#an: also using holy or divine words to describe the demons is now my favourite thing to do because why nOT

[lysmune]

Promises of

      A thousand things that she believes the Demon Prince to be, and a thousand times he proves her wrong.

(Diavolo/F!Reader)

     Promises of a painful, slow death is what she believes he’ll give her, but a radiant smile dispels her fears. With liquid ambrosia for eyes and vermillion-struck hair, she’s never seen someone so intimidating, so contrary.

     “I hope your year in the Devildom is a great one!” the stranger chirps, loud and booming, and friendly.

     “Thank you,” is all she manages.

     Promises of a scornful, prideful visage  is what she believes is his flair, but he bears no ill-will towards the hubris of humanity. A thousand lights splayed below the balcony, a gaze set onto the distant future, graced by the soft glow of hope, he tells her that he wishes for peace, more than anything.

     “Don’t all you demons despise us?” she piques and he laughs deeply, sonorous in the never ending darkness.

     “Maybe, but I,” and he turns to look at her with a gentleness that she’s never thought to find in a hell-spawned man, “I find human souls, flawed as they are, beautiful.”

     Promises of friendship is what she believes would be the farthest thing possible, but when he calls her in invitation to see the black roses blooming in his greenhouse, she finds that maybe, it isn’t the most far-fetched situation.

     “Look!” he exclaims excitedly, pointing towards a small bird, tufted in crimson, its winding onyx tail fluttering as it perches itself on the flower’s stem. “It’s a black-tailed canary. It’s a bird native to the Devildom.”

     “How pretty,” she comments, watching the bird fixate its beady eyes on her before it takes off into flight.

     Lord Diavolo chuckles beside her. “Seeing such lovely things up close really does lift my spirits,” he murmurs in awe, in wonder, underscored by a melancholia she can’t quite fathom.

     In response, she presses her hand on his shoulder, humming in agreement; he simply smiles.

     Promises of gold is what she believes would catch his fancy, but his curiosity lies in the fleeting moments caught in polaroids. From swirling pink blossoms to the grin of an aquarium’s beluga, to the cascading reds of a maple autumn and a white winter’s falling snow; he finds joy in all these.

     “This is my favourite,” he notes fondly and she leans over to look at the object of his attraction. It is the simple snapshot of a summer daybreak, the first light of dawn. “The sun never rises here in the Devildom, so I’ve always been curious about it. Your world’s truly blessed.”

     How the Underworld’s Prince is so much of an optimist, she’d probably never know, but it warms her to see him so full of life.

     When he passes the picture back to her, she shakes her head and, with more than a little uncertainty, presses her fingers against his hand.

     “Keep it,” she insists. “Consider it a gift for the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

     Promises of an uneventful night is a relatively easy feat, she believes, but the seven brothers prove her wrong when she’s crowned the guest of honour. They shower her with neatly wrapped gifts, words of gratitude and a group hug so earnest it moves her to tears.

     They take turns dancing with her tonight, seven brothers gliding through seven different musical pieces. Mammon steps up into a bold, thrilling hustle; Leviathan sways with unusual confidence in a jazzy foxtrot; Satan twirls her into a fittingly passionate tango; Asmodeus sweeps her around in an excelsior schottische; Beelzebub rounds a blustering, grinning quickstep; Belphegor drifts into a draping, dreamy carousel and Lucifer, unsurprisingly, leads her gracefully into a viennese waltz.

     What does surprise her, however, is when the Prince comes up to her, requesting her for a dance. “If you’re not too tired, of course.”

     She smiles and places her hand atop his, letting his fingers curl around hers. “No, it would be my honour,” is all it takes for him to capture her breath in a slow, seamless waltz that lasts a beat longer than it should.

     Promises of a shrinking distance isn’t what she foresaw, but he is insistent in having her company, which she, admittedly, isn’t too bothered about. He greets her jovially when he meets her in front of AkuDonald’s, dressed down in a maroon Oxford shirt and beige khakis, a pair of shades completing his look; she wonders if that’s his way of avoiding attention.

     As they both stand in line, he strikes up polite conversation, questioning her how she’s been, how her classes are going, how she’s finding RAD and the seven brothers, and she is, quite frankly, genuinely surprised by how much she’s come to enjoy the entire affair. He’s about to answer when they hit the front of the line, a tired looking demon snippily asking for their order.

     Like always, she goes for the fried shadow goose AkuBurger, the six-pack AkuGizzards and a blushberry slushie. He takes a little more time deciding, but eventually settles for the Hellfire DoubleAkuBurger and a Blackburn coffee before he insistently pays for their meal. Tipping her head down in thanks, she takes the tray and leads him towards a relatively private corner in the joint where he tucks into his lunch undisturbed.

     “Do you come here often?” he prompts and she shrugs, swallowing her food down.

     “Enough,” she responds. “The food here is generally safe for me to not die from.”

     He chuckles. “Not a fan of Devildom cuisine?”

     “Just not nearly as bold to eat something with ‘Double Poison’ tacked onto it,” she explains. Catching him eyeing her gizzards, she picks one up in between her fingers and offers it to him. “They’re good.”

     Leaning forward, without so much of a warning, he takes it from her hand with his teeth and she stiffens, embarrassed, unsure if he’s being serious or just messing with her, or if he’s just dense.

     “You’re right,” he answers, happily smiling as he licks his lips, “they are.”

     She tries not to think about it too hard, simply nodding in agreement before they pass the rest of the time with small-talk, light banter and the never-ending cringe of dad jokes so terrible she has to laugh at each one. Once they’ve finished and exited the premises, he thanks her for her time today, smiling as he always does.

     “I had a lot of fun,” she gladly admits, to which he hums, pleased.

     “I did, too,” he reciprocates and then, a little less playfully, a little more seriously, “If it’s alright with you, let me walk you home.”

     “You don’t -“

     “I want to,” he assures, insists. “I enjoy your company and I’d like us to spend more time together.”

     She warms at his boldness, more evident today than any other, at the way he tentatively reaches for her hand in consent, in invitation, and she accepts it with a nod. With a smile that crinkles his eyes and a careful hold, he leads her back to the House of Lamentation.

     Promises of constant contact is something she’s sure he isn’t one to keep, especially given his consistently packed schedule, but when she’s back in the Human World, her D.D.D rings most often with his name.

     He fills her days with updates on work, on Lucifer’s increasingly baggy eyes, lamenting at how much less bright the Devildom is without her.

     “You’re being dramatic,” she chuckles as she picks up a carton of eggs. “It’s not that bad.”

     “No, it is,” he implores with a huff. “The brothers miss you, including Lucifer, even if he denies it. Teasing him is no fun anymore,” he protests and she clicks her tongue at him. There’s a pause before a sigh, then, “I’m not being honest here.”

     “No?”

     “No,” he repeats; “I miss spending my time with you, I miss being able to see you, I miss talking to you in person. I miss you; I miss you a lot.”

     She runs her fingers through her hair and oh, fuck, he really shouldn’t spring these things onto her. She’s sure he can hear her heart over the phone when it’s this loud.

     Tightening her grip on the trolley’s handle, she responds with an, “I miss you, too.”

     Promises of staying away are best upheld because they’re the smarter option, the safer option, but when she’s back in the Devildom, she‘s compelled to see him again. Barbatos directs her to his study, knocking on the door before he leaves her by the room just as Lord Diavolo lets her in.

     The wind is knocked right out of her chest when he scoops her into a tight hug and she eases into his arms, burying her face into his chest. He smells faintly of warm spice and agarwood, of a familiarity she’s sorely longed for.

