Excuse me Miss, but this is not sweet Charleston!

[Ezrihel]

As he stood facing this ape of a man, he felt the sword's conscious energy grip onto the tendril he had reached out with but a mere few moments ago. He heard it's reply clearly across the landscape of his mind, as if it were anywhere and everywhere at once. It wasn't that the sword was in his head, per say. It was all more around the fact that this was how telepathic communication sounded to Ezrihel. He heard and felt it when someone spoke to him, the feeling of the latched on sword that of wet wool being drug across skin. It wasn't painful or really all that annoying, but it was a slithering slick feeling inside of his head, and as always, it took a brief split second to become accustomed to the entirety of the motion.

Oh, he wasn't worthy of knowing this audacious sword's name? Why, how dare this consciousness assert itself to deny him of something so simple of a name and then claim that he was the one that was unworthy? Pfft. The nerve and lack of manners of some swords! Then again, it wasn't every day that Ezrihel met talking, sentient swords, maybe this sword was something powerful and grand, though, the evidence of this notion was slowly slipping away into the realm of fairy tales due to it being strapped to the left hip of this raggedy hobo man, who did nothing but exude an aura of pathetic crazed lunatic. Glancing down at the sword then back to Cyburn's face, this action would take but the smallest sliver of a second.

Then the sword went on to explain that Cyburn was a fool who hadn't a clue as to who or what this impudent sword actually was, and that he had taken the liberty of calling the sword by the name of "Recluse". Ew, what a dreadfully unpleasant sound of a name. Reminds me of spiders, and I absolutely detest those eight-legged spawn born of the evilest and bleakest wombs. How they just sit there, in their webs, relaxing and enjoying themselves like there wasn't something important or pressing to do! Of course there was always something that needed to be done in life, it's a rush of events that bleed together and push along past you. If you don't keep up, life leaves you in the dust. Fuck you, spiders.

The sword then replied by telling Ezrihel that both itself and Cyburn had been brought to the omniverse much in the very same fashion as he had just been dragged in. It then went on to suggest that he take it and get it away from the idiotic jubbling man. While... That did tempt some deeper part of him that thirsted for domination and the subjugation of all of the lower life forms, he forcefully pushed the thought away. Some later time he would cave to his darker temptations.

Then projecting his thoughts to the sword once again, "In this lifetime, no I may not have earned that right, but as an entire entity, I believe I have. Regardless of this, I still must use some sort of vocalization to identify you. While right now in the conversation between us it is simple and easy to avoid the use of names, it might not be so easy in the future. I will grant you access to my former memories, and if that does not earn your respect, then you must give me something to call you by. Something more palatable and pleasing than recluse." He almost spat the word. "By the way, what sort of person declares that to be a name fit for a weapon of grace and destruction?"

If the nameless one decided to prob into what was now unguarded thoughts of the past, he would get the distinct feeling of rushing anger and greed, wanton desire to see bloodshed. The memories were distorted by the soul-veil, a slight visual warping of the memories that caused them to be slightly fish-lens'd around the edges.

"Look upon the land, Aza'Zayl! Look upon the destruction you have wrought upon the pure lands and creatures. LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!" He stood, pushed down, forced to bow by chains not even he could break, before a council of a few greatly powerful. They sat upon their metallic thrones, shaking their heads in disapproval and spitting on him in disgust. Down, down he looked onto Terra's green lands. A twisted smile curled over his lips, taunting them to do something with his soft chuckles that quickly grew into cawing cackles.

He calmed to soft giggles. "I see nothing wrong. All you want is pure control. You want pets, servants, slaves... Hehheh... Heh, you're just unhappy that I've disrupted your little game."

"Thousands of years of evolution and research. It's hardly justifiable-" A female council member had started to state in an even tone before being rudely interrupted by the guilty man as he erupted into side tearing laughter; it reverberated off the strong walls of the council chamber.

"Justifiable! You want to talk about justice, to me?" He paused to let out a short roar of laughter. "You made them with our blood, MY blood, then you expect us to bow to your whim and not fall in love with the daughters of men, made in the image of us to be us by us! Then when I see the children, those that you love more than US, struggling like pitiful animals in the dirt, you expect me to just let them live in squande-"

"Aza'Zayl! Enough!" Boomed the Metatron. "You taught men to make swords and knives and shields and breastplates; and made known to them the metals of the earth and the art of working them; and bracelets and ornaments; and the use of antimony and the beautifying of the eyelids; and all kinds of costly stones and all colouring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray and became corrupt in all their ways. You alone have managed to corrupt every corner of Terra. What say you?"

"Heh, what say me, old one? Ancient one? Maybe you have lost your sense along all these years. Maybe you're letting that deadly wrath get to your heart. Did you too forget that even we are not above what you like to call 'sin'? Maybe I wanted them to experience and learn what they could from Terra, from us, from each other."

"What right have you, lonesome defector, to decide what is best for these creatures?" Asked the Metatron.

"What right have any of you to control their quality of life? Why must you control who I take in my marriage bed, who I beget children with? Do you forget what is it that happened with my first wife? Cast out, by YOU, for not wanting to submit to the hand of a man! You all are not gods here in this city."

"No, Aza'Zayl, we are not gods among our own people, but we do not tamper where we should not tread. From the wicked communion of us and the daughters of men, you beget another species of huge proportions. What says the daughters you take want to be taken by you, what say you to prove that you are not a deceiver?"

