A chill swept through the air of the Immortal Gazette’s studio, a cold that seemed to creep up from the depths of forgotten places. Alice sat, legs crossed, on the edge of her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on her teacup as if she were testing the waters of some ancient magic. Rumplestiltskin reclined in his usual slouch, eyes glinting with that unmistakable look of mischief, while Loki—true to his nature—sat like a king, soaking in the drama, his smirk wide enough to rival a cat who had just eaten the canary.
“Well, this ought to be interesting,” Alice said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and promise. “Today, we’re telling a story of a grand fall. A fall from grace so deep, even the gods couldn’t stop it. And when you hit rock bottom as an angel, let me tell you—it’s a long, dark fall.”
Loki arched an eyebrow. “Fallen angel, huh? Sounds like it’s got everything—a little bit of tragedy, a little bit of chaos, and probably a lot of self-pity.”
Alice’s grin widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s more than just self-pity, darling. This angel wasn’t content being a mere servant of the divine. He wanted more. Much more. His ambition was his downfall, and it’s a tale that still echoes in the darkest corners of existence.”
Rumplestiltskin chuckled, his voice low and smooth. “Ah, yes. Ambition—the thing that drives us all to madness, even the divine. But I’m curious, Alice, which angel are we talking about? There are so many who’ve fallen—was this one cast down for loving too much? Or for wanting too much?”
“Oh, it wasn’t love,” Alice replied, her eyes gleaming. “It was power. This angel—let’s call him Azazel—was one of the highest, one of the closest to the throne of Heaven. He wasn’t a mere messenger. He was a commander, a leader of legions, an angel whose very wings glimmered with divine light. But that wasn’t enough for him. Not even close.”
Loki snorted. “Ah, always the power-hungry ones, huh? Can’t just enjoy the view from the top—they need to own the whole mountain.”
Alice continued, her tone now serious. “Azazel had it all. But the more power he had, the more he wanted. He started questioning the divine order. He wanted to be greater than his creators, more than just a servant of their will. He wanted to rise above them. And that is where his downfall began—he didn’t just want to rule the heavens... he wanted to rewrite them.”
Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “Oh, I love a rebellion story. What happened next, Alice? Did Azazel go all out? Did he make deals? Cause we both know where that leads.”
Alice’s lips curled into a devilish smile. “You’re right to ask, Rumple. Azazel didn’t just plot in silence. No. He began to rally others, whispering to the other angels who shared his discontent. He promised them more—power, freedom, the chance to create their own destinies. And in that moment, he became more than an angel—he became a leader of a rebellion. The War in Heaven had begun.”
Loki sat forward now, fully hooked. “Ah, a war in the heavens. I always thought that was a bit too poetic for a bunch of divine beings, but I suppose every heaven has its dirty laundry. So, what went down next?”
Alice’s eyes darkened, and her voice lowered to a near whisper. “The divine caught wind of Azazel’s ambitions. The higher angels saw the dangerous seeds of rebellion, and they struck first. They gathered their forces, sending legions of loyal angels to put down the threat. The battle was fierce—thunder cracked through the heavens, stars bled into the night sky, and the very foundation of Heaven trembled. Azazel and his followers fought valiantly, but they were overwhelmed.”
Loki’s eyes sparkled with cruel delight. “Oh, I bet that was a sight. Angels throwing lightning bolts and the whole place coming apart. But I assume the punishment was just as epic?”
Alice nodded, her gaze sharp. “The punishment was swift and unforgiving. Azazel, the once-bright angel, was cast down from the heavens. His wings—those magnificent wings that had once shone like a thousand suns—were torn from his back. And as he fell, he didn’t just fall into the abyss—he fell into darkness itself. The very essence of his being, his beauty, his grace, was stripped away. Azazel was no longer an angel; he became something... other. His fall was so deep, it shook the very core of existence.”
Rumplestiltskin’s voice was tinged with fascination. “So, this angel didn’t just fall physically. His soul... changed, didn’t it? He was no longer the proud, radiant being he had been. He became twisted—corrupted by his own ambitions, by the very darkness he’d once sought to overthrow.”
Alice leaned back in her chair, a slow smile curling across her lips. “Exactly, Rumple. Azazel’s fall didn’t end with his punishment. No, it was just the beginning. He wandered the earth for millennia, trying to reclaim what he lost—and seeking revenge on the divine who had cast him down. But here’s the catch: As he fell, he didn’t just lose his place in the heavens—he lost his humanity. He became obsessed with the idea of corruption, twisting everything pure and beautiful. His vengeance wasn’t just against the gods—it was against the very concept of light.”
Loki crossed his arms, his voice low with intrigue. “And what did he do with all this newfound power, Alice? Did he turn into some kind of dark lord? Did he wreak havoc?”
“Worse,” Alice said, her voice thick with dark amusement. “Azazel didn’t just destroy—it was the slow, insidious corruption that made him dangerous. He began turning angels, other fallen ones, and even mortals to his cause. He whispered promises of power, of freedom from divine control, to anyone who would listen. And for those who joined him? He gave them the gift of his darkness—he taught them to embrace their inner shadows, to use their pain and desire to fuel their new purpose.”
Loki smirked. “And thus began the legacy of the fallen. He turned from an angel of light to a king of darkness, ruling over those who had also fallen, creating a realm where the rules of Heaven no longer applied. Power wasn’t about purity, it was about dominion.”
Rumplestiltskin clapped his hands, amused. “Ah, that’s the twist I love! Azazel wasn’t just a tragic figure, was he? He became something worse—a force of darkness, unrelenting and insatiable.”
