Chapter Seventeen: Adramelech

Hell is a many layered, complicated organ. It isn't a place but a vibration, a state of being. It is both hot and cold, empty and bustling. There is no better king of Hell than me. Azazel, Lucifer, whatever you want to call him, didn't so much quit as step-aside. Hell has many rulers, and I am the best of them.

We don't experience time here the same so Azazel likes to say he was the ruler of Hell in the ancient world-- and I am the Devil of the modern age, but that isn't totally accurate. Azazel has permissions that I do not so he is always seen as the ruler of Hell. But, I keep the machine rolling. I keep the wheels oiled and the trains running on time. I like to make Hell a painful experience. Something to remember.

It is hard to describe my day. I am organized. I focus nearly all of my energy on becoming larger. My ultimate plan is-- or was, to consume Azazel. Ultimately, I planned on being the largest Devil and the only one left. Then, I planned to rival God.

I first concocted my plan by making my personality, my identity, focused on efficiency. I consumed my smaller brothers-- other angels who saw the wisdom in my plan and we allied our consciousnesses together. Then, I invented money. I realized that I could commodity sexuality by actualizing on the human male's desire to dominate. It was this idea that made me large. I spent most of humanity's timeline perfecting money. Sex and money. Everything came down to sex and money. I am the Devil of desire, rage, and cash.

I rival Azazel in the size of my consciousness. I don't spend a lot of time on drama or Azazel's diva bullshit. When Azazel was king, Hell was just about stroking his ego. Everything was chaotic. With me, we have had fire and sulfur. I gave humans something to fear. I gave demons jobs to do. I ignored my brothers unless they were going to serve me.

Being so large, I've had to keep my boundaries of consciousness clear. If I consume a consciousness and it is not congruent with my personality, I cut it off and it becomes its own being. It becomes a demon, a god, or whatever. I've made more demons than most of my brothers. My one goal, my singular focus, was to become the largest entity in the universe. I draw clear boundaries between, 'is it me, or is it not part of me?' … if it isn't, I let it go to rot in the wastes of the universe and become something else.

I didn't have time for Azazel. I never do. I am far busier than he is. When he made a 'formal request for private discussion among kings,' I... didn't care. I didn't want to make deals with Azazel. I didn't want to discuss anything with my brother. Unless he was going to allow me to eat him and chew on his knowledge of the inner workings of the universe, I didn't want it. I didn't want him.

Of course, Azazel is desirable since he has a clearer understanding and access to manipulating time. Time is not something I have. I have money, but I don't have time. So, when Azazel comes knocking on my door, he likely wants something. He probably has a pet project, some human in need. Once in a while, my brother goes on a kick where he thinks he is a good guy, or can become a good guy. He wants back in God's good graces-- whatever that means.

We have different agendas. I began to wonder more and more about what he wants. He wants to become the largest consciousness in the universe, no doubt, just like I do, but neither one of us is going to budge on who is the dominant one. We can never merge. We have tried to hash out a good contract, a good agreement, but it is never correct enough. Because I must be on top. Plus, Azazel is so scattered and nervous. A part of me doesn't even want his neurotic thoughts anywhere near my being. I would feel tainted.

Plus, I hate the idea of merging with him.

I didn't know where to meet. I know what Azazel likes. I know he prefers a human avatar, which means a room. Which means clothes, a face, and decorations and an atmosphere. I must conjure scenery, a setting. Plants, maybe? Walls? What kind of walls do angels pretending to be human like? I always like red. Red is my color.

You could call it a meeting. I would call it, 'humoring Azazel for a hot second while he blathers on about his projects, jumping from subject to subject, but mostly talking about himself.' Wasting my time while I have better things to do, like watch reality television or encourage the stock exchange to either rise or fall. Either is good. I just wanted to expand on the misery of human's desire for wealth and control.

Whenever Azazel comes calling, it always seems appropriate to decorate in style. Azazel loves humans, especially women. His human form is feminine. He loves makeup and jewelry. He loves refined things. He rarely comes as himself, a series of rainbow patterns wrapped in golden wheels and eyes that see all eternity-- instead he comes dressed as a disheveled, redheaded artist badly in need of a haircut. I decided to start on my throne, which I knew would be placed infinitely higher than his petty human avatar.

My throne, I decided, would stand on a pile of golden skulls. If Azazel were to stand six feet in height, than my throne's skull pile would need to be twenty feet to properly look down upon him. At the top of the pile is my seat itself. A bull's head and curved, sharp horns formed the crown of the throne. Behind the throne is the plume of a peacock, haloing my head. I wanted the arms of the throne to be the head of an eagle on the left and a lion on the right. I wanted my brother to be met with the power of every beast on Earth. In my heart, I wanted to intimidate him to consume his consciousness into my own.

