Azazel’s Freedom

 

(Satan stands over a large pit, staring down into it.  He is in the middle of a desert at night.  He shivers slightly.)

Satan:  Are you sure you want to do this?  Once you agree to it, you can’t break your word.

Voice:  (Weak and soft, as if it hasn’t been used in years.)  I’m…certain...just free me…

Satan:  I want us to be clear.  (He sits down atop the pit, seemingly floating above it.)  If I release you, you will be free to do as you please until I contact you.  When I do, you will assassinate Lucifer in the quietest fashion possible and ensure you have no connection to it.  After that, you’re free to live as you please.  You’re sure you want to do this.

Voice:  (Still weak.)  Yes.

(Satan smiles and stands up.  He plunges into the pit and lands at least 200 feet below ground.  In the very dim lighting we see a figure chained to the walls of the stone pit.  He looks exhausted, malnourished and nearly dead.  Satan quickly breaks off his chains and helps him to his feet.  We see the figure better now: it is Azazel.  His hair is long, past his feet.  He is nude and covered in dirt.)

Satan:  A most wise decision Azazel.

(Azazel leans on Satan for support, as it is apparent he hasn’t moved for a number of years and his muscles have atrophied.  Satan flies up out of the pit with Azazel clinging to him.  Once outside, Satan helps Azazel down onto the sand.)

Satan:  You okay?  (He looks unconcerned.)

Azazel:  Just very…weak.  I haven’t moved in well over a thousand years.  (He lies down on his back and stares skyward.)  My God, even the stars themselves have changed position.  What year is it?

Satan:  1664, AD.  You’ve been down there for about 3,000 years or so.

(Azazel doesn’t respond.  Satan sighs and nudges Azazel with a foot.)

Satan:  Look, I have to get going.  Things to do, people to annoy, that sort of thing.  Is there anywhere you want me to drop you off or will you be cool by yourself out here? 

(Azazel sits himself up.)

Azazel:  Clothing and a walking staff will suffice.

(Satan shrugs and teleports a six foot tall stick and time period appropriate clothing for a person of high middle class in France.  Azazel looks at the clothing and blinks.)

Azazel:  Is this really what the humans are wearing now-a-days?

Satan:  (Nods.)  Look, I’m just gonna drop you off in France.  You’ve of no use to me if you’re wandering around the desert for God knows how long, practically dead.

(He waits for Azazel to dress himself.  Azazel looks somewhat awkward in the clothing, but that is because of his emaciated body.   He leans on the staff for support.)

Satan:  I’ll see you when I need the deed done.  Until then, see ya.

(He teleports Azazel off.  Satan grins wickedly to himself and walks off through the desert.)

Fin.