Every day he visited Azazel. He tried to reason with him. It did not work.

Azazel laughed. He drank wine, and shoved scrolls of art and writing into Semyaza's arms. He threw his arms around humans, and painted their faces. In front of Semyaza, he taught them brewery and paper-making and metallurgy.

The others were much the same. They were all rapidly falling from grace. They openly consorted with humans. They had not only invited them to live in their city, they intermingled with them. Children ran about.

Semyaza felt something. A semblance of irritation. Horror at their profane acts. If they fell any further, he felt that they would be punished by God.

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