Alice’s voice was heavy now, almost a warning. “Azazel’s story isn’t just about his fall. It’s a reminder of what happens when ambition and pride go unchecked. His fall didn’t just affect him—it affected all of creation. It changed the very fabric of existence, leaving scars that have never healed.”
Loki grinned, eyes flickering with a mix of respect and caution. “So, the moral of the story? Don’t get too greedy for power, or the universe will take your wings. Literally.”
Alice raised her teacup, her expression smug. “Exactly, Loki. But remember this: Azazel’s fall was only the beginning. In the end, he never stopped falling. And that’s what makes him so dangerous—he’s still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to rise again.”
And with that, the room fell into a silence, the weight of Azazel’s eternal fall lingering in the air, as if the very essence of darkness itself had woven its way into the hearts of those who listened.
The Immortal Gazette: The Real Tale of the Fallen Angel
The studio fell silent for a moment, the eerie quiet hanging in the air like the stillness before a storm. Alice set her teacup down slowly, her smile a little too sweet, eyes glinting with mischief. Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, his fingers steepled together in mock contemplation, and Loki, ever the trickster, raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden shift.
“So,” Alice began, her voice full of playful innocence. “You’ve been following along, haven’t you?”
Loki smirked. “Oh, I’ve been listening, alright. But I’m starting to get the feeling this ‘Fallen Angel’ story... isn’t quite the way it’s been told.”
Rumplestiltskin snickered. “You got that right. I mean, the dramatic flair, the rebellion, the vengeful darkness? It sounded good... but not quite like the version I know.”
Alice’s eyes sparkled with a knowing glint. “Well, you see… what we just told you wasn’t exactly the truth. Not the full truth, anyway. It’s a... reinterpretation. A fun little twist to liven up the tale for our lovely listeners, right?”
Loki gave a low chuckle. “Of course. Why tell the truth when you can add a bit of chaos and make it more interesting? So, what’s the real story then?”
Alice shot Rumplestiltskin a look, and he grinned, nodding in agreement. “Alright, alright. I’ll bite.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone taking on a more serious edge as he began to speak.
“Azazel,” he started, “was indeed one of the most powerful angels. But his fall wasn’t entirely about ambition or rebellion against the divine order. Oh, don’t get me wrong—he had his share of pride. A lot of pride. But the real myth is a little more complex than a simple lust for power.”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so he wasn’t just some overambitious angel? A little more... layered?”
“Exactly,” Alice chimed in, her tone turning a little more reflective. “Azazel was an angel of knowledge, tasked with teaching mankind. He saw their potential, their flaws, and their beauty. But unlike other angels, Azazel began to see that humanity, with all their faults, was capable of greatness. He saw their capacity for love, for growth, and for defiance against the divine will.”
Rumplestiltskin’s voice dropped to a low murmur. “And that’s where the trouble started. Azazel wasn’t just questioning the divine order—he was questioning the gods themselves. He didn’t just want power for himself. He wanted humanity to have it. He wanted to help them rise up, to give them a chance to challenge the heavens. That was his sin.”
Loki snorted. “So, instead of a villain, Azazel was some kind of... revolutionary?”
“Pretty much,” Alice said with a sly grin. “He didn’t lead an army for personal gain or to overthrow the gods out of pure malice. He saw the divine hierarchy as flawed. He believed the gods were holding humanity back from their true potential. Azazel’s fall wasn’t just about arrogance—it was about hope. The hope that humanity could break free from divine control and reach for something greater.”
Loki tilted his head, thinking. “Okay, okay, I see it now. He wasn’t just some angel with a god complex. He was a kind of... prophet of free will?”
“That’s exactly it,” Alice said, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “But the gods didn’t see it that way. Azazel’s ideas were considered dangerous. The belief that humanity should be allowed to rise on their own terms was a direct challenge to the established divine order. And so, he was cast out—not because he was evil, but because he dared to think differently.”
Rumplestiltskin shook his head, his voice tinged with both admiration and sadness. “And that’s the real tragedy of Azazel’s fall. He wasn’t corrupted by dark desires or revenge. He fell because he believed in something greater—something the gods weren’t ready for. And in trying to bring about change, he lost everything.”
Loki sighed, shaking his head with a touch of sympathy. “So, Azazel wasn’t a villain at all. He was just a misunderstood soul who saw a different path... and that path led him straight to ruin. How fitting for a tale of divine drama.”
Alice’s expression softened. “Yes. And that’s why the myth endures in so many forms. Azazel’s fall wasn’t about the literal descent—it was about the fall of an idea. The belief that the divine, in all its glory, might not always be right. It’s the oldest story of rebellion, really. The angel who saw the truth... and paid the price for it.”
Loki leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah. Makes you think. Maybe the gods weren’t as omnipotent as they thought. The true lesson here? Even the divine can fall. And sometimes, it’s not for what they’ve done, but for what they’ve dared to believe.”
Rumplestiltskin let out a small sigh, the weight of the tale lingering in his words. “Ah, yes. The ones who dare to challenge fate, to stand up to power, often end up as legends. Azazel’s story might be tragic, but it’s also one of the greatest tragedies ever told.”
Alice raised her teacup once more, her smile returning. “Well, now you know the truth. Or at least, our version of it. But I’d like to think that Azazel’s spirit still lingers somewhere. Maybe not in the shadows, but in every soul who dares to ask ‘why’ and ‘what if.’”
And with that, the tale of the fallen angel—finally revealed in its truest, most bittersweet form—hung heavy in the air, leaving a lingering question for all who dared to listen: What would you dare to believe, if it meant losing everything?
