Author: Chauni

RP Session: Raphael

Scene: Raphael on his search for the ultimate knowledge (it was finished in a rp session)

Bent

Raphael never thought of himself a cruel little crackpot bent on the need to destroy and maim and kill, as apparently everyone else did. He accomplished what he did for one reason and one simple reason alone:

Knowledge.

The understanding that danced around his grasp was a taunting mistress, one that was close enough to be hypnotized by her scent, but never enough to taste the entirety of her soul. He hated it, despised the little whore, but desired her more than anything else that had ever crossed his path in the infinite eternity. It was always the one you couldn’t have, right…?

So, he had worked, comprehending what he could, bypassing the larger for the hinting smaller ideas, and relished in the fact of timelessness in relation to a limit on his own soul. He had forever to achieve his seduction of the bitch, and took his time in hopes of conquering her completely.

He was focused on intentions, on life, biding his time until he could even think of attempting to understand the intricacies of death and the absolution that followed it. Granted, he had been witness to that final passing enough times to know the technical aspects of it, had heard enough cries that peaked with cracking silence that he could tell you the feel of the blood cooling in his fingers and the decaying silence in the wake.

But those where simple facts of the physical nature, and that only spoke half of a tale, a foreplay without the finishing climax.

Frustrated and assuming this would be all he would ever know, he let the need flare, then die, lacking any oxygen as he turned his mind to other studies, other pieces. The perfect model of humanity, for instance; that was quickly becoming a class favorite.

Urges were replaced with new ones, and a twisted happiness developed, one set off by the endorphins in his head, he knew, but one that relished in nonetheless. Content was a grand thing, and the idea of basking in the attention of one so ideal on a grand scale was more than enough to satisfy most feelings that had risen.

Until he had seen Azrael, however.

Of course, it had been his human shell, he knew that, but it was close enough. The need for an comprehension of death consumed and devoured, leaving the patron angel of doctors little more than a host with a drastic need.

The perfect way to understand death…

Dissect the patron angel of it.

That had been several weeks ago, and now the smell of rubbing alcohol stung the deep roots of his nostrils in the trapped room. The light overhead was glaring, rigged cheaply, but it was all a last minute sort of stage, a hastened piece of the sun that swung for ten minutes if accidentally struck. A table sat off to the side, scattered with a few clamps, two scalpels, scissors, two empty syringes, and a rib spreader, all lined up in a perfect, meticulous row.

He said nothing as he trailed fingers along the narrow chest of the shell that was strapped down to the cool metal of the rooted table, knowing he had little time in the face of everyone else finding out. The last thing he needed was this creature’s little loving entourage bursting in on him in the middle of it all; he wouldn’t last two seconds, and he knew it.

Quiet, drug-thick keening slid through numb lips, and he wilted inside; he really did wish he had more anesthetic, but then again, he had stolen all that he could from that hospital. Some was better than none at all, he supposed, and he hated to be cruel, so he had snatched a small vial from a nurse’s tray on his way out. He leaned over the moving palmers, listening for a moment while words were slurred and slung together in a quiet chain.

“…dunwannagoback….dunmakemegoback…please…”

The smile was immediate, frigid, as he moved back to grab his weapon of choice. Good, seems as though Azrael was a little more alive in that fragile shell than he had planned, which work rather well with his own plans and ideas. The cool metal of the scalpel fit comfortably in his hand, as if it were another extension of his body, the small bumps for holding rubbing against pampered fingers.

“Don’t worry, Azrael, you’ll never have to go back there again. I promise.”

The keening slowed, relaxing to a soft sigh and a lazy smile that spread across moist lips. He pressed a finger against a pressure point in the side of his patient’s neck, and saw no reaction, other than the soft whisper of “thank you”.

He nodded, silent for a moment, before chartreuse eyes found the bare torso. This was it, his completion lingering just beyond the cruel cage of flesh, the final understanding that would let him finally comprehend the nature of God and the universe in one fell swoop. He could finally rest, finally bask in the simple afterglow of the whore that had eluded him for so damn long.

The flesh pleaded to be cut, so even and flat, smooth and hairless. He did nothing but grant its whim, pressing the unrelenting tip of that sharpened instrument against the skin, watching with a mental distance as the skin split beneath its caress. Blood rushed in a marathon to meet the air, shocking and crimson beneath the shocking whiteness of the hanging light.

The End