     “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers, the hint of a tremble in his voice.

     “I am, too.”

     Promises of subtlety is a given, she believes, but he hasn’t much thought for it when he clasps a golden bracelet onto her wrist. It is a simple chain, studded with tiny opals, and much too lavish for someone who’s come here as an exchange student.

     “This is a little excessive, don’t you think?” she asks, raising a brow as she fiddles with the accessory, to which he frowns.

     “Do you not like it?” he inquires and she shakes her head.

     “No, I do,” she assures, and she really does. It’s a beautiful piece of jewellery, it’s just that, “I’m not quite sure if I’m so deserving of such things.”

     At that, he takes her hand, pulling her a little closer. “You are,” he affirms softly, gently lacing his fingers with hers. “Let me be a little selfish.”

     She chuckles. “You’re being selfish by giving me a gift?”

     “No,” he replies as he levels her with a crackling, sparking gaze and her heart skips a beat. “I’m being selfish because I want you to myself.”

     Promises of indulgence are what she believes to be a demon’s domain, but he simply holds her in his arms most nights, content with the simple pleasure of having her there with him, of talking to her, of hearing her say his name without the formalities.

     “You’re not anything like I thought a demon would be,” she muses as he hugs her tighter from behind, letting her head rest on the line of his shoulder.

     He chuckles, pressing his lips to hers sweetly, briefly. “No?”

     “I expected them to be a little more ...” she trails off in search for a word, then, “churlish.”

     “I can be,” he mumbles while he lazily nibbles at her ear, patterns kisses into her jaw and the exposed column of her neck. “I’m just being polite.”

     She hums. “Maybe.”

     “You don’t think so?”

     “No,” she responds with a peck to his cheek, hand coming up to the side of his head, pulling him closer against her. “I think you’re just a touch holy.”

     His skims her skin with tongue and teeth, breaths warm, chuckling as he does. “You’re bold to say that to the Prince of Hell.”

     Promises of a Lord unshaken is what she believes the demons see, but behind all the closed doors, he bares his vulnerability to her against the starless, perpetual nights.

     “Do you want to talk, Diavolo?” she asks. He’s silent for a moment before he offers his hand to her. She takes it and he pulls her to his side, letting his arm drape down to hold her at her waist.

     Overlooking the city sprawled under him, he sighs. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing,” he confesses under his breath, the uncertainty wavering his voice. “I want peace between all the realms, but do they? Do my people?”

     "You don’t think they want that?”

     “We’re demons. War is within our very nature,” he states simply, pressing her a little closer to him. “A few of us are fallen angels, others human, but most demons were born here, and all of us are vengeful, resentful creatures,” he murmurs; she says nothing. “The fallen angels want nothing to do with the Celestial Realm, the human-turned-demons carry over their hate and the rest of us have just always had a taste for destruction.

     “For most of us, we’ve always felt like the two worlds looked at us with nothing but contempt. When Heaven smites an angel unruly, they’re punished into being a devil; when humans talk about eternal torture, we’re the very picture of it. Demons are a proud folk, we give back the respect we’ve been shown, but when everyone has only ever hated us, what is there to be but bitter? And the cycle keeps going, it has for the last thousands of centuries.”

     “I’m sorry,” is all she can offer and he chuckles.

     “Please, it’s alright,” he assures with a smile, though it’s wearied with the burdens of a leader. “I’m just ... wondering.”

     She isn’t sure what to say to him, if she can even comfort him. She’s no angel, or demon, and even as a human, she’s never been a particular occult; she’s just an exchange student who lacks understanding of the tension’s nuance.

     “Look, hey,” she starts, “I know I’m not the best person to say it, but your people respect you. They might squabble with Heaven or us humans, but they’ve put their trust in you; otherwise, in all honesty, I think they’d have just eaten me and Solomon alive.”

     He cracks a small, tiny smile at that.

     “You needed mutual agreement between all the realms for this exchange program, and you did it. If that tells me anything, it’s that they’re probably tired of all the fighting, too,” she surmises. He laughs, just barely, before he bends down to kiss her forehead, letting it linger.

     When he pulls away, he says, “Thank you, that helped.”

     “Did it?”

     He hums. “A little,” he responds, loosening his grip on her. “I need to be alone for a while, is that okay?”

     “Take all the time,” she answers. Placing a quick kiss onto his cheek, she turns on her heel and walks away. Comforting demon royalty isn’t something she’s good at, and maybe she never will be, but space? Space is something she can give him.

     Promises of ‘unto death do us part’ is tradition, the idea of a romance that spans the fire of life until it’s snuffed out by a swing of the scythe, but she believes that mortality is fickle to him. A being of a thousand years that will live on for a thousand more, and she fills in the mere potential century; a year for him is a decade for her.

     Yet here he is, knotting the string of his life to her in promise. “Make a pact with me,” he declares, bringing her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles as though she were royalty.

     Her breath hitches. “Diavolo.”

     “Let me be yours,” the demon pleads, yearns, longs and she’s a little taken aback by the openness of it all.

     “You don’t have to,” she says but he surges, drawing her in.

     “I want to,” he asserts, unyielding, though she’s still unconvinced.

     An act of binding. That’s what it means to be tied down to a contract, and she knows full well what the consequences are, for the both of them, should any of them trespass their terms. With the seven brothers, she did as the situation demanded, but with Diavolo, there’s absolutely nothing that warrants it.

     He seems to sense her unease, because he squeezes her hand, brings her closer. “It’ll be fine,” he assures; “Let me show you what you mean to me.”

     “I know where I stand with you,” she tells him as she raises a hand to cup his cheek.

     “Do you?” he asks in rhetoric, pressing his lips against her pulse, eyes locking onto hers. “You needn’t ask and I’d gladly give a century of my life for you, freely offer you my soul, and even if you love me less, leave me for a human, I’d regret none of it.”

     She swallows his words when he presses his lips to hers, wholly engulfed by the sincerity of it all. Gentle as always, tender as always, and none of the demon she’d thought he’d be, his hand coming up to caress her face. He leaves her lightheaded, breathless, forehead touching hers, the warmth between them near unbearable.

     “I trust you, utterly and entirely; let me show you that I do,” he murmurs and she clasps her hands behind his neck, her lips hovering above his.

     “Nothing I say will change your mind, will it?”

     He chuckles. “I’m afraid not.”

     Promises of sacrifice and loyalty, they aren’t taken lightly by the laws of a contract, but he pledges himself anyway, so readily and so staunchly she almost falters.

     In reverence, he traces the mark - his mark - that runs from her shoulder and coils around her arm, marvelling at the sight of it. “Was it painful?” he asks as he glances to her, worry underscoring his words.

     She shrugs and offers him a smile in hopes it’ll reassure him. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

     Leaning in to thumb a kiss to her clavicle, he chuckles low. “Sometimes I forget you’ve made pacts with the seven strongest demons here,” he says and the pride in his voice makes her chest swell.

     “Eight,” she corrects while she cards her fingers through his hair, trailing the curl of his horns, eliciting a quiet, pleased hum from him.

     “Eight,” he repeats in satisfaction before he lifts his head up to meet her and she, emboldened, enraptured, captures his lips in fervour.

     Agarwood and warm spice, she drinks the taste of him, smoky lapsang and carbon ashen. He spills her name into her mouth, once more into the spellbound night when she punctures a soft bite into the juncture of his neck, a hymnic praise that makes her feel nothing less of otherworldly. He almost - almost - whines when she pulls away, chuckling as she does.

