Where Anyone is Possible
The air chilled his breath, icing his immortal lungs. Looking around at the night-time greenish hue of the Southern Scotland landscape, Ramiel could honestly say he was glad he had left the Roman Empire. The passing years were all mostly a blur of walking around, learning elaborate carpentry, and soon, becoming a sword wielding warrior; hopping from one army to the other. A free-lancing soldier, if you will.
Smiling to himself, Ramiel began to recall all the battles and petty human wars he had dipped his foot in. He could witness how terrorizing it was for the humans, but he could never seem to avoid boredom. Slipping in and out of the scene was too easy. There never seemed to be anything exciting to experience these days…
A rustling in the thick, wild brush interrupted his thoughts.
His warm expression turned to stone as his hand tightened around the empty hilt of his sword. His nostrils flared. He collected the scents around him. Trees. Dirt. Grass. Winter. And…something else. He remained a statue.
The tense-filled moment of ready fighting stance suddenly turned into an erotic dream as the image of a sensual young woman stumbled through the foliage. The raven haired beauty stopped in her tracks, staring with wide wonderful blue eyes. Until she raced forward to grasp his sturdy forearm in desperation.
“Please! You have to help me. I need your help…”
Ramiel had to take a second to clear his head. Him, a dangerous warrior. A powerful fallen angel. Who was this woman? She didn’t have a hint of an accent from anywhere. And he couldn’t seem to get a scent on her…but did it matter? Without a word, he nodded and took that grasping hand to tug her along. Back to his humble cave where he resided for now, near the other caves and tents his fellow angels remained.
Was it foolish of him not to ask questions? Yes. But he figured she was most likely running from barbarians, or some ballsy Britons who liked to venture a little too far from home.
Ignoring the warning bells, he took the woman and claimed her. He felt so in control of the pearl white skin, unaware that she so easily captivated him like a moth to the flame. Surely, as a former high seraph, he would have detected some sort of threat. What was the harm in exploring the experience of living in the flesh? He was already Fallen, thanks to Samyaza and his crew.
After a full night of amorous companionship and passionate love making, Ramiel woke up in a dark and putrid place. His first instinct was to gag at the stench and horrid taste in his mouth. The sound of chains greeted him mockingly with their happy jingling tune as he tried to stand up, only to fall back down on his ass.
Ramiel didn’t panic. Not yet. He inhaled deep, scrambling over to gather his wits and find out where the Hell he was. Ah, and that was the irony. His whole body went rigid when he discovered that Hell was precisely where he now sat.
“Sariel!” He started frantically kicking at the metal that kept him chained to the rotten floor, “Sariel! Tamiel! Turiel!? Ananiel!” His kicks become more hysterical as his chest seizes and his yelling escalates, “Samyaza! Aramoros!! ANYONE!”
But his voice was but an echo. A little squeak in a cacophony of screams, pleas, begs, and sobs that fed the darkness. That became the very foundations of the Hells. His new home.