{- L'inferno del Fuoco -}

[La Gnat]

It would be like taking a bulky pill—just swallow quickly.
Then it would be over.

Elizabeth did not reply in words to Laban, but turned, taking the last few strides between her and the son. The distance had obscured Azazel’s disfigurement and now she looked down upon him, seeing everything. In the daylight, each crackle of a carcass was intensified, the distorted face illuminated. It breathed; mouth jarred open, as if it were a human snoring.

Quickly.

She slipped down to her knees, one raised higher than the other, tucking into the hollow between chest and arm. There was once a story told to her about a prince awakening a beautiful princess with an enchanted kiss. Though that fantasy had been replaced by the gnarled, darkened witchcraft of Laban, it should still work.

Eyes pierced together, Elizabeth shuddered forward, feeling the strength of bone against her aching lips.
There was no way to deepen the kiss, no fleshy tongue to caress as Laban had done with her.

Hopefully this would be enough, and the prince would awaken.

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

No! Laban didn't realize that he'd uttered the word well under his breath as well as thought it, so strong was his displeasure. He stood abruptly, table and chair scraping against the floor.

---

In his dream, Azazel was chasing something. Or being chased. It was the same every night it seemed, and he could never tell which was which. He was running hard after a nonexistent trail until, quite suddenly, a scent wafted into his bony nasal cavity. What was it? It was new, yet familiar. This had never happened in his dream before.

That girl. His father's virgin, Elizabeth. It brought to his mind pleasant things like flowers and the a pale shade of yellow.

The scent was stronger. So strong he could almost feel her there. But that wasn't possible, not with a smell--

Azazel opened his eyes.

---

She was kissing him. Her lips on his hideous bone muzzle, her face framed in vision by his horns.

Azazel was too stunned to move, too stunned to think. Surely this was some joke. Something his cruel father had ordered her to do.

Laban was to their side faster than humanly possible. He seized the back of Elizabeth's shirt, pulling it (and her with it) up and away from his son. "You are not allowed to touch him!" his voice shook in his fury. It was a wonder her shirt didn't catch fire in his hand.

No - it had definitely not been a joke. No! Azazel thought, give her back!!

It had to have been real. He'd been kissed, with this face, by a willing woman. The yearning manifested in the pit of his stomach and as a dull ache low in his abdomen.

But father was dragging her away, each step taking her further from his grasp.

[La Gnat]

It hadn’t been all that bad.
In fact it had been more enjoyable kissing a stone than the searing mouth of Laban.

Elizabeth thrashed against his grasp, feeling the pulsated heat climb the woven threads of the top towards her stark back, pricking.
The stench of boiling fabric wafted closer—he was going to burn her.
Again.

Writhing was all she could do.
The girl splashed forward and back, drooping against the demon’s upward currant.

A seam ripped.
Peeled like a bruise from her skin, the sweater remained in Laban’s clutch.
All heat dissipated, the frigid air biting in tiny bumps across her pale flesh.

Elizabeth tore away.

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

The pallid fish grappled from his grasp, Laban's skin blazing in his sinful fury. How dare she? Even to the point of tearing her only shirt? The girl was unpredictable, a thing Laban loved and loathed. How was he supposed to control her if he'd no idea what she was going to do?

Azazel had no idea what was happening. He backed away, knowing the destructive tendencies of the wrath of his father (having experienced them firsthand on too many occasions). A hand was placed on his bony mask to help him concentrate on vanishing it; it wouldn't help much to hide his true face, but it could prevent his own pain (or death) should his father focus his attention on his son instead of the girl.

The girl who'd kissed him.

When he'd attempted to steal her innocence the day before, Azazel hadn't bothered touching her shirt; it was unimportant. What was displayed before him came as a mild shock; her figure was very appealing, even as she floundered about the room.

Laban grabbed at any part of Elizabeth he could reach, searing any flesh that he touched. It had easily been decades since Azazel had seen his father so angry. He grabbed at her arms, her hair and finally, her neck.

Azazel knew that grip.

The hand was hard, unyielding, though not tight. There would be no escape and the damage would be temporary. Burns and bruises healed.

Azazel had his own set of fingerprint scars to prove it. The son was filled with the rush to protect Elizabeth from the same fate; it could have been the instinctual drive to keep her safe in order to take a willing virgin for himself, or perhaps it was something else. Regardless, the demon screamed over the chaos, "Father, stop!"

