Location: Nektar’s Cauldron
Chapter 1 – A Slight of Hand
Timeline: Sixth Age of Substance, 46th Year, Spring
Enough about Nathily—who cares, right? Let’s get back to something far more interesting—ME! I am Azazel, God of Death, and the petty dramas of elvish maidens are but a speck of dust beneath my notice. My story, however, is one of power, cunning, and the unrelenting pursuit of dominion—a tale far more worthy of your attention.
You’ll recall that I dispatched my Viperz Aspus to Akka, that festering dwarven stronghold, to uncover the fate of my spy Pesties. Had Pesties delivered my plague as instructed? Did the Akka dwarves now possess The Grim, that magical blade I so coveted? And if so, why hadn’t it returned to my hands? These questions gnawed at me like a starving rat, and for over a year, I waited—impatiently—for Aspus to return with answers, my frustration a simmering cauldron ready to boil over.
The Cauldron, my desolate kingdom, sprawled beneath a sky perpetually choked with ash, its jagged peaks clawing at the heavens like the bones of some ancient beast. The air here was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, a miasma that clung to the throat like a lover’s caress gone wrong. My citadel, carved from obsidian so black it seemed to swallow light, loomed over the barren landscape, its spires jagged as my own temper. Within its walls, the corridors echoed with the moans of the damned, their cries a constant reminder of my dominion—and my discontent. I ruled with an iron fist—or, more precisely, a bone fist, the skeletal grip of a god who thrives on despair—but even giving vent to all the evil inside me did nothing to satisfy the gnawing void within.
I couldn’t enjoy my wine, its taste turned to ash on my tongue, a bitter reminder of my stalled plans. Music offered me no comfort, despite my own invention of the piano—I was known to tickle the ivory a time or two in my day, but now the notes fell flat, a discordant mockery of my mood. I didn’t even attempt my experiments, for I knew my mind was too fractured to focus, the weight of uncertainty crushing any spark of creativity.
Worse yet, my anxiety often consumed me, and I spent long weeks languishing in my bedchamber, staring at the intricately inlaid mosaic of my image on the ceiling—a masterpiece of crimson and gold tiles that captured my skeletal visage in all its glory. But my eyes inevitably wandered to a tiny flaw in the design, a single misplaced tile that marred the perfection, and that imperfection became my obsession, a mirror to my own fears of failure. Could I have fixed it? Of course. But when you’re drowning in despair, the will to act deserts you, and such was my state. I simply lay there, shivering on those dark, cold days of insomnia, pulling the heavy bear skins tighter around my tired bones to ward off the chill that seeped through the citadel’s stone walls, longing for a sleep that stubbornly refused to come. I feared all my plans would come to naught, and that fear was a heavier burden than any bearskin could shield me from.
At last, in the first month of the 46th Year of the Sixth Age, I finally had reason to smile. Spring had crept into The Cauldron, its life-giving rays warming even these desolate lands, coaxing sparse, sickly greenery from the cracked earth. My slaves, a wretched lot, emerged from the dank caves where they cowered, their pale faces upturned to the sun, no doubt grateful to escape my incessant screaming, which had echoed through the caverns like a banshee’s wail during my darker moods. The longer days and warmer climes mattered little to me, however; my glee returned for a far more significant reason—one of my guards brought word that Viperz Aspus had finally returned.
Anxious for news, and overjoyed that my spy had actually made it back alive, I forced myself to remain calm, though my skeletal fingers twitched with anticipation. Aspus’ return could only mean one thing, I thought—he’s got intelligence of great import. Surely he knows better than to return to me empty-handed. By Haaz, could he actually have The Grim? Could I lay my hands on that blade even today? The thought sent a giddy thrill through me, a rare flicker of joy in the bleak expanse of my existence.
I smiled at the guard who had brought the news, laying a bony hand on his shoulder, the touch cold as death itself. “My friend, bring me the spy’s packs immediately and prep our little friend for milking.” The guard didn’t flinch at my touch, which most would have done, shrinking from the chill of my presence. Instead, he comported himself with the air of a man who was confident—perhaps too confident, but that remained to be seen. “Per your wishes, sire,” he replied, his manners and speech polished, making me pause to truly notice him.
