My name is Samael. I have no surname. I was born millions of years before the human custom of family
names was even a thought. Well. �Born� in a sense at least. But I�ll get to that in a moment. I call myself malach, but humans
refer to my kind as angels.
Allow me to get you a bit
acquainted with me before I begin my tale.
Firstly, I am considered just a
bit short for an angel. In human
measurements, I stand six feet and tree inches tall, or 192 centimeters. My hair is an average brown, and clipped
short, with bangs that are somewhat spiky and that incessantly fall into my
eyes, which are a dark green. I�ve been
told that my eyes give an impression of sweetness�that I obviously don�t
possess. Yet I have also been told that
I remind others of a human myth called an �imp.� Apparently this has to do with my slight (emphasis on the slight,
of course) penchant for mischief. My
skin is rather pale, but not so much that you would notice. All in all, I view myself to be very average. Well, now that you have an idea of who I am,
let me begin my story.
Right away, forget everything
you think you know about us. About
God. Most likely very little or none of
it is true. There is no God. We are your creators, and your
saviors. Of course there were only
seven of us then�myself included. We
don�t know where we came from, or why.
Perhaps there is some entity even above us, more divine than us. We don�t know. And none of us bother to question it, save in an idle passing
thought. All I know is, there was
nothing but darkness then, emptiness.
Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Zagzigel, Cafiel, and myself�we had
all just been �born,� and we were so confused, so frightened.
While we sat in the darkness,
conversing in a language we somehow all knew and agreed upon, more and more of
us �born� in the same way we original seven were. Michael claims that he was the first, only by a few moments, and
no one challenged him. It seemed like
quite some time that we seven were alone, wondering, before others began
appearing. There was Lucifer, whose
ability to somehow create light out of the nothingness surrounding us earned
him the affectionate nickname �Morning Star.�
Then came Azrael, Sachiel, Atuniel, Matriel, Yroul, Achaiah, Eiseth Zenumin,
Anael, Danyael, Uzziel, Camael, Zaphael, Guziel, Puriel, and any number of
others.
We began testing the powers we
apparently had inherent in us, and found that, within reason, we could create
things in the darkness merely by willing them to be.
Lucifer performed the first
organized trial. He made millions of
soft sparkles of light, warm to the touch and gentle to the eyes. He used special care creating each and every
one, and as he did so we spread them across the darkness, tiny and beautiful
pinpoints of light. Almost in boredom
we arranged some of them into patterns, imagining fantastic creatures, which
these patterns could represent.
Surprisingly enough, humans did recognize these patterns much, much
later. We named these lights amoor,
what you call stars.
While we are on the subject of
Lucifer, please allow me to stray for just a moment, and speak of my fellow
angels. None of us quite understood how
we knew or why it was, but all of us recognized that we were quite pleasing to
look at. None of us were really frail,
but delicate, in our own way. It is
difficult to explain unless you have seen one of us. Out of all the lovely faces, however, the most beautiful was
definitely Lucifer.
Never before Lucifer had I seen
a being so utterly gorgeous, so�perfect.
Ask any of us you please. They
will all agree with me. His hair was
silvery, shimmery (that�s such a queer word, isn�t it?) and trailing down to his
feet in perfectly straight, soft tresses.
Sometimes the two of us would sit and talk, and I would braid his long
hair. I loved how it felt in my hands,
its knotless length slipping through my fingers. His skin was smooth, perfectly taut against his softly angular
features, and slightly pale. He had a
wonderful body, lean, and muscular. (None
of us had any clothing at this point; understand.) He seemed perfectly formed, more so than any of the rest of us
could hope to be. And so intelligent,
even with our limited knowledge. He had
a quick wit and a sharp tongue, and you had only to look into his large golden
eyes to know that there was depth to him, complexity. We all loved Lucifer dearly, and I�m sure most or all of us still
do. I know I still do. You don�t stop loving someone as gentle as
Lucifer. And he was, gentler than any
of us, gentler than the petals of a rose.
I wish so much that I could see out sweet Morning Star again, even
now. But that is impossible. And I shall get to why later.
Then there was Gabriel. Sweet Gabriel. We all knew Gabriel to be a true heart and the purest soul ever
to exist. He was delicate, almost
feminine at times, with his shoulder-length hair falling in wonderful, thick
black waves. His eyes were like bright
sapphires, sprinkled with a first winter�s frost, yet always gentle, so soft
and implicitly caring. He believed in
love before any of us truly knew what it was, and he was willing to do
anything, if it kept those close to him safe.
But Gabriel could sometimes be difficult as well. He was determined to get what he wanted once
he set his sights on it, and sometimes would do silly things to reach his goal,
even things that angered his brothers.
