Regularr
patreon
Ars Goetia – Episode 10 (Paid-Members)
🕑 Added 2024-01-16 17:31:47 +0000 UTCWords Count: 4045
A/N: This cold’s annoying. I hate this weather so much. On the bright side, my birds have finally bonded. They did the deed and I’m expecting chicks.
Just like every other morning, I find myself going through my daily routine as usual. It's actually quite peculiar. I have the ability to instantly clean myself with a simple thought, yet I still enjoy indulging in my familiar routine. Maybe my desire for structure and familiarity is something deeply ingrained in me.
It just... Makes sense, I suppose?
It's fascinating how your mind sometimes drifts to contradictory notions. Wanting both monotony and peace, and yet craving adventure and unpredictability. Although it's not difficult to understand why.
The desire for control speaks to our need for stability, while the longing for surprises and changes represents our thirst for something new and refreshing.
After completing my routine, I step outside to see Muriel bustling around the kitchen.
Usually, I take charge of breakfast and whip up a quick meal like eggs and bacon.
I know it's not the healthiest, but it's definitely an improvement from the sausages, instant noodles, and occasional dry rations I used to eat as a Hunter. "Looks like I'm out of a job," I remark, catching Muriel off guard. She turns to face me with wide eyes, clutching her chest.
"Oh G--"
I quickly signal for her to stop.
While the excruciating headaches that used to accompany any mention of Yahweh or the recitation of his Verses have diminished (Or maybe I have just developed a higher pain tolerance), I'm not interested in starting my day with invisible needles piercing my skull.
The woman blushes and covers her mouth, bowing deeply. "I-I apologize, Milord, it's just--" I narrow my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Get up and stop with the 'Milord this, Milord that.' Just call me Jon or Goetia…"
Do I look like Yahweh? This is just painful to watch...
‘Why? Humans were originally designed to grovel and provide Faith Energy to the Gods. It's their natural place,’
Pride echoes in my mind. ‘Now that they’re without Gods, they turn to other idols- singers, actors, these influencers... Sometimes, they even worship themselves! It's better for them to serve us than to serve mortals.’
‘Are we not the same? Were Angels not created to serve Yahweh? And don't forget, I was human too.’ I inquire, immediately spotting the hypocrisy in his statement. ‘True, but we shed our Angelic nature to become Demons. We emancipated ourselves, while the humans continue to fight among themselves. We are better, and the single Universal rule is survival of the fittest.’
Pride retorts with zealous conviction. I decide to tune him out completely; unable to bear his speeches any longer. ‘Don’t virtue-signal. You sleep with married women; surround yourself with objects of your affection. Be anything you wish- Good or Evil, but never a hypocrite… If you cannot be real to yourself, then there’s no point.
At the end of the day, nothing exists but your pleasures and displeasures.’
Technically, he's not wrong. Demons are undeniably superior to humans. Of course, there are exceptions, but they are just that exceptions. However, the way Pride puts it is just... So difficult to hear. What was I expecting, anyway? "Sorry, Milor--" Muriel catches herself and corrects, "Apology, Jon."
"It's alright."
I have to remind myself that this is her default. She has spent so long living under the rule of a tyrant that she can't easily break free from it.
For a brief moment, I consider the idea of sending her away, just like I should with Cindy. But is it right to do so? I would be exposing two chickens to a bunch of foxes.
‘Who's to say Cindy won't get kidnapped again? Or Muriel won't be captured by her fanatical congregation?’ At the same time, I can't keep coddling them, keeping them locked up and idle. ‘Maybe I can enroll Cindy in a public school? Preferably one without all the SJW nonsense going on nowadays.’
First, I'll need to find a tutor to bring her up to speed.
As for Muriel, I can probably find a clinic for her.
It might be challenging to obtain certification, but I'm sure Vought can help with that.
Getting the Government to comply isn't that difficult in the 'Land of the Free.'
Just throw a hefty sum of money at a politician (They call it lobbying nowadays, I believe? Well, in the past, it was just good old-fashioned bribing), convince them it will advance their career, and voila! You've got a politician in your back-pocket. But don't forget to gather some dirt on them too, just in case they decide to... Not necessarily toss you under a bus or an eighteen-wheeler, but perhaps nudge you in front of a speeding van.
