Chapter one

Chapter one

A Story by Michael
"

I have been fascinated with angels and Fallen angels for quite some time now.. I was remembering something that my mother told me when I was little about a secret war going on all around us

"
The Mexican desert in the summer is the closest a man will come to finding Hell on earth. The heat smothering like stones piled on your chest. The whistle of dry air lingering in your ears.
Even breathing was an effort in heat like this. The air itself burning the inside of your lungs and coating them with dust.
The two priests were the only life moving in this hot afternoon, as they walked with their faces turned down to the desert sand. The fabric of their clothes clung to them and showed the sweat that was draining from their bodies. Their faces were blank and their eyes were glazed over.
The path ahead of them twisted like the spine of a dragon, angling upward towards the top of he rise. The two had walked this path every day from the time that they were boys. But that was always just after the rising of the sun, before the heat of the day had set in.
Before today, they had always walked it with the rest of the priests in their order and the others would be shocked to know that the two walked it alone now. Even the two men would be shocked if they actually knew what they were doing.
But they didn't. They were mindless zombies, controlled by an outside intelligence and drawn to a task.
The path moved behind a cliff that rose from the desert floor. It twisted past rocks and desert brush to the door of an ancient mission.
It was in bad need of repair, but there was no one to repair it. The structure had been built before Christ had been born and no records of the builders had been passed down through the centuries.
Unlike most sanctuaries, however, this was not a place to allow men to fell closer to their God. This was a place to keep those things furthest from that God in bondage.Only the priests dared to go inside and even then only as a group to make their daily prayers, said to keep the chains strong and the locks unbroken.
But on this day, the power that was imprisoned there had reached out. It had searched for an open door and it had found one. in the minds of the two young priests.
A small ways behind the two men walked another, doing his best to stay out of sight. Unlike the other two he was old. The head of the order. For centuries, he and those before him, had waited for this day and dreaded its coming. They had guarded the mission and handed down that duty from generation to generation.
And it was during his watch that this should happen. The old priest cursed his bad luck. The unseen power was calling for release, as had been foretold.
It was his duty to stop them. If he could.
Others would be arriving to help, but they would be too late. The old priest knew, and his chest was locked up with fear. But he pushed it all aside and moved on. It was his duty and he would not fail.
Inside the mission was cooler than one would expect it to be. The air was still inside the dried mud walls and smelled of ages old death. It was a humble building, but one could sense immense power emanating from inside. A power that could make any who stepped inside feel small and insignificant.
The two young men entered through the main door of the building and walked down the center aisle of the sanctuary not even stopping to glance to the sides.Sweat rolled down their backs and arms, but they took not notice. Their eyes remained locked forward, not seeing their location, or anything else.
At the usual morning prayers, the priests would turn at the end of the aisle and fill in the pews, but not this time. This time they continued on to the altar and stopped at the foot of the statue of St. Michael. It wings spread out behind it and its powerful arms lunging his spear downward. None of the younger priests understood that it was no mere statue. It was the lock that held closed the cell of the imprisoned. If they had known they were this close to such a powerful evil, they may never have stepped foot into the mission ever again.
But the elder priests had known. They had known it was their mission to keep that power caged here.
The two young men had accidentally discovered the missions secret this morning. They had heard a noise coming form the statue as the priests were leaving and had stopped to investigate. They had by chance, or so it seemed at the time, both placed their hands on the spear of Michael at the same time. The dirt floor opened revealing a stairway that led down into the bowels of the building.
The priests had followed the steps an the floor slid closed behind them. at the bottom of exactly six hundred and sixty six steps, they found a bitterly cold room and a sight that terrified them. They ran back up the steps and back out into the light of day.
But the visit had been enough. Enough for the power within that room to reach out and gain a small measure of control over their young minds.Over the following hours, it had solidified that control. They would return to that room and set him free.
Now, as the two young priests slipped back into the tunnel, the elder priest stared at the opening, his body being wracked by waves of fear induced nausea.
Though he had never seen it, he knew what lie below. Now he had no choice but to go down into that place that he had prayed he would never see. The Cell of Abaddon. He forced himself to take a deep breath and to stop his hands from shaking. He pulled the pistol that he had hidden in his pocket. He had hoped to never have to use it, but he was glad now that he had kept it in working order all these years.
Quickly he moved past the statue and down the steps after the two younger priests, praying that he would have the where with all to stop them by himself.
At the bottom of the stair, light escaped from the inside of the cell. The room was cut into the stone of the bedrock marble tiles covered its floor and in its center was the massive statue of an angel, his body wrapped in gold and his eyes made of rubies that seemed to stare out at the world, as the old priest had always believed it had. In its left hand it held a sword, silver with a hilt and pommel encrusted with precious stone. Its pommel a black diamond. In its right hand was a massive golden key.
They were the tool of Abaddon. The angel of the Pit and the Master of the Locust Army. When taken up by one person, they would open the seal that trapped Abaddon away and release him back into the world, the beginning of the End. And nothing could stop him  from destroying mankind. Nothing.
