How many eons must one live before time ceases to have meaning? However many centuries it had been for Azazel were impossible for him to fathom. Standing taller and stronger than man, as ugly as ever, his goat-face gnashed its teeth while snorting noxious fumes into the air. He looked at his bloody, shackled wrists and pounded the impenetrable walls again with frustration. His ankles were in the same predicament, chained so close to the wall that it became pointless to move them at all. In all the eons he wallowed, only thoughts of revenge proved a homely companion.
A Seraph brought him here millennia ago, pounding him to the dirt as nonchalantly as one would overpower a small child. On whatever order that kept him in existence instead of the fate of the others, they kept him here instead of destroying him. They did everything from an authority higher than themselves, even if they were unsure of the ultimate reason.
The roaring ocean with it’s the ever-turbulent waters made any attempt to enter the island prison that housed him a fool’s errand. The architects did their work well. It could be through only one creature that he could be rescued. Thus, he was destined to wait. Inside he could only see the vague outline of the great shore-less ocean, massive waves flowing along its unlimited expanse, always vacant of any rescuer. The dim light reaching inside his prison revealed little. There wasn’t even the scurry of a rat or the clank of some metal doorway to keep his attention. Outside of intentionally harming himself, there was only the ever-present drip onto his head to remind him that he was still alive.
He heard a distinct crash over the chaos of waves, something massive exiting the ocean and followed by a soft flapping of wings. Azazel perked up at this first evidence of action in ages.
The beat of wings grew louder, then paused. There was a fierce pounding like an earthquake. The prison walls quivered. Another hit and the stones of his prison shuddered. Yet another pounding and the far wall shattered, spilling debris all over his prison. The familiar massive azure tail showed through, followed by the grinning face of Rahab veering in at Azazel. He crawled into the opening. Even stooped down he was a daunting story in height.
Time had taken its toll on The Dragon. Where his scales once showed brilliantly there was decay. Azazel noticed many sections of his protective skin worn off as well as open sores on his massive dark azure face. Rahab had seen many battles since he saw him last, and had not won them all.
It was no matter to Azazel. What mattered was that he again had the opportunity to enter world of man.