#deva as the devil – who was once God's favorite

[magicaldragons]

even the devil existed once as an angel, solely in devotion to his God.

Varadha is someone who has never wanted to control Deva. Even when he tries to give him direction, it is because he knows that if he doesn't, Deva will unerringly do something for Varadha that cannot be revoked.

and Deva stands in the shadow of Varadha's brilliance only because he chooses to. Otherwise, Varadha holds Deva in equal regard to himself, as if they share the same power – Varadha loves him unconditionally.

but what happens when Deva does something that breaks free from the only rule his God ever sets?

the devil throws himself from the heavens, fleeing the presence of his God, for he'd refused to accept that humanity could come anywhere within reach of the greatness that his God, and by extent, God's angels held.

and we know – Deva would choose Varadha over anybody, seeing them as 'lesser' than Varadha is, regardless of whether Varadha himself requests for Deva to save someone else.

[the-hem]

54. The Skanda Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of Male Emissions.

The Skanda Upanishad was written in 1 BCE, and numbers 54 of 108 Upanishads. The subject matter refers to Skanda, “cum” another name for  Kartik, the Son of Siva and God of War. 

Once upon a time, there was a king named Taraksura, the “Sun Devil” who performed a thousand austerities, and after reigning in peace and happiness, qualified for a boon. The God Siva went to him and offered, “O King tell me the nature of your boon.”

“I do not want to die. No matter what happens, even thou Lord Siva, thou shalt not kill me.” 

Siva said, “Your boon is granted. Rule in good faith.” 

Taraksura became a notorious pedophile. 

There was no crime he did not commit. The people went to the temple and asked Lord Siva to revoke the boon. Siva said the promises of God unlike those of men were sacrosanct and the boon could not be revoked. 

Still, the people insisted. 

Siva finally let a big gusher go into the River and His emissions set it on fire. 

In order to prevent Herself from burning, the River took the Fire into her and produced a child, a new male god, fully grown, who leapt from from the torrent to its banks. 

The god was called Skanda, “Sperm God” after the manner of His creation. 

Skanda is also called “Sanat Kumar” The Eternal Son, and Kartik, “Splitter of Mountains”, also Krishna, “The Scourge of the Wicked.”

At His Father’s behest, the god went to Tarak. They fought, and Tarak was injured. The king was outraged. He was promised by Siva nothing would hurt him. In quite a state, he prayed to Siva, who said, “I kept my promise. It is my son, the Law Enforcer who shall kill you, not I, the Law Giver, whom you did not obey.”

Taraksura and his only friend, a massive mango tree devil named Padmasura "perfectly rotten" that produced only rotten fruits fought with Kartik.

Both were killed and the people celebrated. 

From the corpses of the tree and the fallen king came Caru the rooster, who signifies the "call of duty" and the peacock, Sarvazighra, "the fastest, faster than thought".

Kartik is shown in many forms, some have multiple heads and arms, which signify the five senses, each of which is equipped with two hands and weapons. These are used to fend off temptation, lawlessness, delusion, corruption, all the impulses that draw human beings away from their prescribed duties.

There is a contest for the largest statue of him running, the winner so far is in India:

My favorite, located in Greenbelt, Maryland is much smaller. This format, called Murugan, is flanked by His sisters, Valli "the Mother of Battlefields" and Devasena, "the Mother of Armies."

For details on the interaction between Murugan et al, read the Bhagavad Gita, where, as Krishna, he fights a man who stole an election and restores order.

Now begins the Skanda Upanishad: 

1. Om. O Mahādeva (Lord of Devas), I am indestructible through a small portion of Thy grace. I am replete with Vijñāna. I am Śiva (Bliss). What is higher than It?

Why do politicians seek immortality and then achieve only ignominy? There is no greater happiness than behavior and its root causes that lead to a penance free life. We, like the Sun Devil want to live forever and be so happy, but we want the freedom to find it inappropriately and then we get caught. 

Virtue, not Grace allows us to be indestructible. There is nothing that can injure a man of virtue, indeed he is invulnerable at all times. It is the capacity for Truth that is the most powerful of the virtues. 

2.  Truth does not shine as such on account of the display of the antaḥkaraṇa (internal organs). Through the destruction of the antaḥkaraṇa, Hari abides as Samvit (Consciousness) alone.

Antakarana is the “inner hymnal”. Through the incorporation of the Scriptures, doesn’t matter where you start, the Gospels, Torah, the Quran or Book of Mormon, the seeker after Truth will find the means to silence the singer of sinful songs, and eventually abide in Samvit, “the unified avenue”:

3. As I also am of the form of Samvit, I am without birth. What is higher than It?

We don’t need God, gods, books, or ceremonies to achieve Samvit. The instincts required for Civil Society are inborn, and now they are all written down plain to see, so instincts be damned, we are required to live in a certain way, one rife with high quality of life. 

As for all else, we need to let it all fall away:

4. All inert things being other (than Ātmā) perish like dream. That Achyuta (the indestructible or Viṣṇu), who is the seer of the conscious and the inert, is of the form of Jñāna. 

He only is Mahādeva. He only is Mahā-Hari (Mahāviṣṇu). 

He only is the Jyotis of all Jyotis (or Light of all lights). 

He only is Parameśvara. He only is Parabrahman. 

That Brahman I am. There is no doubt (about it). Jīva is Śiva. Śiva is Jīva. That Jīva is Śiva alone. Bound by husk, it is paddy; freed from husk, it is rice.

Achyuta means, “Does not leak, or drip" which means, separate  what is real from what is not and ennobled by the Divine Hymn, proceed to envelope the world in Siva Jiva, a way of life signified by extreme kindness.

The Seer of this way is verily the Agent of God, an Enforcer of the Law who bound by his duty, as bound as a grain of rice to its husk, is always successful. 

5. In like manner Jīva is bound (by karma). If karma perishes, he (Jīva) is Sadāśiva, “perennially cheerful.” 

 So long as he is bound by the bonds of karma, he is Jīva. If freed from its bonds, then he is Sadāśiva, the most kind.

Prostrations on account of Śiva who is of the form of Viṣṇu, and on account of Viṣṇu who is of the form of Śiva.