     Under her, he’s nothing short of breathtaking, with topazes for eyes and vermillion hair, and dark skin marked by black, steeped in gold. Triangular patterns of red hiss around his throat, the newly formed pact pulsing with magic and she trails her fingers across them, enamoured.

     “You’re beautiful,” she finds herself professing and he lets out a quiet laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing under her touch, the sound reverberating.

     “I’m all yours,” he surrenders and she’s touched, honoured by the sincerity of his proclamation. “I will be until you say I no longer am.”

     “And I, yours,” she promises before she laces her fingers with his and kisses him once more.

[suraanahita]

Who are the Yazatas?

••••

“Lit. ‘adorable ones', a created spiritual being, worthy of being honored or praised. Like the Amesha Spentas they personify abstract ideas and virtues, or concrete objects of nature. The Yazatas are ever trying to help people, and protect us from evil.” (avesta.org)

••••

“Yaz” dérives itself from Indo-European “yeh₂ǵ”/“yag”; to hold something as sacred or holy/revere it faithfully. To worship it fully. The cognate in Sanskrit would be “Yaj”. Yajatá, worthy to be worshipped, yájati, he who “sacrifices”, yajñá, “sacrifice” (rite of devotion).

“Yaz” itself means “to adore, to praise or worship, to honour.” To love something fully and dedicate yourself to it. To revere.

In Old Persian “yad” means to hold something as closely dear and powerful. It appears often next to “baga” which is another designation for an Ahura, the divine gods (there is a month on the Achaemenian calander... “bagayadiš”, worship fo the bagas/auspicious gods). “Baga” is related to Slavic “Bog”, Sanskrit “Bhaga”;“Lord”, “to give Fortune/Wealth”.

It is their good-hearted nature that inspires love within our souls and thus, we consider the Yazatas “worthy of worship”.

In Yasna 6.13 we have yazamaide, “to be honouring ‘X’ as holy and divine” – as very special. In Y 34.6 there is “yazemnascā” which I’ll simplify with it’s root “yazem-”. It denotes the life or revitalization received after worship of Mazdā, and most importantly the other Yazatas themselves.

So now, what does Yazata truly mean? One can see it in many ways! Those worthy of worship, the ones considered holiest, or (and my favourite), the adorable gods or powers.

They are “adorable” in the sense of the adoration people deeply have for them and that they too have for the world. They are innocent and incorruptible.

In the Avesta they are noted for their protective or guardian like-personas; Mithra the protector of Truth and upholder of Oath/divine friendship, Atar of the Holy Fire, the Ahuranis of the pure rivers or waters, Anahita of the Ābān, Sraosha of a just conscience, Akshti of deep peace, Tushnamaiti who is the inner development of soul (meditative thought), Airyaman as true brotherhood and healing of sickness, Daena of “insight” (the conscious mind/revelation), and so on. Their loving and spiritual natures help and guide us and protect the universe. They are not malicious or ill-willed.

In fact, they are already called “masters of truth”; or “Ashavans”

Since our goal is also to be this, in a way you could say we aspire to be like the Yazatas as well

We worship the Yazads due to their innately good/virtuous nature, and because we wish to invoke in us that same god-hood they possess

They are also always seen to be described as “full of life”, or vigorous in the texts as well. For example, we see the word “yazūm” as meaning “most energetic, youthful, young”. For the terms “Ahura” and “Asura”, it derives from ahū or ásu, a vitalizing life-force, power to manifest or ‘come to life’ (i.e as animated animators) aka existence. These are life-giving forces, creators and benefactors.

The difference between these gods and the demons/daevas is that, while the demons may be real, they are dead and lifeless and do not promote growth. Nothing comes from them, they suck the light out of everything in an attempt to fill their own voids. Daevas are deities who “fell” due to their arrogant and prideful nature in that they sided with Ahriman/Aka Manah (evil mind/spirit) and chose ‘worse thought’.

So, in the Zoroastrian creed we proclaim: “I curse the daevas!”. They attempt to poison creation and remain sickly due to their lack of goodness and alliance with Angra Mainyu (the restrictive deteriorative mentality)... They are the propagators of Druj and violence.

••••

“I announce and carry out this Yasna (worship) for all the masters of Asha, and for all the yazatas, the beneficent, who dispose of all aright, for those both heavenly and earthly, who are worthy of worship and glorification in accordance with the highest truth (Asha Vahishta).” [Y 1.19]

••••

All the Yazatas are given praise by Zarathustra and described eloquently, such as the star Tishtrya. It is not surprising to find said Yazatas usually written upholding the cosmic order with their assigned duties and virtues, written about with adoration in a deeply poetic fashion. They play a part in creation and the universe as a whole.

Now these forces don’t serve under Ahura Mazda. They are part of Mazda and are in alliance with him (“Mazda and ye other Ahuras”). They are like his Qualities, or perhaps even his children, they emanate from Mazda and stand by God’s side. Although this perception may differ for others. I would like to clarify that it is important to revere them fully as their own individual divine forces too, just as Ohrmazd envisioned by manifesting them in the first place…

The Yazatas emanate from Ahura Mazda but are worthy of veneration just as Ohrmazd is, and in many instances Ohrmazd performs Yasna (worship) to them when humans have failed to do so.

They are the pulses of beauty and life and all that is good in the world; the ones that deserve to be acknowledged. The primal spirits of Truth and pure Consciousness.

——

Something interesting to note is that there is no full equivalent of Ahura Mazda in the early Vedic texts (Rigveda to be exact). The closest thing would be “ásurasya māyáyā”, aka “Magic of the Asuras” (or their - literally - “mind-powers” as One). I just wanted to include this because it helps display a relationship between the Yazads and Ohrmazd. There is a unity, but also a plurality among them (unique in their own right).

——

Another thing, on the topic of “monotheism” and the relation with these lovely god-powers: remember that most of the Yazatas/Ahuras stem from PIIr mythology. If Zoroastrianism was 100% monotheistic then it already has become sort of heretical as it is now using old gods and goddesses as “angels” in its religion (re-purposing them). Monotheistic religions don’t do this.

——

The Yazatas are the awe-inspiring, truth upholding, life bestowing energies manifest from the supreme source. Like the stars who emerge like jewels embedded in the dark sky, we can appreciate them as distinct and colourful divinities. We ascribe to them and think, speak, and act justly and well.

Adored by us like one adores the land they live on or the people they love. The indestructible, lively, sweet god-powers that we come to know the world by. So I reject all the daevas, I reject their mannerisms and tendencies and I champion the Yazatas who are here for good.

Edit ->

The myths involving them invoke in us various types of wisdom. Like Tishtrya, who’s relation with Arash/Erekhsha (the most noble of archers) displays the need to target our own energies for the good of all (the people and the land we live on).

I also didn’t add or mention this, but: “Ahura” is usually translated as “Lord”/“Lordship” because they have the ability to bring life to something (have control or power to take action/rule). These are spirits of life. And ultimately, we praise that which is life-affirming and alive. Yazads then are clearly real, animated divinities that are able to cause change and progress (compared to the stagnated daevas) and who give that spark of energy into our world/selves.

Very much conscious and spiritual!

.

.

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Edit Part 2:

I changed/removed some parts of this post. At the time I was still monotheistically leaning… now I can safely say, that no ‘-ism’ correctly defines the religion, although aspects of dualism, polytheism, and monism are intertwined and can be used as meaningful descriptors concerning our cosmology, etc. :) The focal point is simply Aša/Arta, cosmic order, that which our divinities flow around.