That’s when I realized he was a Derkka, not a Vizigob. Recall that most of my Vizigob slaves had escaped over a century ago, their rebellion a thorn in my side I’d never quite plucked. Since then, I’d replaced their ranks with Derkka slaves, luring them to my lands with promises of riches in this life and glory beside their god Baal in the next—promises I never fulfilled, of course. The Derkka were the original ‘men turned goblins’ that my alter ego Baal created and they’d been around long before I created the Vizigobs as a more intelligent mutations of them. But with the Vizigobs gone, I had to make do with what I had and the Derkka sufficed enough to run my kingdom, in fact their efficiency was quite a boon if you must know, even if their loyalty was built upon my lies.
But this Derkka guard was no mere lackey—the higher-ups often sent me underlings, knowing I usually destroyed those who annoyed me, and everyone annoyed me sooner or later—but this one was a ranking officer and his bearing was that of a goblin who knew his worth. “What’s your name, captain?” I asked, my voice a low hiss, like wind through a graveyard.
The Derkka flung his shoulders back, his confidence unshaken. “Captain Gol, master, always at your service,” he averred, his voice steady as stone. I smiled approvingly at his amazingly crisp uniform, a rarity among my the goblins who were normally sloppy and also given the meager wages I paid them. The fact that Gol had such a well-cared-for uniform—its black fabric pressed to perfection, the silver trim gleaming like a blade’s edge—was impressive indeed, a testament to his attention to detail. Clearly, this goblin man was going places, and I made a mental note to pay attention to him. Create win-win relationships—that’s what I always say. If this Gol wanted to be a level jumper and could help me get what I wanted, I was happy to help him climb.
“You have done well, Captain Gol,” I said, nodding to myself. Here’s a man who knows how to pay attention to details. And that’s when it hit me. Details. DE-TA-ILS. DETAILS! A sudden clarity cut through my excitement, sharpening my focus like a blade on a whetstone.
“Ah, Captain Gol, I have changed my mind,” I said, my manner growing stern, my voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Do not have your men bring Aspus to the Milking Rooms. Instead, I think I need a more… thorough review of our returning friend. Therefore, ready the spy for a meeting with me in… The Life Labs.” I could tell I’d surprised the man by the way he flinched—though his involuntary tic was ever so slight, it was enough for me to know he understood the significance of my words. Had I simply milked Aspus for intelligence, the process would have left the spy none the worse for wear, but a visit to the Life Labs—well, we both knew that promised a far darker outcome.
Seeing the fearful look in the Derkka’s eye, I confirmed, “Yes, Captain Gol, what you are thinking is correct. But it must be done.” With an ominous grin, my skeletal teeth glinting in the dim light of the throne room, I added, “In fact, the situation requires my utmost attention. Therefore, bring Aspus to me in Room 101.” The air seemed to grow colder at the mention of that name, the shadows cast by the flickering torches stretching like grasping hands across the obsidian walls.
“Room… 101?” Gol gulped, his confidence wavering for the first time, his voice a strained whisper. “Sire?” The throne room itself seemed to hold its breath, the distant screams of the damned falling silent, as if even they feared what was to come.
“Yes. Room 1-0-1,” I repeated, savoring his unease. “But don’t worry, Gol, the delights I have waiting there are for Aspus, not you. Unless, of course, you keep me waiting too long.” With that, Captain Gol raced away, his polished boots echoing on the stone floor, clearly eager to complete his mission and avoid becoming the next subject of my wrath.
I descended into the depths of my citadel, the air growing colder and heavier with each step, the walls slick with condensation that glistened like tears in the torchlight. The torch fires flickered brightly, brushing away the darkness and swathing everything in a stark brightness—an evil paradox to the deadly pall emanating from the macabre scene of the room itself. This was one of my Life Labs—not just any chamber among the group, but the infamous Room 101.