The heart of Viṣṇu is Śiva. The heart of Śiva is Viṣṇu. As I see no difference[1] (between these two), therefore to me are prosperity and life.

There is no difference—between Śiva and Keśava (Viṣṇu). The body is said to be the divine temple. The Śiva (in the body) is the God Sadāśiva[2] (in the temple).

6. Having given up the cast-off offerings of ajñāna, one should worship Him with the thought "I am He". 

7. To see (oneself) as not different (from Him) is (jñāna) wisdom.

 8. To make the mind free from sensual objects is dhyāna (meditation). The giving up of the stains of the mind is snāna (bathing). The subjugation of the senses is śouca (cleansing).

 The nectar of Brahman should be drunk. For the upkeep of the body, one should go about for alms and eat.

He should dwell alone in a solitary place without a second.

He should be with the sole thought of the non-dual One.

The wise person who conducts himself thus, attains salvation. Prostrations on account of Śrīmat Param-Jyotis (Supreme Light) abode! May prosperity and long life attend (me).

9. The nectar of Brahman should be drunk. For the upkeep of the body, one should go about for alms and eat.

The mind, like the body needs periods of stoicism in between periods of indulging. Religion is great, but not all day. 

The goal of the saint, in fact is to leave religion behind and be on Line of Sight. 

For Line of Sight to work, one must abandon all hope of being God’s master through religious precepts and occasionally let Him drive: 

10. He should dwell alone in a solitary place without a second, and just be with the sole thought of the non-dual One. 

Why the God of War admits nectar and then emits Pure Light is for the sake of removing all delusions about Salvation. Once staved off the Spirit supposedly imposes long life and prosperity: 

The wise person who conducts himself thus, attains salvation. Prostrations on account of Śrīmat Param-Jyotis (Supreme Light) abode! May prosperity and long life attend (me).

But first...the Big Battle. 

11. O Narasimha![3] O Lord of Devas! through Thy grace, persons cognize the true nature of Brahman that is unthinkable, undifferentiated, endless, and immutable, through the forms of the Gods.

Like the eye (which sees without any obstacle the things) spread in the ākāś, so the wise always see the supreme abode of Viṣṇu. Brahmans with divine eyes who are always spiritually awake, praise in diverse ways and illuminate the supreme abode of Viṣṇu. Thus is the teaching of the Vedas for salvation.

There was a king who got a boon. “Lord,” The king said, “I want to be immortal. I do not want to die of old age, not at night, not during the day. Not in a house, not outside, I do not want to be killed by a man or a god or an act of nature.” 

God said, “Sure, why not?”

The king turned into a tyrant and razed the land, savaged the people. One of whom was some queer the king had tied to a greasy pole. 

The people prayed and said, “GOD! What an asshole!” 

God said, “O, I agree.” In order to serve justice and keep the terms of the Boon, The Divine Self assumed the form of a half-man, half-lion, caused a solar eclipse, took the King into a doorway, sank his claws into his flesh and tore it right from his bones. 

The verse says “Through this Terrible Format, reveal what is believable. Show me how things really work.”  Well they aren’t working and we all know why.

No one wants to be awake or see how God is responding to the prayers of the abused, the disowned, and the desperate and their numbers are growing rapidly. Even still everyone thinks salvation is upon them:

Brahmans (saints) with divine eyes who are always spiritually awake, praise in diverse ways and illuminate the supreme abode of the Infinite.

Thus is the teaching of the Vedas for salvation.

OM TAT SAT.

HARI OM. 

[narrators-tales]

Scotch on the Rocks

The Narrator looks at the drink before them “Scotch on the rocks, eh? Burns like hell, and I think I know just the tale for you. You ever heard the story of Valamon’s fall to the hells?”

"Well, a long long time ago, in a far-off sector, there was a god. Her name was Arxeln, protector of the prime material. And as you know, gods can't have direct influence over the prime material, so Arxeln had a champion. We know their name was Valmalon, but most details of their mortal form have been lost, burnt by hellfire." 

"Valmalon was a champion full of light, healing the sick, fighting demons, and protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. But I'm getting ahead of myself." They sip their drink again

"Valmalon was born to loving mortal parents. Their mother was a priest of Arxeln while their father was an advisor for the king. They were trained extensively in both combat and religion, at their mother's insistence. Their father taught them to look out for injustices, and to fix the cause instead of the symptoms. Valmalon took these lessons to heart, joining the king's guard as soon as they were able."

"They joined out of a desire to protect the city and its people, to help where they could. And they did a good job of it too, so good that they were promoted to captain in a mere two months. As most know, however, ignorance is bliss, and a promotion means learning more. Learning about the kingdom outside the city walls, and the troubles that afflict it."

"Valmalon's heart course cracked under the knowledge, but the piece that shattered it was learning of the corruption in their own church. Arxeln's church. Paying for blessings, extortion for healing, you name it. They were more cruel than Old King Cole, but that's a different story, and not my tale to tell."

"Now, they say corruption is in any church so long as you know where to look for it and I absolutely agree, but poor Valmalon was sheltered from all of it. The jury is still out on if their mother wanted to protect them from it or was part of it, but I doubt we'll be getting a verdict anytime soon."

The Narrator sips its drink before it continues the tale

"So, Valmalon's determination turned to anger. And anger, while incredibly productive, turns to hatred when left unattended. Valamon continued their guard duties, silently seething at exactly what they saw wrong with the world- their church. Now made aware of it, they saw corruption everywhere they went."

"Eventually, they couldn't take it. Bitter and disillusioned with what they once revered, they left everything behind. Taking only enough to survive in the wildlands past the city walls, they sought revenge on what they considered their betrayers."

"Now, any time you shittalk a church, a devil is bound to be eavesdropping. But to see Arxeln's own champion, Valamon, protector of the weak seeking to destroy her church? That is something any devil would pay a thousand souls for. And so that's where Ekrah comes into our little story."

"Ekrah is the only name we have for the devil that tempted Valamon. Of course it isn't their true name, names have power and devils don't ever bargain power they can't collect on later. Risking their true name to a storyteller is ill-thought out at best, and disastrous at worst. Regardless, they were crafty, and could twist any mortal's words with laser-like precision."