[beyond-far-horizons]

The Theme of Love, William Blake, DMC 5 and the fate of the Sons of Sparda

I’ve always loved symbolism and literary references in my favourite stories so I’m ecstatic to see the incredible William Blake join Dante Alighieri as a major influence on the Devil May Cry series. 

Is before the game’s release too early to do some meta? Of course not!

So let’s dig deeper and see what possible plot points or themes we can glean from Blake’s work and other symbolism for what the dev team have said will be the conclusion for the ‘Sons of Sparda’

Spoilers abound - read at your own risk!

William Blake was a 18th Century English poet, artist and mystic who created his own complex religious mythology for his works. Sadly not widely known or respected at the time, he nevertheless had an increasingly powerful influence on the arts. 

The main themes Blake grappled with were the hypocrisy of the Christian Church against what he saw as the natural forces of the imagination and sexuality. He was also very concerned with the effects of the Industrial Revolution on society, especially on the poor. 

So he’s a good guy, but how does this relate to the Sons of Sparda? 

Vergil and Urizen

The big bad of Blake’s mythology as most of you know by now is a god-like figure called Urizen. Blake hints that Urizen is the Christian/Abrahamic God but he is most similar to the gnostic Demiurge figure and represents according to Wikipedia ‘ Urizen is the embodiment of conventional reason and law.’

Now who do we know who puts cold logic above emotions?

‘He is said to represent the Heavenly host, but he experiences a Satanic fall in that he desired to rule. He is motivated by his pride and becomes a hypocrite. When Albion asks for him, Urizen refuses and hides, which causes him to experience his fall. After his fall, Urizen set about creating the material world and his jealousy of mankind brought forth both Wrath and Justice.[4] Wikipedia

Urizen being cast out from Eternity. Book of Urizen

Guys, it even says ‘motivated by pride’, what more do you want? More than this, Vergil does literally fall, unable to accept his loss to Dante and the path of emotion and honour Dante represents - the true inheritor of their parents’ will.

 Despite Vergil’s coldness, he is filled underneath with anger - 

‘What defines Vergil as a character to me is that while he seems like the perfect samurai in his very calm and calculated demeanor, you can always sense the simmering intensity and even rage.’ Dan Southworth

Yet he also exhibits a strange sense of justice such as refusing to stab Dante in the back as Nelo Angelo and pride in being a Son of Sparda TM. 

In DMC 5 Urizen is described as a newly ascendent, powerful demon who seeks to use the Demon Tree to become king over the Demon World and (presumably via his actions in Red Grave City) merge it with the Human World. It’s been pretty much confirmed that Vergil is big bad Urizen in some form - from Dan Southworth’s re-pitched voice, Urizen’s looks - the blue colouring and spiky hair -  and V’s assertion that Urizen is the Cloaked Man who stole Yamato - Vergil’s sword and who also has Dan’s voice and Corrupted Vergil’s looks. Also his scheme the same power grab Vergil tried in DMC 3 and the manga.

This being said, what does it tell us about Vergil’s motivation (sorry) in DMC 5? For this we need to look at the rest of the clues...

The Poison Tree 

DMC 5 starts with the roots of the Demon Tree ‘Qliphoth’ invading Red Grave City and bringing with it a hoard of demons. It also seems to use the population’s blood as an energy source creating a demonic ‘fruit’ at its source that will grant the power to rule the Demon World according to demon Goliath. 

This relates to Blake's poem "A Poison Tree" where, through suppression of anger, the protagonist’s rage grows like a tree and bears a fruit that kills his foe.  

‘The allegory within the poem emphasizes that when a person hides or denies their emotions, they will become poisoned with bitterness and more vengefulness.’

https://www.enotes.com/homework-help/what-theme-poem-poison-tree-thank-you-144241

Again who do we know hides or denies their emotions? Given how closely the dev team are using Blake’s work this implies that Vergil as Urizen in some form has become consumed with bitterness and vengence, something we already saw from him in DMC 3. Added to this is his loss of pride at being the slave and puppet of his mother’s killer (Mundus) and being defeated by Dante a second time in DMC 1. We see this callousness in the way he treats Nero - his only child who he’s never met and Dante again in front of the tree. 

(Interestingly this quote could also refer to Dante as a plot twist. I’d argue that although Dante is a lot freer with his emotions he perhaps hasn’t dealt fully with the rage and pain that life has dealt him - what do you think?)

Another interesting note is the word ‘Qliphoth’ which comes from Jewish mystic branch Kabbalah and means - 

‘literally "Peels", "Shells" or "Husks" (from singular: קְלִפָּה‬ qlippah "Husk"),[2] are the representation of evil or impure spiritual forces in Jewish mysticism, the polar opposites of the holy Sefirot.[3]’ 

The Sefirot are emmanations of the Divine that manifest into this world and the pattern they are depicted in is also like a tree so the evil version makes the ‘Qliphoth’ a metaphysical demonic tree.

If we look at Urizen he looks like tree-like husk encasing another figure, connecting them to this tree. Trailers and promo material have also shown people encased in husks feeding the tree and the theme is repeated with Cavaliere Angelo being powered by Trish.

Does this hint that Vergil’s true nature is being obscured by Urizen or that, like in DMC 3 his pride and lust for power still obscure his caring side like the husks in Kabbalah?

In a Korean interview the dev team said DMC 5 will return to DMC 1′s theme of love (something I’m absolutely crazy about.) Sparda’s choice to protect humanity and love a human woman, Eva’s sacrifice for her sons and Dante and Vergil literally embodying the two human ways of dealing with the pain of that trauma have always been the most captivating aspect for me. Hopefully this means we will finally get the conclusion we lacked from DMC 1 and DMC 3 to that essential dilemma  - is the best way of life via compassion and altruism or domination and control via dispassionate reason? 

Or maybe a combo of both?

Love, Lust and Nero’s Mother

The DMC team have been remarkably coy about Nero’s mother which has always irritated me. It fridges another mother/lover character as well as denying us juicy( and I’d argue) essential story details aka why Captain ‘I Hate Humanity and Repress My Emotions’ would ever deign to sleep with a human.

But since the Korean interview hints at the theme of love perhaps we will get an insight at last, especially if we get the long awaited confrontation between father and son. 

Blake’s writing gives us an interesting hint to this. In his mythos Urizen’s female counterpart is Ahania who stands for pleasure and the desire for intelligence. They have many children including a rebellious son called Fuzon who fights against his father’s repressive ways (Nero anyone?). But the crucial part is Urizen separating himself from Ahania because he believes pleasure is sinful or limiting - just as Vergil separated himself from human desires and emotions because he thought of them as weak. But also like Vergil, Urizen becomes weaker as a result, losing his intuition, for the path to Divine Wisdom accord to Blake was passion and reason - something Dante grew into, becoming more balanced and mature as the series has progressed.

It wouldn’t surprise me if we get some callous remark from Vergil about Nero’s mother at first - was he with her out of lust which disgusted him afterwards (wasn’t Nero’s mother hinted at being a prostitute?), or was it an experiment as someone else has suggested to see if he could recreate Sparda’s power via his connection with Eva or ven some creepy deal with the Order of the Sword to continue Sparda’s bloodline despite his intention to raise Temen-ni-gru and show them ‘this devil’s power’?

Whatever he says it will cause more of a rift, but I believe at the end Vergil will be forced to confront her importance even just as the mother of his child, along with other significant figures like Nero, Dante and Eva.