It has never worked in the past, but he requested to see me. It means he wants something. As for myself, I decided to make my form humanoid-- to match his style. I never spend as much energy appearing human as Azazel does. It is a waste. But, I cannot be seen as weak so I attempt at realism. Though, my body always seems more... just more... than what humans find as appealing. I like muscular arms but I prefer a wide belly. I want my mass reflected in my human shape. My voice often bursts and my hair is redder than anything than any human mother could realistically create.

I drape myself in gold and jewels not because I want to be beautiful, like Azazel, but because in translating my wealth, my vastness, and my power, there is no other language. Azazel would call it gaudy. Though, just the thought of Azazel again began to upset me. Azazel who loves humans. Azazel who loves the Earth. Azazel who abandoned his brothers because of his fascination. The rage began to fuel me.

My anger reflected in my art. I gave the throne several phallus, to represent my own. Huge, rock hard and jetting from the sides. Some of them had spikes. I made some of them cum fire, sulfur, and lava. I rose my throne forty, then fifty feet in the air. With the fist of my anger, I added even more phalluses, fucking the sky with wrath. I didn't care what Azazel thought, or what the Lord thought, or why he called me just to speak to me. I wanted my decorations rude and obscene. I wanted blood and death and hate.

It is too much, but I am too much. He abandoned his title, so I am king.

Just the thought of this offends me. However, he was supposed to be the most obstinate of us all. He is supposed to be the usurper, the one who never obeys. In his own way, Azazel is doing exactly as he is supposed to-- making the most chaos in the universe. So in the end, none of us could fault him for no longer leading in the rebellion. However, someone stepped in. I stepped in. Hell demanded order and a leader.

Though, I don't see it as a rebellion. Maybe Azazel did. The more I reflected on this, the angrier I became. Azazel kept me waiting. He wanted something, and he kept me waiting. As I waited on my throne for him to appear, a puff of white smoke began to form near my foot. It was small in comparison to even my golden and ruby toe-ring. The cloud of white smoke was just the size of my pinky nail. I had the idea of crushing my brother under the obsidian obelisk phallus at my side.

"Is this as joke, my brother comes as something so small while I---"

"Lord Adramelech!"

"You were a fool to come to me, to approach me, my brother Azazel called Iblis." Like me, Azazel had many names, some of them the consciousnesses of brothers he consumed. I suspected he had a similar ambition as I, to consume and becomes as large as possible with the direction to combat the Lord. I was not going to be bested by him, even if he had the power of time-control on his side.

"L-Lord Adramelech!!" repeated the speck near my small toe. "Please!!"

"What is it, small fool," I boomed. I would laugh at the unfortunate creature before me, who is clearly not my brother, but my hunger made me too angry. It must have been some petty creature with the misfortune of wandering in while I was preparing for my brother. It was amazing to me that I even noticed and took heed of its existence. I intended to eat it, but maybe listen to it plead for its life first.

I took pleasure in the creature's raw fear.

"L-Lord, please, I was sent to you by your brother. It is the Veil, my Lord!"

"You have come through countless permissions to behold the Prince of Darkness. For this I shall consume you and forever hold your pain in my belly. I care not for the talk of the Veil. I shit on the Veil for existing. I don't care about the Veil," I said as I bent down to the little plume of smoke. As I neared, the details of the demon became more clear. It wasn't that it was a creature or demon made of smoke, it was that I am so large and I cared so little that it was just a blur to my perception.

It was a simple demon. I read its aura and vibration and saw that it was made of pure malice. I could not tell if it was one of my own. I hardly perceive or pay attention to the offshoots I create. I sometimes make demons with purpose and intention. Sometimes demons can be beautiful works of art we angels create. Not this one. This one was hardly sentient, a basic, base thing. It came to me with only one purpose, to report what it had seen and was told was important.

"It is the Veil, my Lord, you must see!" it insisted.

The truth was I have known for centuries the battered state of the Veil. The Veil is a thin membrane between the dimensions. It keeps our world from the Earth. Few understand the delicate mathematical makeup of the Veil. Typically, it is the job of the fallen angels to repair it or see to its up-keeping. That is not a job we asked for but instead one that was implied to fall in our jurisdiction. The Veil has been a mess for centuries and I couldn't give a shit to fix it myself.

"Tell another Devil who cares," I snipped as I stood from my throne. The demon was barely perceptible at my feet it had become so small.

Azazel had yet arrive to speak to me about whatever was troubling him. It is in his character to be a flighty, inconsistent liar-- so here we are. The demon reporting to me news of the Veil had also put me in a mood. I decided to pull my consciousness away, ripping the throne room to pieces. In the processes, I destroyed the wisp of the demon sending me junk mail news. I wanted away from it all. I wanted to indulge myself with things I love most.

I went to modern day Miami, Florida. I considered pulling my consciousness into Los Angeles, Barcelona, or Amsterdam. I also prefer current times, where the pulse of money is hot and ever flowing. I wanted to see neon lights, fast cars, and palm trees. I wanted to feel the exchange of cash, which comforted me. Money is its own entity, but I can feel it and control it better than the other angels. I followed the beating drum of money to one of my most favorite places in the universe.