"And so Ekrah approached their prey. Disguised as an unassuming young man, they got themselves 'trapped' in a thicket of thorns. After their rescue by the brave Valamon, Ekrah begged Valamon to allow them to share a meal. Valamon obliged, of course, and so Ekrah's work truly began."

"Over their meal, they made small talk, discussing where they were from, why they were traveling through the wildlands, and so on. When Valamon let slip about their issues with the church, Ekrah saw their opportunity, and took it. They pushed on why Valamon was in the wildlands instead of taking revenge, they needled on what Valamon was planning against the church, and they lead Valamon to new ideas on how to destroy it."

"Ekrah suggested, as innocently as a devil can do so, that the best way to destroy a church is to destroy its god, to 'pull the weed out by the roots' so to speak. Besides, if Arxeln had really cared, why didn't she step in? Why would she allow her followers to be so cruel as a deity of protection? Eventually, their meal ended and Valamon departed, but the devil's words had already taken hold in their mind. They started to research. Libraries, forgotten studies, the hideouts of long-dead wizards, now mere tombs. There are a few ways to destroy a god that are known to mortals. One of them is to stifle belief, the divine thrives on ambrosia made of worship, and without it they will starve a slow and painful death. A cruel cycle, as weakened gods cannot bless their remaining followers, leaving them unable to cultivate their own 'food'. But that was too slow for Valamon, a mortal who had spent nearly half their life already. So they continued to research, and took more drastic steps. They contacted devils, trying to trade for information, but could never afford the cost. So they experimented. They studied how to pluck at the strings of the arcane curtain that separates the material from the ethereal. They grew in power, but lost much of theirself along the way."

"Gradually Valamon changed. As most are changed by the magic they channel, so were they. Their hatred lead them to levels of power they never could have dreamed, but they were more hatred than person. And so they planned. They plotted at how to best destroy Arxeln, the careless patron of their most-hated church. They ripped through the curtain, and charged for Arxeln's celestial throne, annihilating anything that dared to get in their way. Devas, angels, elementals, none were spared. Until they reached her throne. They raised a hand marred with magic and hatred, and attempted to end the goddess. She blocked the blow, but was pushed back into her own throne. They fought, and divine tears fell as Arxeln defeated what used to be her favorite champion. She had her blade against Valamon's throat, but hesitated just a moment too long. And so Valamon fled. But the prime material would no longer accept them as a mortal, and they knew there was no way to hide among the divine, so they had no other choice but to enter hell and become one of its devils. They learned quickly, and ascended even quicker, eventually taking Ekrah's place as archdevil of the fifth circle. Little is known of their time in the hells, beyond the fact that centuries later they lead an assault that did successfully destroy Arxeln and throw the mortal realm into chaos and destruction."

"It's not a happy tale, with no happy ending to speak of, but it's a fine story that deserves to be told, and I reckon I'm the only storyteller worth their salt left who knows it. Gods know that their world can't tell it anymore. So I do it. Someone has to." They finish off their drink

Scribe’s note: For reference on Old King Cole please check out Once Upon a Time (in Space) by The Mechanisms.

[garrettauthor]

The latest.

CHARACTER: CENRIX (KEN-rix)

RACE: SCOURGE AASIMAR

CLASS: WARLOCK

PATRON: THE CELESTIAL

I wrote him a hella awesome back story, but it’s very long, so it’s under the cut:

Long ago, an angelic Deva named Azmodios was sent to the city of Starfall by his deity, Liliira, the goddess of happiness, contentment, and freedom.

To better serve Liliira’s purpose, Azmodios took human form. He lived in Starfall for decades, always appearing to be an old man. Every so often he would leave Starfall on some pretense, and then return in a new form, so that no one noticed the kindly old man at the outskirts of the city appeared to be immortal.

Over time, as one might expect of a servant of a goddess of good, Azmodios became endeared with the people of Starfall. In recent years, his attention fell in particular on a widow named Yinnilith. An elven woman, Yinnilith always showed kindness to Azmodios — or Cedric, as she knew him, for that was the human name he had taken in his latest incarnation. Yinnilith would visit Cedric often, bringing him small gifts — sweetmeats she had made, or small woven baskets she had crafted, in order to help him with the simple life he lived as a respected elder in the area.

In time, Azmodios fell in love with Yinnilith, against his better judgment. Thoughts of her rarely left his mind, and he found excuses to visit her in her home, no longer content to simply wait for her to visit him instead.

In time, his love became irresistible. One night, after they both had had a bit too much wine, they shared a bed for the first time. Over the next several weeks they saw each other more and more, until one was rarely without the other.

Eventually, Yinnilith became pregnant. It was then that she revealed her true form — a succubus named Corpraxia, in thrall to the goddess Beshaba. She had discovered Azmodios’ true nature, and had embarked upon a years-long campaign to corrupt him — possibly the greatest debasement a fiend could hope to achieve. She taunted Azmodios with his fall from grace, and promised to take exceptionally good care of their child. Then she vanished.

Distraught, Azmodios reverted to his true Deva form. He vowed never again to take human shape, for the loss of his divine senses had been what caused his laxness in the first place, and had prevented him from detecting Corpraxia’s true form. He threw himself upon the mercy of Liliira and begged her forgiveness for his mistake.

Liliira did not forgive him, and she cast him from her service. But, being a forgiving god by nature, she told Azmodios that he could regain his status, and his place at her side.

“You may join me again,” she said. “But only if you heal the evil that you have put into the world.”

Corpraxia bore her child and named him Cenrix, son of Cedric. With her spawn in the world and permanently bonded to her, she had no immediate interest in his upbringing, and so she left him on the steps of an orphanage to be raised by humans, while she went about pursuing other prey for her seductions.

Cenrix was raised among the other children of the orphanage. Everyone took him for a human, though his actions quickly set him apart from others. He grew up tall and exceedingly handsome, with fair golden hair and exquisite features and physique. The only mar on his physical form was a dark purple birthmark on his left cheek, in the shape of one set of antlers.

