yawning maws were littered with jagged teeth, two of which resembled those of a saber-toothed cat. They were not slender creatures, and the construction of their bodies somewhat reminded Azrael of rhinoceri. Blunt horns protruded from their heads and curled on either side of their faces like immense ram's horns, each tip ending in a lethal-looking barb.
Two burly demons appeared on the other side of the gates, pulling back on the large chains that restrained each beast. Azrael noticed that their hides seemed to be fluttering, as if disturbed by a constant, unseen wind. When their group finally came to a halt in front of the gates, Azrael realized their hides were not made up of fur, but by an infinite number of dark flames, and each Hound radiated its own scorching heat. Even once they were calmed down and coaxed into sitting on their haunches by their masters, the beasts were easily three feet taller than Azrael. They pawed impatiently at the ground, grating deep ruts into the earth with their razor-like claws. One craned its neck and locked eyes with Azrael. The rumbling in his sternum began again and the beast's shoulder blades trembled, as if it were ready to pounce.
As the demons continued to restrict the movements of the Hounds with the chains, the gates finally swung open with a loud clanking sound. Lucifer turned to Azrael.
"You'd better inspire yourself with a good excuse, Muse," he hissed, before walking through. Azrael winced slightly; being called by his former title was not a good sign. With his mind reeling, Azrael was ushered inside the gates. As a demon, Azrael had never feared anything.
Until now.
Now, he was absolutely terrified.