Nero and Urizen’s son Fuzon

"1: Fuzon, on a chariot iron-wing'd On spiked flames rose; his hot visage Flam'd furious! sparkles his hair & beard Shot down his wide bosom and shoulders. On clouds of smoke rages his chariot And his right hand burns red in its cloud Moulding into a vast globe, his wrath As the thunder-stone is moulded. Son of Urizens silent burnings

Blake

‘As the element of fire, the element symbolizing the energy Urizen wishes to subdue, Fuzon rebels against Urizen...battling him for control of the world’ Fuzon Wikipedia

This sounds much like Nero’s reckless and impassioned battle with DMC’s Urizen for control of the Human World. 

Unfortunately for Fuzon he is eventually defeated by his father and crucified on the Tree of Mystery  - yet another powerful tree symbol.

This is not looking good for Nero...but since Blake’s works develop, the element of passionate rebellion and the quest for the reunion of reason and imaginative emotion continue and I can’t see Nero dying at the end of DMC 5 so perhaps there will be a resurrection of sorts?

Dante and Luvah/Orc

But where does Dante figure in all of this? Can Blake’s mythology give us some potential answers? He does in the double figure of Luvah/Orc (no, not that sort of orc...)

Orc. William Blake

As Luvah - ‘he represents love, passion, and rebellious energy..’ he is also known ‘as the Prince of Love, and his name may be connected to the word "lover". Love is the supreme emotion, and it is connected to all others, including hate...his fallen form is Orc. Throughout Blake's mythological system, he is opposed to Urizen, the representation of reason.’

Orc is also ‘the embodiment of rebellion, and stands opposed to Urizen, the embodiment of tradition...’ He is a ‘"Lover of Wild Rebellion, and transgressor of God's Law"... Orcus is also the Latin word for Hell, and Orc is presented as a rebellious, Luciferian character.’

We can see Dante’s human and demonic aspects in these quotes.

Urizen and Luvah/Orc engage in a complex battle across the cycle of ages as a metaphor for the conflict between reason and the emotions - just like Dante and Vergil. He also gets crucified to a tree (not looking good for Dante either then...) but resurrects in various forms including (Blake being a Christian) Jesus. In this resurrected form Urizen is afraid of the new Luvah  - perhaps in DMC terms this is when we see Dante’s Majin form? Either way I think both Nero and Dante are going to be called on to make some sort of sacrifice fighting Vergil as Urizen, hopefully to bring him back to the light and free him from the evil husk of hatred.

Healing the Division

‘Later in Vala, Orc describes the divided aspects of the soul, which, in Blake's mythological system, God has a twofold essence that is capable of good and evil. This idea parallels Blake's personal belief that there was a division within himself..’.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orc_(Blake)

The symbolism of divided aspects of God and the soul within Blake’s system hark back again to the division between Dante and Vergil and Vergil and Nero. In the manga Vergil reflects on Dante and him being one being split in two. The aspects of their all-powerful father were also split between them as Sparda was also known as being calm like Vergil and rebellious like Dante as reflected in his two swords given to each respective son. And of course there’s that ‘pesky’ human nature from Eva.

Nero too has grown into his own, arguably as some have said being more like Sparda than either of his sons, willing to sacrifice his power because of his love for a human and protect other humans for her sake. Hopefully as hinted in both the Korean interview, the works of Blake and the core of Devil May Cry, it will be the theme of Love that will finally bring the family of Sparda together and heal at long last that division.

V and the Poetry of Blake

Despite being the mouthpiece for a lot of Blake’s poetry I’m not going to talk much about V except to refer you to this great post from la-vita which lists alot of his quotes.

https://la-vita.tumblr.com/post/182731950816/two-of-the-poems-v-reads-during-battle

It says that V’s book may refer to the ‘V’ of DMC V, Blake’s Plate 5 he is reading, however...

‘Urizen is described as having multiple books: Gold, Silver, Iron, and Brass. They represent science, love, war, and sociology, which are four aspects of life.’

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urizen

Hmm...

Thanks for reading if you got this far!

[shazyloren]

The Room: Chapter 50 - Being the Teenager

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710496/chapters/32504565

------------

Jon was baffled.

Theon had his mouth wide open and was stood on the other side of the hall while Robb flung chicken strips his way. He'd caught two, just missed one and yet the rest (all fifty something strips that Arya had counted) were pilling up near Theon's feet. How am I related to such idiots? He thought as his eyes rolled and he and Sansa continued their conversation over lunch about the dream she'd had in which Jon had been eaten by a Hippogriff in the third task.

"Sansa, there are many things likely to happen in the second and third task, me being eaten by a Hippogriff if not one of them" He said plainly. Sansa went to speak again, as if she was concerned that this was a possibility that could happen but Jon interrupted her. "Hippogriff don't eat humans, they can't digest us. They only eat small animals such as ferrets and squirrels and fish. The most likely thing to happen in the second and third task is that I lose because I have no clue what is going on"

"Maybe I can help?" Jon felt a shiver go down his spine as her voice made him melt. Collecting himself, he turned to see her smiling brightly. In his eye line, he just noticed Missandei was there too, but he did not care. Daenery's eyes were smiling, he couldn't help but be so fucking excited about that fact. For so long this year she'd been smiling with only her mouth that it was so good to see she was finally happy. Well, almost. They still had the task looming over them and all their head duties so who could ever really be happy with all that going on too?

But as her he remembered their kisses they'd shared since the one on Christmas day, a few small ones and other more meaningful ones. His favourite by far was when they'd been studying together and while taking a lunch break had engaged in a near fifteen minute long kiss that had completely obliterated his senses. As he remembered it, he couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto his face, it was a memory he would never forget as long as he and Daenerys lived. Which given how unprepared he was for the Second task could be any day...

What did she say? Something about help...

Jon shook his head as he watched her sit opposite him with Missandei and grab some sandwiches from the 'tuna and cucumber' pile. Her bags were already on the floor and she looked stressed about something despite the smile on her lips. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Can we talk later?" She asked looking around at prying eyes and ears, Theon and Robb noticing she'd come and sat at their table and had stopped flinging food. Jon found his heart in his mouth, every time they were around they said something really embarrassing and he'd end up having to apologise to Daenerys later on. "Who knows what Barnabas would think if I started talking about him where other could hear"

Jon understood, it was code for meet me in our room later on, the room being the room of requirement that is. They still went into the room on the odd occasion, but it was more the emotional support the room gave than anything which made it a perfect hiding place for the two of them. Since she'd revealed her story to him, she'd come to him upset  couple of times about dreams she'd had of it happening again and so they'd go to their room and just sit by the fire and cuddle. Or they'd read interesting books and dance to Celestina Warbeck music.

"Sure, I get ya" Jon said coolly but Sansa he could see, out of the corner of his eye, was looking at him as if he'd just tried to sniff lacewing flies under her nose. He didn't look at the redhead, she was such a snoop she'd probably ask him a million questions the next time ti was just the two of them. "How's the library?"

"Insufferable" She sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I get that nothing of note happens in this school in secret without it being broadcast to the entire populous within hours. However, will people get bored of talking about us eventually? It's all 'I saw them kissing while they were suppose to be patrolling the corridors' and 'I thought they hated each other'. I mean, firstly, I don't break school rules while working, I take patrolling very seriously. Secondly, do they have better things to do with their lives then spread gossip?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, they'll get bored and move onto Arya and William sooner or later" Sansa snickered as everyone else sat down. "I heard Margaery Tyrell saying she caught them practising kissing in the greenhouses. Not my first choice if I'm honest"

"I was not kissing him, that's disgusting!" Arya pretended to make retching noises.