The orphanage was managed by nuns who worshipped Eldath, goddess of peace. No doubt Corpraxia hoped that her child, being of fiendish blood, would disrupt the desired tranquility of the abbey. But Cenrix seemed to favor his father’s blood, growing into a fair-minded and kind child.

During his early years, he knew nothing of his parents. Corpraxia was pursuing her own agenda across the kingdoms while Cenrix became, as she thought of it, “old enough to be useful to her.”

Meanwhile, Azmodios sought a way to atone for the sin he had committed. The angel rooted out every den of demons, devils, and cultists he could find, seeking some way to heal the evil he had helped bring about in the world. But no matter how many foul enemies he found and defeated, he never felt the sense of inner peace that he knew would come when he finally earned Liliira’s forgiveness.

By the time Cenrix was in his tenth year, he had become a charismatic and athletic boy, a favorite of the nuns and friends with every child in his orphanage. It was then that Corpraxia finally reappeared to him, one day as he was in the market buying firewood on an errand from the orphanage. She came to him as Yinnilith, the same elven form she had worn when seducing Cedric, his father.

When Corpraxia first spoke to Cenrix, he was hesitant. He knew better than to talk to strangers, and furthermore, something deep inside told him this woman was dangerous. And yet, another part of him was almost fiendishly happy in her presence. Cenrix had never experienced this sort of inner conflict before, and it unnerved him greatly.

“Who are you?” Cenrix asked the woman.

She spread her arms out to him. “Why, my darling boy. Don’t you recognize me? I am your mother.”

Everything Cenrix had been taught told him that this could not be true — orphans had no mothers, and if they did, their mothers certainly did not approach them so nonchalantly in the middle of market day. 

And yet, the same forces that had once been warring inside him were now in full agreement — he KNEW she spoke the truth, and that he was her flesh and blood. Overcome with emotion, he flung himself into her arms, and she clutched him tightly until his tears subsided.

Though Corpraxia spent the rest of the day with him, she told him that she could not stay, and neither could she take him home with her. She had many important things to do, but she would come to visit him as often as she could. And just before leaving, she taught Cenrix the first magical trick of his life — a simple spell that would let him more easily sway the minds of those around him, at least for a time.

With magic now at his disposal, Cenrix at last began to fulfill his mother’s wishes for the orphanage. He had always been able to persuade others to see his way of thinking, even the adults of the orphanage. But now he was a child with a spell, and it was SO much more fun. He began to influence others to do more and more outlandish things, and though they always ended up angry with him in the end, his natural charm was enough to keep him out of serious trouble. True, he now had to wash the privies far more often, but it was so worth it to make one of the nuns walk absentmindedly into the street in only her underclothes. 

Month after month, Corpraxia would take time away from her pursuits to come visit Cenrix, teaching him more and more of the fiendish powers at his command. Slowly, Cenrix’s mind turned towards more towards mischief and trickery than the values of peace, justice, and mercy that he had been naturally inclined to, and then educated to believe even further. After all, the nuns had cared for him a long time — but Yinnilith was his mother, and his devotion to her was nearly absolute.

But as is the case with most minions of the Lower Planes, Cenrix slowly found his life falling apart. Once, he had been the most beloved person in the orphanage. As his teenage years advanced, he found himself mistrusted. Whenever some misdeed was done, great or petty, suspicion immediately fell on Cenrix. His resentment was not lessened by the fact that he was, in fact, often the one behind such pranks.

One day in his fifteenth year, he was sharing his woes with Corpraxia — still in her elven form. He rested his head on her shoulder and spoke of his latest punishment from the Abbess, who had confined him to his room for a week after he had tricked a younger child to climb down a well rope and had become trapped, requiring three nuns to come and pull him out of the darkness. 

“My child,” said Corpraxia, stroking his hair. “It breaks my heart to hear of them being so cruel to you. You were only having a bit of fun. Boys will always get up to such antics. And it isn’t as though the child was seriously hurt.”

“I know,” said Cenrix, quickly wiping away tears and trying not to let her see. “No one ever sees the joke. It’s just a bit of fun! I don’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I know, my darling,” said Corpraxia sweetly. Then she paused for a long moment. “But you could, you know.”

Cenrix felt a stirring of worry, almost fear. “What do you mean?”

“I have taught you much more than simple tricks to make others dance at the end of your string. You could do real harm if you wanted to. They’re lucky that you don’t.”

“Of course not,” mumbled Cenrix. “Why would I want to harm them?”

“Never,” said Corpraxia softly. “But it might do them good to see that you can. Then they would know better than to punish you for such small, harmless fun. They wouldn’t dare raise a hand against you then.”

Though Cenrix was reluctant, Corpraxia’s hold on him was strong, and eventually she persuaded him to show more of his power. He returned to the orphanage with a new purpose: to turn the nuns’ mistrust into genuine fear, so that they would not dare to shame or punish him again. 

The next day, the Abbess heard screaming from the orphanage’s courtyard. She came running to find a crowd of children and nuns standing in horror, and before them was Cenrix. At first the Abbess could not tell why everyone was so frightened, until she looked up. Sister Meriweather stood on the peak of the orphanage’s roof. Her gaze was vacant and staring, and dark energy swirled around her, sapping her will. 

“I can make her jump,” said Cenrix. “I could make any of you do it, too. I could really hurt you — really hurt you, if I wanted to.”

“Cenrix, stop!” cried the Abbess. “Sister Meriweather, come down from there at once!”

“I don’t want to,” said Sister Meriweather, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. 

“And she won’t want to,” said Cenrix. “Not unless I tell her. Promise me you’ll never punish me again.”

The Abbess’ blood ran cold. But she had been doing this a long time, and she had dealt with all sorts of children. Admittedly never one as dangerous as Cenrix, but she still understood children.

She forced herself to smile.

“Of course not, Cenrix,” she said gently. “It was foolish of me. Of course we won’t punish you anymore, dear boy.”

Cenrix frowned. “Do you mean it?”

The Abbess came forward. Cenrix tensed, but she slowly and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”

Cenrix relaxed and looked up at Sister Meriweather. “Very well. You can come down now.”

The cloud passed from Sister Meriweather’s sight. Suddenly she realized where she was, and with a cry of fear she fell to her belly, gripping the roof of the orphanage.

