The Fallen Archangel Leviathan – A short story

A story about how the Fallen might act should they ever walk the Earth.

Beijing, China.

Leviathan knew only fury. Whereas his brothers schemed and plotted, the archangel Leviathan was intent on the pursuit of pure and unadulterated sadism. Perhaps that was why he had been given the section of the world with the highest population.

He cared little about controlling the people, nor did he waste his time on constructing vast edifices to his glory. There was no need for the people to bow down to him, and he had no desire to converse with those that lived in his fiefdom.

Only death could satiate him.

More than that, Leviathan wanted to kill as many humans as possible with his own hands. Naturally, despite his epic power, Leviathan didn’t act upon humanity alone. There was an army of demons working tirelessly at his command, each able to kill with impunity so long as the flow of bodies kept on coming. Over two thousand of these demonic fiends had been unleashed from Hell for Leviathan’s singular purpose in this city, and they worked in compliant unison to bring the archangel what he wanted.

Leviathan, now free from the shackles that had held him bound in the nether world, had chosen a grand sports stadium to be the epicentre of this soon to be necropolis. Outside, there were lines of humanity forced to come here, gathered up in a controlled order in the vast parking lots that once serviced this stadium. Those snakes of humanity moved forward, merging into one line, each step bringing the hapless to their terrible fate.

In the centre of the stadium, Leviathan had constructed an impressive stone altar with the power of his mind. It was large enough to hold the tallest human, a shackle at each corner of the rectangular and blood-stained structure. A long and compacted line of weeping people passed around and around the racetrack and through the interior of the stadium to the masses kept outside.

One by one, Leviathan’s victims were brought before the archangel to fulfil his terrible destiny.

The lucky ones would die of thirst before they reached the end of this line, the dead moved aside only where they blocked the way. Leviathan was in no rush to end the lives of those who were brought before his harsh gaze, and he demanded huge numbers of victims to keep him entertained. Some people tried to escape, but they were hunted down by the legion of compliant soldiers that guarded the perimeter of this place of mass-murder.

Each archangel had their own inner hatred for the human race, and Leviathan liked to think that his way of bringing the end was superior to his brothers.

Leviathan wore shimmering armour of his own design. This was not for protection, because no human weapon could harm him. The metal was merely to give the suitable image for his eight-foot, muscular frame. This host body had swelled and grown under Leviathan’s influence, and now it stood dominant in a world where hunger and frailty would become common place.

The one thing he had not been able to change was the ragged scar that had manifested on his borrowed face. Why had he been the one to be so cursed?

That had surprised him, to see it cast onto human skin. In Hell, they had called Leviathan the Faceless One due to the mask he always wore to cover his ragged wound. In the battle for Heaven, Michael had struck Leviathan a cruel and merciless blow that had left the defeated archangel forever scarred.

Never had he suspected that such scarring would appear on the human flesh he wore. And yet there it was, a horrific mutilation that made him a freak in his own eyes. He should have realised that the only individual who cared about his appearance was him. But his own self-hatred and cancerous ego demanded the disfigurement be hidden. To that end, the helmet he had constructed concealed his weakness from those he was about to kill.

On the altar before him, a gutted body lay limp and lifeless. Leviathan had taken his time with this one, despite the fury that rippled through his heart. He knew he would never tire of this slaughter, and millions would die under his expert and methodical manipulation. Many more would perish from starvation and at the hands of the violent gangs that were now rising up in every part of Leviathan’s dominion.

He didn’t act against those gangs so long as fresh meat was brought for him to torture.

“Another,” Leviathan roared.

Stood at the corners of his killing table, four demons who were deemed worthy worked judiciously to rid the stained marble of another corpse. Each demon was a Prince of Hell, and although this was a tedious task for them, none would ever voice any kind of complaint.

Leviathan had no forgiveness in his angelic heart for those who denied him what was his by right. Besides, they were free of Hell, and that was enough for most.

“Please, no,” the next human in line begged. Leviathan merely pointed a lithe and glowing finger at her pathetic presence. As the last body was cleared away, the next to feel Leviathan’s rage began to float over, landing on her back where she wriggled and squirmed. With a twist of his wrist, Leviathan caused the woman’s limbs to stretch wide, the metal shackles magically encircling her wrists and ankles.

What would he do to this one?

Should he flay her?

Boil her innards?

Dislocate each and every joint?

Stick a million needles into her flesh?

Perhaps he would make her eat her own eyes.

Yes, he would do that.

And much more besides.

“You have been judged, and you are found wanting,” Leviathan roared. “Do you have anything to say?”

He always asked this question, for the answers often amused him.

Already the four princes had returned, having handed the corpse off to lesser demons who would now dispose of it. Without the soul, the human body was of no interest to Leviathan. Let it be turned to meat to feed the starving masses. Turning humanity into cannibals was a common theme among the Fallen.

“Please, mercy,” the woman sobbed.

“Mercy? But that is all I have to offer. Would you rather starve out there on the streets? Would you rather you be raped and buggered by the gangs?”

“I…” The poor wretch was lost for words.

“This is a fair exchange. I give you pain, and you give me the enjoyment I crave.” With that, Leviathan leant forward and used his fingers to squeeze the woman’s orbs from their sockets. The sounds the woman made were truly delicious.


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