If you can't win, break the board.
Mutual destruction is the method.
Some will argue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, but let's be honest, if you don't fight back, you'll be trampled upon.
Try to spare the innocent from the crossfire, but if you're dragged through the mud, your enemies should face the same fate. After all, few climb the political ladder through fair means... Think of it as doing the world a favor- two favors, actually!
"Muriel, are those waffles?" She smiles and pushes the plates towards me. The golden syrup coats the entire stack, garnished with slices of fruits and berries. "Waffles and toast, sir!" It's not exactly to my taste, I must admit. Not that I'm one of those meat-only guys, but I'm not particularly fond of sweet dishes as the main course.
I crave something savory, spicy, and filling.
Sweets often give me a stomachache when consumed as an entire meal instead of as desserts.
But well, "Thank you."
Sometimes, we have to make do.
Besides, I highly doubt Demons can even experience a stomach-ache. "I'll call Ms. Cindy. Meanwhile, please enjoy your meal."
"I will."
Time passes, and eventually, the two of them make their appearance. "Morning, Jon."
"Cindy...”
I cup my hands together, and rest my chin on the backs of my wrist. “How would you like to go back to school?" Assuming the Telekinetic had attended one in the past, before getting grabbed by the unethical scientists to begin with. “School?”
Her eyes widen as she repeats, almost as if she has never even entertained the idea. “Yes, school.”
“I think it’ll be good for her.” Muriel adds, cheeks stuffed to the brim with waffles. “A girl can’t just stay cooped up all day in her room, watching those stupid shorts and influencers.” I don’t necessarily agree with her idea, but she has a point. Being alone is the path to severe depression… As long as she is out there doing something productive with her life… “You too, Muriel. You can’t just stay in the house either.”
Her hands tremble. “But I do go out?”
“For grocery…” I drawl, “Get a hobby or something to occupy yourself with, I’ll ask Madelyn and her Boss to help you open a clinic.” Christians may be completely illogical when it comes to their Faith, many of whom are merely power-hungry and use Yahweh’s teachings to justify their evil deeds, but Muriel doesn’t strike me as one such person.
She’s… Kind… A bit judgmental and hypocritical, but then again, who isn’t? The Gods themselves are guilty of this, and I am too.
“I cook–”
I interrupt. “Get a second hobby, or a third. Drawing; carving… Whatever happens to draw your interest, try it out.”
If Muriel’s doing it because it’s all she can do, it’s not a hobby, it’s a clutch.
Both look pale at the mere idea of new experiences, and I can’t fault them. A gilded bird will be terrified of Freedom, because it has no knowledge of how to handle it, nor what to do with itself.
I believe this is why religions attract a large number of people around the world, serving as a shield against the monsters such as: The dreadful realization that Death comes for all; depression; and existential emptiness…etc. Purposelessness is a whole lot scarier than the loss of Freedom. “But–!”
“No, but!”
I glare, both admonishing and angry. I could easily make them my puppets, bending them to my every whim, but I can’t stomach the idea of making people mindless machines. There are evils- sometimes necessary, and then there are ‘Evils’.
“I will have the Bank arrange for you to have cards. They’ll come with stipends, so you can use them to learn something or, I don’t really, just grab a cup of coffee for yourself, if that is what you fancy.”
My fork stabs into a piece of waffle that I hungrily devour. Odd, since I don’t hunger, not the way humans do, but my mind wants to eat- to taste. Maybe it is the fact I have wasted my early twenties on the bland, shitty foods while active as a Hunter, but these taste amazing. “I know you two are afraid, and rightfully so, but I won’t tolerate freeloaders in this house.”
— Ars Goetia —
I soar through the sky, scanning the surroundings for those in need.
Despite Vought going through some changes, it’s still important for Heroes to be visible, lending a hand to people from time to time. I
t’s necessary, otherwise complaints will undoubtedly arise.
