A Standup Philosopher
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Seraphim: Trifecta Snippet #2
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The next story to be updated will be Nothing Is True (Save For The Blood We’ve Shed)!
Neolithic Knuckledragger: Acrimonius
Bronze Barbarians: Luke B.
Iron Intellectuals: WanderingDaemon, TheDukeOfBears, MouthyStorm, Cybercrisis, Markus
Machine Menace; Aydrik
Nuclear Noncombatant: Amanda E.
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Seraphim
Trifecta Sidestory #2
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She had no idea how long she had been trapped here, how many days and night she had spent chained to this wall, how many hours she had been tortured until even the almost-unmatched endurance and regeneration of a Seraph (even a Fallen one) struggled to keep up. How many times she had rallied her mental defenses, blocking away any memories, any thoughts, any desperate tears in relation to Taylor.
Her beloved daughter, her sweet Little Owl.
She couldn’t bear the thought of the surviving Lucifer learning about Taylor, because she knew damn well what would happen if Rizevim ever found out about her. The monster would go back to Earth Bet, take her daughter, and rape her to death in from of Annette’s eyes, just to hurt his great-aunt more.
He had a professional skill, a honed talent, for targeted cruelty. And, unfortunately, he was far to smart to get himself killed off by whoever was running the Three Factions these days. Her previous victories over him had certainly not been because he was stupid, and he had doubtlessly gotten more intelligent, and more dangerous, ever since then.
However, he was also quite confident that Azrael (and she would need to be Azrael again, in order to escape) was beaten and without any semblance of hope. Which was honestly an act of insanity on his part, since she had directly disobeyed God himself when He was still here. If he thought that he was more capable of cowing her, of intimidating her and breaking her spirit, than going directly against the One-Above-All, he had a rather inflated opinion of himself. Which, in all honesty, fit quite well, because he was an arrogant, self-aggrandizing little shit that was obsessed with himself and devil racial purity supremacy.
All that aside, however, she still had a fairly significant issue: how was she to escape? She was unlikely to be given the chance to recover from her injuries enough to break free through a simple feat of strength, it was highly unlikely that anyone who worked for the brat would set her free (if anyone else even knew that she was here. She wouldn’t be surprised if Rizevim was the only one that did), and it was functionally impossible that anyone else would come and free her. No one knew that she was here, and even if they did, would her brother’s and sisters even come to her aid? Her parting with the rest of the Grigori hadn’t exactly been friendly, and Father knew Heaven and Hell weren’t particularly large fans of her thanks to her bodycount.
That being said, she was willing to bet Azazel would come to her aid, if she could reach him or draw his attention somehow. Sirzechs and Serafel owed her for helping to secure their positions of power as Maou. Sure, it might kick off some more conflict between the Great Factions, but she doubted it would blow up into another full-fledged war…and, quite frankly, if it meant getting back to her daughter, she was willing to risk it doing just that.
She reached out to the threads that hung in the corner of her mind, stretching out into the metaphysical distance. Trying to trace old mental connections to her oldest comrade and close sibling, quite confident that Azazel was still amongst the living. There were very few entities in this plane of reality equal to the Lord of the Grigori, and Azazel was too clever to get mousetrapped into a situation where he had no choice but to contend with one of those entities that could destroy him, or sufficient numbers of lesser enemies to overwhelm him.
Unless he had gotten much, much, much dumber in her absence. Or far more reckless.
Improbable, to say the least.
The thread of magic shuddered slightly, the connection trying to form, divine energy flowing sluggishly along its length, and she held her mental breath in hope, feeling much like a fisherman waiting to see if something would latch onto a cast line. Though, admittedly, she didn’t intend Azazel any harm, so the comparison wasn’t entirely accurate.
Nearly two minutes of agonizing waiting later, she felt a tremor, a tug of mental attention, and she gasped in relief at the sensation long missed. It was Azazel, no doubt about that, and though their connection was muted she could feel his shocked recognition…and the suspicion that immediately followed on its heels. Her mouth twisted bitterly, well aware of just why her brother would think of her in such a way, but she didn’t have the time or the ability to solve past conflicts now.
She reached out again, praying to her absent Father that he would listen…and that Rizevim would not return and sense the connection.
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Azazel, Governor-General of the Grigori, one of the First-Fallen and dedicated man-whore, twitched in his seat, fountain pen leaving a streak of black ink across his current manuscript. His eyes widened, heart-rate elevating, as a connection long dormant and stagnant came to life once more. It was faint, terribly faint, and weak, weaker than it had any right being, but there was no doubt about it: his connection to Azrael was active once more.
That shouldn’t be possible. Azrael was gone, had been gone for decades, disappearing after stealing countless artifacts of power from all three factions. Vanishing into the Dimensional Rift with her two allies and her ill-gotten gains, where everyone had assumed she had (given her lack of reappearance) been annihilated by Great Red or Ophis. Yet her she was, and it hadto be her. The connections between the original Fallen, forged by the actions in the immediate aftermath of their Fall From Grace, were not radio signals. They couldn’t be accessed by others, tapped into by strangers with a talent for such things.
So why was his enigmatically, nominally traitorous sister reaching out to him, and why did she feel so weak? What did she want from him? What was her game?
