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.the sons of God saw the daughters of men	By : keithcompany Category: A through F > Bible Views: 3674 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the religious writings/book this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Gluttony
- 2-Patience
- 3-Avarice
- 4-Humility
- 5-Wrath
- 6-Diligence
- 7-Pride
- 5
- 6
- 7
“Oh, yes, Abbadona is always destroying things,” Procel said with a nod. “While here, I’m trying to build something, something that will last for ages.”
Azael nodded and looked around. They walked down the center street of the town Procel had founded. Humans scurried about on myriad tasks, all passing the two angels as if they weren’t there.
Stone masons moving a load of marble waited for the angels to clear the intersection they were crossing, so at least they could be seen by the populace. But messengers and scribes dodged around them or ran between them.
“It’s odd how they ignore us,” Azael said. He looked over at his host. “Everywhere else, they either flinch because of our looks, or prostrate themselves because of where we come from. Or at least nod.”
Procel nodded again. “They have a decisive work ethic,” he explained. “I taught them that. If it isn’t part of their job, it’s a distraction. Their zealous dedication to their labors should overcome any of that.”
“Ah.” The city was amazing to the traveler’s eye. After some eighty years on the planet, this was the first place he’d seen where all the roads were straight. Buildings up to three stories tall were common, many so close together that they shared a wall. There was an actual curb channeling the sewage down the streets, and other channels brought water to carefully spread wells.
The population was five times greater than any human settlement he’d ever seen, but the smell was only twice as great as the next biggest. Truly a marvel.
As they continued on, Azael paused when Procel turned to a window and gestured for a woman to step towards him. The two angels were of similar height, not counting horns. Procel’s were small and curved, much less forbidding than Azael’s great spiraling prominences. The second story window was only slightly above both of their faces so Procel easily lifted the woman down to the ground.
There was a moment of silence in the neighborhood. Workers paused in mid-step. Procel knelt before the woman and kissed her once on each cheek. His sharp goatee tickled her face as he did and she giggled. His little tail flickered back and forth. Then he stood, gesturing her towards the center of town. She took off running.
Work resumed around them and the angels stepped forward again.
“What was that?” Azael asked.
“A wedding.”
“Really? No feast? No dancing?”
Procel shrugged. “It is the policy here that every women is my bride, for as long as she is fertile. At the end of her cycle, she returns to her husband or her parents household.”
“You… you claim every woman in the city, once a month?” Azael’s eyebrows rose. He may have finally found an answer to his Earthly searches, the inspiration for his time here. This plan sounded ambitious, but he could see himself here.
“No. Some are pregnant. Some are past fertility. Some are not developed, and pregnancy would be a risk.” Procel stepped around a sledge delivering amphorae of wine as he explained. Azael, distracted, stepped over it.
“How can you tell if they’re ready? Or not ready? Or fertile?”
Procel stopped and tapped his forehead. “Mine is the power to see into the dark places, to know the secrets that are hidden.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“What was your power, again, Azael?”
“Wrestling,” he answered without pause.
“Really?” Procel started walking again. “Did you ever manage to defeat Leviathan?”
“I said wrestling was my power, not winning.” They shared a laugh. “Still,” Azael said, bringing the conversation back around, “you claim a significant number of brides every month, right?” He remembered a farm he’d seen. Row upon row of fertile ground waiting to be planted. The rows became a line of women, all similarly waiting.
“Oh, yes,” Procel agreed. “And four times as many husbands.”
Azael stopped in the middle of the street. “You take husbands?”
“Not like you’re thinking,” Procel assured him.
“I’m not thinking anything,” Azael protested. His friend just tapped his forehead and smiled. “Ah, yes,” he muttered. “You know what lurks in the secret places.”
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“Attention to detail is crucial,” Procel was explaining. They walked along a great hallway in the palace. Beds lined the walls on either side, most with a woman stretched out on the thin mat.
Azael thought the scene remarkably similar to what he had imagined, but was uncomfortably awaiting further information on how husbands figured into this. “Crucial,” he muttered, glancing at the doors on each end of the hall.
Procel was waving a hand over each reclining figure, nodding to himself about whatever it was he perceived within. When he had made a complete circuit of the room, he gestured to the doors. They opened and men slunk into the room.
“They don’t look happy to be here,” Azael said in surprise. “And they are all…limping?”
“Well, they should not be!” Procel said. “There is no pain, no lasting damage, nothing that should be affecting their stride.” He went about directing the men to beds. It appeared random to any observer, but the angel supposed that his friend had reasons. He always had reasons. The men took positions at the bed corners until there were four for each woman.
Finally, Azael thought, I get to observe the proper use of a woman. He’d heard a lot about what humans did to humans, much of it contradictory. It was confusing, but no matter who you believed it seemed nothing like what his fellow angels did. Something deep within him started to understand that this was what he was created for. Then he finally finished listening to what Procel had said.
“Lasting damage?” he asked.
“It’s their penis,” Procel said with a sigh. He stepped beside a bed and beckoned Azael over. He placed a hand to the shoulder of the nearest male and turned him around.
“Long ago, I calculated that the best thing for optimum city growth would be to keep 46% of the female population pregnant at one time.
“To best ensure that rate, 3.538% of the available women have to get pregnant each moon cycle.
“To achieve that, each women selected should be partnered with four men. Where one’s sperm might fail, and five would begin to tax her unnecessarily, four is optimum.”
Azael nodded, looking at the ‘wedding’ chamber. Naked men stared without joy upon naked women that stared straight up. There was no sign of zealous dedication to their labors that he could see.
“So, I chose to establish that I, as the sovereign, can demand what I call the Obligation To The Master. Men pay a bodily tax to sleep with my bride, take her virginity, give her a child, and keep my city growing.”
“Yeah, sounds logical,” Azael said. He wondered a bit about the math, but that was the sort of thing Procel and the other angels of his rank in the hierarchy were good at. ‘The Powers are in the Details,’ everyone said. “How does that affect…?”
“Ah. What’s the end of your shaped like?” Azael lifted his for inspection. Procel nodded. “Yeah, see that ridge at the end? That can be seen in terms of a biological shovel.”
He reached down to lift one leg of the nearest woman and gestured with his finger. She lay still, as one waiting for the government official to stop telling you your duty and reveal this year’s tax bill.
Azael couldn’t help imagining a shovel in that hand, thanks to Procel’s metaphor. That’d be sure to get a reaction from the woman, though.
“As you, or they, begin pumping in and out, the ridge scoops out any sperm left by a previous partner. Which is fine if you’re taking a wife after someone else used her, last man in is the best chance for fathering a child on her.” He dropped the leg and stood straight.
“But if you’re trying multiple partners, to improve the multiplying, that’s bad. You can’t have one in four destroying the efforts of three in four. That’s inefficient!”
Azael couldn’t help looking at the participants. None of them sported a ridge. What they had was scar tissue. Smooth, unscooping scar tissue.
“That’s efficiency,” Procel bragged. “You can’t miss a single trick in this business.” He clapped his hands and spoke to the group. “Alright! Man to the north, climb aboard! Let’s make some workers!”
Azael turned towards the door. Once again, he both wanted and didn’t want to see what went on here, but took the side of caution. While he had eternity to change his mind and come back, he already knew that eternity wouldn’t be sufficient to forget those scars.
He shut the door behind him, muffling Procel’s voice, though he could still hear his hearty chanting. “In and out, two count, in and out, keep going, in and out, once again… Let’s be attentive, people!
- 5
- 6
- 7
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.the sons of God saw the daughters of men