He wouldn't, of course.

"Father, please! Don't hurt her!"

Laban's temper only rose with the betrayal. Azazel... his son... his firstborn son... should know better. Now the demon was faced with a decision; which of them to punish? The girl, for defying him, or the boy for the same reason?

The answer was clear; he couldn't kill Elizabeth. Not for another ten months.

He could do whatever he wanted to Azazel.

The topless virgin girl was tossed aside, father bearing down on his son.

The first and final strikes were often the worst.

Azazel's flesh blazed, his bone felt nothing. As hot as his father's hand was, temperature alone could do little to his hidden bone muzzle. Though when Laban really got going, fractures were not out of the question. It had happened before.

At first as a child, Azazel would react in a very normal way. Screaming, shouting, calling for help and mercy. When it was discovered that none would come and his actions only brought more suffering on his part, the boy became silent.

In his later years, hardly a whimper could be heard.

Now it was easy to keep quiet, to utter nothing. But something needed to be said; the opportunity would not arise again. "I don't want her innocence, father!" he lied.

The fact that his son spoke at all caused Laban to pause, though not for long.

"You can take her; I won't touch it!"

That much is obvious! Laban thought, though his teeth were ground so tightly together that he didn't bother to speak.

"But when you're finished... when she has your child..." Your son at this rate, he thought, "let me take her. You'll never need see her again; I'll take her back with me. When she's given you a child... let me take her."

It was so out of Azazel's character. To speak on his own, to have feelings all by himself. Ideas!? Was he thinking on his own!?

Laban stopped, tail lashing around like a mad snake. Did he hear correctly? He wanted Elizabeth... after she was useless?

[La Gnat]

“Oh, disgusting.”
“Hmm?”
“Never enough whipped cream to coffee on these things.”

Together, they sat, Bartholomew’s leg vibrating the entirety of the mail truck. It was small, cold and made a humming choking sound whenever it veered too quickly—which was often.
Angels were notoriously horrid drivers.

For his aid, the Messenger had required one task.
Instead of slaying an arch demon, Bartholomew was required to sit in the passengers’ side, a pile of packages blocking his nervous trembling. He would run the parcels to the door, ring the bell and scurry back to the vehicle, so the Messenger could enjoy his giant double caramel macchiato without being bothered.

It was a mindless task—but the route kept spreading out, further and further.
“Couldn’t we just fly?”
“Of course not. You can walk Bart, it won’t kill you.”

The angel heaved a sigh, trying to focus on Elizabeth.
Nothing. It was blocked. Still.
He missed hearing that delicate thudding beneath her ribs.

“Laban will be the last on our little trip.” Archie spoke as if sensing where his comrade had drifted. He licked the edge of the cup, slurping up a light sweet liquid.
“Then after, we’ll all go get some more coffee. I want this made correctly before we go north again.”

>>

The impact on the ground knocked the wind from her crinkled esophagus, suffocating her further. It was beginning to dawn within her throbbing head that disobeying Laban would only end in even more intricate pain.
Yet, she still went against him.
Perhaps it was just all instinct to get away, to escape the cage.

Elizabeth coughed, hand at her singed throat. Would he have strangled her?
She shuffled backwards, eyes blurred against the thrashing Azazel was enduring.

The crunch of bone against bone was sickening.
It was all she heard, until it paused, words exchanged between father and son.
She didn’t care what they said. They could curse one another; jinx each other out of existence.
Elizabeth just sat there, wrapping further into herself.

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

"You're a fool!" Laban spat, though his temperature was slowly dropping.

But it wasn't Azazel's intelligence that was in question. If he threatened the girl... it seemed as if the boy would do anything. And he would protect her. Laban need not stand alone in this three week war against the angel. Granted, Azazel wouldn't be much help. But he could be help enough.

"But you can have her to do as you wish after she bears my daughter."

The child would be a girl; he was hell-bent on it. (Pun intended).

Azazel could not thank him enough, so he settled for not thanking him at all. Laban would understand, he hoped. The father stalked up the stairs, still seething. Both of them had gotten of easy. Elizabeth was his new good luck charm.

The dark son slunk to the girl's side, checking for breath. She was alive, though that came as little surprise. Immense relief, little surprise. Her neck, though. It would need attention. "Are you awake?" the demon asked.

