Part XIX: The Epilogue
Chapter 3 – Was It My Greatest Mistake?
This is the final chapter of The War of the Ghast so I guess I might as well tell you what really happened to that magical blade. Which among us gods ended up with The Ghast?
Surely you know that even though she stole it from Gwar, Sindra didn’t end up with The Ghast. Obviously, you realize I put her up to that little dance, right?
So did I ultimately get The Ghast? Yes.
Did I keep The Ghast, unlock all its secrets, and use that magic of the gods to overthrow Lucifer, Zebub, Michael, and A’H? Did I become THE GOD OF ALL – The Ruler of the Three Planes?
Alas, not quite.
I mean think about it – would I really be wasting my time writing this tripe myself if I was God? Hell, no. I’d be sipping Mojitos on some beach in Illyria while I had some peon do my dirty work for me. But as you can see – I am that peon – Oh the horror of it all.
So what happened to the Ghast after Sindra took it from Gwar?
Before I tell you that story, I need to tell you how I convinced Sindra to help me in the first place – and I’ll have you know that was no easy feat because Sindra and Mezmeriza had a rivalry that spanned eons – they hated each other with a capital “H.”
Long before The Great Fall – back when these two ‘sisters’ were on the same team with Lucifer and the rest of us rebels – even then goddesses had loathed each other. Their hatred continued when we were on Terra after The Fall. Later when Lucifer and Zebub created the hellish underworld of Illusia and trapped all of us lumenarcs there with him, the jealously of Sindra and Mezmeriza festered to new heights in that prison world. And it spilled over onto Terra when they both came back to your world and each sought to set up a kingdom for herself – solidifying the process of making them rivals for all time.
It was thus one of my greatest triumphs to convince Sindra to disguise herself as her most hated rival in order to dupe Gwar—and to make her think the whole charade was her idea!
She took the bait and turned the trick – but oh, what a price I paid for that persuasion.
The Goddess and I had actually discussed the matter long before The War of the Ghast ended and we’d put our plans in place before Gwar murdered Hacktor and stole The Ghast for himself. As a result, we were ready to act when it all went down.
[Naturally we knew the timing of The Darkest Day since I planned the whole thing by pulling on the threads of fate with The Eye of Seraphiel. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times – when you have the right tools, the job is so much easier!]
OK, so what did Sindra get for herself by agreeing to help me? Funny story, that one…
I remember the moment vividly.
We were lounging in my Imaginarium, deep inside the volcanic heart of Nektar’s Cauldron, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and blood. The room itself, bathed in the amber glow of the molten sea beneath, cast eerie shadows across the obsidian walls. It was late—or early, depending on how one measured time in this place—and the third bottle of blood wine had just been uncorked.
Sindra, reclining across from me on a chaise draped in dark silks, lifted her glass with a delicate hand, swirling the crimson liquid. Her eyes, those fierce violet orbs that burned with equal parts passion and cunning, never left my face. She knew she couldn’t tempt me with her usual methods, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
As always, she was a vision of temptation and she’d wrapped herself in a form that radiated primal allure. Her skin shimmered like molten gold in the dim light, a rich hue that seemed to glisten with every subtle movement she made. A cascade of raven-black hair tumbled down her back, long enough to nearly brush the floor, yet wild and untamed like the jungle she ruled. Her eyes were pools of deep violet, both predatory and inviting, framed by thick lashes that only enhanced her piercing gaze. Around her neck hung a serpent-shaped pendant, the dark green emerald eyes of the snake glowing faintly. Draped around her body was a gown of thin, nearly translucent fabric, clinging to her curves as if it had been woven from shadows and mist. The gown left little to the imagination, strategically designed to tantalize but not quite reveal, embodying the very essence of Lust itself. Her presence was intoxicating, her beauty both a weapon and a promise of destruction.
Fortunately for me I had learned long ago not to fall into that trap. Unfortunately, Sindra had discovered another weakness: my ego.