Homelander attempted to use this as an excuse to avoid training yesterday, although he didn’t succeed. Nevertheless, there is some truth to his words. With crime rates already on the rise, if we don’t showcase our actions, even in the smallest way, trust in Vought’s Heroes will diminish.
“What’s going on over there?” I spot a huge crowd congregating under a skyscraper, and where there is a crowd… Flying over, I finally realize what’s happening. Someone’s trying to commit suicide, an amputee, it looks like. He… Doesn’t look angry or hysterical, just resigned. Eyes closed, the man takes a step forth, I gaze down to see a bunch of people recording it like it’s a spectacle. A few are even cheering loudly. “Hey there, buddy. Whatcha’ doin’?”
The amputee whirls around with wild, startled eyes, before a sense of calmness settles over him.
“Are you here to take me to Hell?”
I tilt my head questioningly. “What gave you that idea?”
He gives me a look, glances at my bat-like wings; forked tail and grey Armor. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Besides, God hates suicide. He’ll not take me into his Kingdom of Heaven… Where else will I go if not Hell?”
“Bold of you to assume we’d even want you in the first place.” I roll my eyes. “Do you drink, Mr–?”
“Sparsely.”
He answers curtly, half-a-foot already over the ledge. “Then don’t jump, I will get us a pack. Talk for a bit, and if you still believe this is the best course of actions, I won’t stop you.” I wink, a half-smile on my lips.
"Why should I bother? What could you- the literal Antichrist- possibly say to convince me not to jump? The usual spiel about how Hell is terrible? How I’m throwing my life away? How I’m hurting the people I love doing this?!” Valid question... Why should he listen? "Think of it this way, you're determined to go to Hell, and I happen to be a Demon. If we are going to be stuck together as roommates, it might be worth getting to know each other first, wouldn’t you agree?"
Suicide… I’ve seen people like him before, and I know I’ll continue to witness them in the future.
In fact, I see that same person reflecting back at me every day, but the reality is this: Nobody genuinely desires death. Not a single person… What they truly long for is an escape from their anguish.
He will not jump, because deep down, he wants someone to stop him- to hear him out, listen to his story. If the amputee truly desired the end, he’d have done it already. Yet, here he is, desperately mustering up the courage to go through with the act. Desperate for a reason to live… “Remember, don’t fucking jump, or I will be very crossed with you.”
I threaten, flying down to the crowd.
“GOETIA! GOETIA!!!”
Some in the crowd cheer, though most look confused by my action.
“Anyone got booze?”
My question continues to baffle them, leaving them even more perplexed.
"Apologies, folks. I need to take a few shots before I can get him down," I proclaim. Their expressions twitch, and eventually, a teenager raises his hand tentatively.
"Will this do the trick?"
He asks, extending a bottle of vodka- the kind you can find in any ordinary liquor store.
I give him a scrutinizing look and retort, "Dude, are you even of legal drinking age?" He appears bewildered and stammers, "Y- Yes?"
"Is that a definitive answer or a question?"
The boy practically wilts under my stern glare. “Enjoy the moment, but prepare for the future as well.”
I remind him, taking flight, “Oh, and I am confiscating this! Take this as a lesson!”
Landing on my bottom, legs thrown carelessly over the ledge, I pat the spot next to me, beckoning him. The amputee hesitates for a moment, but then seems to harden his resolve and sits. “It’s not a pack, but vodka works too, right?”
“Never been a fan…”
He grabs the bottle, “But fuck it.” And starts chugging.
“Leave some for me, dammit!”
We play-wrestle for a bit, all while the crowd below… Bellows anxiously. I’m not fighting for real of course, or else he would’ve ended up as a red smear on the ledge.
But eventually, I do manage to get my vodka back, “You greedy asshole!” I complain, though by that time, only a fourth of the original bottle remains. I chug the alcohol, and ask, “So, mind telling why you’re doing this?” Clearly tipsy, he groans. “Fuck do you think? Look at my fucking arm! I’m fucking useless like this… What good can I do anyone? All I’ve been is a burden, and I’m so fucking tired of it… I hate it, I hate this… Why’d God let this happen to me?! I have been selfish and lustful, but this?!”
