Well, now that we've got you comfortable - you are
comfortable, right? Excellent - we can have that
chat.
So, you've come here because you want to know about
the Malakim. I can understand your concern; they are
really quite unnerving to the average demon. So quick
to judge, so quick to strike, so slow to get rid off -
it's not surprising that even in the safest parts of
Hell their very name is almost never uttered aloud in
tones above a whisper.
But then again, perhaps it is. Rationally speaking,
the Ofanim strike harder in battle, the Cherubim are
more relentless when roused and the Elohim display
superior ruthlessness. I will admit that their
ability to treat vessel-death as a minor annoyance is
troublesome, but alone it seems a somewhat thin reed
to support so much fear. We have had twenty thousand
years to adjust, after all -
- While I'm thinking of it, let me adjust that seat
for you; I see that you're having difficulty with the
mechanism. There: much better, no?
As I was saying, we've had plenty of time to get used
to their unique tactical advantage, so why are we
still so afraid?
Well, I think that it's partially the way they
appeared. Obviously, we knew that the Tyrant would
cheat, if things started going badly; it's His nature.
But the way that He cheated was completely
unexpected... and it's the unexpected setback that's
the most disturbing, I've found. We were anticipating
some sort of overt display of power, you understand.
Some sort of manifestation of Divine (pardon my
language) anger, something that would probably destroy
us but would at least indicate that He took us
seriously. Instead, the Tyrant showed His contempt
for His loyal fools by warping some of them into
Will-less killing machines.
I think that this is really the key, you know. Most
of Hell fears the Malakim because they revolt us: they
are revolting because they are both a perversion and
an ultimate insult to our original justified
complaint. We are Will given form: the Malakim are so
bound that their Will cannot be freed. I often doubt
that we'll ever be able to help them: we've certainly
spent a long time trying!
Ah, the tea is ready. One lump, or two? Oh, I do
apologize: I seem to have given you three, instead.
I'm afraid that I can be a bit enthusiastic at times.
Where was I? Ah, yes, the Malakite inability to Fall.
Do you know that some angels actually think that this
proves that Malakim are, if you'll pardon the
oxymoron, Divine demons? Amusing, isn't it? Trust it
to the Host to completely get things backwards: the
Malakim could not be farther removed from being
demons. They have had their ability to choose burned
out of them, and a demon is nothing without choice.
It is really very sad - and painful. You can feel it
pressing against your chest like invisible steel
bands...
Oh, you seem surprised that I would apparently know of
this. Why? Hadn't you come here explicitly to spy
out those of my Band and Prince? Well, here I am: a
Balseraph of Fate who has shouldered the burden of
intimately knowing the Malakim. It is a burden, and
one for all who share my doom. We bear up underneath
it as well we can, for as long as we can. But I am
sure that you are not interested in my plight...
How gratifying of you to show otherwise: still, we
have much to do, so I will try to restrain my
garrulity.
I cannot tell you what it is like to be safe from
Falling: I was never an angel, so I have no idea what
that ignorant fear must taste like - and, obviously,
currently the point is moot. Also, I am alas no more
immune to Trauma than you would have been. But I can
speak of the oaths. The oaths are really the key to
it all, and I know more than I would have ever wished
to know about them.
The oaths... make everything simple. Binary. Linear.
Boring. When you are aligned with them, everything
is perfect and smooth. There are no complexities or
rough edges in your mind. You are detached from
yourself, but not in a bad way: you move through your
existence secure and perfectly in balance. That is
the carrot that the Tyrant gave the Malakim: the
ability to be sure where they stand. But, like all
his 'gifts', the carrot is also a stick - for when you
are not aligned with your oaths, the perfection goes
away.
In its place comes pain.
The pain starts slowly. It feels more like an itch
than anything else, at first: not enough to hurt, too
much to ignore. If it would just steadily build from
there, that would not be so bad, but the pain is
rarely that accommodating. It builds - and recedes -
in fits and starts, depending on stimuli that we do
not fully understand, even now. It is like a dull
roar with knives in it. It is like a breathing band
of red-hot steel across your chest. It is like dry
wind on a fevered neck. It is like none of those
things. It hurts, and it will not stop hurting, and
it cannot be denied...
Excuse me. The loss of Will tied up in this is hard
to explain, impossible to share. How can I describe a
pain that can make dissonance seem a relief? We
Balseraphim who have the hardest of our unique burden
rarely speak of it; it is a relief to express my
anguish for once.
And, because you have been so attentive, I will
whisper a secret in your ear. A gift that you may
take with you on your journey to... wherever you will
end up going. No, do not shy away: isn't a secret
what you wanted, why you came here unbidden?
The secret is... some of us do not own the two oaths
that Kronos adapted for his Balseraphim's use. Some
of us do not suffer an enemy to live, if it is our
choice, or merely never allow ourselves to surrender
or be captured by the forces of Heaven. No, indeed,
some of us do not suffer evil to live, and never allow
ourselves to be taken by Hell. I would curse Kronos
for this, but... I cannot.
Do you understand, then, why I must do what comes
next? Do you understand how I cannot do otherwise,
even though every atom of my Will shrieks otherwise?
I have been given no choice but to suffer the evil
that is Kronos to live. I have been given no choice
but to suffer the evil that is Fate to live. I have
even been given no choice but to suffer an evil to
live that has legitimate business with the Archive, or
Fate, or Kronos. I have a choice, though, when it
comes to spies, or those who come unbidden here. I
have a choice, so I have no choice at all.
It is a strain to speak to you at all. The oaths look
with reptilian eyes through my own, and when I see you
there, securely bound to that chair, it is all I can
do to stop myself from extinguishing your 'evil' on
the spot. I held out for so long, this time - but my
Will crumbles, as it did for all the rest. I cannot
fight it for much longer, but I so need at least one
of you to understand - honestly, truly understand -
that I would not do this.
I would not.
I would not.
But I must.
Here endeth the lesson.
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