“So, Azazel,” The goddess purred, her voice as smooth as silk, “tell me more about these new… creations of yours.” Her gaze flicked down to the wine in her glass, feigning disinterest. A well-practiced maneuver. “You mentioned something about them earlier—what was it? Something that could change the course of a war?”
I chuckled, feeling the familiar warmth of the blood wine spread through me. I had been boasting. I couldn’t help it—after all, my creations were perfect. Cunning, shape-shifting men with the power to transform into serpents? Yes, they were to be the perfect spies, ideal assassins, unmatched in their subtlety and deadliness. I envisioned them slipping through shadows, unseen, unnoticed, until it was too late for their enemies.
“They’re quite magnificent, Inanna,” I said, leaning back in my chair and using her true name. My words slurred just slightly, but I didn’t care. I was in my element, speaking about my genius. “The Serpens are unlike anything that has ever existed. They can blend into their surroundings, transform into snakes at will… a breed of perfection crafted for the art of deception.”
Sindra’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, though she hid it behind her glass. I watched her closely, still too proud to realize how she was playing me. She took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes fluttering closed in appreciation of the taste.
“And you plan to keep them for yourself?” she asked, her voice casual but with just enough intrigue to keep the conversation going.
“Of course,” I replied, my pride swelling. “They are my creation. My spies, my assassins. Their loyalty belongs to me alone.”
She tilted her head, eyes flashing like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “It’s a shame, really,” she said softly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I would have thought they’d make an excellent addition to my own ranks, considering my domain.”
I arched a brow, the fog of the wine lifting just slightly. “Your domain?” I asked, my tone laced with curiosity. “You mean Lust? I hardly see the connection.”
She laughed then, a low, sultry sound that echoed off the stone walls. “Oh, Azazel. You forget—I am the Queen of the Jungle. The creatures of the wild bow to me. The Serpens… well, they’re nothing if not animals of instinct, wouldn’t you say?”
I narrowed the glow of my eyes. The wine had dulled my senses perhaps, but I could see the game now. She was weaving her web. Clever, I’d give her that.
“You think the Serpens belong to you simply because they can turn into snakes?” I leaned forward, my voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Do you forget who created them, Sindra?”
She met my gaze without flinching, her smile never faltering. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, her voice soft but with an undercurrent of power. “But remember why I’m here – my talents appeal to you, do they not, Love? What are these snake men compared to…me?”
I let out a low growl, feeling the tension in the air shift. She was pushing me, testing the limits. It would have been so easy to strike her down then and there, to remind her exactly who she was dealing with. But then I thought of The Ghast, the reason I had invited her here in the first place. That god-killing weapon, just out of my reach. The Ghast—the power to end gods, to reshape the universe at my will.
“Perhaps you forget that I control death itself,” I hissed. “The Serpens will answer to me, Sindra. Not you.”
She didn’t back down. Instead, she laughed again, this time more openly. “Of course, Azazel. I wouldn’t dream of challenging your… superiority.” Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. “But let’s be honest here, you need me. You need me to retrieve The Ghast for you. And I’m willing to help. For a price.”
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes narrowing. “And what is it you want in exchange?”
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Control of the Serpens,” she said simply, as if the decision had already been made.
I stared at her, my mind racing. She knew how badly I wanted The Ghast. She knew I’d give almost anything to possess it. And in this moment, she was exploiting that. Clever, dangerous woman.
“You drive a hard bargain,” I said slowly, weighing my options. I didn’t need the Serpens, not really. They were useful, but there were other ways to gather information, other means of assassination. But The Ghast… that was irreplaceable.
I took another sip of my wine, feeling the warmth of it course through my veins. I could play this game a little longer. Let her think she had the upper hand.
“Very well,” I said at last, my voice smooth and measured. “You can have the Serpens. They’re yours.”
Sindra’s smile widened, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of triumph in her eyes. She thought she had won.
But I knew better.
“Enjoy them while you can,” I said, leaning forward just slightly.
Sindra chuckled, a low, throaty sound that reverberated in the chamber. “Oh, Azazel,” she said, rising gracefully from her seat. “You always did know how to make a girl feel special.”