"Who would kiss a pip-squeak like you?" Gendry had suddenly appeared and Sansa, leaping up like she'd suddenly been possessed by a demon flapped her arms around muttering something about Divination study. Arya, flushed redder than the tomatoes in Jon's sandwich.

Jon was confused by the sudden chain of events that had occurred. Daenerys had arrived looking beautiful (which was the only thing he actually cared about), Arya had been kissing boys? To be honest, Jon was surprised at this more than mad as she'd always described men and boys as scum of the universe. Gendry, the only Hufflepuff friend he had, had turned up and insulted his sister before taking his other sister away for Divination study. If Theon started singing and if Robb started doing his homework he wouldn't actually be surprised.

"I'm not a pip-squeak!" Arya growled.

"Sure thing, pip-squeak" Gendry winked before nodding at Jon as a small acknowledgement of him being sat there. Arya's fists were while as her shoulders hunched up and she glared at the Hufflepuff until both he and Sansa left. Jon turned to look at his sister who shoved her plate of food away and began to stalk off angrily towards the exit.

"Can anyone tell me what just happened?" Jon said furrowing his brow.

"Women" Robb laughed as he shoved and entire ham and pickle sandwich into his mouth in one. Missandei, who had remained quiet at this point had a vivid reaction to this. She scrunched her nose up and turned away as if she did not know anyone currently on the table. Jon didn't blame her, he was wondering if he should do that himself. There was a small silence then where Jon wondered about the nature of Arya's relationship with William.

He better not be running his slimy, snivelling hands over her, Jon thought abruptly. He shocked himself with this thought, like Arya would let him do that?

"So, Daenerys" Jon heard Theon say and suddenly, anger flared in him. He knew what was going to happen, and as his eyes traced Daenerys, she did too. Theon looked like he was going to regret what he said, and he was so right. "I heard you two have been making out on patrol, a little unprofessional of you don't you think?"

"Say that again and I'll turn you into a lampshade" Daenerys snarled between mouthfuls of her sandwich. Jon knew this game, it was best not to get involved just yet. They'd both fling insults at each other before Daenerys indeed did the thing she'd threatened to do. She always turned him back or undid the curse she put on him, but just once, Jon wouldn't mind if she left it on there as a punishment for being rude.

Jon tuned out the arguing, favouring his Daily Prophet while he ate lunch. Nothing new seemed to be happening in the wizarding world, the prophet hadn't even reported Viserys being fired by Minister Lannister. But that would change once everything came out. The fact it still hadn't happened worried Jon a little bit, but Professor Lannister had showed him the process off authenticating a memory. It was delicate work and while Veritaserum would make him confess, they needed the memories to make the courts take the case on to be able to get him to confess in the first place.

The news in the prophet of the day was about the lead singer of popular folk band 'The Brotherhood' having taken a religious sabbatical following the end of their forth world tour and a trip to wizarding rehab. Apparently he said that while high on muggle drug, Cannabis, he was approached by one of their gods and asked to convert. There was no word on what it meant for the hugely popular band but given the way the article was written the writer, one Lancel Sparrow, he wasn't too happy about this development.

There was also news of a weird new disease been discovered by a Senior Healer at St. Mungo's. The patient was in quarantine while the heals there worked around the clock to find a cure. There was news of scaling and puss leaking in this new disease and Jon felt queasy for reading while eating, so he skipped to the sports section. The Holy-head harpies had gone the entire season undefeated now and one more win would secure them the championship this season. Their star player, the beater, Brienne Tarth, had crushed the opposition with a total of two hundred and twelve successful redirected bludgers at opponents, more than any other player in one season.

Jon was distracted from his prophet by the sound of hooting and screeching. Mail was here, and so, with it came the fear of a letter from home of the punching incident. Professor Lannister had said he'd written home but the response had not come back yet. Jon had written to them explaining his side of the story and everything that led up to him breaking the pricks jaw.

And so, as he looked up and saw Hodor, the family owl, carrying four letters, he inwardly cursed. Robb, Sansa, Arya AND him. "Drat to Merlin in hell"

"What's your problem?" Daenerys chuckled at him cursing.

"Letter from home" Jon grumbled. "Not had one yet since the Joffrey incident"

They had all got a letter on Christmas day, a generic one for the whole family along with their presents but Jon had not really been fussed either way. But suddenly, he felt like since he'd been head he'd been so good with his anger and his immaturity that this was a step back for him. His sudden rage was against the grain of the year he'd had. Daenerys, understood and all she said was "oh".

The letters landed and he passed Robb's over to him. Keeping Arya and Sansa's letter to give to them later, he opened his with a ferocity and speed he'd never had before. Opening the pages which smelt of their study back home, he read it.

Son,

I have received your letter as well as an interesting open from Professor Lannister. He explained that his nephew, while very much indeed a dismal person at best, you still went against school rules and caused him to have a night in the hospital wing. The story from both sides is not very differing and while I understand your motivations it was indeed reckless of you to jeopardise your position as Head Boy that you've earned.

However, the letter did bring a few things to light which you had not stated before which was your relationship with Miss. Targaryen. When you said at the beginning of the school year that you'd both been made head boy and girl, I feared the worst. At the least I was expecting a letter home every week saying you'd killed each other or worse both been expelled!

But none of this has happened, and I wonder what the cause of this is? Could it possibly be that you are actually now friends with Miss. Targaryen, the very girl you've been competing with for four years? The very girl who also happens to be a Hogwarts champion along with you at this years Triwizard Tournament? The world works in ways I cannot understand, and whatever the reason for this sudden kinship I encourage it.

But please son, try not to punch anyone else in the face so hard they break their jaw. Even if they deserve it!

This brings me to my next point, we'll be coming to the Second Task. I regret not being there for the First one, particularly as I'm on the school board but I did not know how Catelyn would react. If we went, we'd be cheering you on, and as you know, she still has not forgiven me for you.

But as I say many times, you are my son. You may not have my name, but you have my blood, and I will be coming to support you!

All the best,

Father.

Jon exhaled coolly as he realised he got away with murder pretty much. He was expecting a lot worse from that letter, but he had been lucky. However, the news that he was indeed coming to see his second task just meant he had more pressure on himself to do well and he did not like that. Daenerys' honey voice pulled him out of the letter. "All good?"

"Slap on the wrist" Jon sighed, folding the letter up and putting it into his bag. He returned to his lunch and looked as Daenerys glanced around at the owls. "Anything for you?"

"No, but that's a good thing" She changed the subject. "So, meeting today. You got the agenda ready?"

"Always, I wanted to bring up the notepads again. People are not being specific enough with the detail, also a few are abusing the power to write down people they hate" Jon said as he pulled out his own notepad and began writing down a few additional things on the paper. "I mean we all want to write Joffrey down for every crime under the sun but the past few weeks he's actually kept to himself"

"You're right" Daenerys pulled her own notepad out, but Jon recognised it as the one that he uses to commune with her when they had just head business to talk about when they didn't want anyone else to read it. She winked at him before writing something down on her notepad. Jon sideways glanced at Robb who was still reading his letter from home and Theon had gone over to the Slytherin table to give his sister her letter.

He took his notepad out and read the message that came through to him. You look very handsome with your hair down and the curls out.

Jon felt his eyes widen. What was he supposed to say back? Daenerys hair was not in a braid today, but it was running free and loose all over the place. He could compliment it, or would he just be copying? And did he write a short sentence or did he write something detailed? There wasn't a manual for this, that was for sure! He sighed and wrote what came to mind.