Immediately, the Abbess slapped Cenrix across the face and bore him to the ground. Two nuns ran forward to help her restrain him, while the children around them screamed.

Sister Meriweather was gotten down from the roof, and as quickly as they could manage it, Cenrix was thrown out of the orphanage to fend for himself on the streets. But word had spread throughout Starfall of the boy who had devilish powers, and he found it ever harder to manipulate people into giving him scraps of food and shelter for the night. His resentment grew, stoked further by Corpraxia, who supported him just enough to keep him alive, but not enough to lift him from his wretched circumstance.

Meanwhile, word reached Azmodios’ ears of the unusual activities that had been going on in Starfall. He assumed that Corpraxia had returned to the city and was beginning to stir up trouble again, and he set out for the city in all possible haste.

One night, Corpraxia was comforting Cenrix in a dark and abandoned building. Cenrix lay his head in her lap, and she stroked his hair even as she hissed in his ear of all the ways in which he had been wronged.

“It is all the Abbess’ fault,” she told him. “She should be punished. All of them should be punished. They promised they would leave you alone.”

“But I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Cenrix.

“Of course I understand,” said Corpraxia sweetly. “But no one will listen to you unless you make them. If the Abbess were gone, everyone would know that they could not harm you again without consequences.”

Cenrix looked up at her in horror. “But I can’t kill her. She was kind to me.”

“Until she wasn’t.”

Cenrix wavered, teetering on the brink.

The door of the abandoned building blew inward in a shower of divine energy. Azmodios stormed into the room, wreathed in holy flames. He saw Cenrix and Corpraxia — in the form of Yinnilith — both of whom stared at him, mute with shock and fear.

“Devil,” growled Azmodios. In an instant he flew across the room and snatched Yinnilith up, holding her by the throat even as he cast Cenrix aside. “What mischief have you gotten up to now? No, never mind. It matters little, for I am here to end it. And you.”

“Cedric,” said Yinnilith, wide-eyed and feigning innocence. “How I have missed you, my love.”

“Cedric was a lie, as is this form you wear now,” said Azmodios. “Shed it. You will wear your true, unholy skin when I destroy you.”

Cenrix finally mustered himself. He didn’t understand who this man was, but his mother was in danger. He threw himself at the deva and tried to free Yinnilith, but pulling on the angel’s arm was like trying to dislodge a boulder from the side of a mountain.

“Stop!” cried Cenrix, tears streaming down his face. “Leave her alone!”

Azmodios removed one hand from Yinnilith’s throat and flung Cenrix aside. But then he glanced at the boy. He saw the same high cheekbones, the same brilliant blue eyes, the fair hair that had only existed in remnants upon Cedric’s greying pate.

He froze.

“The child,” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Yinnilith, grinning sadistically. “Your darling boy. And it was he who committed the devilry here in Starfall — not I, my darling.”

Azmodios’ mouth twisted. “No doubt it was at your doing. I will let him see the truth of the mistress he has served. Then I will end you both.”

Blazing white fire erupted from his hands, and Yinnilith screamed. Before Cenrix’s horrified eyes, her form twisted and melted. Her skin turned purple — the same purple as the birthmark on Cenrix’s cheek. Horns sprouted from her head, and wings from her back. Soon a succubus hung from Azmodios’ iron grip. 

Cenrix felt his heart nearly stop.

Azmodios flung Corpraxia to the ground and loomed over her. White light poured from his hand, filling the room with blinding light. When Cenrix was able to open his eyes again, the light had formed into a sword nearly as long as he was tall.

Azmodios raised the blade. “For Liliira’s honor, and to earn her forgiveness.”

“No!” Cenrix threw himself forward and flung his arms wide, blocking Corpraxia’s body with his own.

And Azmodios stopped. In Cenrix’s eyes he saw fear. But he also saw love, and compassion, and the desire to protect the only parent the boy had ever known. 

Liliira’s words came back to his mind. 

“You may join me again,” she had said. “But only if you heal the evil that you have put into the world.”

Heal the evil. Not destroy it.

Azmodios lowered his blade. Corpraxia’s sharp teeth showed in a grin.

“Your mercy does you proud, my love.” Her silky voice felt as if it was caressing Azmodios’ very ear, and he shivered with horror and desire. “Though what would your goddess think of your hesitation, I wonder?”

In a flash of purple energy, she vanished. Cenrix turned to find her gone, and then he turned back to Azmodios in confusion.

“I … what did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” said Azmodios, heaving a sigh. “She is gone. But not forever. What is your name, boy?”

Cenrix narrowed his eyes. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because it is time for your healing to begin.”

Azmodios broke his own vow to himself, and he took human form one last time. He became Cedric, but a younger version, perhaps only forty years old. And looking into this adult man’s face, Cenrix could see his own eyes, his own hair, the shape of features that were so indelibly his — everything but the purple antler-shaped mark on his cheek.

Over a period of time, Azmodios told Cenrix everything he could about how he had come to be born. Cenrix was not a human, as he had always thought, but an Aasimar, albeit one with a dark and terrible corruption in his bloodline. But that corruption could be expunged — or at least resisted.

“How long must I fight it?” asked Cenrix.

“As long as you live,” Azmodios told him sadly.

For the first time since he was a young boy, Cenrix was instructed again in the virtues of good, of mercy, of joy and compassion. Azmodios worked to convince Cenrix that his life should not be about trickery and deceit, but honor and defense of the innocent. The boy had powers, innate magic from his blood. But it was Cenrix’s choices that would determine the outcome of those gifts. He was not born evil. He was not born good. Only his decisions would determine what sort of person he would turn out to be.

And in the end, Azmodios found his task much easier than he had feared it would be. With the right encouragement, Cenrix found that he enjoyed helping others again, and using his gifts to make the lives of others easier and more joyous. 

After a time, he even returned to the orphanage to make amends. He did not ask their forgiveness — he only asked that he be allowed to serve, in whatever capacity they might require him. 