She downed the last of her wine and gave me one final, knowing look before rising and preparing to leave. The shadows seemed to cling to her as she moved, as if the darkness itself was drawn to her presence.
After her spirit disappeared, I sat there in the flickering light, swirling my wine and considering the exchange. Yes, I had given her what she wanted. But she had no idea what I had just gained in return.
The Serpens were expendable. The Ghast was not.
And in the end, I always get what I want – or so I thought.
Giving Sindra The Serpens would later prove to be a decision that would come back to haunt me centuries later, but I didn’t know it at the time, thus when Sindra used my magic to transform herself in the likeness of Mezmeriza, and then seduced Gwar and then stole The Ghast, and then did as she promised and delivered the god-killing weapon to me, well I couldn’t have been happier!
I paid her dues and sent her on her way.
And that, my friends, is how ol’ Azazel got my hands on The Ghast!
Yes, Yes, I know what you’re thinking – what about Dagaal? You remember Dagaal – the Bone Dagger – created by Baal from my own rib bone – a weapon designed to destroy ME! Wasn’t that the reason for The War of the Ghast in the first place?
And what about the bones of all those dead people I’d had my slaves harvest so I could use them in my death communals in The Necronomicon – the ones I was supposed to force to give me information about Dagaal?
Well, if you must know, over the years I was waiting for the whole War of the Ghast to play itself out, I did spend some time in The Necronomicon and I performed countless sacrificial rites to pry secrets from the souls of the damned.
Most of it was a waste of time. Oh a few gave me perhaps a hint or two, some may have whispered rumors of something that may have been Dagaal – but then again maybe I was reading between the lines too much and seeing something that wasn’t really there. I don’t know and ultimately it didn’t really matter.
Why? Because Dagaal may well have been hidden in some forsaken corner of the cosmos, waiting to be unleashed. But The Ghast was here, now, in my grasp—a tangible relic of unimaginable power!
Once I acquired The Ghast I had no time for whispers and legends about Dagaal. I wanted to know the truth of The Ghast. This weapon, forged by the hands of Hef Fastuz with my magic and then later imbued with the powers of my rivals Rhokii and Myndoz – it thrummed with more than just the magic of gods—it pulsed with the power of Life, the Universe, and Everything!
And so I retreated to the depths of Nektar’s Cauldron, my volcanic stronghold. You must imagine it, if you can: A towering fortress built within the crater of an active volcano, where the air itself burned with the heat of molten rock. The walls, black as night, were adorned with the bones of those who have crossed me, their skulls forever locked in expressions of terror and pain. Below, the lava churned endlessly, a sea of liquid fire that promised agony to any who fell into its embrace. It was glorious!
Here, in the heart of this hellish domain, I performed my darkest experiments. My laboratories stretched deep beneath the volcano, hidden from the prying eyes of the gods and the mortals alike. It was here that I conducted my most unholy rites. The scent of death hung heavy in the air, mingling with the stench of sulfur and brimstone. Death communals—rites designed to extract the very essence of life from the newly departed—had become a kind of twisted hobby. I harvested souls not just for power, but for knowledge. I tore their secrets from their withering forms, leaving nothing but husks behind. I was THE God of Death!
But none of that work compared to what I knew I could do if I unlocked the power of The Ghast.
I took the weapon to my most secret sanctum, where even the walls themselves seemed to cower in fear. I made every precaution—wards of protection, spells of binding, circles of unbreakable arcane energy. I was prepared to spend centuries—nay, millennia—unlocking its secrets. Even as I held the weapon in my hand, I could feel its hunger, its raw, insatiable thirst for divine blood.
“The secrets of Life, The Universe, and Everything will be mine!” I laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a chorus of devils.
But then, as I unsheathed the blade, I forgot all of my precautions.
“By Baal,” I gasped, mesmerized by the raw, dark beauty of the weapon. The blade shimmered with an ethereal light, the power within it like a living thing, snarling and snapping, eager to taste flesh and soul alike. I could feel its malice, its purpose—it was more than a weapon. It was a godslayer. I could smell the tang of death it carried, like ozone before a storm. I could taste the hunger in its steel.
