“Do we have a deal, Gerald?” she asked tersely, her leathery wings twitching with anticipation.
“Such as He had with your master?” Gerald replied. “And please, call me Jerry.”
“I WILL CALL YOU…” she seethed. But Gerald, with his perfect dark hair, perfect smile and perfect white suit of the likes that would make hearts on a runway in Milan flutter, smiled back at the succubus.
“…Jerry.” she sighed.
“Fantastic! I’m glad we could come to at least that agreement, Azuria.” Jerry smiled, adjusting his pristine white tie.
“Sod that agreement, what about the one I want!?!” Azuria’s anger welled as she got in to Jerry’s face.
“You want to torment a soul, just like your master did. Not one yet condemned to him, him being your master, but one alive? But just the soul, and not the flesh.”
“Aye.” Azuria snarled.
“No. Not allowed. The charter dictates that after The Eden Incident that Humans have free will and that He can intervene when He sees fit, but we cannot. And by we, I mean me, you and him. Your him.” Gerald pointed out.
“Say his name, Jerry.” Azuria prodded.
“No.” Gerald replied.
“Why not?” the succubus huffed.
“It’s Tuesday. I want to be back in time for tacos. That’s why He created Mexico, after all. Well, among other reasons.” Gerald smiled, thinking about his heavenly tacos.
Azuria turned her attention back to the battlefield. 1917 had not treated Europe well, and she looked down at the corpses that were strewn here and there across No Man’s Land. “Many of them are already with my master.” Azuria pointed out.
“And more, from both sides mind you, are with Him. War does things to a soul, you know. in fact, some of David’s writing were inspired by war. Number 23…”
“I’ve read them, I’ve read them all, all the books. My master requires us to read The Book so we know what we are up against. I swear, He sent you to torment me, didn’t he?” Azuria accused.
“No, you respectfully requested parlance, and that was granted. We have no real ill will and wish you would all come to your senses and end this silly disagreement your master has with Him. It would be better for us all, I think. We did the numbers. The tourism industry in Jerusalem would improve by leaps and bounds…”
Azuria swung a clawed hand at Gerald, but her strike only met air. She turned and saw him standing behind her, but now flanked by two armored angels.
“Thrones!” the succubus gasped, knowing she was instantly outclassed as their spear lowered from either side of Gerald.
“Fine. I was preauthorized by Him to accept your challenge. I thought it silly, but as we know, He knows best. You may pick a soul from this battlefield to try to break, but know that your assured defeat will reflect badly on both you and your master.” Gerald said. “Per the terms, you are allowed multiple attempts to demonize a soul and only a singular soul. Should the soul accept demonization, you shall be declared victor. However, should said soul at any point call out to The Lord OUR God for salvation, mercy or even a band-aid and spot of tea, we declare victory. To be entirely honest, WE WILL win either way.”
“SAY HIS NAME!!!” the succubus screamed with fists clenched tightly.
“You are new, aren't you? His name has not been said since the First War, nor shall it be said until He is ready to put an end to this all, and you should be aware that He will be watching.” Gerald told Azuria. “Pick a soul, tourture it, but be aware that YOU will be responsible for the outcome.”
“I will succeed where others have failed!” Azuria pledged.
“No you won’t.” Gerald replied plainly. “That much is predestined. We win. It is written.”
Azuria sneered, but the spears of the Thrones prevented her from moving forward.
“Fine, Gerald.” Azuria growled. She turned away from the angels and looked over the corpses on the field. They were caked in mud and blood with lifeless eyes and in some cases just eyesockets gazing into oblivion.
“Corporal MacKinnon, you’ll do.” Azuria smiled. The succubus reached down and with delicate fingers, she lifted the soul of the dead soldier up from the body. His spirit face was a bluish blur, but his fear was evident. “I’m going to have sooooo much fun with you!”
A hole opened, belching out fire and smoke. She pushed MacKinnon’s soul into the Hellmouth and then turned to Gerald to blow a kiss before falling backwards in to the portal to Hell.
The angels waited until the dread gate closed before raising their spears.
“Thought she was gonna get naughty with us, did she?” The first Throne said.
“Proper naughty. She’s a mug, she was.” The second replied.
“Gentlemen, let’s get back. I can’t wait for Tacos!”
“Sorry Jerry, it’s Wednesday now. Y’know ’ow much He like His fetty.” The Second Throne told the archangel.
“That… maddening woman!” Gerald managed a fuss. “Well, are there meatballs? And garlic bread?”
’Course, mate. C’mon!” The first Throne said as the three turned to the stairway to heaven that many souls from the battlefield were now ascending.
“Say mate, that blunderbus never asked about the thighs.” The first Throne mentioned.
“They ne’er do, mate.” The second replied. “She’ll earn ’er rangers on this one.”
Every so often, though, a Hellmouth would open, taking a soul away from what would have been eternal reward.