Darkness.

All Azazel could see was darkness.

“Hello?” he called out, and his voice echoed in the distance.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Golden light pierced the blackness, illuminating a hooded figure in a dark blue and bright red hooded robe. Shadows under the hood concealed his face. From the sleeves extended four arms. The figure’s robe was open, and in the shadows within the robe Azazel saw countless blinking eyes staring back at him.

“I know you…” Azazel said. “From where, though?”

“We met when you were a prisoner in Lord Raum’s dungeon,” came a voice from under the hood. “Have you already forgotten?”

“I’m sorry…” said Azazel. “I thought that was a dream. But… was it not? Am I not also dreaming now?”

The hood moved from side to side. “This is no dream, but neither are you here physically. I have brought you, the true you, here to talk. Since you have already forgotten, I will tell you again, the name you may know me by is ‘Providence.’”

“Providence,” Azazel repeated. “So, why have you brought me here, Providence? You said we’re here to talk?”

“You’ve proven yourself far more likely to be helpful than others I’ve appeared to in this generation, Azazel. Already you’ve told the truth about an archangel’s plans and stepped in to try to prevent them from coming to fruition. You are no ordinary angel.”

“Angels protect people.”

“No, angels do the will of their gods,” said Providence. “There’s a big difference between the two. You, however, act independent of them, as if serving the will of some greater good that predates the gods you know.”

“Enlil?” Azazel asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

“That is a good name for it, though not the true name.”

“Why do you talk in riddles, Providence? Why can’t you speak plainly to me?”

“Because you’re not yet ready for the full truth, Azazel.”

Azazel rolled his eyes. “Come now, you know that’s just the same kind of garbage conspiracy theorists, seers, and heretics always spout to keep you on the hook so they can lead you along. Make you think they have something important to say, when it’s really just nonsense.”

“You want the truth, then?” came Providence’s irritated reply. “Very well, then. You are not an angel, not really. The demons you fought are not demons. The gods you worship are not gods. All of you are, essentially, human.”

Azazel shook his head. “That’s the wildest blasphemy I’ve ever heard!”

“Think beyond what you’ve learned for just a moment!” Providence bellowed, and terror gripped Azazel’s heart. “You know what’s right and what is wrong. The gods claim that right and wrong is whatever they say it is, but your conscience tells you otherwise. The work Metorael does? You know it is evil. The temple prostitution in Ashtoreth’s holy city? You find it disgusting, no matter how much you try to deny it.”

“Enough!” Azazel cried.

“Be a champion of true justice, Azazel! Remind Seth what he claims to stand for!”

“I said enough!” Azazel shouted again. “No more! Stop! I cannot listen to these blasphemies any longer!” What followed Azazel’s words was an incoherent shout as pain wracked his whole body.

“The patient’s awake!” came an unfamiliar voice from nearby.

“More sedative! Now!” came another unfamiliar voice.

White blindness took Azazel’s eyes, and shapes slowly came into focus. Sharp, burning agony covered every inch of his flesh, and he flailed against the straps keeping his arms down at his sides.

“He’s panicking!” shouted one of the voices. “Where’s that bloody sedative?”

“Here!”

A needle prick in Azazel’s arm, and everything faded to black again.