The chamber was a cavern of horrors, its walls lined with shelves of grim tomes bound in what might have been flesh, their spines etched with runes that pulsed faintly with a sickly green glow. The air was sharp with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of chemicals, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a curse. The room was filled with an array of what you’d probably view as cruel-looking instruments—gleaming sets of razor-sharp, glittering tools that might terrify an uneducated mind like yours. To me, and to scientists through the ages who’ve sacrificed all in pursuit of knowledge, they were the necessary tools of the trade, nothing more. Tables of cold iron stood at the center, their surfaces stained with dark, unnameable fluids, fitted with restraints that creaked ominously as I passed. This was a state-of-the-art workshop where I plied my most important task: attempting to unlock the mysteries of Life, The Universe, and Everything.
It’s true that this was not the original job Baal-Zebub had tasked me with, but an occupation I’d taken the liberty to add to my personal life goals—albeit on the down low, for I knew Lucifer had no desire for me to learn the secrets of creation he thought were his milieu alone. Even though everything Lucifer knew came from his father Zebub, and the knowledge the Evil One possessed was flawed at its very core—something the fool Lucifer never realized. But what Lucifer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him… or me. The Dark Lord knew nothing about my Life Labs, for the work I did here was a closely guarded secret. Even if I had been foolish enough to want to tell my master about it—and I wasn’t—I wouldn’t have done so, for I well remembered how much Baal-Zebub had flipped out when I made the mistake of boasting about my success with necromancy on my most recent visit to Illusia.
Recall that just a century past, Lucifer had summoned me to Illusia seemingly out of the blue—a mere 63 years after my last visit, despite my still having a nearly full supply of hellfire, which should have kept me free of him for almost a millennium more. That untimely summons had caused me to lose track of Pesties and the plague he carried to Akka—an oversight that foiled my plans, or at least delayed them. When I got that call, I knew it wouldn’t be a pleasure visit, and my fear was correct. As soon as I entered that hell-world, Baal-Zebub was waiting, seething with a mixture of rage and exuberance, clearly ready for blood—my blood! And the fact that I didn’t have any blood to offer him only made Lucifer even more upset.
Illusia itself was a realm of torment, its skies a roiling mass of crimson and black, streaked with lightning that cast an eerie glow over the landscape of jagged spires and rivers of molten fire. The ground trembled with the pulse of Zebub’s spirit, a malevolent force that seemed to revel in the suffering of all who tread its surface. At Lucifer’s side stood Lilith, his queen, her presence a thorn in my side that had festered for millennia. I had created her long ago as a mate for Adam, but she defied me, refusing to submit—a slight I never forgave. When she dared to interfere with Adam and Eve’s mating, I imprisoned her in the Crystal Towers of Lemuria, their shimmering walls a cage for her rebellious spirit. Later, I offered her as a slave to Lucifer, intending her to be his bride, a calculated gift to curry favor. I could never have imagined that Lucifer would become so enamored with her, but such was my miscalculation. Now, as his queen, Lilith’s hatred for me burned brighter than the molten rivers of Illusia, and she never missed a chance to whisper poison in Lucifer’s ear, urging him to destroy me.
“You have failed me for the last time, Azazel!” Lucifer roared, throttling me to the ground before I could even speak, his claws raking across my skeletal form with a fury that shook the very air.
Lilith stood nearby, her crimson eyes gleaming with malicious delight, her lips curled in a sneer that revealed the sharp points of her fangs. Her red hair hair flowed like a river of fire, and her silken gown shimmered with the hues of hellfire, a stark contrast to the jagged landscape around us. “Yes, my love,” she purred, her voice a venomous melody, “he is a liability—always scheming, always failing. End him now, and be done with his treachery!” Her words were a dagger aimed at my heart, and I felt the weight of her ancient grudge, a feud that stretched back to the dawn of creation.
I tried to ward off Lucifer’s blows as best I could, but they rained down like a maelstrom, each strike echoing with the crack of bone against bone. Meanwhile, Illusia itself pulsed with the Evil of Zebub’s Spirit, the ground beneath us quaking in apparent approval of Lucifer’s actions—a bad sign for me, to say the least. Lilith circled us like a vulture, her laughter a chilling counterpoint to Lucifer’s rage. “He betrayed me in Lemuria, my lord,” she hissed, her voice dripping with scorn, “and he’ll betray you too. He’s a serpent who cannot be trusted—destroy him before he poisons us both!” Her hatred was a palpable force, a storm that threatened to engulf me, and I knew I had to act quickly if I was to survive this dual assault.