The Abbess was reluctant to accept his apology, and he was too old to be readmitted to the orphanage’s care, in any case. But Cenrix labored for weeks, first outside the orphanage, cleaning walls and mucking stables. And then at last he was permitted within the walls again, and he never showed any signs of reverting back to his evil ways. Each day, he returned to the small home on the outskirts of the city — the home that had once been Cedric’s — and spoke with his father of what he had done.

This went on for three more years, and once again Cedric became favored by the people of Starfall. None knew of his parentage, of course, and so his early teenage years were chalked up to a particularly nasty streak of teenage rebelliousness. But when someone needed help fixing a door, or a child fell ill, or a young person became lost in the woods, Cenrix would appear and do his utmost to help. And so he became beloved by his city, and they claimed him as their champion.

Until the day that Azmodios told him he must leave.

“Leave?” said Cenrix. “Where?”

“That is not certain,” said Azmodios. “But your gifts are too precious to be given only to these people. The world needs the aid that you can provide — and so do I.”

And then, for the first time, Azmodios told Cenrix of his own fall from Liliira’s grace. He told Cenrix of the conditions by which he could earn his goddess’ favor again. It was not enough for Cenrix to be a servant of the people of Starfall. With the power of his conflicted bloodline, Cenrix was still capable of great evil. The only way to heal it was to go out and do great things, not the meager acts of service he had performed until now.

And so, Cenrix set out into the world to seek his fortune and perform whatever service he could. And Azmodios left him, to pursue his own purpose of purging evil from the land, always in service to his lady Liliira. He would visit Cenrix in dreams, giving him instructions, guidance, and counsel — but never too much, for he wished his son to find his own way to combat the world’s evil.

Yet on the first night after their parting, it was not Azmodios who appeared in Cenrix’s dream. It was Corpraxia.

She appeared to him in her elven form again, as Yinnilith, but standing in an inky black void. Cenrix recoiled from her.

“What are you doing here?” he said. Four years of education at Azmodios’ hand had instilled a revulsion of his mother. “Begone. I never wish to see you again.”

“Then I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. Her voice was filled with sadness and regret. “Yet I will not promise to leave you forever. You are my boy. My darling boy, and I have missed you these long years.”

“You are trying to sway my mind,” said Cenrix. “It will not work.” 

But despite the conviction he forced into his voice, he could feel his heart breaking at her words. For five years she had been his only friend, the only one who showed him kindness or compassion. 

He knew it was only because she herself had driven him away from everyone else. He knew she had manipulated him into being alone and despised by those he had once called friend. But a scared little boy still lived in Cenrix’s heart, and he wanted his mother.

“I am not,” said Corpraxia. “I swear it. I only wanted to look at you. I feared your father might never leave you alone. I love him still, as I love you. But he will never accept me. He will never forgive me.”

“What you did is beyond forgiveness,” said Cenrix heatedly.

She reached out and cupped his cheek. “You mean creating you? If that, in fact, damns me forever, then let it damn me. I would not take it back. I have done nothing greater, made nothing finer, in all the long years of my existence. I have seen you grow under your father’s tutelage. You are more powerful than I could ever have made you, for there are things I could never have taught you — just as there are things he will never be able to teach you. But I will.”

For a long moment, Cenrix was not strong enough to pull her hand from his cheek. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering if this would be the last time he would feel his mother’s touch again. Then, at last, he pulled her fingers away.

“You will not. You will leave, and you will never return.”

“I already told you I will not promise that,” said Corpraxia. “You have a hard road ahead of you, my child. Your father will help you upon much of it. But he will not be able to help you against doubt, for he sees it as a weakness. He will not be able to help you against fear, for he does not feel it. And he will not be able to help you against temptation, for he fell victim to it once, and so he will never face the possibility of its existence again. But I am a mistress of doubt, a queen of fear, the embodiment of temptation. When your father’s teachings fail you, I will return. And with both our help, you will grow more powerful than you ever could with just one of us by your side.”

Cenrix could never fully explain why — but he never told his father of that first visit, nor any of the times Corpraxia returned to him thereafter.

So Cenrix’s journey began.

[angelofseeking]

a rough timeline

one of my earliest memories of understanding the mutability of the human experience was in childhood when my mom told me a folktale regarding hindu devas playing a card game. one of the devas took a break from the game to nap beneath a fig tree. as this deva slept, they dreamt the life of a woman born on earth -- her birth, growing up, raising a family, and dying peacefully. when the deva woke, they returned to the card game. my mom has no memory of telling me this story, yet i can recall it vividly.

when i was five, my imaginary friend was a boy who wore white, had stark white hair, and was pale as plaster. he was kind and he would kiss my forehead and push me on the swing in my grandma’s backyard. his name began with an M.

i was coerced into converting to catholicism when, around second or third grade, i developed a curiosity for witchcraft. (mostly thanks to my obsession with the movie “hocus pocus”) i was nine years old and did not understand the significance of my own baptism, yet i took to the faith with the zeal of a child trying her hardest to do what she is told is right. i once had a tantrum and made a promise that i would get a “sex change” just to join the priesthood. i was only partially right.

we prayed the rosary almost every week. i remember feeling the holy spirit in the midst of a hymn at mass.

i was homeschooled for fourth and fifth grade. catholic home schooled, so all my textbooks had religious overtones. i was taught that angels were neither male nor female. they had long hair and delicate facial features, but were broad-shouldered with androgynous voices (and were always depicted as white, just like our portraits of a blue-eyed jesus). i envied their androgynous beauty.

i felt that i had a guardian angel primarily because i was told that one was watching over me. just as i was told that both god and the devil could read my thoughts, and that even thinking about committing a sin was as egregious as carrying out the act. i punished myself for even thinking any curse words. i imagined my guardian angel as having red hair, who i called oliver.

it was only after i left the church at fourteen when i was able to give words to the distinct feeling that i only occupied my body because i had “lost a bet with god.” i wrote an angsty poem about it in a creative writing class. i imagined myself standing with “Him” and peering into a scrying pool, seeing the earth and feeling obligated to be born into this life.

one of my favorite books as a teenager was called rapture by david sosnowski, about a bloodborne pathogen that caused people to grow wings, and the social implications that followed as the virus spread. it led me to read one of his other books about vampires -- the first step in an obsession with the lovely immortals and their eternal struggle with damnation.

