The Devil's Beloved, a Steamy MM Fantasy Romance (part twelve)
The trial of Tzyeriel
Welcome back. In light of Agatha being in a family way, Blarg has called his girlfriend Nicole over to help prepare for the great egg hatching event.
As I dictate this post, they’re standing above Agatha's nest, earnestly discussing an exceedingly important question:
Assuming the eggs are viable, what items should they give the hatchlings?
Blarg suggested taking up crochet and making a blanket for the little lizards. Nicole noted he might have difficulty working the crochet needles, as his orc hands are twice the size of a human male.
She reached into her gecko-pattern purse and pulled out a couple of the hooked crafting tools. Blarg fiddled around with his needle, quickly realizing Nicole was right about it being too small. They sat down, spending the next hour trying to sort out a solution to his problem.
After an hour of creating several prototypes, they ended up sliding a wine cork over the crochet hook’s base, wrapping it with a spatula and securing it with tape, giving it a comfy, orc-sized handle.
They're currently sitting by the window, stitching together a green baby blanket. Assuming there will be any hatchlings (highly doubtful, as Agatha's been guarded from amorous male dragons as closely as a fairy tale tower maiden), the newborns will only be three to four inches long. However, there are over twenty eggs in the potted soil.
If they were to hatch, I wonder if he’d scoop them all up and carry them together as one giant fuzzy batch of infant lizards?
Watching Blarg and Nicole work makes me think of my own days as a young goblin prince. My formative years were not a time of comfort or playtime. No, I was trained in the ways of royalty:
Knowing how to wield a dagger in combat.
Mastering the skill of shooting arrows from atop a trampling hog steed.
Speaking the languages of a dozen different fantastical species (troll is the hardest by far, it not only requires memorizing thirty seven distinct grunts, but also incorporates snot bubbles, the lack of which can alter the meaning of words such as "stone" into something unimaginably filthy).
Even if there'd been room in my formative years for softness, my mother was far too busy attending to courtly duties to set time aside for me. It couldn't be helped; the needs of the kingdom certainly outweighed those of a single child, royalty or otherwise.
Once in a while, I'd have a sudden case of melancholy, and wander about the castle mushroom gardens, sullen and sulking. I can’t say why, but eventually I’d break down weeping.
During one particular episode I was inconsolable. none of my tutors or nannies could help.
And then I heard my mother say,
“Badinel, why are you crying?” I looked up and saw her standing above me with a plate of her special cookies. She handed me the platter and said,
“Here, perhaps these will dry your tears.”
Oh dear, I've gone sentimental for a moment. Allow me time to compose myself, after all, there's a love story to continue now, isn't there?
Right. Better now.
On we go, then.
***
Abaddon laughed cruelly at his former king’s misfortune. Satan stared angrily at him and said,
"You never desired me, did you? It was only my throne you were after all along." Abaddon grinned as he replied,
"Of course! If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that the only worthwhile pursuit is that of amassing greater power."
His locusts were swarming all around them. The insects, attuned to their master's emotions, reflected his deranged excitement. The dark angel continued,
"I’ll be generous enough to allow you a head start. If you fly off now, perhaps you'll make it out before the demon lords arrive." Abaddon turned his back on Satan. As he walked away, he said,
"Goodbye forever."
***
Satan escaped through a portal hidden within the nearby iron mountains, soon finding himself flying through the star-filled skies of the mortal realm.
In the distance, an airliner sped its way through the dark remnants of the clouds. As he had no particular destination in mind, Satan decided to follow the vessel.
He spent the next few hours traveling above the endless blue ocean. Eventually, the plane landed in Singapore. He flew to a nearby village. Upon landing, he began wandering the streets aimlessly.
He wondered what Tzyeriel was being forced to endure in Heaven. The thought of the Seraph in chains filled him with a sense of absolute hopelessness. Satan wept, feeling nothing but an emptiness inside him that was more foreboding than even the abyss he'd left behind.
A small child in a pink jumper was able to see him. She turned to her mother, who was busily pushing a cart of leafy vegetables up the road, and asked,
"Mama, why is the angel man crying?" Her mother, tired and clearly not in the mood for games, replied,
"Maybe he lost his friend. Hurry up, I have to get these to market." The girl stared at Satan for a moment, waved goodbye, and followed the cart.