“Credit where credit’s due, buddy. Yahweh ain’t responsible for this.” He’s powerful and quite high up on the totem pole, but he’s not what Christians think. Yahweh is nowhere close to Omnipotent or All-Knowing, he’s just like every other God… Flawed. “Then WHO?!”
He hisses,
“Nobody.” I answer. “You were just unlucky.”
That seems to diminish the rage he feels, “But Go–”
“He’s not Omnipotent, I’m sorry to say. He’s extremely smart–” I allow the Genetic-Memory to fill my mind; a floodgate that trickles slowly from the Pillars. The Seven Sins are creations of Lucifer, and the only ones who weren’t made from actual Houses, hence they do not have a lot to contribute, but the Pillars? Oh…
“He is… Logical to a fault, to the point sometimes it felt like he is neither a person nor God, but a machine wearing the guise of one; and he has no sympathy for anyone. To him, as long as the System he created works, he’s not afraid to commit genocide or any atrocity. Make no mistake, he’s not Evil, but neither is Yahweh Good.”
The right word to describe the Biblical God would be: “Amoral. He believes he’s beyond such pesky things such as Morality… There’re a lot to be laid at his feet, but your accident’s not his fault. He’d never have done it, unless it serves a purpose.” My parents’ demise cannot be laid at his feet, this I of course realize, what I hate him for is the inaction. He could’ve done something… Anything, yet he sits back and just allows bad things to happen.
I can understand leaving the non-believers, but my parents were devout- diehard Christians, yet he never answered. Not once. A Covenant is by definition an Agreement, and he’s broken his.
“Then surely, there must be a God responsible for this fucked-up world?”
There probably is, “But I wouldn’t know. Nobody does, I think? Not even the Gods, nor us Demons. Unlike humans, we don’t ponder the nature of the Universe, because at the end of the day, it’s a circular argument. Why should we care about what the Creator of the Universe wants? Will it change anything? Does it make your life any better, or worse objectively?”
“It changes EVERYTHING!” He yells.
“Why?”
I blink at him, “I eat because I hunger. I drink because I thirst. I have sex because I lust, and I take because I desire. It’s that simple. Why is there a need for a higher meaning? Is Life itself not a million times more meaningful if we get to decide our own Purpose?”
He trembles, more bitter than angry.
“How can one be purposeful if one lacks the basics to survive?”
“Are there not people in worse situations than yourself? They’re pushing through hardships every day.” I inquire, my tone even and calm… Many make the mistake to rely on anger when it concerns situation like this, to make the other person want to live out of sheer spite, but such a method rarely lasts, and even if it does, all it creates is a monster. In a way, I dare say it’s a type of Death worse than the actual one; it's a Spiritual Death, one people may never recover from.
“Even people who’re in a better situation than you, do you think they’re happy? Do you really believe they face no hardship of their own?”
He grits his teeth. “What does someone like you know of sufferings?”
“Plenty.” I respond, remembering those bitter times when all I thought about was vengeance. I did get what I wanted- I found the Skinwalkers responsible for my parents’ deaths and ended their lives in the most heinous way I could think of, yet it brought me no peace. “Even now, half of the world resents me simply because I am a Demon. I will admit I’m sinful, but compared to what Mankind’s done in the name of Goodness or Righteousness… Am I really?”
It’s all a matter of perspective, really.
What annoys me is how they seem to wear this façade of Goodness like a shield,
It’s why I love seducing nuns, because it exposes the hypocrisy in their own arguments. The truth is, we’re all doing what we want and need; what benefits us most. Pride’s right, as abhorrent as his speech was… The only thing that matters in the end are my pleasures and displeasures, and because of that, I will rid the world of the Abrahamic Faith, then I’ll drag the people to a new Age, kicking and screaming if necessary… An Age of Atheism!
“I’m not saving you out of the kindness of my heart, I’m doing it so more will buy into my ideology, and to be able to look at myself in the mirror with a clear conscience.”
“Clear conscience… Hah…”
He laughs wearily. “Never thought I’d see the day a Demon says such a thing.”
“Well, now you have!” I send him a cocky smile, putting the bottle in his hands. ‘Haven’t even had a sip… Whatever.’ He looks like he needs it more than me, anyway. “Give me one reason to sanction your suicide, and I will not only not stop you, I’ll even make it painless.”