in my later teenage years, i struggled with gender dysphoria. it may have been a general dysphoria with this form. i was not taken seriously as genderqueer when i began to question my identity, so i decided to be a binary man. i don’t regret starting testosterone, but trying to fit myself into the box of masculinity began to wear on me after two years. i eventually realized that i would never desire affirming surgery, and that i no longer minded if my long hair made me perceived as feminine. i liked that some referred to me as masculine while others did not, and that many more could not categorize me as either one. i stopped being ashamed of my lack of cisnormativity.

one of the most influential movies that set me on the path of transitioning was “to wong foo thanks for everything julie newmar.” i still cry during one of the last scenes, when Carol Ann says to Vida Boheme, “I don’t think of you as a man, and I don’t think of you as a woman. I think of you as an angel.”

i continue to use angelic androgyny to explain my gender identity to people. i think that most who know me use he or they pronouns. recently i was asked if i preferred they. i said that “they” was the most correct, but no pronoun is really correct.

around the time i began to take an interest in witchcraft and the occult, i developed an obsession with aztec history. this was when i was in graduate school for anthropology, and i also had an intense scientific curiosity regarding cannibalism. i frequently imagined myself being sacrificed, my flesh consumed so that no trace of my physical body remained, so that my divine self could be released from this form.

i once attended a meeting with those who subscribed to more new age leaning beliefs. i did not vibe well with them, as many of the members seemed to have an inflated sense of importance. the leader of the group described herself as a psychic, and frequently called on jesus, gabriel, and michael as servitors. at the time, i felt too burned by christianity to take her seriously, but when she spoke to her angels, i could see the outlines of two tall figures on either side of her.

as i went deeper into the study of mysticism, i began to practice meditation and hypnosis. although my mom had led me to catholicism, she was also the catalyst for my interest in the occult, and told me about transcripts of people channeling extraterrestrials while under hypnosis. it resonated with me so deeply and unexpectedly. my journeys in a trance state have been as incomprehensible, vivid, and varied as my dreams. they have told me little of my angel self, but perhaps i just needed a greater sense of direction.

[magicaldragons]

salaar: ceasefire [2023]

rey's literary masterlist

opinions & interpretation:

"i used to call him, salaar"

"deva is varadha's person"

salaar: part two, the potential outcome

character analyses:

a devaratha analysis.

deva: a weapon

analysing varadha's psyche

varadha's motive

how varadha & deva handle emotions

the promise.

love. a definition. [part one] [part two] [part three]

deva's morality

why rudra hates varadha

varadha. baachi's older brother parent.

themes & motifs:

ugramm vs. salaar

the umbrella parallel

deva as the devil, who was once God's favorite

unstoppable force meets immovable object

headcanons:

varadeva: headcanon edition

"how did deva find varadha after saving baachi?"

"if deva finds out rudra touched varadha's nose ring AGAIN"

"if deva and varadha hadn't met as children"

"aadhya's first impression of deva"

getting technical:

Prabhas' depiction of Deva's emotions

the colorgrading in Salaar

fic list: [ongoing marked with *]

sandalwood & ozone: a/b/o varadeva. soulmates.*

distance (a mistake i make every night): varadeva. arranged marriage. hate-sex.

+ edits:

tere bina

obsessed

eclipse

[templepurohit]