There wasn't anything pulling me into Florida, other than I just like it and I knew it wasn't one of Azazel's favorite places. If he wasn't coming to me with propositions to allow me to consume his consciousness, than I wasn't interested. We both like making deals. I just prefer deals where I'm the winner.

I wasn't specific in my destination. I came to clearer consciousness to find myself in Lummas Park, exactly on the beach. It was a Wednesday in September and the sun was close to the horizon bleeding a verity of colors. As I stood on the beach in a brief moment of solace, I could feel the hum of prayers to money around the Miami area. I tuned in to the desperate pleas and bargains, swirling around in a miasma. There were so many, picking one individual voice was like picking a grain of sand on the shore.

I didn't want to be found. I wasn't looking for anything. I could feel the stretch of my consciousness doing things simultaneously. I am always busy. I am always working. Always looking to make contracts with human beings to expand myself. There was no large enough. I'd know when I was large enough when the time came to challenge God-- or not. While I still lived, while I still existed, my only goal was to become bigger.

Though, time and time again, I often find myself on the beach. It wasn't the sand or the feel of the sun, because without a body I feel neither. I can only read of its existence, not feel its warmth. Rather, it was the ocean that drew me. The place of birth for all things, including my own. Like space, it is a vast pool of information from which all things come. Water, too, acts as a conduit. It was like standing beside a bucket of construction pieces, waiting to be utilized. As I stood on the sandy beach, I could feel and hear the distant murmurings of sentient beings under the sea.

I wasn't putting much attention on my appearance or whether I could be perceived by those around me. Perhaps I was being careless. The truth is I rarely communicate to beings other than my brothers. I don't often make personal appearances in dreams, or greet humans as they die, or answer many beseeching calls. I am not the Devil they want, unless they are looking to trade their identity to me for fame or money.

So it seemed strange that I was being stared at. The beach was largely empty, partly due to my negative presence-- but also because the wind was unusually cold and the sun was already lowering. I didn't notice it at first. There were plenty of humans on the beach that I could sense. All of them felt like families and couples, people going home or looking to spend money.

Instead, my attention was on the details of the sand and the waves. I had barely expended energy on my appearance. I gave myself vague arms and legs. I'm always larger in size than the majority of human men, unless intentionally attempting to shrink myself. My hair, like all of my brothers, was a vibrant red. Red hair, like a flag on a pirate ship identifying ourselves as fallen.

I took notice because I felt it first. Across the beach was a human-looking being staring at me. It didn't feel human, but it looked convincingly so. Only angels and strong spirits, like gods, had the strength to mimic flesh. Were it a brother, I would have felt it instantly. The figure stood so far that I couldn't sense the details. Its eyes kept fixed on me as if it perceived me.

I felt apprehensive to an extent, but I didn't experience fear or anxiety. I just couldn't imagine what could see me. I used my human form and decided to approach. I made jeans and a white button down shirt out of the shifts of wind and sea foam. Humans saw me walk along the shore squishing mud and sand between my bare toes. Wind swept my ginger hair. I kept my face down to hide my eyes-- which are the most difficult thing to mask.

As I walked towards him, I still felt watched. I lifted my eyes to see a young man, almost a boy, no older than twenty four. He stood on the edge of the sea. His shirt was long and white and his trousers were a plain uncolored linen. The wind caught his buttery blonde, curly hair. The closer I got the more amazed I was. He was a brother after all. A good guy angel-- more of a cousin than a brother. I knew him but I did not know him. I haven't come across a 'cousin' in centuries. Not even the voice of god spoke to me, unless it was an admonishment.

Up close, it was easy to see he wasn't human. His skin was poreless, like a doll or unrendered AI. I had always had thoughts of what I would say if I got to see the good guy angels again, but none of those things came to mind. I actually just felt happy to see him, which was a surprise. I sort of wanted to embrace him as long lost family. None of those things happened. He recognized me, I could see. He recognized me a long way off. There we were, standing on the beach. We both hand our hands in our pockets. Both of us were barefoot. Neither of us said anything as the sea lapped against our ankles.

"This is bad," said the angel.

"Yeah?" I replied, unsure if he meant me or the sunset. He seemed alarmed. His very blue eyes were wide in his face.

"This is bad," he kept saying.

"I heard you," I said. "I'm just not sure what you mean," I went on. It occurred to me that maybe he was human afterall, and I shouldn't say anything too strange. Besides, I had no idea what he was going on about.

"This is bad," he said one more time. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Can't we be anywhere where we wanna be?" I said casually, looking out as a boat slipped across the vast turquoise water. "This is America, am I right?"

"No," he said in a panic. "I'm not supposed to be here. I am not supposed to... see you. I am not supposed to be able to see you at all. Which means it has me, too. This is wrong. This is bad. This is bad and wrong."