"Haha, hahaha... No. You see, Metatron, I take who I want into my bed. I beget offspring with whomever I wish whenever my loins do command that it should be done. Every woman comes around, after all, I am a god to them. I TAUGHT THEM WHEN YOU WOULDN'T. If they wish to lay each other's blood upon the ground with the knowledge I put onto them, then that is their 'sin', not my shortcoming. YOU GAVE THEM FREE WILL. YOU DID IT. It's all of your faults. All your faults."

The image would shift, blurring before refocusing on some new point;

All that he could see was darkness. Silky beautiful darkness that embraced him, kissing his skin with it's silent touch as it sang to him. How long had passed since he had been drug kicking and screaming from the council chamber. He couldn't help but play back the bittersweet sentencing. Gabriel, GABRIEL! Oh that wicked man. He had stepped forward and proclaimed that he had saw much blood being shed upon the earth and all lawlessness being wrought upon the earth; the souls of men made their suit, saying, "Bring our cause before the Most High; thou seest what Aza'Zayl hath done, who hath taught all unrighteousness on earth and revealed the eternal secrets which were in heaven, which men were striving to learn."

Pfft, haha ha. He heh. Oh that was a good one. Man had bit the hand that fed it, and he knew what would become of those humans on Terra once the council were done. Floods? Maybe they would summon forth fire and brimstone this time. He honestly couldn't care how they ended, but it brought him great pleasure to think over the screams and righteous pain of those innocent that too would be punished when caught by crossfire. After all, it was the human's fault for being pathetic and weak. It was their fault for not learning. They were too eager to just take take take, too quick to turn and judge their neighbors and covet what wasn't their's to covet. Such basic instructions they had been given by their creators, and not even that could they follow.

He pressed his lips together, forming a tight line as he lost himself in thought, convincing himself that he was not the wrong one in any of this. Some one would convince the council. Lucipher would help him out surely! Surely he was just left here to suffer, being bound hand and foot and forced into a dark hole so that he would no longer see light for the rest of his eternity. Within his soul he felt a bitter creature rearing his head, and he thought that maybe if he surrendered to that feeling of hatred and malice and anger, maybe the pain would go away. He sank into himself more and more, surrendering to the bitterness more with every passing breath. This anger that clawed its way up to the forefront of his mind made him feel powerful, it made him feel in control. He wanted to punish the people who wronged him.

Make the weak submit.

Make them suffer for my pain.

Refocus. Readjust. A slew of memories would be shown to this consciousness. A rise to power, the civil war, the death and blood, the gore that always followed, staining a red and purple path behind him, the beheading of Gabriel and Raphael by his own hand. He was powerful. He was a god! It had taken nearly an army to bring him down to his knees before he was killed by the silent head of the council. Oh how they had torn apart Terra with such reckless resolve.

The time it took to show these memories to the sword would be next to nothing. Revealing them put Ezrihel at no risk of mental invasion, nor did it physically restrict him and prevent reaction to anything that Cyburn might do.

Cyburn explained that he was indeed homeless, and had been homeless for three years prior to their current meeting. The look that Ezrihel flashed him was something between incredulity and doubt, which might have carried over as a blank dead panned expression of 'oh really now, that's how the question will be answered' after noting Cyburn's laugh and smile. With a skeptical and some what peeved tone he ventured to say, "Yes, but why are you homeless?"

Being homeless was not something that Ezrihel had ever really understood. Maybe that was because even when exiled, he had somewhere to sleep, maybe it was because he was never dirty for long, always finding some way to keep himself clean and presentable. It really wasn't in his ability to grasp that someone couldn't care about themselves to such an extent. He heard him start, and the words that came from his throat caused Ez's lips to curl into a smile that he tried to hide but failed and gave a hearty chuckle. Canadians. Canadians. The Britain owned country above the United States of America that consisted of pansy ass revolutionary French and slur speaking Brits.

Really. Really? The damned country of Canada had caused him homelessness? What through some strange financial debacle?

Wait.

Cyburn had a family at one point? This greasy sewer ape with tube hair and clipped facial hair had a family, wife and children, at some point in time? Ooooh boy! This was an amusing day to witness! Clearing his throat, "You of all people had a family? Oh, I would have never had assumed that someone with such a... A description, of your's would have managed to find someone that would willingly mate with you and bare your... Offspring."

The man suddenly got glum, speaking with a heavy toned voice, the voice of a man that had truly seen much to many things for his time on the Earth. He had been a different man, presumably more nicely dressed and more neatly groomed. Then he said the next best thing ever. Flesh eating moose. Wait, moose. Moose. Moose, not meese? Why was it that goose became geese but moose did not become meese? Was this under the same reason that multiple box were referred to as boxes but many Ox as Oxen, not Oxes? What the hell had humans done to their languages? This was nothing close to the neat formality of the Andromedan language.

"... Flesh eating moose? Wow, My people really must not have given a damn about homo sapiens. Tell me, actually. how are the stories in your christian holy book written?"

His question was met with another question. This man had no clue about who Jesus Christ was. Ezrihel scrambled for a brief moment to assemble a way to explain it to him.

"You know, followers of Jesus Christ. The New Testament. Jesus wondered about Rome and they crucified him upon a cross for speaking heresy. He's in the Holy Bible, the crusades were fought between the Followers of Christ and the Devout of Allah. ..." He trailed off, somewhat shocked that someone hadn't heard of the holy books of Judaism, Christianity or Islam before. This shock was apparent on his face as he blinked a few times.

After a short second he took a sharp breath, sighed, and asked, "So, how did you manage to get that sword on your hip? You don't really come across as a very talented person, hence my doubt at you having actually forged that sword yourself. Does it have a name?"

After the man's response he would follow up with, "I can tell that the sword is a sentient being, hence my curiosity about it."