Yet, I could not help but admire and love him, as I still do. Not that I could tell him anymore.
The other so dear to me is our
ever-complacent Raphael. Raphael has an
ever-childlike expression, and he is always the one to go to no matter what the
problem, no matter how trivial or life shattering it may be. He would always listen with a calm comfort
in his somehow gentle red eyes, so full of love and a greater understanding
beyond my comprehension and that of anyone else I knew. I always thought that perhaps Raphael knew
all about truly what we were and where we had come from, but either that he was
waiting for the right time to tell us, or he was bound by whatever or whoever
had given him the information to secrecy.
Either way he kept it from us, yet you could always see the burning,
complex intelligence within those beautiful red eyes. But Raphael has eyes that, no matter how beautiful they may be,
everyone hates. No matter what the
expression on his lovely face, his soulful eyes always reflected such contained
sorrow. It hurts to look at his eyes,
even when you know he�s perfectly content.
He also never has the problem that plagued so many of us, which was hair
in his eyes. Although he seemed most
susceptible to the inconvenience, he with his pale brown tresses flowing
perfectly straight to the floor. He
used to wear it loose, and how those chestnut locks would torture me, tantalize
me, tease me, seeming to beg me to touch them, to slip my fingers oh, so gently
and tenderly, through heir knotless lengths.
He used to let me, as we sat doing nothing, let me play with the tips,
tickling my palms with them as though they were the feathers whose softness
they shared. Then he seemed to notice
my fixation, and sought to subdue it.
He began to wear it back, tied in multiple places down the length of the
tail that now fell down his back. Yet,
for some reason, to this day I prefer men with long hair.
Our resident loose cannon had to
be Uriel. He has calmed down quite a
bit, but he is still quite�forceful when angered. He suits the part with his flame red hair splaying in silken
plaits to slender hips, piercing golden eyes that told of well-hidden mischief
in their depths. He was slim, delicate,
yet seemed entirely a man; he was beyond seductive, and he knew it. The way he would look at you, practically
looking through you and into you at the same time. Uriel was a master at reading people, knowing exactly what they
meant to say despite the words that escaped their lips. Many a time I lost a secret to our �gentle�
Uriel. Everyone lost secrets to him. Whether he could draw it from you without a
word or not, he always learned your secret.
He would speak to you in his deep voice that was like silk, smooth and
soft. He had an absolutely beautiful
voice, and he had no qualms about using it to get what he wanted from you. He could make you do anything with that
voice. He was kind to those he loved, usually,
but when it came to the judgment of humans once they came about, no one was
stricter. Our division between Heaven
and Hell was made clear from the beginning, and where Uriel decided they should
go was final. But Uriel changed, after
an�interesting situation with Gabriel.
I�ll get to that later.
Ah, Azrael�what is there to say
about Azrael? He�s a pain in the
ass. Everything is a source of sarcasm
and cynicism with him. He�s hardly ever
quiet, unless he�s working, and Heaven help anyone who disturbs him. Yet everyone tolerates him, a few even
loving him (here I may note that I am not one of those precious few),
and I can barely understand why. I can
hardly stand looking at him, for a few very simple reasons. One, he senses when you�re looking at him
and immediately demands to know what you want.
No silent appreciation of Azrael is tolerated, and I quite enjoy merely
watching my brothers. Second, Azrael is
the kind that, unless he isn�t writing in his book (I forgot to mention Azrael
is the angel of death. His work
involves collecting souls, and writing the names of everyone born in a large
book given him by Michael, crossing out the names of those dead.), refuses to
speak to you unless he can look you in the eyes. He wants to have your complete attention, and it irritates
me. I dislike Azrael�s eyes. They are a bright, iridescent green, seeming
to glow. This usually would not bother
me, quite the contrary, it would be beautiful, but his eyes are not
normal. They�how do you humans say it? They �creep me out.� His pupils are only fine slits, like a cat
or a snake, and no one seems to know why.
Not even Azrael himself. He is
the only one who carries this strange trait.
All I know is that they are abnormal, creepy, and I don�t like them. Lastly, even when I do speak to him, he is
always so damned difficult. Everything
is an argument, and it�s absolutely impossible to have a normal conversation
with him. But of course, with my love
of long hair, I tolerate Azrael simply for him lovely silver tresses, slipping
down to his waist, and his somewhat cute-looking, ever-protruding bangs that
touch his chin. I can�t imagine who
could love someone like him, but, as you humans say, whatever floats your boat.
Among the few mortals who know
me for what I am, I have found that many of them are preoccupied with two
things-death, and fear. They wonder why
either should have to exist. Even I
cannot tell them that. I may have been
there when it all started, but that doesn�t mean I understand all of it. I don�t think any of us do. But since I have already given an insight on
Azrael, who humans meet after death, Heaven help them, and on Uriel, who seals
their eternal fate, I believe I have covered the subject of death. So now I will cover a subject that is less
pleasurable for me to speak of-fear.