Maha Shivratri is an auspicious and great festival of convergence of Shiva and Shakti. Masik Shivratri which is celebrated every month on the Chaturdashi Tithi of Krishna Paksha, is known as Maha Shivaratri (which is observed once a year) in the month of Magha, according to Amavasyant School. Again, according to Purnimant School Masik Shivaratri in the month of Phalguna is known as Maha Shivaratri. In both schools it is naming convention of lunar month which differs. However, both Purnimant and Amavasyant Schools, celebrate all Shivaratris including Maha Shivaratri on same day. The day of Maha Shivratri is dedicated exclusively to the worship Lord Shiva and is observed with great great devotion to appease the Supreme One. Maha Shivratri Story There are many mythological legends associated with this day. According to a popular legend, when a hunter could not find anything to kill for food in a forest, he waited on the branch of a Woodapple tree. In order to attract a deer, he started throwing the leaves of the tree on the ground, unaware that there was a Shiva Lingam beneath the tree. Pleased with the Woodapple leaves and the patience of the hunter, it is believed that Lord Shiva appeared in front of the hunter and blessed him with wisdom. From that day onwards, the hunter stopped eating meat. Some folklore also considers this to be Shiva’s day as this was believed to be the answer given by Lord Shiva when asked about his favorite day by Goddess Parvati. Another belief behind Shivratri celebration is associated with the legend of Samudramanthan. It is said that on this day, Lord Shiva drank the deadly poison, which otherwise had the potential of destroying the whole world. Once the devas (Gods) and asuras (devils) were churning the ocean of milk. During the churning process, several things came out of the ocean. Among all those things were a pot of poison. The poison had the potential to destroy the universe, which frightened the devas (Gods) and asuras (devils). To seek help, they ran to Lord Shiva, the Lord of destruction. Lord Shiva, in order to save the universe from the deadly effect of poison, swallowed it. This act resulted in Lord Shiva’s throat turning blue, for which he earned the name ‘Nilkantha’. To celebrate this event of Lord Shiva, Shivaratri is celebrated. Maha Shivratri is a Hindu festival which is celebrated by people following Hinduism in India. People often fast on the night of Shivratri and sing hymns and praises in the name of Lord Shiva. Hindu temples across the country are decorated with lights and colorful decorations and people can be seen offering night long prayers to Shiva Lingam. Woodapple leaves, cold water and milk are offered to the Shiva Lingam on this day as they are believed to be Lord Shiva’s favorite. It is believed that the people who fast on this night and offer prayers to Lord Shiva bring good luck into their life. The most popular Maha Shivratri celebrations take place in Ujjain, believed to be the place of residence of Lord Shiva. Large processions are carried out throughout the city, with people thronging the streets to catch a glimpse of the revered idol of Lord Shiva. Maha Shivratri Rituals One day before Shivratri fast, devotees eat only one time. On Mahashivaratri day, after finishing morning routine, devotees take a Sankalp to observe a full-day fast and break it only on the next day. On Shivratri pujan day, devotees take a second bath in the evening before doing Shiva puja, which is done during the night. Hence, the devotees who observe fast on Shivratri and are known to keep awake during the night and perform Shiva Puja at midnight. This is because Shivaratri Pujan is suggested during midnight which is known as Nishita Kaal and prevails for two Ghati. Nishita Kaal Muhurta is specially enlisted everywhere to perform Shiva Pujan for all Shivaratri fasts. The fast is broken the next morning by having the Prasad after taking bath. The two baths are taken in the water boiled with til seeds (sesame seeds) on Shivratri Puja day. It is believed that bathing with this water washes away the bodily impurities. After wearing clean clothes, Lord Shiva’s temple is visited by the devotees to perform the rituals of the day. To invoke Lord’s blessings, Aarti is performed, Bhajans are sung and incense sticks are lighted and the devotees chant “Om Namah Shivaya” and worship the Lord throughout the day and the night. For Shivratri puja, a three-tiered podium (raised platform) is built using wooden planks. The top plank represents heaven (Swarga), middle plank represents space (Antariksh) and the bottom plank signifies earth (Bhuloka). On the top plank i.e. the Swarga plank, eleven Kalash are kept which symbolizes the 11 forms (Avatars) of Lord Shiva. The Kalash are then decorated with bel leaves after which a coconut is placed on it, which represents the head of Lord Shiva. For best results, devotees are known to pray four times on the Mahashivratri night. Therefore, Shivratri puja can be performed one time or four times during the night. The whole night can be divided into four quarters to perform Shiva puja four times. The offerings to be made to Lord Shiva during the four quarters of the night are as follows: Time : Offerings to be made to Lord Shiva on Shivratri : First Quarter Til (Sesame Seeds), Jav, Lotus, Belvapatra. Second Quarter Fruit of Vijora, Lemon, Kheer. Third Quarter Til, Wheat, Malpua, Pomegranate, Kapur. Fourth Quarter Udadh dhal (white lentils), Jav, Moong, Shankhpushpi leaves, Belva-patra and Pakoras. Mantras for Maha Shivratri 1. Shiva Moola Mantra “Om Namah Shivaya॥” 2. Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra “Om Tryambakam Yajamahe Sugandhim Pushti-Vardhanam Urvarukamiva Bandhanan Mrityormukshiya Mamritat॥” 3. Rudra Gayatri Mantra “Om Tatpurushaya Vidmahe Mahadevaya Dhimahi. Tanno Rudrah Prachodayat॥” 4. Chant this Maha Shivaratri maha mantra to worship Lord Shiva “ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा, स्वामी जय शिव ओंकारा। ब्रह्मा, विष्णु, सदाशिव, अर्द्धांगी धारा॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ एकानन चतुरानन पञ्चानन राजे। हंसासन गरूड़ासन वृषवाहन साजे॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ दो भुज चार चतुर्भुज दसभुज अति सोहे। त्रिगुण रूप निरखते त्रिभुवन जन मोहे॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ अक्षमाला वनमाला मुण्डमाला धारी। त्रिपुरारी कंसारी कर माला धारी॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ श्वेताम्बर पीताम्बर बाघम्बर अंगे। सनकादिक गरुणादिक भूतादिक संगे॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ कर के मध्य कमण्डलु चक्र त्रिशूलधारी। सुखकारी दुखहारी जगपालन कारी॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ ब्रह्मा विष्णु सदाशिव जानत अविवेका। मधु-कैटभ दो‌उ मारे, सुर भयहीन करे॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ लक्ष्मी व सावित्री पार्वती संगा। पार्वती अर्द्धांगी, शिवलहरी गंगा॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ पर्वत सोहैं पार्वती, शंकर कैलासा। भांग धतूर का भोजन, भस्मी में वासा॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ जटा में गंग बहत है, गल मुण्डन माला। शेष नाग लिपटावत, ओढ़त मृगछाला॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ काशी में विराजे विश्वनाथ, नन्दी ब्रह्मचारी। नित उठ दर्शन पावत, महिमा अति भारी॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥ त्रिगुणस्वामी जी की आरति जो कोइ नर गावे। कहत शिवानन्द स्वामी, मनवान्छित फल पावे॥ ॐ जय शिव ओंकारा॥” 5. “Om Sarva Mangal Manglaye Shivay Sarvaarth Sadhike Sharanye Trayambake Gauri Narayaani Namostu Te” 6. “Om Namastestu Bhagavan Visvesaraya Mahadevaya Trayambakaya Tripurantakaya Trikagni – Kalaya Kalagni – Rudraya Nil – Kanthaya Mrityunjaya Sarvesvaraya Sadadhivaya Sriman Mahadevaya Namah” 7. “Naagendra haaraaya thriloochanaaya bhasmaangadhaaraaya maheshwaraaya Nityaaya shudhdhaaya digambaraaya tasmai nakaaraaya namahshivaaya” 8. “Shiva Dhun, Shivo Bhokta, Shiva Bhojya Shivo Karta, Shivah Karma, Shivah Karanatmakah” According to mythology, it is said that Shiva Purana once said that if devotees observe Maha Shivratri Vrat with full devotion and chants these mantras throughout the day and night, then he is blessed with the divine blessings of Lord Shiva. Significance of Celebrating Maha Shivratri Maha Shivratri holds immense importance for all women. Unmarried women observe this fast and worship Lord Shiva to seek His divine blessings for a right match while married women observe this fast to maintain peace and tranquility in their married and family life. It is believed that any impossible and difficult task can be fulfilled by observing Maha Shivaratri, by the grace of Lord Shiva because as per Shiv Mahapuran, one who observes the fast with pure devotion and sincerity attains divine grace and blessings of Lord Shiva. Maha Shivratri Fast Benefits It is believed that observing fast on the day of Shivratri helps the devotees to get control over evils like jealousy, anger, and lust. Spending the day in worshiping Lord Shiva and performing rituals after every three hours abolishes all the sins and mistakes. https://ift.tt/2OlfzBl