Illustration for my series of books "Smoldering Hell", for the seventh book ("Smoldering Hell 7: Burning Paradise. 99 names of the God" author.today/work/160832 ).

The whole series of books: author.today/work/series/11980
Or here: ficbook.net/collections/114480…

Painting, realism. One of the very recent works that I still couldn't lay out, because I couldn't stop finishing >_< Whatever, I still can't lick it to the ideal (although I stubbornly don't think so ...). Yes, I continue to post illustrations to my books that have accumulated from 2021 to the present. I also want to say that there will certainly be an article about the Sephiroth Tree and the angelic hierarchy, I have not forgotten.

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Me and Musa, the desert of Al-Hasa, the oasis of Al-Ahsa, the shore near the reservoir. The night before my daytime "cunning" outing to the abode of the jinn community in order to rid the people of the oasis of their oppression. It was like the seven-hundredth or eight–hundredth years since the Birth of Christ - but I remembered this little boy forever, even though our meeting was once. The spontaneity of a child, open-mindedness, sincerity and originality of thought sometimes strike an old man in the heart and make him think harder, even if he seemed to have thought about everything in the world. And now, when I recall our conversation, my heart aches with longing, although Musa has matured for a long time, hundreds of hundreds of years ago, and in a completely different existence, he got a family like everyone else, grew old, rested when his allotted age ended - yes, he probably already lived a number of other lives, in other incarnations… And I still remember. Although it would seem that what was in our conversation? But I remember everyone forever who somehow responded to my heart.

I tried to translate an excerpt from my book into English, probably there are a lot of mistakes (in this book I write about myself in the third person):

<...> "...As soon as it was time for the night, Azazel lay down alone on the shore of a clean pond, on the grass straight, without laying any rags, refused the offers of many to spend the night in houses, put his elbow under his head, turning his face to the pond, and prepared to rest. But he opened his eyes suddenly, because he felt that someone small lay down on his back, hugged him closely, wrapping his arm around his waist. Azazel turned around a little, looking absentmindedly, and saw that Musa snuggled up to him shiveringly, lying down next to him on the grass of the coastal.

— Tell me, Shaitan Sayyid... — the boy said in a low voice in the silence of the sleeping oasis, burying his forehead in the archdemon's back and closing eyes. — Here we are — a whole community, and we are all a family. And you... isn't it lonely? After all, you are alone.

Azazel smiled sadly, turning back and laying his head on his elbow, paused a little, looking thoughtfully in front of him, and then answered:

— Oh, my friend... I will answer you this way, but it is unlikely that you will understand this answer. — He paused again, and then said with a sad, peaceful smile: — "For Yeshua said to him: Come out, you unclean spirit, from this man. And he asked him: What is your name? And he said in response: And my name is Legion. — Azazel lowered his gaze thoughtfully, and added wistfully, painfully: — Because there are many of us."

Musa thought for a minute over these words, but asked in confusion:

— Is this about the fact that there are many of you Shaitans in the world?

— No, dear, — Azazel smiled in response.

— And about what?

— About that... That I am the same Legion.

Musa chuckled softly, not really understanding; and then he spoke quietly, burying his face deeper into the fabric of the cape on Azazel's back:

— Your clothes smell like scorching heat, Legion Sayyid. We also live under the sun, but our clothes do not carry such a smell.

— My robe is hundreds of hundreds of years old, — Azazel replied calmly. — It is saturated with the heat of the East. I was before you, I am with you, and I be after you for centuries.

— And if you die tomorrow?..

— It's not death, because I'm eternal.

— Like Allah!.. — Musa whispered, only hugging the archdemon tighter. — Promise, Legion Sayyid... — he added seriously, looking into the darkness of the fabric of the cape. — Promise me you won't just save everyone... and that you want to save yourself.

The heart in the chest of Azazel lying painfully and strangely shrank after the words of such; the archdemon did not answer anything, looking thoughtfully before him and observing the surface of the water of the deceased, sighed deeply, and said:

— I promise, dear." <...>

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For those who don't know:

- Who am I? Azazel Al-Khalifa, the archdemon of the East, now in human incarnation. And this is not a fucking fiction.
- What is my work about? I write and draw about real angels and demons, the Devil and God, about those events that were once serious; through my creativity, I strive to convey to people the truth about our world, about world history, about the Beast and Holiness, about Heaven and Hell, about the meaning of life and what is hidden from the eyes.
- How did I know all this? I receive revelations and visions, information from outside and from the memory of my own soul; and I am not alone in this, because I landed in this world together with Semiaza, with my chosen one: periodically we even receive the same revelations independently of each other.
- What is my goal? Open to you, Human, eyes, mind and heart.