There standing, before skies that felt old in what will be and young in the promise of the coming - skies wrend open, and eyes of red looked first... The first memories are ones told and read, come from hands writ in ages too distant now to recall with ease. Azazel, the red devil - he who was master of space and who bent distance to his will - he we steps across time like others across earth - lived then as he does now. In between time had become a frail and fickle thing, and myths older than civilization bore no need in recall anymore.

That was before.

Now, he exists. That is all he does anymore. He makes plans - but they are shadows of what he had done prior. Allies and enemies alike long since dead a thousand times over. He had survived them to the tragic reality - of a man now without much to do. A devil with none to deal with, a warrior without one to challenge and a monster without anyone to slaughter. Not that those things stirred his blood. It never had. He had killed countless - but those had been effects of causes worthy in what they were and are. Lies, and deals and the like that once brought him purpose.

But humanity continued as they do, and they had become so grand in their spectacle that he could hardly think of them as the desperate little neophytes worshipping that sad thing hanging from that cross. they came to call him a mutant - and to his own mind that was what he must have been. had he master before? He could not recall. Had he allies? Did they write their own stories? Did it matter? He did not know anymore.

Two thousand years of toying till finally they could toy back - and now they were gods in their own right. they stood tall and dangerous - some of them dwarfing any art from the past. for the first time he was afraid again, and that fear excited him. now he needed to intervene and control and he needed to plan - for there now existed cages that could encircle him, and knives that could cut him and it felt much like...

much like..

resurrection?

Whatever it was, he enjoyed it - his children were heroes and he was the past, awakening to a morrow - and purpose rebound.