Number of the Beast

[Khendon Sevon]

The date was 6/6/06. It was a long time ago. My memory has worsened since. I can only vaguely recall the taste of drumstick ice cream paid for with paper from moving wagons without horses.

Don’t believe me? There was a time when man used nature to empower himself, when we walked amongst the stars, pictures could move, and everyone was informed of what was happening across the earth at any moment.

This was before that day of final destiny, before June 6th, 2006, before we were left here as judgment.

I scrawl this note now on paper made in the style of the ancients. Crushed plants have formed the base. I am still using a mechanical pencil—raided from one of the overgrown convenience stores.

I write in the simple language of English in hopes that there will be a time when others will gain from knowing about the beginning, the end, that day. I can only pray—though it does very little good now—that there comes a time when man is returned to the Garden that Was.

I should start from that day. Instead, I will start from the night before.

This is my final testament, my last scrawled note, may it help me find peace.

I am Gray, Lord of the Park.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She was watching him from a branch far above, her smooth skin pressed into it's rough bark. Gray was insane to live in the wilds. Most of the humans who had survived the Upheaval were living in Babylon, or the large city on the coast of America. There were other pockets of what civilization was left, but he lived alone.

He was writing again, and Lilaena rolled off her branch to land quietly beside him. Blinking green eyes at him, she snatched the page from his trembling hands and held it aloft. "Your memoirs again, Gray?" She peered at the page. "No one reads this language anymore. You know the only recognized written language is that of the ..." she searched for a word he might understand. "...The Arabs. Babylon is the world capitol, and you blaspheme with this nonsense."

As one of the Fallen, Lilaena did not enjoy being on Earth anymore than Gray did. But, considering her alternatives, it was tolerable. Teasing mortals was amusing, and she did it as often as she could, while maintaining the rules set down by her betters.

[Khendon Sevon]

Gray let out an annoyed breath and fired an icy glare in the direction of the damned creature. “I would play with someone else this day, Fallen One. I am in no mood for you, harlequin. Leave me be to my devices and banish yourself from my realm.”

The man was getting on in years; yet, his eyes were sharp and filled with intelligence. Tight muscles twisted under tanned flesh and calluses lovingly adorned his body.

He looked to the mighty bastard sword that leaned against his table and gestured towards it with his chin.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She sighed mightily, and dropped the paper. "Play with someone else? But who else is there to play with?" The fallen angel hopped onto his table, leaning towards him on all fours. "I am quite fun to play with, as you know."

Lilaena rolled onto her back, her white shirt straining at it's buttons as she looked at him upside down. "Leave your prose and let us... play..."

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Haven't you anything better to do, Lilaena,” a cold voice intoned. It was that of Fitzgerald, another of the choir of fallen seraphim. In his time of glory, he had been a shepherd of mankind, one of the privileged few chosen to watch over the flock, to guard and guide them. In these dark times he maintained his vigil, but for the sake of his own conscience and little more – the higher powers had abandoned him and the humans themselves seemed to resent him for coddling them and lecturing them on their failings.

[Khendon Sevon]

He ran a hand through his shoulder length brown, curly hair. A scant few streaks of silver highlighted the cut reminiscent of Spartan warriors of yore. There was an aged perfection to the man, as if the years had been good for him. Indeed, he easily looked like someone a decade younger.

The spark of life was still strong with Gray. It shone with resilience from every inch of his being.

The man shook his head at the devilish female form that lay before him yearning to be touched. There built up a chorus of passion in him that chanted for him to give in and set aside his work. After all, it could be finished later, couldn’t it? There was plenty of time for writing.

All thoughts of the flesh were efficiently stifled by the entrance of another player onto the theater’s floor.

“Well now,” his baritone voice said with mild amusement, “looks like my little oasis is filling with the cursed and dejected. I’ve been a horrible host,” he stood and walked over to the nearby stream. From its cold waters he produced a dripping wet bottle and placed it on the table. Rustling in a wooden cabinet that seemed to be abandoned, he withdrew three small glasses.

“Red wine,” his teeth shone, “sacramental. Let it bless our stomachs.” He stabbed the cork and drew it out efficiently with his dagger’s tip. The liquid looked like thinned blood as he poured it.

His thoughts remained on the bastard sword that sat so near.

“Will there be any more of you this day?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She had rolled her eyes at Fitzgerald, but recoiled from the bottle. The very idea of it turned her stomach.

"I cannot speak for my, enlightened, brother, but I do have better places to go. Beezelbub summons me to New York." Lilaena struck a pose at the far end of the table. "I'm going to be the new face of Calvin Klein!"

The fallen angel pointed her toes and descended from the table with a glare at Fitzgerald.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Fitzgerald flinched away from the bottle too, though for entirely different reasons. If the wine was in any way holy, it would harm him. Though he was no servant of the Beast, he was damned. The red liquid would burn his insides like fire. “You would do well to ignore this one, Gray,” the heavenly 'Father' warned, his yellow eyes narrowing in suspicion. “She will use you for her own ends, until there is nothing left of you to use... You must remain strong and virtuous in these dark days.”

[Khendon Sevon]

Gray chuckled and lined the glasses up in front of him. They were small enough that the first was downed easily. He took the second delicately in his hand and sipped.

There was mirth painted on his face, yet, those gray eyes were hard. “Preacher, who says I’m not using her for my own ends? Hmm?

“Besides, I’m the Lord of the Park. This majestic stretch of raw Appalachian land is mine. Beyond here there is nothing. No one. Remain strong?” He grunted and finished the wine in a single swig.

“Remain strong for what?” His voice had grown in volume until he was nearly yelling. There was a mixture of anger and sorrow that could only be described as bitterness.

“Besides, I don’t subscribe to your religion. What silly god would be so greedy and blind as to divide up the earth and take only those that met some sort of foolish requirements. What is this? A professional sport? I’m sorry that I can’t spiritually sprint fast enough. God.”

A grin grew and he took up the final glass, “To your god’s good health. May his madness go away.”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

"You're insane, Gray." Lilaena flipped her chestnut hair and pretended to move backwards and away from the picnic table. "No one is coming back for you. Nothing is coming back for anything."

She looked over at the other angel, glee on her face. "Fitzy, you should come away with me. This mortal obviously does not want our help, though you seek to make his days boring and I more exciting."