What happened to Crowley after Armageddon didn't happen. This is one version- not the best, but please be indulgent!
Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens. Go…Sa…Man I wish I did…
Crowley knew he was doomed. He knew it even before Hastur and Ligur turned up. Even after Armageddon didn't happen, he knew he was doomed. Satan would not let disobedience go unpunished. Rebellion was fine. But not against the Devil. Never against the Devil. And that was why he had not resisted when no less than five lesser demons showed up at his flat and dragged him to Hell. To the place that all fallen angels fear- the dark abyss of the punishment chamber.
Crowley knew it was useless to resist now. Not with Him there. He thought of Aziraphale as coils of dark energy pinioned him in place. In Heaven, Aziraphale would be forgiven. Somehow, although he would never have admitted it, that thought helped. Then it began.
This was not pain. No name as mundane as pain could ever accurately describe this ruthless ripping, tearing, shredding of every fibre of his being into a million and one pieces. This shattered the walls of agony and went straight out the other side.
His mind became strangely detached as his form writhed and screamed, changing shape until it was a shadowy vestige of his true demonic self. As the pain swamped him, he was vaguely aware of the mocking jibes of the demons that had gathered to watch the punishment. Or was it death sentence? Crowley was already dead. That never seemed to stop Satan. He had devised exquisite ways to mangle and deform a soul until it was nothing more than an empty whisper on the winds of the afterlife.
He did not want this. It seemed absurd to think it, but he did not want to…for lack of a better word, die. He liked existence. He liked the Earth and its insane inhabitants. He liked…he liked being part of an Arrangement. He liked being able to have intelligent conversations with a book-selling angel, to make witty but cutting remarks about, well, whatever. He liked Aziraphale. A six thousand year acquaintance that had slowly matured into friendship. The most basic opposites of all- Light and Dark. And they got on so well.
The thought train passed through his head in an instant, as white-hot agony snapped at its heels. This mutilation could last for an eternity.
And as he lay there, his body pulsing and convulsing, his racing mind caught something. A soft harmony amidst the discords of Hell. A gentle, flickering, candlelight glow in the infinite darkness. He craned his tortured consciousness, straining to catch a glimpse of it through spirit eyes. He found it and focused on it. It was cloaked, disguised in the Underworld, but Crowley instantly recognised it. Angelfire. Aziraphale.
No, it couldn't…his mind was slipping. It seemed that His amusement was at an end. It was time for Crowley to be extinguished. He could feel himself falling, slipping and falling into a dark abyss. He frantically tried to find a niche to cling on to as legions of pain clawed and yanked at him. His grip weakened and released, and he fell, plummeting into the deep chasm of empty minds and broken dreams and the shrieking cries of destroyed beings. The laughter of all the demons of Hell was knifing through him as he fell. He would never stop falling. His second Fall, and his last.
But as he fell, he felt angelfire light burst into flaming justice around him. He heard the enraged screams of dark being as the light burned them. He felt the burning sting of angel flesh against demon flesh as strong but gentle arms wrapped around him, halting his fall as pure white wings beat powerfully to pull a double burden upwards. And as his battered being succumbed to blackness, he was aware of the unfurling of black wings as the servants of the Devil gave chase. His last thought before he gave up the struggle was, "Nice thwarting, angel."
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