Without thinking then, driven by my own arrogance and lust for power, giving in to a moment of hungry desire, I reached out and…touched the blade.
Instantly, the world collapsed around me!
A shock blasted through my bones, through my very essence. Nektar’s Cauldron rumbled in fury, the molten sea beneath my feet roaring to life as the blade seemed to draw from my . I felt my soul unraveling, as if the very weapon I sought to command was turning on me, feeding off my divine energy.
“I’m going to die,” I whispered, the words barely a breath as I crumpled to the ground. “I’m going to die!”
The stones beneath my feet shattered, and a great chasm opened, swallowing me whole. Powerless to resist, I was dragged into the abyss along with The Ghast.
For a century or more, I fell.
Darkness consumed me.
The Ghast fell too – always close, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. My body, my soul, agonized over every moment, the pain never ceasing.
I fell all the way to Illusia—where Baal-Zebub awaited me.
Ah, Baal-Zebub, my lord, my ‘savior.’ He was not pleased to see me. The century I then spent groveling before him as he restored my hellfire was a lesson in torment. His laughter echoed in my skull for what felt like eons, his dual-sided face—beautiful on one side, rotting on the other—a constant reminder of my failure. And don’t get me started on what Lilith – the Queen of the Underworld and a nemesis of my own creation – oh how she abused me with her mean-spirited jests at my pitiful situation!
But I survived. I always do.
So yes, if you must know – I lost The Ghast to Lucifer, Baal-Zebub, El, The Morning Star, or whatever you want to call the Lord of Hell.
But what’s done is done and a god like me has learned long ago then you can’t cry over spilt milk.
So later, when I eventually returned to Terra, I set my sights on a new goal— was their another weapon like The Ghast, perhaps one that was even stronger? If such a weapon existed, even Lucifer wouldn’t know about it – which made it perfect for my designs.
Little did I know then that this quest would change the course of my existence forever.
As for Dagaal, the weapon Lucifer created to control and possibly even destroy me—ah, my dear friend, that story is not yet over. I have not forgotten the bone dagger and I know you are anxious to learn if I got my hands on it. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you that tale. But know this – I do not work on your mortal timeline. So have some patience.
I knew I would find Dagaal when the time was right. Whether it lie in The Womb of Forgotten Dreams, The Cradle of Despair, or somewhere between the Three Planes of the Universe—it would be mine. And I will tell you about that more more…when I choose.
For now though, I wasn’t about to let myself worry over such trifles. So I took a chalice of my finest blood wine, wrapped myself in the silken black robes that I so adore, and stepped onto the balcony of Nektar’s Cauldron.
A slow wind stirred the ash-laden air. The molten rivers below me cast a sinister glow across the darkened sky, their heat reaching even here. The souls of the dead, swirling inside me, whispered my name with their sorrow and desperation. Each cry fed me, every ounce of torment seeped into my bones, filling me with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“It’s good to be the God of Death,” I mused, swirling the blood wine in my chalice, savoring the thick, coppery taste. Their suffering had made me stronger. Every lost soul, every life extinguished, had become part of me. The entire world was my playground, my empire of death and despair.
I tilted my head, listening to the wails of the damned carried on the wind. Their agony was music, their terror a symphony. A slow smile curled my lips as I gazed across the ruined landscape below, scorched and smoldering under my dominion. I had torn down the greatest, twisted entire nations to my will. But it wasn’t enough. There was always something more, some darker force yet to bend to my purpose.
“I wonder what I’m going to do next,” I whispered, though in truth, I already knew. There was always another scheme, another plot lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to set it in motion —so many forces at play, so many pieces to shift.
At last it was time to call it another day, so I turned from the balcony and made my way deeper into the Cauldron, where new horrors would soon be born. The world believed it had tasted my wrath.
But you haven’t seen anything yet!
Cue the evil laughter: <Mu-uuu-uuu-hahahahaha!>
The Apocrypha of Azazel 