The angel who was given the task
of implementing and exploiting human fears is Yroul. Yroul is a highly difficult being to get along with, though I do
feel sympathy for him at times. By now,
there are only two of us in all of Heaven who do not hate him with a
passion--Matriel, angel of rain, who is also Yroul�s lover, and Raphael, who
never hates anyone anyway. Everyone
else has been tormented by him.
Sometimes I believe Yroul dislikes his job, but he seems to enjoy it
well enough at the time. Yroul must
know your deepest fear before he can torture you with it; he is not omnipotent,
thus he does not automatically know the fears of everyone alive. And he has a very unique way of seeing that
deeply into your soul�a kiss. With a
touch of his lips he knows, and he will not stop until you are broken. He shows you your fear in your dreams, even
your consciousness, every time you close your eyes, until you are no more than
a trembling mass, screaming even at your lover�s voice or touch. It�s not a wonder why everyone despises
him. He is beautiful, though. He looks as though he belongs on Earth, or
even in Hell, more than Heaven. He is
rather dark-skinned, with near black hair that�s always in a messy ponytail,
and eyes so deep a brown they seem black.
I do tolerate him, but only since he has finished his playing with me,
so I am in no danger. And no, I will
not say what it is that I am so afraid of.
Now I suppose it is necessary
for me to discuss the ones who no longer reside with us in Heaven; those who
either fell with my Lucifer, or fell of their own volition. But who to begin with? There are so many dear to me in Hell, or at
least many who I find amusing or otherwise.
Ah! Dommiel. Dommiel is extremely eccentric, and
certainly one of the ones dear to me because of his entertainment value. He would be handsome, I suppose, in his own
way, were it not for his scarred face and body. He has lost his left eye, an injury which was self-inflicted for
some reason unknown to anyone but himself.
As I said, he�s quite odd. I
don�t know what he used to remove his eye, but knowing him, it was probably
something �shiny� and sharp. He likes
things that shimmer. It could have been
a knife, or a spoon, or, knowing Dommiel, it could even be a Pixie Stick. Is that right? The powdered candy in the tube?
Yes, I believe he could find a way to remove an eyeball with one of
those. Thin scars almost lovingly
caress his arms chest, back, and legs, scars which are also self-inflicted for
whatever reason. This, I while I do not
doubt Dommiel�s creativity in such matters, I believe was done with a
knife. He is one of the few of us with
truly short hair, almost a �buzz cut� as you humans call it, but left with just
enough to show the color of his lovely dark red hair, enough to adequately run
your fingers through, if he would allow you to touch him in such a way. His eyes are a golden brown, and his left
ear is adorned with four small silver hoops pierced through the lower part of
it, which I assume he had help in doing.
Otherwise, it would have been disastrously funny to watch. He is slender, lean, but still showing
muscle, not even hinting at the strength he so obviously exhibits when in
battle. He is outrageous in the
department of pure physical strength, but he does lack in tactical
matters. He tends to simply rush in,
maim, and rush out. Which does have its
advantages. However, some in Hell do
not like him, for while he is highly entertaining, he cannot be physically
tortured. Because of his many
self-inflicted wounds, he has become impervious to pain. But then, perhaps some people enjoy
that. Dommiel was also eventually
granted the freedom of leaving Hell and returning whenever he pleases, but only
to journey to Earth. Naturally he is
not permitted in Heaven. And he does
use this freedom to the best of his ability.
He quite enjoys frightening people.
Then there is Furcalor. Dear Furcalor has taken a step beyond
Dommiel in her perversion. Instead of
become numb, he has learned to enjoy the pain.
He �gets off on it,� I suppose you could say. Every few hundred years, he escapes Hell somehow or another
(probably with the help of his good friend and occasional love toy Dommiel),
and hoes on a rampage. He kills dozens
of young men, another thing he quite enjoys, before he is caught. He used to be chained as punishment, by
red-hot chains to a dark, damp wall in Hell, but now that he enjoys it, none of
us have any clue what to do with him the next time he escapes. But aside from his unusual hobbies, when he
is not inside his murderous streak, he is very kind. He is the sort that would try to help you with just about
anything�providing it suits his purposes as well. The one thing you do not want to do is approach him without a
Kevlar vest while he is rampaging. He
can be quite unpleasant during those times, as I�ve mentioned. But any other time, he�s actually very
complacent, and usually a lot of fun as well.
As long as you can overlook his attraction to Sadism and Masochism.
I believe that is all of my
fellow angels who will have a direct impact on the story I plan to tell. Now, if I may continue