Your voice is like honey and your hair is like silver clouds.

Alright poet, calm down.

Sorry, your hair is nice too.

Thank you, you want to kiss later?

Do you need to ask me?

Always, you might change your mind and go back to hating me. Please don't ever do that, I think we're too involved for that to not and well if it was the case.

Daenerys, I could live to be a hundred and I'd still care for you. But yes, after our meeting, we can have a kiss.

Do you feel weird planning this out on a notepad?

You're the one who asked.

True, see you at four for meeting. X]

Suddenly, Daenerys got out of her seat and collected her things. Jon blinked as he watched her swiftly leave and her hair trail down her back. It was then he noticed her bottom, it was curvy and round, and in her jeans it looked like a perfect peach. He realised however, that if she knew he was looking at her bottom she'd get nervous and scared and run off which was understandable given everything that happened. So he tore his eyes away and tried to focus on what he had to do before the meeting.

What did he have to do?

With Daenerys around he didn't know anything anymore, she was his one and only focus.

Screw school.

[vizkopa]

Celestial (FallenAngel!Doflamingo x Reader) CHAPTER 3

Chapter 3: Heavenly Demon ~

“Is this really necessary?” God, you could easily get lost in those impossible blue eyes. Well, you could have if they weren’t currently regarding you with such blatant contempt. Maybe it was because, at present, you had the man those eyes belonged to bound to a chair in your kitchen. Oh, I am definitely going to hell for this… “For my peace of mind, yes,” you sighed, checking the ropes for the third time. He flexed his wrists and the knots groaned ominously, but didn’t break. You nodded in satisfaction, silently thanking your father for all the camping trips he had taken you on all those years ago. He’d make you tie the knots over and over until you got them right, testing you every chance he got. “You never know when a well tied knot will come in handy! he’d said. You bet he never had this in mind. “If I was at full power, you would be paying for this,” the angel hissed.

