Game Face.

“We are close. Follow Our voice,” it whispered, akin to a small child lost in a strange world. And He followed the sound.

“We are one. Follow Our power,” it continued. And He obeyed, obliterating a thousand lost souls with a wave of His hand to ease His path.

“We are here. Follow Our scent,” it said, louder and closer. And, indeed, He could smell it in the air, like copper and sulfer fused together. And He squeezed thru the opening, crushing native beasts under His strides.

“You are here. Come to Us,” it screamed as He burst forth in a flash of light, just as the gateway behind slammed shut.

And then He was gone. Free at last to roam the rampant and decadent gardens that had been Eden. But He waited… He knew patience.

In less than a minute, Azrael, the reaper of the first born, the tenth and final plague, the wrath of God manifest, the sword of His vengeance, the angel of Death, would be dead. And that served His purpose.

If nothing else, Lucifer hated competition. And that was all Azrael was anymore.

View this story's 5 comments.