“I just…” He empties the bottle, gazing at the lazily moving clouds. “I just want my anguish to end… I feel miserable. My parents, I know they have good intentions, but their constant wailing makes me feel like I’m so much… Less… I had so many dreams, you know? So much to look forwards to, and now I’m never going to get it.”
“So you want to end it because it hurts you seeing them share your burden?” He doesn’t vocalize it, instead answering with a slow nod. “Are they down there, right now?”
“No… I kept this from them. Didn’t want them to see their son in this state.”
His hands shake, nearly causing him to drop the bottle.
“So you do realize the mental anguish they’ll experience.”
“I guess…”
He mumbles. “But the hospital bills have already drained a large portion of their savings. I can’t burden them any longer.”
“Money can be made back. It’ll be difficult, I won’t lie to you.”
I glance at him.
“But your Life? It’s a small price to pay, and I think they’ll agree with me on this. Even if you end it like this, they’ll still suffer, and since the Afterlife’s a thing, you will suffer too. This hurts everybody involved far worse. If this is the only reason, then I think it’s a stupid reason.” I kick my legs. “I can give you a hundred reasons to live. Will you care to listen?”
He looks at me, pleadingly.
“1) To eat ice-cream–”
“I’m diabetic.” He responds immediately, causing the words to get caught in my throat. “Fucking Hell… I can give you 90 reasons for you to live, then!”
“Ten of them were about sweets?”
He stares at me weirdly, and I cough in embarrassment. “Give me a break, it’s tough coming up with a list on the fly.”
One by one, I start giving up a whole load of reasons, until the Sun reaches the middle. “80) To succeed despite all odds.”
“Doesn’t that overlap with No. 67?”
He chuckles.
“Nope.” I reply cockily. “One appeals to contentment, one spite. They’re not the same.”
“Potatoes, po-tah-toes. But alright, I get it, you don’t have to–” I throw him a withering glare. “It costs me brainpower to think this up, so you’re going to sit and listen, you hear?”
He throws his arms up in surrender. “Fine! Keep them coming!” By this time, the crowd below has diminished, but the firefighters are still there with the cushion fully-inflated. From the corner of my eyes, I spot a couple rushing towards the building. It’s faint, but I can see the resemblances the amputee bears with them. I just have to keep this up until they get here.
“No. 85… 86… 87…”
The door to the rooftop bursts open, and two people run towards us. “Archie! Thank God–” I hold back a wince.
“You’re okay! We saw the News and we‐ I- What were you thinking?!” Words seem to fail both as they throw their arms over him. “May I suggest getting him off the ledge first?”
They, thankfully, listen to my suggestion, although the wife does send me a fearful look. Ouch… “Guess my job here is done. I’ll take my leave first, and Archie?” The man looks at me tearfully. “This is my number.” I throw him a piece of paper. “Three months later, I want you to call me, tell me all about your progress, got it?”
Archie nods.
“Are you sure you’re a Demon?”
“Quite sure, I’m afraid.”
I answer, a cigar held between my lips.
Just as I’m about to take off, a hand grabs my wrist- It’s his father.
“I don’t trust you…”
Double-ouch…
“But as a father, I cannot thank you enough.”
His shoulders tremble, and I can tell it’s taking everything from him to keep up the façade. I reveal a smile, “You’re welcome.” The scene’s touching, but the slight pangs in my heart as I watch the family embrace one another can’t be ignored.
Would things have turned out differently if my parents hadn’t decided to go camping in the wood? Would I have continued with sports…? Maybe try my hands at singing?
Maybe I could’ve become an astronaut…
Would they have been proud with the person I am now?
I won’t lie and say the feeling of rejection the Pillars had felt when their Creator forced them to be subservient to Mankind isn’t influencing my feelings; the pain when they’re denied even the right to be people… The two seem to mix and mesh, driving my negative emotions to the peak. I ruthlessly stomp it out.
‘We play with the cards we’re dealt with.’
And since this is my hand, there’s no point dwelling on ‘what ifs’.