[La Gnat]

Mail carrier, license plate PRA80R, skidded to a halt, the tire careening off the curb.
“Stay here.” The Messenger’s tone was serious, his cup already set to the side.

Bartholomew glanced around, waiting for the eerie radiance that would announce the presence of a demon.
Nothing.

“What’s the matter?”
“Just stay here. You can’t handle this one.”
Again, the angel scanned around, inspecting the snow-covered yard.

Amongst the white, sat a muddied brown dot.

His brows knitted together, “Is that a yorkie?”
The Messenger fumbled with his seat belt, nodding. His breath was a fusion of sweetness and stale coffee, hanging in the cool air between them.
“Yeah, one that I will personally walk to the gates of Hell.”

It was going to be a long day.

>>

An answer formed, swelling against her battered throat.
“Yes.”
It hurt. Laban could only do worse if he had stuck his nails down through her mouth and scraped along the inner ridges.

She squinted feverishly around, as if the father was waiting for her to announce she was fine, just so he could attack again.
Instead the son was at her side. The finger stains around her neck were nothing compared to the caked bruises that had already begun to puff and distort the demon’s face.

It was obvious who had bore the brunt of the incident.

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

"I didn't mean for him to hurt you." Azazel said, as if it had been his fault. His left eye was a mere slit in his face compared to his right. "But you should really just do what he says. He won't hurt you if you do." on the subject of their father's temper, Laban's children were experts.

The demon brushed Elizabeth's long hair from her shoulders, careful not to touch her skin. It would hurt, and he didn't want to make her more uncomfortable than she already was. He visually inspected the burns; they were puffy and red, no doubt blistering. What was his father thinking? She would never give him a daughter. Not like this.

Azazel's swelling face looked odd; more odd than it should. His flesh was damaged, yes; but his bone was unscathed. He didn't know what he looked like, so he couldn't adjust his image. The bone mask was hidden, but something was obviously wrong.

The demon glanced into Elizabeth's face before flicking his eyes back down, uncomfortable with her innocent eyes. Drawing up the courage he asked her, "Why did you kiss me?" he was quiet, almost inaudible. As if he had dreamed it and by bringing it up, she would laugh. No one would kiss him, of course.

But she did and it hadn't been a dream.

[La Gnat]

Several years ago, a girl had tore at her skirt in the middle of the parking lot, laughing. That day, she had gone home crying, the fabric torn around her knees and hips. Though she was unscathed, the innocence of the world had faded. She had witnessed true disdain from the girl—for no reason, Elizabeth was hated and it was never forgotten. Or forgiven.

Now, she saw her own cruelty reflected in the son’s words.

The kiss, the revenge on his father, had meant nothing.
It was merely an action against someone else.
“To spite Laban.” She couldn’t hide the intent—it was written over her, everywhere.

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

Though he had expected such an answer, Azazel was crestfallen. "It is a terrible thing," the demon said, maw loosened by the girl, "that a heart as pure as yours should have such a thing as spite blackening it."

He moved away from her. She didn't want him.

[La Gnat]

“I’m sorry,”
The confessional was automatic.
No.
Instantly the words deteriorated, falling from her lips, broken.

There was no reason to apologize.

He was a demon. Who had nearly raped her the evening before.

There was nothing below his hideousness to bruise.
Just black.

“I won't give your father a child.”

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

An apology? To a devil? Azazel shook his head; females were so difficult to figure out. "You don't need to give it to him. He'll take one from you."

Azazel thought back to Laban's second virgin - the mother of his brother.

Yes; Laban would get what he wanted as he always did.

[La Gnat]

“I know that,” Elizabeth spoke quietly.
It stung to proclaim, but she did—she knew what Laban was going to do.
And as a human, that she couldn’t stop him.
“I know.”

[The Amazing Flying Circus]

If she knew, then why did she fight it? "If you let him... it won't hurt. Not so much." Azazel offered honestly. It was not a sin if he took her of her own will so Laban would be a normal temperature and not to the point of setting the sheets on fire with his tousles.

And his father would receive the daughter he wanted. Not the one he deserved, not according to Azazel anyway. But who was he to decide? He was young and knew little of the world. He'd no children of his own and Laban did have one daughter already.