He felt her recoil from his anger, his suspicion, {Contrition} and {Regret} seeping towards him through the flawed connection they now possessed, along with {Determination} and {Righteousness}. Well, that was hardly a surprise. Azrael had always been obstinate about what she believed to be the right course of action, unwilling to yield or apologize for doing what she thought necessary. That was why she had Fallen in the first place, and led so many of their fellow Angels into Sin despite their Father’s orders. Oh, Azazel had enjoyed having sex with humans a bit too much, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t agreed with his sister’s passionate arguments about what was good for Mankind, that they needed to be protected and guided from their own ignorance and the dangers of the supernatural world. After all, that was why the Grigori had standing orders to hunt down and either capture, recruit, or more commonly kill, Sacred Gear users that posed a direct and significant threat to the safety of humanity.
He sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired, and he reached out with his own considerable power in an effort to deepen the connection between them.
{PAIN!}
He flinched in his seat, hand actually clutching at his chest in sympathetic discomfort to the pure agony that was now radiating from Azrael. He hastily halted his efforts, dimming the connection once more, pressing the button to summon Baraqiel, Shemhazi, and Penemue to his office even as he felt the bone-deep {Exhaustion} radiating from his sister, alongside some rather pointed {Annoyance}.
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“Father damn it, Zaz!” Azrael hissed to that distant presence, slumping in her bonds and feeling rather like someone had just stirred around in her chest cavity with an electrified, red-hot poker. “That hurt, you fucking moron! Don’t you think I would have had a deeper connection if I could handle it?!”
{Contrition} and {Confusion} flowed back towards her, and she rolled her eyes before taking a moment to catch her breath before reaching out once more.
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{Anger}, but not at him. {Hate}, even, towards someone. {Hate} that he hadn’t felt from her since their brother had tried to overthrow Father and set himself up as the new God, not that the jealous, egotistical bastard had ever stood a chance at it. That was unusual enough, more than worthy of close attention, but it was the third emotion that deepened his concern for the situation.
{Fear}, powerful, pervasive fear.
That, more than anything, told him just how fraught the situation was. Azrael didn’t feel fear, it was an emotion as foreign to her as doubt. When she had disobeyed Father, when the Great War had broken out, when the three Great Factions had faced one another in that final, cataclysmic battle, even when their Father was gone… she had never felt afraid then. Unhappy, angry, even concerned, but never the truly, sickening sensation of fear.
As his three closest, and most reliable, friends and advisors entered his office he held up his finger and directed his attention to Penemue alone.
“Can you devise a way to trace a mental connection back to the other side’s location if the connection is weak enough that only emotions can be sensed from either end?” he asked bluntly, and the Chief Secretary of the Grigori blinked before adjusting her glasses with a frown.
“Possibly, but it would take time, especially if none of us are familiar with the subject…” she started to respond, before being cut off by her brother and superior.
“We are, all of us, intimately familiar with the subject. Our elder sister has returned, and seems to be in dire need of assistance.” He said quietly, and all three inhaled sharply at that, eyes widening, and Penemue actually paled. Whether that was from anger with their long-absent sibling, shock that she needed help, or concerned with the existence of an entity that could weaken her to the point her only way to call for help was through nothing more than her emotions, he didn’t know. Though he was willing to bet that it was a mixture of all three.
“Azrael is back? But how, and why is…?” Baraqiel started to ask, before cutting the thought of with a hard shake, looking to Penemue alongside Shemhazi. “Well, Penny? What do you think?”
“Don’t call me Penny.” She bit out automatically, eyes tracking back and forth slightly as she thought hard and fast about the situation. “Given our closeness, even if estranged, with Azrael it is certainly possible. However, even with that familiarity, it will not be a swiftly-resolved problem. And I will need free reign of the Cadre who also have a connection with her, and any materials I request.”
“Done. Whatever our sister did when she left, however justified our anger with her, she is our sister still. Besides which, we all owe her our lives many times over, and if something can reduce her to such a state, we must not let it catch us off-guard.” Azazel agreed to her stipulations immediately, regarding all three of them seriously. “This must be done with as much secrecy as possible. If Azrael pissed us off, she made outright enemies amongst the Factions. We cannot risk those enemies learning of her return and her weakness. Am I understood?”
It was rare that Azazel gave the three of them outright orders, rather than leaving them to their own devices or making requests. Orders were for the lesser Fallen, the younger ones that Fell not for The Cause, or even a cause, but for their own wants, their own desires. It was only Father’s absence that prevented many of them from having become Devils outright, he knew.
“Of course, you have our word , Azazel.” Shemhazi swore, the other two echoing him, and the leader of the Fallen nodded tightly in satisfaction before returning his attention to his distant sister.
Do not fear, Azrael. We will find you, and our family will be whole once more…but don’t think this means you’re off the hook!
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Azrael almost cried in relief at the {Determination }, {Affection}, and yes, even {Anger} that flowed across the bond before it petered out. Her brother was coming for her. The Lord of the Fallen still had honor and love in his heart, it seemed, for a wayward sibling that had parted with him on less-than-stellar terms. As the door opened once more and Rizevim stepped inside to indulge his sadism once again, she felt for the first time a spark of defiant hope burn in her breast.
She would not falter, not yield or break beneath this brat’s attentions, oh no! She resisted, she endured, now no longer out of pure spiteful determination, but anticipatory hope. Azazel would come, Azrael would walk free, and she would find her way to her family’s side once more. No one, and nothing, would take that from her now.
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Little short, but I really wanted to synchronize the release of this on Patreon with that of the first Trifecta Snippet, all the way back in 2019!
Back before the dark times.
Before The Virus came.
As usual, comment and subscribe or follow or watch, and please consider donating on Patreon! Remember, the next update is for Nothing Is True!
