PrologueA Chapter by Doibugu The Fall of Man through different eyes. Shards
of pearl lay about his feet, jagged and smoking in the ever present light. A wave of grief and shame washed over him as
he took them in. The gate had been whole
moments before, shining and white and seeming to glow with some ethereal power,
but he was so…angry. So angry. It had risen in him, risen up and then out,
rushing before him like a wave of black, twisting fire. The rage had collided with the gate which,
not having been constructed to withstand any attack let alone such an
onslaught, had cracked and shattered. He
hesitated as the shame grew stronger, nearly quenching his rage. The grief rose nearly as strong as the anger
had before and he fell to his knees among the wreckage. Slowly, he placed his hands on the cobbles of
the street and they seemed to stop just short of touching the golden surface as
though each stone had it’s own protective barrier to keep it from being
sullied. Sullied by him. The grief grew to a crescendo and a tear fell
from his eye splashing on the thick, illusory glass that coated each stone. He couldn’t remember having ever cried, up until the gathering. His head hung low
between his shoulders until he was nearly prostrate. He could turn back. This wasn’t so bad; such things had been
forgiven before. Perhaps not exactly
such things, but forgiveness ran as steadily from the throne as did the river
that flowed from beneath it. He would
understand, somehow. He would forgive. And if he wouldn’t forgive, well, there were
places to go. He didn’t need to be here. “What are you
doing?” He didn’t look up
at the voice, though startled. He’d not
heard any steps. “I am…reflecting.” “Is this the
time?” The voice paused and now he did
look up, into the eyes of his friend, eyes that held nothing of grief or
shame. Eyes full of caution, perhaps,
but no regret. He stood tall, taller than any other, his
silver and ruby studded armor, once the envy of all, now dented and covered
with blood that seemed to catch the light and throw it back in glittering
patterns. He held a large staff thicker
than his wrist loosely in both hands at his waist, it’s ends splintered and
gouged and covered with the same shimmering stains. Iron ferrules on one end
remained, but the blade on the other had been torn off, either by some shield
or body that lay behind them. Blonde hair streaked with white, and now that
awful red, framed a beatific face and full lips that pursed before he continued.
“I didn’t think the gates could be
destroyed. At least that there would be
someone to defend them, or even that he’d have come himself. The streets are empty.” “Perhaps they
fear.” He said. “Fear
is not something any of us know well.
Though I confess, after watching you-“ “He
won’t allow us much time. They will be
on us soon”, He interrupted. He needed no reminding of what he had
done. The gates had stood as long as any
of them could remember, beautiful and shining.
He’d commissioned them himself, twelve in all, each carved from a single
pearl. The shavings were worked into intricate
scrolling along each bar; not a ounce cut was not used to add even more
beauty. The one he had destroyed had
been the most glorious of all, the very gate from which the king himself
entered and exited. Such beauty. Such purity.
His friend belatedly understood his
grief and spoke, ever so gently, “Oh beloved!
This had to be done.” Such grace
flowed from his friends words he could have nearly wept, but the words grew
harder as he continued until he was nearly shouting. The pearlescent shards vibrated with his
sentiment and his blue eyes faded to grey as they lifted into the air. “You said yourself not so long ago that it is
not us who will have abandoned him. He
left us. He chose them.” The shards fell to
the ground in a tinkling spray. Them. The word rang through the still air and as
quickly as it had risen, his grief drained away, leaving a cold cavern burned
into his heart by his earlier wrath. He
stood, brushing dust from his bare knees
and then wiped his hands on his short tunic.
His fingers found the pommel of a sword he had crafted himself and he
gripped it, knuckle-white. The weapon
was as beautiful, in it’s own way, as the gates or the cobblestones, or any of
the buildings that loomed on either side of the street. The graceful lines of the handle swooped into
a curling, blackened gold guard and the blade extended nearly to the ground,
straight until the end where it flared into a wide point. He had tried to make it all golden and
shining as had been taught, but the color defied him and seemed to snap back to
an odd blackish color whenever he withdrew his will from the metal. It was strange, but a small curiosity in the
face of it all. He met his friends eyes and his friend
flinched. He wondered what the other saw
when he looked at him, to start so. “Let
us continue.” He didn’t need to let his
power infuse the words; his friend would have followed him anywhere. Had. They
walked side by side down the street, and he smiled grimly as he heard more footsteps
behind him. Many more. He didn’t need to look back to know who had
followed. He could feel them each well
enough, though that ability seemed to be diminished. Each of the thousands of others behind his
back seemed to give him some measure of strength, though in truth none near to
his own might, or even that of his friend.