“Why, what happened to your power?” It was a genuine question, but his face looked as if you had just insulted him, his mother and his cat. He clenched his jaw shut, the vein in his forehead throbbing formidably. You drew a deep breath. “Fine, let’s try another question. Who the hell are you?” He hesitated for a moment, but then his eyes drifted to the handgun on the table and he relented. “My name is Dophiel, also called Jophiel, Iofiel and Zophiel.” You waited for a moment before realising he wasn’t going to elaborate. Were those names supposed to mean something to you? “Ohhh-kay, Doffy then, what are you?” He glared at you. “An angel.” “As in… fluffy wings, halo, the whole shebang?” “The whole shebang,” he said with a deadpan look and a perfect monotone. “So, where are your wings now?” He ground his teeth. “They took them from me,” he hissed. “‘They’ meaning…?” “My father and brothers.” “Why?” It was such a simple question, but you already knew the answer would be far more complicated than you could ever anticipate. “Because that’s what they do to angels who rebel against the word of God.” For some reason, it was that word that did it. ‘God’. A word that had no place in the vocabulary of a woman of science such as yourself. You sat down heavily in a chair opposite him and let out a long, low whistle. This was too much all at once, but your inquisitive mind would not allow you to give up now. You closed your eyes for a moment and focused on your breathing, forcing it back to a slow and even rhythm. It was a trick you often used when you found yourself overwhelmed. Your eyes snapped open and immediately you were back to your cool, calm and inquisitive self. “Why did you rebel?” You felt a small swell of pride when your voice didn’t quaver. “That’s not important. Is this interrogation over?” You still had a million questions swirling around in your head you wanted to ask him. His answers had only brought more. You held up a hand. “Wait a second, let me try to get my head around this. You disobeyed your father, God, and he took you wings and your powers and kicked you out of Heaven?” you said, counting off the points on your fingers. He simply nodded. “I thought ‘God’ was supposed to be forgiving?” “Maybe when it comes to humans, his favourite children.” His voice was low and bitter. “But we angels were designed to obey. To him, we are soldiers first and children second.” “That’s harsh.” “I don’t want your sympathy,” he snapped. You had almost been moved by his story, but now, your expression hardened. “I wasn’t offering it. If you ask me, I can see why he wanted you gone. You have absolutely no bedside manner.” Another glare. He sure doled out a lot of those. “So, are you stuck here?” “I can’t return to heaven on my own, no. Not without my wings,” he admitted grudgingly. “Can you get them back?” “It depends.” On what exactly, he didn’t seem to feel obliged to share. “Then what now? As much as I like you tied up where you can’t hurt anyone, I can’t keep you in here forever. I have work and—” You paused, a sudden thought entering your mind. “Do angels need to eat? Pee? If I do leave you here, you won’t starve to death or anything?” “I don’t know yet, this is the first time I’ve held a corporeal form for this long,” he growled. “Wait, you mean up there,” you gestured vaguely to the ceiling, “you’re, like, a ghost or something?” “You do not possess the capability to comprehend my true form. Simply gazing upon it would render you blind, deaf and most likely dead.” You stared at him for a long moment. Surely, he was joking? “Good to know,” you choked. “No ‘gazing upon your true form’, got it. So… if I let you go, what are you going to do?” “There’s nothing I can do but wait. They will send someone to negotiate eventually. I must be here when they do.” “You can’t mean…” Your heart sank. “No. No way, you are not staying here!” “If I had any other choice, I would take it, but I don’t,” he shot back. “I’ll stay in the forest. You can pretend I don’t exist and go about your pitiful life.” “And you expect me to just return to normal after a real, honest-to-God angel crash landed in my backyard and challenged everything I believe in?” “I’m being quite generous, really.” You scoffed. “What, because you decided not to kill me? Well, aren’t you just the perfect picture of benevolence.” “And I’m sure you’re the perfect example of that human compassion I’ve heard so much about.” Oh good. The angel knows how to use sarcasm now. Stop teaching him bad habits, [Name]! “Now, are you going to release me?” He said it through his teeth, his patience finally worn thin. You stared each other down for a few long seconds. You still had so many questions. But perhaps it was for the best that you didn’t delve any further into this world. You were afraid you might lose yourself. Or worse. You let out a sigh. “Fine. But I don’t want to see you near here again.” “You have my word.” His voice was so cruel. You found it hard to believe this man came from Heaven. Just about the only thing holy about him was his body, which you knew would be sticking around in your thoughts and dreams for a long time yet. You gingerly loosened the knots and stepped as far back as you could get as he got to his feet. He glared down at you, his form hulking, towering over you. He could destroy you as easily as a child crushes an ant, powers or no. And he wanted you to know that. It was in the wicked glint of his eyes, the cruel curve of his lips. Even the way he rubbed his wrists, red and raw from the ropes, was menacing somehow. You’d sooner believe he was a demon rather than an angel. Your fingers hovered over the grip of the pistol on the table, caressing the smooth lacquered walnut. He was probably faster than you. You would probably be dead before your fingers could even close around the grip, let alone pull the trigger. But he didn’t seem to want to take that chance. With one last glance, he turned on his heel and stormed out the back door, leaving it hanging open in his wake, and you to wonder whether installing a deadbolt would be enough to keep out a demon from Heaven. It stormed that night—wild and cacophonous and torrential. The thunder shook the very foundations of the house and the lightning cracked so close overhead it sounded like a giant was hammering at your roof. You sat huddled in front of your laptop in your darkened office, feverishly consuming anything you could find on angels and other celestial beings. You read of the fall of Lucifer from Heaven, and of the Watchers who rebelled against God to take human women as wives and lovers, and of the children they begat, the Nephilim—the ‘fallen ones’—giants who wandered the Earth thousands of years ago. The Watchers, or Grigori as they were known, were described as ‘soldiers of human appearance, their size being greater than that of great giants’. You thought of when you had first laid eyes on the angel—Dophiel, he had called himself—and he had seemed to shrink before your very eyes. You thought of the size of the crater, the smouldering clearing in the forest. He had to have been a titan to have caused such destruction, such ruin. You exhaled, a long, low rush of air that had been stagnating in your lungs while you read. Is this what he was? One of these… Grigori? Or was he something else entirely? Worrying your lip between your teeth, you typed ‘Dophiel’ into the search engine. No results. Frowning to yourself, you tried to recall the other names he had listed. You made a small edit and instead searched for ‘Jophiel’. This time, a list of pages pinged into existence and you selected the first link. ‘The angel Jophiel (Hebrew: "beauty of God" or "divine beauty") is the archangel of wisdom, understanding, and judgement.’ You scoffed. “Yeah, he was real understanding earlier,” you muttered under your breath. ‘He is listed as one of the Seven Archangels, and a Great Angel Chief who leads 53 legions of Heaven’s army.’ Thunder boomed overhead, but you ignored it, frowning at the screen as you continued to read. ‘Jophiel is believed by some to be the angel who cast Adam and Eve out of Paradise—’ Your reading was interrupted by another clap of lightning and a flash of blue sparks as your screen went blank and all the lights in the house fell dark. You swore. That last bolt of lightning must have knocked out the electricity, but not before it had fried your laptop in the process. You swore again. Scrambling for your phone in the darkness, you switched on the flashlight and examined the power pack. Dead. Useless. You silently thanked God for cloud storage and then laughed at yourself because suddenly the concept of ‘thanking God’ now seemed inexplicably funny to you. You stumbled through the dark house, suddenly very aware of how loud your own breathing was without the hum of the refrigerator in the background. Slipping out into the garage that adjoined the kitchen, you searched for the breaker panel, the harsh blue light of your phone sliding over the multitude of boxes piled against the walls. The storm was much louder in the acoustic space, rain hammering at the rolling door and the cold wind whistling ominously as it crept its way through the crack beneath the door to nip at your bare ankles. You flicked the circuit breaker switch impatiently but to no success. You sighed heavily. You had a long, dark night ahead of you. And no computer to keep you company. You thought about the fallen angel, deep in the forest in the wind and the rain and the dark, and you felt a stab of sympathy. It was the briefest thing, barely a flicker, but it was there. You shook yourself before you could get caught in the feeling and decided it would be best to simply turn in for the night. But sleep was a fickle creature, and you were left tossing and turning as the storm raged outside, your thoughts always turning to the angel with the impossible blue eyes. And, finally, just as sleep began to claim you, you could have sworn you heard a voice in the thunder. You woke the next morning to clear skies and sunshine, and wonderful, glorious working electricity. You happily poured yourself a steaming mug of coffee, and sat by the window, looking out into the garden. The forest appeared significantly more ruffled after the storm, but the dark trees seemed unperturbed, silent and unmoving in the still morning air. You wondered if the angel was still out there, waiting in the cold shadow of the woods, waiting to go home. Absently, you wondered if he was hungry. You shook your head. Pfft, what do you care? you asked yourself. The guy was a jerk. If he gets hungry, he can eat grass. Nodding resolutely to yourself, you finished your coffee and went to examine the damage to your laptop. With any luck, it was just the battery that was fried, but you couldn’t know for sure until you took it in to the repair shop. You’d drop it off on your way to work and you would just have to access the day’s lesson plans and worksheets from one of the school computers. You sighed. It would probably take a few days to fix at least. So much for your little research project. Your mind was still reeling from everything you had read the night before and so many questions still burned to be answered. Perhaps you could head into work early and pick up some new reading material. The school was unnaturally quiet when you arrived, the staff parking lot almost empty of cars and the corridors silent. You knew it was still early, but you had expected a little more bustle and noise considering finals week was fast approaching. You shrugged. Maybe everyone just had a bad case of ‘Mondayitis’ this morning. You were relieved to see Robin at her usual spot behind the desk in the library. The empty halls and offices were beginning to unnerve you. She looked up from processing returns at the sound of the door swinging open, and frowned slightly as you entered. “[Name]? What are you doing here?” “Oh, I just thought I’d come in before class today to pick up some new books.” “There’s no class today.” “What do you mean? It’s Monday, isn’t it?” Horror dawned on your face. “Oh God.” You kept using that word. “Please tell me I didn’t come into work on a Sunday.” “No, not at all,” she chuckled, bringing a delicate hand to her face to hide her mouth. “Did you forget it was Spring Break, [Name]?” You froze. Well, that would explain why it’s so quiet… Only the library would be open to students for the next week. “…Must have slipped my mind.” She chuckled again. “Busy weekend?” “You have no idea.” “It wouldn’t have something to do with a certain human biology teacher now, would it?” “What? No!” you sputtered, well aware that a deep red blush was rising in your cheeks. “You didn’t call him did you.” You rubbed the back of your head and gave her a sheepish smile. “I may have, uh, forgotten… Nami is going to kill me, isn’t she?” Robin made a zipping motion over her lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t. But you know she’ll find out eventually.” You sighed. “I know. I just… Something’s come up. I don’t have time for dating right now.” “Another meteor shower that needs your attention?” “You could say that.” You wished she’d stop looking at you like that. Like she could see right through you. “Right,” she said, a hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “So what did you need? It must be important if you had to come in on a holiday.” Until then you had momentarily forgotten what you were there for. “Oh. Right. I need as many books on angels as you can give me.” Robin raised an eyebrow. “Any special reason?” “Hey, I have interests besides space, you know.” “Since when?” Since I witnessed a man fall from the sky, you wanted to say. But you didn’t much fancy being on the receiving end of Robin’s interrogation tactics. She was crafty in ways you couldn’t even imagine. You’d be blurting out your deepest darkest secrets before you even knew what was happening, and all the while she would simply watch with that infuriating smile on her face. Thankfully, you were just as skilled at avoiding her tactics as she was at employing them. The benefits of being co-workers for so long, and friends ever longer. “Since my parents…” Her face broke in an instant and suddenly she looked ashamed. “Oh, I’m so sorry [Name]. Of course. Lots of people turn to religion after the loss of a loved one.” You hadn’t, but if it got Robin off your back then, as far as she knew, you were practically devout. “Religious texts are in Non-Fiction, top shelf, last row.” “Thanks, Robin.” You pulled out a selection of books that looked promising, and threw in an old and worn copy of the Bible for good measure, before taking the pile to the front desk for scanning. Robin raised her eyebrow slightly at the selection you presented her, but chose to say nothing. When she’d finished, she waved goodbye and, though you thought you had dispelled her suspicion over your behaviour, you swear you could feel her eyes on the back of your head until the library doors closed with a click behind you. You let out a breath, clutching the pile of books tightly to your chest. You’d give anything to be able to just let this all go, to go back to your life, go on dates with Law the cute biology teacher and forget that there was a whole other world just beyond the fabric of your own. But now the illusion had been shattered, you were finding it hard to pick up the pieces. Now that your eyes had been opened, you only wanted to see more, to know more, to find the logic in it all. And now you had a week to do just that. Free time was the most dangerous thing of all to an inquisitive mind. If you really were serious about this, if you were ready to dive right in you had to be ready for the possibility that there would be no turning back. Were you ready to take that plunge?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5