Satan didn’t notice, so consumed was he by sorrow. He'd lost touch with everything else, save for the pain in his heart. He looked up at the sky, and whispered,
"Tzyeriel."
***
The Seraph awoke with some effort. The back of his head was sore, leaving him with a temporary mental fog.
Tzyeriel realized he was chained to a white marble wall. He tried pulling against his constraints, but they were emblazoned with a seal that made them unbreakable to angels.
A couple of soldiers stood nearby, chatting about a recent battle. Tzyeriel sat back, trying to remember how he'd ended up in his current predicament. His mind was a blur, but an image came to him. It was of an angel with curly blond hair and the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. He exclaimed,
"Satan!"
The soldiers turned to him, sneering at the mention of the Hellish angel's name. They grabbed Tzyeriel roughly, forcing him to stand up. One of them growled,
"Shut your mouth, filth!"
Tzyeriel gritted his teeth but said nothing. One of the soldiers shouted to a nearby guard,
"He's awake! Let the Archangels know he's ready to stand trial!" The guard nodded, flying off into the clouds above.
It wasn't long before Tzyeriel was standing in the center of a large white room where every Archangel sat in attendance. Michael got up, stared down at the accused and said,
"Tzyeriel, you’ve been found guilty of fornication with an angel of the abyss." The giant angel grimaced and continued,
"To make matters worse, we know you seduced at least one of our own, and a scribe no less!"
Jophiel stood up, folded his hands behind his back, and walked over to the Seraph. He stared down at his chained brother, and said,
"We're certain there were others. If you give us a full confession and name those who willingly allowed themselves to be defiled by you, we might let you serve in Hell. You would never be allowed to enter Heaven again, but at least you wouldn’t be condemned to an eternity of roaming the mortal realm."
Tzyeriel considered the offer, and replied,
"That wouldn't be kind, my partners weren't hurting anybody. I'm not even really sure why it's against the rules for us to make love with each other."
The room fell silent. Every Archangel stared at him, unable to believe what they'd just heard. Michael regained his composure, saying,
"Your behavior is absolutely perplexing. Heavenly angels don't question, we obey. We don’t decide what is right or wrong, we follow our higher voice of guidance." Tzyeriel, confused, replied,
"We do? Are you sure? I've only ever done what made sense to me at the time. Wow, I had no idea that was... Oh, that does explain a great deal!"
The Archangels looked at each other, then back at Tzyeriel, who was smiling in the manner of one who'd just added the final piece to some grand, elaborate puzzle.
Raphael's eyes suddenly widened. He stood up, pointed at the prisoner and shouted,
"We have to get him out of here NOW!"
Everyone glanced at Raphael, wondering at his sudden urgency. The physician continued,
"He’s a lunatic! I've seen his mental illness manifested in one of our kind before, we have to throw him out of Heaven immediately!" Michael, alarmed, asked,
"Why, what's wrong with him?" Raphael, now in a frenzy of panic, answered,
"He has free will!"
Jophiel backed away from Tzyeriel, turned to the doctor, and asked,
"Who else had this condition?" Raphael shouted,
"LUCIFER!"
Everyone save for the accused gasped in horror. Tzyeriel cocked his head and said,
"Oh, I'm not like him. I don't want to overthrow Heaven, I just want to punish the wicked and have fun with my friends, that's not-"
He was cut off by the guards stuffing a gag in his mouth. They dragged him to the nearest portal, tossing him out of paradise the way one throws out a bag of day-old rubbish.
As he fell, Tzyeriel smiled, for he finally knew himself.
***
It's been several hours. Blarg and Nicole have headed off to the toy store. Agatha is resting in her Ficus nest, humming contentedly in a slow, throaty rhythm, nuzzling her eggs with the utmost tenderness.
She’s looking at me, not with her usual air of disdain, but with a tender sort of bearing I can't fully put into words. I've been so obsessed with acquiring her eggs, yet I'm starting to wonder if there was more to my quest than I'd originally considered.
Perhaps this recipe was more about reclaiming some lost trace of my mother’s rare displays of affection.
I’ll make the recipe tomorrow.