Angels and Demons have almost no free will, having to follow the plans written out in the Book of Prophecy. But a minor panic occurs when 10 pages of the Book of Prophecy turn out to be blank.

Medeah of the Silver Voice walked unseen through human back alleys. Her ethereal form hiding her from the senses of all but the most perceptive. Even then, they would only see an illusive shadow, a faint whisper, an imagined figure within their memories. Medeah sang through the back alleys, soothing the hearts of the wretches who lived nearby and heartened those broken down by life. An angel’s voice, even when heard beyond consciousness, can heal one’s soul. Just as a demon’s can rip it apart.

A last song on Medeah’s lips died as their wings unfurled and straightened alongside their back. Wariness crept throughout the angel’s body. A half crouched being made of nothing but a dozen arms and sewed shut mouths. A single unclosed mouth grinned a twisted and blood dripping set of sharp fangs at Medeah. Its voice screeched pain and whispered fear in the unwary humans. Bystander victims to their meeting.

“Medeah, angelic Medeah. Singing a song for unworthy souls. Singing a song on command. Singing a song as you wont or ought to do?”

Lyrical yet forcecful, Medeah responds as a balm to the human soul.

“Demon of the deep. I am here as is my duty and pleasure to serve. As should be your pleasure in your role down below. Go back to the Hell from whence you came. Torture the souls as you are bid to do and leave the souls of the mortal realm alone. I know what you are and this is not your place.”

With a single twitch, the mouth shifts in a more mocking tone.

“My place? Oh, Hells and Heavens. What place might that be? On what horrific role am I chained to by the wretched Book of Prophecies. Our roles laid in stone. Our lives read out by Masters, too enraptured in Divinity to question these roles? What is my place? Tell me oh sweet Medeah. Tell me.”

Medea took out a single candle and it lit up in bright flame. Pointing it towards the demon, It flared with every word spoken.

“Zargus, do not test me. I know your name. Zargus, Eater of the Fifth Pit of Hell. You belong down below and not in the Mortal Realm. Such is your name given in the Book of Prophecies. Such is the role in the grand scheme of this World. Return from whence you came. For I am Medeah of the Silver Voice. And in my role, I soothe and protect humans of this realm. Return or face my wrath.”

A cackle began to echo from Zargus. With their many arms, they started to rip stitches, freeing its mouths. Each new open mouth echoing new sounds stretched into coherent noise.

A serious voice with background babbling obscenities.

“The role in the book of Prophecies? Hilarious!”

Metal scraping against chalkboard.

“Medeah has not heard the latest passage. The Readers have intoned. The Voices have spoken.”

Growling beasts from a hundred hungry lands.

“Medeah sings but does not listen. Walks among mortals as is their role. Never questions the role may change. Never looks to The Readers, for the Prophecy in the new day.”

As each voice rips out into the alley, new creatures creep out from every nook and cranny. Appearing from the shadows and forming eyes, ears, flesh, mold, fur, claws, blood and all deformed to suit the needs of Hell. Each new shadow causing Medeah to step back. Their flame waning back into the candle. With fear and trepidation, they ask the demon.

“What new Prophecy has been read? What role has been changed?”

To which every voice from Zargus speaks out at once. Mouths an open maw towards the angel as they are surrounded by a dozen demons inching closer.

“None... There is nothing in the next page of the Book of Prophecies. There are no more roles to play Sweet Medea.”