The two younger priests stopped and knelt in front of the statue, as if worshiping their new god. The man on the left stood, reaching out with both his hands towards the sword and key.
The old priest could not keep silent any longer.
"No!" he screamed. "Don't touch it!"
The others took no notice of him.
The older man brought up the pistol. His hands were shaking, but he could not let this happen."Please!" he begged. "stay back!"
The glazed eyes of the younger priest turned towards him for only a moment, then back to their target. He wasn't there anymore. He was simply a puppet. And his hands were almost touching the statue.
The old priest fired.
The bullet ripped through the younger mans skull, spraying blood and gore over his companion. He fell to the floor.
The dead man's companion now stood, heading for the statue.
The old priest moved between him and the massive form of the fallen angel, "Son, I don't want to have to kill you too. Please, snap out of this. Stop."
The blank face of the younger priest looked quizzically at him. Then twisted into demonic rage. The younger man lunged at him like a rabid animal, howling in anger and fear. his hands were stretched out and ending in claws that threatened to gouge out the old priest's eyes.
He swung the pistol and smashed the younger man's jaw. He could hear the bone crunch and saw the jaw dislocate.
The young priest fell to the floor, but was back up in an instant. He knew no pain. Only the uncontrollable urge to reach his goal. To lay his hands on the statue. He grabbed the elder priest by the wrists, trying to wrestle the gun from his grip.
But the older man had not yet lost all the strength of his youth, and adrenaline was giving him even more.
The two fought back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, the older man always keeping himself between the young priest and the statue..
Finally, the elder priest was able to loosen the others grip just enough that he could turn his wrist and aim the muzzle of the pistol at the young man's head. He pulled the trigger and his adversary fell to the floor, smoke rising from the hole in the side of his head.
He looked down at the bodies of his former comrades, his entire body shivering with weakness and guilt.
"What have I done?"
The old man fell to his knees, bowed his head with his eyes tightly shut, and prayed to God for forgiveness, "Father forgive me of my sins, I have slain two of your children. I did it to save others, Father. I would never hurt anyone. Please Father, please. I beg you to forgive me."
A deep voice whispered."God can't hear you here. The whole point of this place is separation from HIm."
Though the voice was quiet, it rumbled through the pit of his stomach.
The priest did not move, did not open his eyes, "Get behind me Satan! I will not listen to your words. My Father is everywhere!"
The voice seemed to chuckle, "Foolish child, why do you call me your enemy? You don'
t even know me."
"I know you! You are Abaddon! You are the fallen leader of the Locust Army. You are the Angel of Destruction and the one who will bring about the End."
"Open your eyes Child," the voice replied. "I will not destroy you."
"You lie! Demon from Hell, begone!"
"I AM NO DEMON!" the voice roared. "I walked with the Father before the elements that make up you AND your world even began to swirl in the cosmic dust! I commanded armies of the Host! and you equate me with some demon? Open your eyes!"
The old man fought to resist but, like his fallen brethren, he couldn't. His eyes slowly opened and his face turned upward to stare into the ruby eyes of the statue.
"Give me your hand," commanded the voice.
Still trembling, the old mans hands unclasped and he reached up to touch the massive fist holding the golden key. When his flesh touched the cold stone, a blinding light filled the room and he screamed as his flesh, and the flesh of the bodies on the floor were ripped from their bones.
Moments later the light dimmed.
Where there was once a statue, now knelt a flesh and blood living being. The immense and muscular form rose and stretched his stiff joints.
Four black, eagle like wings spread from his back. His hair was black, with streaks of white, and fell just above his shoulders
Abaddon had been reborn.
He looked around him at the small puddles of blood on the floor. All that remained of the three priests who had ventured in just minutes before.The rest had been used to form this new body.
"I thank you for your sacrifice." Abaddon said solemnly.
He reached down and lifted the key and the sword. Something was wrong. The weight of the items didn't feel right.
"Well disguised forgeries." he said and dropped them both.
Closing his eyes, Abaddon reached out with his consciousness, searching for his tools. He could feel them, but just barely. They were a long way from where he was now.
No matter, an angel can travel at the speed of thought. he pictured the place that he felt his key and started to shift.
But pain tore through his mind and he screamed in agony. Falling to his knees again, he brought his hands up to the sides of his skull, trying to hold it together as it felt like something was tearing it asunder.
When, at last, the pain subsided, he found himself laying against the cool marble of the tiled floor. His lungs burned with the effort of breathing and his body was covered in sweat.
Realization seemed to suck the cold of the room into his chest and wrap it around his heart.
The old priest had been right. He was Fallen. He could no longer call upon those abilities that were granted only to those in the service of the Father. Which meant, not only could he not shift. He could die.
Should another angel, one who was not Fallen, come across him now, he would be almost helpless.
Abaddon picked himself from the floor. He had less time than he had preciously thought. He was still the Leader of the Locust Army and with the magic of his sword, he could not be defeated. That would have to be his first goal.

© 2011 Michael


Author's Note

Michael
I was wondering if that secret war my mother told me about was something a bit more literal than what she meant. And this is what came out

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Added on April 6, 2011
Last Updated on April 6, 2011

Author

Michael
Michael

Broken arrow, OK



About
I am just wanting to let some of the stories and voices in my head have some releif. If you enjoy their stories, great. more..