At last, when Lucifer paused to admire the effect his beating was having, I risked peeking up at him—and that’s when I saw my doom. Aghast with fear, I realized Lucifer was preparing to do the unthinkable, making ready to release the <Power of Ze> upon me—a force I could never hope to withstand. Lilith clapped her hands in delight, her laughter echoing through the spires of Illusia. “Yes, my king, do it!” she urged, her voice a siren’s call to my destruction. “Let him feel the wrath he deserves!”
Unprepared for such an event, I desperately tried to think of something—anything—to save myself. “I’ve had a breakthrough!” I screamed from behind raised hands. “The dead are talking to me.”
I don’t know if Baal-Zebub heard me, or even cared, for the Dark Lord still seemed intent on destroying me, but my words affected someone… or rather, Something. Illusia itself… paused, the tremors ceasing, the air growing still as if the realm itself held its breath. Lilith’s laughter faltered, her crimson eyes narrowing as she sensed the shift, her disdain for me now tinged with suspicion.
Not wanting to miss my chance, I vomited out whatever came to mind. “I’ve discovered how to use the black art of necromancy to corrupt the work of The Deceiver—I can talk to any mortal that’s died upon Durt, I can call back their spirit!” [That was actually a lie—I couldn’t talk to just anyone, but when a god’s trying to save his skin, any and all embellishments are on the table, right?] “That’s the key, don’t you see? I mean, of course you see, for you see everything, right? Anyway, I’ve learned how to talk to them, that’s the point. And this talking is teaching me a great deal. It works especially well when a mortal dies with evil in their blood—those are the ones that get caught wandering The In Between for all eternity. And they are the key to it all. I mean, my necromancy is the key. It’s the key that will—”
“ENOUGH!” Lucifer shouted me down, his voice a thunderclap that shook the spires of Illusia. “Lies! You are nothing but lies, Azazel!” He again made ready to destroy me, his claws glowing with the <Power of Ze>.
Lilith stepped closer, her grin feral, her voice a venomous whisper. “He mocks you, my love—his words are a web of deceit. Let the <Power of Ze> cleanse him from our sight!”
But Zebub didn’t seem to agree with Its son—or with Lilith—literally sucking the <Power of Ze> out of Lucifer’s hands and knocking him to the ground with Unseen Forces. I smirked inwardly—how do you like it when the tables are turned, Lucifer? Lilith stumbled back, her triumphant sneer replaced by a scowl of frustration, and I seized the moment to press my advantage.
I took Zebub’s intervention as an endorsement to keep talking, though I was careful to help Lucifer save face. “It’s all because of you, my lord,” I lied, my voice dripping with false humility, my eyes flicking to Lilith with a smug glint. “Because you required me to traverse The Stairway of Infinity when I visit your world, I’m constantly reminded of the multitude of dead who are trapped there. For eons, I tried to avoid them, seeing them as a nuisance that delayed my journey to you, but on my last journey, I came to a realization. Surely you’d have seen it long ago, but alas, I don’t have your intellect.” Lucifer growled, and I knew I was laying it on a bit too thick, so I checked myself. “I changed my perspective and finally understood why the damned tormented me so—they saw ME as a means of escape!”
Lilith’s scowl deepened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “He’s manipulating you, my king,” she spat, her voice sharp as a blade. “He’s always been a schemer—don’t let him twist your mind with his lies!” Her hatred for me was a fire that had burned since the days of Lemuria, and I felt its heat even now, a reminder of our ancient feud.
Lucifer didn’t reply to me, but he also didn’t yell at me—that’s when I knew I had a bite, so I gave him a bit more line, ignoring Lilith’s protests. “And where do the damned want to go?” I asked. “Why, here—Illusia—of course. They want to be with you, my lord! But for whatever reason, they’re stuck In Between, forced to eternally wander in that limbo wasteland without any prospect of finding Peace. For Michael won’t let them back into Illyria with the evil in their souls, and misguided travelers that they are, they don’t know the secrets of the wayfare between the planes.”