It was the solidarity of purpose that pushed him on, that pushed the
remaining doubt from his mind. Such a
feeling had been missing for far too long, since their mission had been
completed and the king had called them home. The
wide road led to the center of the city, still a long way off. He had expected some resistance if they made
it this far at all, and the quiet was troubling. Empty buildings stared accusingly down at the
long column and they walked on, ignoring the shame, embracing the quiet. Once or twice, his friend would begin to say
something, perhaps troubled as he himself had been. Each time, though, no word was uttered and on
they marched, the crossroads passing one by one, the buildings growing only
taller and more beautifully appointed. Soon, they were in the heart of the city, the
great meeting halls capped in shining gold domes. The Gardens took up much of this area, trees
stretching higher than one could believe possible, their amber bark glistening
with dew and sap. The gentle rasp of
innumerable leaves waving in the light breeze would have been immeasurably
comforting, on another day. The
library loomed on the left, great amethyst columns supporting a multi-hued
roof. There were no walls on the
building and each shelf was visible, packed full of loose sheets of paper,
available to all. He, just like
everyone, had spent years beneath the roof, studying the universe as well as
they could from the city, absorbing the words of the king himself. Such knowledge and wisdom. “Leave that building standing. No matter what.” He didn’t speak to any one in particular, and
never noticed as the order passed down the column in a ripple. There may have been value in destroying the
building to deprive the enemy should their march end badly, though none made a
move to raise that objection; they had seen him destroy so many and witness the
falling of the gate, and none dared risk his anger. Then,
there it was. Great columns spired
upwards, higher than even the trees, and everywhere crystal windows
gleamed. Gold and silver filigree
covered every surface, woven so intricately one could barely see the white
stone until they were near enough to touch it and each block of the palace held
a story written in gold and silver, from the cornerstone to the utmost
parapet. It was a work millennia in the
making and had no equal in all the universe.
In any universe. A grey stone wall protected the palace, unadorned
save for crystalline spikes running along its apex. Unlike the gate, it’s purpose seemed much
more defensive. “That wasn’t there earlier.” His friend sounded slightly uneasy. “No.
I suppose it was too much to ask that he would go quietly.” “Indeed. Well, we may as well begin.” His friend
punctuated his sentence by hefting his
own weapon. He grimaced in disgust at
the splintered end and held it close to his lips. He whispered the words to craft a new tip,
from pearl by the sound of it, perhaps to scorn that materials symbolism. His brow narrowed as nothing happened, and
then his eyes widened as shadows tore themselves from the corners of nearby
buildings and coalesced at the end of the spear. In a moment, they evaporated leaving behind
a jagged blade of glittering obsidian.
Their eyes met, both filled with shock and his friend opened his mouth
to speak. “What�"“ “Stop!”
The word exploded from behind the wall, rattling the windows of nearby
buildings and setting the street to shaking.
A hole appeared in the imposing edifice and someone stepped out, tall
and covered head to toe in glistening armor.
Diamonds studded a simple wooden sheild in a pattern reminiscent of the
night sky and wherever light touched them, they shined like small suns. In spite of this warrior and his
obvious power, he and his friend continued on, eyes locking with those of the armored
man as he drew his blade. He didn’t look
back, but heard the footsteps of the army at his back slow, then stop. “Stop!”
This time the word seemed a physical thing, and he felt the power of it
crash against his body and tug at him like a river’s current. His friend gasped and sagged before abruptly
shaking himself and standing upright.
