𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐒.
date: red rain moon, second week location: the black palace open to all
He feels little distinction from the Black Palace’s servants these days, with just how many hours in his day are spent cleaning the mess the remainder of the Conclave had allowed to be made in his absence. There has always been a reason, of course, why it is Judas that Infernum’s elite consortium turns their head towards in times of trial, why it’s his vote that tips the scales, why it’s he who’s sent to represent his people’s interests in other realms. God himself had ingrained in him how foolish a notion serendipity happened to be; it is no matter of luck that Infernum is deemed weak enough to attack when he is away, while countless others of the Conclave remain present and strong.
If not such a grave annoyance, it’d be a compliment.
Seated alone at a grand table in one of the Palace’s many gathering rooms, Judas breathes a brief reprieve in the silence — rare silence, as on this day, just like the countless before it, he leaves the door to the hall unlocked and makes himself available for anyone, resident or visitor, demon or angel, who seeks guidance or answers during such turbulence. How could you let this happen? How are we to know we’re safe? What’s being done to catch them? For days, he echoes the same rehearsed answers to the same predictable, frenzied questions. Those same answers dance on the tip of his tongue as yet another knock reverberates against the heavy set of iron doors, followed by creak of the hinge open and close as his newest audience approaches. It’s a sound he’s heard countless times this week; exasperated and utterly bored, he doesn’t bother to look up from the stack of notes he pores over. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to discuss the weather, have you?”
EVEN within Infernum, there are pockets of the realm darker than others, festering with the black of their sins. The land reeked of death and debauchery, rife with its hellish creatures and their hellish concerns. Concepts well-worn by Ryuk himself, Death feels their form settle into the vermillion haze of the realm. Eyes fall upon him, but slither away as quickly as they arrive, as if they understood that holding Death’s gaze for too long could only result in their demise.
And to be feared amongst one’s antithesis is to be expected; they are dark where the Angels are light, they are akin to something of a god where the mortals would wither away in the span of a century. To be feared by infernal creatures is to stand a step above the rest, more horrible, more ghastly, more deadly than all else.
It is this confidence that allows him to stride into the Black Palace, unannounced, seeking Judas’s word. The side of their neck tenses, displeased by the other’s lack of attention, and they venture another step forwards, clearing their throat. “No, I don’t suppose I am.” The taunt in their tone is evident, ringing with a dash of irritation. “Tell me, do many beings come through to the palace to deliberate such trivial things as the weather?”