“How can YOU help them?” Lucifer sneered, but behind that front, I knew he was hanging on my every word, sinking my hook deeper into his psyche. <Click, click, click>—Lucifer was always an easy fish to reel in.
Lilith, however, was not so easily swayed. “He’s playing you for a fool!” she hissed, stepping forward, her silken gown trailing like a shadow across the molten ground. “He betrayed me once, and he’ll betray you too—end him now, before he brings ruin to us both!”
“SILENCE!” Lucifer roared, turning on Lilith with a fury that made even her flinch, the ground beneath us quaking with the force of his command. His eyes blazed with hellfire, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to crackle with his rage.
Lilith’s mouth snapped shut, her crimson eyes wide with shock, though the hatred in them burned hotter than ever as she glared at me. I couldn’t suppress the smirk that curled my skeletal lips—oh, how satisfying it was to see her put in her place, to know that, for now, Lucifer’s greed for power outweighed her influence. My triumph was a small but delicious victory, a balm to the wounds of our ancient spat.
Baal-Zebub studied me behind veiled lids, his gaze a storm of suspicion and intrigue. “Explain,” he demanded, his voice a low rumble that made the ground tremble anew, ignoring Lilith’s seething presence entirely.
I could feel Illusia pulsating Its approval—already understanding my message, even if Its son did not. With a bowed head, I said humbly, “I continue to work my field, ever pursuing the mission you gave me, master. Necromancy is but the next harvest. And when I fully thresh its crop, I’ll better understand the bonds that hold you captive here.” Before Lucifer could feel emasculated by the impotence of his imprisonment, I forged ahead. “The Damned hold that secret! They know!”
[Great storytellers are like fishermen—they know when they’ve got you, when the hook has firmly set, and it’s time to reel the catch in. That’s where I was with Lucifer and Zebub, and it’s why I knew I was superior to them both. My time will come, I told myself—the cream always rises to the top over time. These fools will get their due in the end].
“What secret do they know?” Lucifer couldn’t help asking, leaning closer, his greed outweighing his suspicion.
“The Great Secret!” I whispered, forcing my so-called master to strain to hear my words. “They know how to get back into Illyria!”
“Then why don’t they go?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.
“There’s a difference between knowing how to do something and wanting to do it,” I replied, forcing myself not to sound condescending—though I’m not sure I succeeded, so I fed Lucifer’s ego again. “The Damned don’t want to go to Illyria; they want to come here.” I paused for effect, letting the words sink in. “Once we acquire The Great Secret—and we will, with the help of my necromancy—we can use that knowledge ourselves to break the locks that bind you here, rally The Damned to our cause, and then storm the gates of Illyria! Michael will never see us coming—we’ll overwhelm him and then destroy A’H too.”
“Zebub and I will then rule ALL!” Lucifer cackled in delight, his laughter a jagged sound that echoed through Illusia’s spires, even as the realm showcased a beautiful array of colors, lighting up the skies with Its own brand of celebratory fireworks, crimson and violet streaks that danced like the souls of the damned.
Naturally, all of this was a big fat lie. Yet, lie or not, it worked to let me live another day. Sadly, it didn’t get me an immediate release from Illusia as I’d hoped. Instead, my lies may have been too convincing—Lucifer kept me in Illusia longer than I’d wanted, always wanting to know more about The Damned Plan, chumming it up with me the whole while as if we were old comrades. Guess there’s a first time for everything, huh?
Thankfully, he eventually released me, sending me on my way with a bevy of well wishes that rang hollow in my ears. When I returned to Terra a few years ago, I was famished to get back to my OWN agenda—for as you surely know, I had zero intention of using my necromancy to help Lucifer or Zebub. Instead, I wanted to acquire that knowledge for myself—so that I could rule from The Seat of Power.
And now it’s time to tell you a different story—a far more secret story—a story about what really happened when I blessed Aspus with a visit to my Life Labs…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 