Behind them, he could hear bodies falling to the golden streets as the
weaker among them were overcome. Again,
he began to walk forward. The man shouted again, nearly a scream,
but now his anger was back and he met the power with a cry of his own and snarled
as it parted before him. His friend was thrown backward though, spear
barely in hand, all of his might as nothing before the word of the armored
man. The others still standing were
brushed back like twigs before a flood, the weakest hurled against buildings
with sickening crunches. He gathered himself as the armored man
drew in a deep breath. Power, raw and
brilliant, seemed to gather about that shining shield. Not the man’s power, that. No, it was anothers . By it’s brilliance it belonged to one of the Three, though until
it was released there would be no way to know which. Curiosity would only see
him killed, however, so rather than waiting, he leapt forward through the
air. His blade pulled smoothly from it’s
sheathe and he brought it down with all his strength, bellowing and letting his
wrath gather along the edge. The
armored man raised the shield and it grew
until it was large enough to cover the mans entire body. With a flash of darkness, blade bit into
wood. Bellow grew to a roar, louder than
when he had broken the gate, so loud he almost thought it was the cry of the
Void itself. Then a crack, so deafening
it drowned out his shout. He felt
himself thrown back by a wave of power, immense yet somehow gentle. He knew then, from that familiar caress, who
had crafted the shield; only one would have that kind of power and yet use it
so softly. The Word, he thought as he landed smoothly on his feet. His eyes found those of the armored
man, now wide and afraid, and he found that he knew that one, as well. He spoke to his friend. “Of all of us, they send the Herald to stand
against me. It’s no wonder they gifted
him a shelter such as that. I don’t know if they intend to insult us or test
us.” Bel coughed as he walked closer. Even more blood seeped down his hair now,
this time his own. Bel El was high among
them, but even one such as him did not witness such a clash without showing
some strain. “Knowing him, that was
almost definitely a test. “ His eyes fell to the now broken
shield. Two halves cleaved neatly in two
rested on either side of the Herald. The
diamonds were scattered about his armored feet, ordinary now they were spent of
their investiture. “Agreed. He tests my resolve,” he muttered. “Our, my friend. He tests our resolve.” “Did I not say that?” Without waiting for an answer, he glanced
back to his army reforming behind him.
He frowned in disgust; even more losses, as if the first clash hadn’t
weakened them enough. They’d begun with
a third of all the forces and lost nearly a quarter in that first push. The few words of power used by the Herald had
only killed a few unlucky soldiers who’d slammed against walls or trees, but
his was a power was not meant to kill.
Those words hadn’t hurt much physically, not like what others could do,
but they had weakened them. He sensed in each warrior a new and renewed
sense of despair, of quiet, a need to just…stop. No, he would not allow it. “Forward!” He was getting tired now, doing so much so
quickly. It was a new sensation. Before, he could do works that required far
beyond what he’d used today but now, each time he let power infuse his voice, he
felt as though a piece of himself was being used up. Another oddity, perhaps more pressing than
the first few , especially if the battle stretched on. Even so, he let his power enter the word and
nodded as each man seemed to straighten and began marching. Such manipulations were the Heralds greatest
asset, but he was not the only one of them who could do such things. He raised his sword again, and charged. Rather than meeting him with his
own blade however, the Herald leapt up
and back over the wall. He didn’t slow his
charge and slammed against the large blocks with his shoulder. The rage blew the stones apart nearly as
easily as it had the gates and the armored man, not having had enough time to
move away, was struck squarely on the chest.
He was thrown backwards and crashed against the wall of the castle
itself and slid down the wall, crumpling into a pile. The Herald weakly raised his head as he
approached and spoke so softly, it was necessary to lean in order to hear. “What is wrong with you, brother? What has done this to you? Even your might, it is…twisted.” Twisted? The man must have injured something in his
head. “What is wrong with me,
Gabriel?” He asked incredulously. “I would ask the same of you. He places those we watched crawl from the
waters above us? He plans to offer them communion.” The word sounded like a curse in his
mouth. “Communion! He does all of this and then asks us to kneel
before him again, so that he can make us as servants to those…things!” He was shouting now and likely sounded
half-mad. No matter, it would be good
for his followers, his army, to hear the passion. “And you, who should be among the greatest,
will abase yourself?” He lowered his
voice to a whisper and now Gabriel tilted his head forward in an effort to hear. “You were his beloved, brother, and he throws
you aside. Join us, Gabriel. Join me.
We will show him our true worth.” Gabriel, the Messenger and Herald of
the King, hesitated. His voice
wavered. “I…” he coughed slightly as his crushed chest
began to heal, as all his wounds would before long. “I…cannot, brother.” His voice steadied and he pulled himself to a
sit, back resting against a scene of some early creation, worked in gold and silver
thread. “I will not. These that follow you have not realized, have
they? That from our making, we were set
beneath another.” “What-“ “You, you great
lout.” Gabrieal laughed the words out
softly. “They never realized, he always
loved you greatest. I and the others
remaining made our peace with that eons ago.
