25. Bowie & Oakley
Tubal-Cain is in new territory. Never before had he run for his life. Nyaamah put a bounty on his head. Big enough for stupid people to risk their vital organs. He'd ripped out a few hearts, some brains; those wannabes; yet they come, in greater numbers. Eventually they would get him. Enormous or not, he has his limits. And he can't outrun those bloody armourbugs.
Though not used to thinking deep, Tubal-Cain can't help but feel something wrong. Some betrayal and injustice. No, he ain't referring to the Judases who sold him out for his dad's Watcher gold. He faults the Watcher himself. The ex Watcher. It was because of that old man that he beheaded his father. Azazel persuaded him. Gave him a voice, an angelic timbre, to gather the troops against Lamech. The conviction was his, no doubt, his father had been inconsistent and torn, not fit to rule. He desired to take his place, he's honest, but he didn't possess the capacity without the gift of the gap. Until Azazel lent him his mouth. Suddenly he could articulate. Suddenly he was convincing. Suddenly he was the worthy ruler.
And then as much of a fairy tale it was that he became king, the warlock's disguise snapped-ended at the stroke of midnight, and all that glittery entourage crumbled to dust and returned to their humble origins. How far he'd tumble down the spiral. Alone and, perhaps for the first time, feeling afraid.
Without a word, Azazel's favour went to his sister. The Scapegoat never explained. Not that it was his prerogative to ask, but at least, Tubal-Cain felt that he was owed an explanation. Who knows what the ancient angel is playing?
In his loneliness, the fallen juggernaut prayed. Prayer is such a natural instinct for mortals. When power is snatched from their hands. When he is at the mercy of others; of fate; of tragedy. In his small brain space Tubal-Cain realized that he wants safety. Permanence. Immortality. Good things to last forever. When threatened, when stripped of control, when at the fickleness of the elements like Azazel and those in the clouds that throw the dice, it is so easy to hope, to seek out faith and favour, a god to soothe your anxieties and grant your needs, wishes and wants.
He cried out for forgiveness from his father. But there was silence. He didn't feel damned. Logically Tubal-Cain didn't expect an answer. Lamech was dust, one with the wet soil his fugitive son sieved off his scarred fingers. That was the closest he could ever hope to commune with his father. A rotten corpse returned to the ground, food for worms and flies, fertilizer for trees and grass that are eaten by animals and in turn hunted by sapiens and consumed, the hallowed cycle repeated a thousand times and more; this was the only spirituality that seemed rational.
But behind there was a rustling. Tubal-Cain turned and he was confronted by a bright light that dimmed to a comfortable warmth. At the centre was a silhouette of a mother. ‘All is not lost,’ she messaged him without communicating. Then she was gone and a metallic snake with a lion's mane slithered across his path.
In Enoch city, commander Yuo son of Gun theorised concerning the flood. He surmised it was a localized event, not global. Where he came from, the myths spoke of no deluge of divine cleansing. Only a devastating overflow of the riverbank that was finally irrigated after many years of battle against weather. Human wits. He guessed that his ancestors were not that superstitious, for that he was thankful, and now his curiosity was bent to what Azazel had to say.
An appointment with the fallen angel he managed to coax out of Nyaamah. The Scapegoat must have agreed too, otherwise an audience would not have been granted. After making love, Nyaamah struck her magic tambourine before Yuo had time to put back on his pants. He was already in the presence of the old gay man while he was still entangled round the ankles. Though with no intention to show off, his hung, thick impressive piece was dangling on display. Azazel didn't look impressed. Just calmly cool. Without waiting for the commander to conceal his indecency, the rebel Watcher barked, “Follow me.”
They went for a walk in the heavenly garden. The commander was tripping over his trousers till the point he decided to go without. He's a shameless bastard proud of his package, anyway. Let Azazel secretly stare. Perhaps that would be how he hypnotises the hoary warlock. On the other hand, Nyaamah, striding ahead, is already used to seeing that naughty pecker and the eggs in the nest it sits on. He wouldn't let her dominate him though. That was the appeal. Every other male creature had waned under her spell, even daddy Lamech. Especially daddy Lamech. Commander Yuo son of Gun just banged her straightforward without any roleplay dialogue. He muffled her with a strip of lace and sometimes blinded her tight. He was rough and told her often to shut up, hurting her. All she could hear were his manly grunts and groans when he came. Which mostly took awhile, providing her the opportunity to orgasm multiple times. Nyaamah was extremely satisfied with the arrangement. With Yuo she could play the naive innocent girl manipulated and forced against her will. He was becoming someone she could love.
An alliance is not out of the question. Azazel saw this as an opportunity to enlarge his perimeters. Move his border east. Where there's no myth of the all destructive flood. Only bad weather that claimed many lives, livestock and harvest. And man's victory in the end over the forces and elements. Azazel is always on man's side. Though he reckons Ari, the lion serpent guardian of nature, and Sakti, dark mother, sandwiched between the singularity and the simulation, have tendencies to derail human progress. Perhaps there was a tsunami that flattened civilizations in the West. Hence the Mesapotanian, Abrahamic and Grecian legends that traveled even all the way to India. But not China, at least not before the Common Era. It was more practical over there. Just the Yellow river breaking its banks and some guy's ingenuity. Azazel could accept that for a deluge. But not the divine cleansing story. Of his kind, Watchers, and their Nephilim offspring with hot human babes. Why should TI the Transcendent Intelligence want to destroy the world? For the sake of a story, maybe? Who knows. He, Azazel, is the lone survivor of a cosmic tale after all…a story that contained no flood per se, but a resetting of life; very much like what the sex singularity did in 2030. Get everyone back to the fuck bed, except for a few unwilling, or punished, scapegoats, like himself.
For the new Earth they currently occupy, the three parties struck a treaty. Queen Nyaamah will be consort to commander Yuo Son of Gun of the Northern Hells of the continent Hellenne. She will visit the ancient city of Old Hellenna and the new one of Neo Hellenne as well as the Retarii mountains of the enchanted forest and the Archipelago of the Sacred Seas. King Noah of Enoch city, Last Born of Lamech, husband and son to sorceress Nyaamah, will sign a trade agreement with the Guns: the sharing of technology - Watcher longevity escape velocity in exchange for clean energy and rechargeable motors and machines. No one would have to die in Hell in the future, thought Yuo. But the floods would come anyway, the grey goat contradictorily knew, for ‘Atlantis’ would have to be wiped out first as prophesied in the annals. And all that modern stuff totally forgotten.