He can do as he wishes, can love as he will. Even the smallest of attentions from him is
worthy of our eternal service. I am
blessed enough simply to speak his words. “ “Fool. You believe in eternal service, yet-“ “And does he have words for you…” A voice boomed from Gabriel but it was no
longer his voice that spoke. It was
something elder, something terrifying in it’s immensity. “You who have defied me. You who have set yourselves against my
will. You who craft weapons to slay and
craft words to corrupt. You will go no
further.” They all moved
away from Gabriel of their own accord as he stood, or was raised up; it was
difficult to ascertain. Power emanated
from him. His eyes blazed with the fires
of creation, his mouth flashed like lightning with each syllable. The king would not come out, then, but gift
his power to this…servant! “This is how you deliver your reasoning to
me? Your excuses?” He spat the words. Tears filled his eyes and
spilled out, blazing hot wet tracks down his cheeks. “Through him?” “Who is this, who
obscures my plans with words without knowledge?
Brace yourself like a man for I will question you, and you will answer
me.” “How dare
you?” The tears came more quickly now
and his voice was ragged. Power seeped
into his words unbidden. “How could you? Meet me here!
Look into my eyes and tell me!” “You, who laid the
Earths foundation, who shut up the sea behind doors, who ordered the morning
and watched the universe begin. You, of
such great power and worthy of such love.”
He had never heard the kings voice sound so…angrily derisive. “Tell me, oh thou Prince of the Powers of Air
and Darkness, Lord of the Morning, thou Shining Star!” The words boomed and as one, the army fell to
it’s knees as Gabriel was lifted high, eyes closed, and an immeasurable
presence poured from him in a flood. Grief welled in
him so strongly he barely registered the wails and howls of the army at his
back. If he could have looked away, he’d have seen Bel El fall prostrate with
hands clasped. He wanted to shout back,
to answer the king. To explain, to
apologize, to beg forgiveness. Them. The word
snaked into his mind and resonated, grew louder and louder, drowning out the
voice of the king. No. No, he wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t face the King and his court on
bended knee. It was an effort, the
greatest struggle thusfar, but he raised his head to look into Gabriels eyes,
eyes that were no longer his but twin suns.
Slowly, so slowly, he gathered his will and stood. Just one word. If he could say just one word he could
release his power, release his influence, perhaps drive the will of the king
back long enough to marshal his army again, to raise them up. His mouth opened but no sound would form, his
power on the edge of being released but held back by the prescense eminating
from Gabriels body. Again he tried,
choking, gagging. He gripped his swords
hilt with one hand as the other clutched at his heart, fingers digging into the
metal of his breastplate as though it were made of clay. Gabriels eyes
seemed to focus on him and his blank expression melted into one of
sadness. No, not sadness; pity. The sight galvanized him and he drew a deep
and ragged breath. “No…” It was a pitiful effort, a small pale thing
compared to the power he faced, but he infused the word with all the will he
could muster. It pressed against that
terrible force, pressed against it and pushed. It was like moving a boulder the size of the world. He strained against it, fists clenched and
veins bulging. As sweat began to pour
down his brow, stinging his eyes, his vision swam and he felt himself
sway. He was too great, the king, even
working through this proxy. It was a losing
contest, there was no doubt, and if he kept up the effort much longer it would
be his last. The king had chosen them,
though. At least in death he wouldn’t be
asked to kneel and his death would wound the king deeply, if he did indeed love
him as he said. Drew evermore on his
strength and heaved. The Kings will
inched away from him, slowly at first then in a great recession and he pitched
forward, no longer pushing against anything at all. He knew he hadn’t won so much as the King had
simply withdrawn his presence. They had
known each other long enough to determine why.
The Ruler of All
had shown a part of his glory, muted through a surrogate but still sufficient
to reveal the scope of his power, of his love.
In that moment, He had offered a chance at redemption. It was as close as the King had ever come to
overwhelming their choice in the matter and He had been resisted. It was that which made him relent, that act
of defiance to the offer. “Very well.” Gabriel’s voice became his own as he was
gently lowered to the ground. The
massive golden doors at his back swung outward.
“The King bids thee enter. Come.” Lucifer, the Light
of the Star and Prince of the Powers of the Air, Named Chosen of the King,
sheathed his sword and started up the wide, golden steps.
© 2016 DoibuguAuthor's Note
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