The Fallen: Kingdom of Unwanteds

CHAPTER ONE: GOD’S CREATION

The fallen are the kingdom of unwanteds, fallen from heaven, not acceptable there. They fall to Earth, shunned by both heaven and hell. Neither wants them. The fallen remain on Earth for the rest of their immortal lives. They stay there forever, their wings broken, blackened at the edges, their hearts eternally bleeding, and their souls torn, barely remaining stitched together. They appear normal to anyone, clad in tight jeans, slashed at the knees, black, close-fitting shirts, adorned with rock band names or nothing at all. Jean or leather jackets, slim and stylish. Hair cut short in layered fashions, or let loose, hanging in a long and wavy mess, or even gelled and spike for the bolder ones. Heavy, round-toed boots with no heels or light and airy tennis shoes come thudding across the ground, smooth, simple, and sleek, and chains hang in various places, glittering and chinking together. A simple, silver band is always seen, pushed down on one of their fingers, on the left hand. Some have solid black bands, others have a bright blue or navy, others have a pearly white or grey-bluish color. The darker the band, the longer they have stayed. All have the same, puzzling pendant dangling from their necks. Usually some sort of stone is embedded into the silver form of a wing, flames and blood billowing behind it. The wing is tinged blue, the flames orange, and the blood a vibrant red. It hangs from a silver chain, resting, unseen, on their chests, under their shirts, or hidden behind their high-collared jackets.

The fallen wander the most bereft and empty of places, hanging out in bars, sitting in corners, asking for no food or drink, and denying invitations for poker or billiards. They walk down the streets of cracked asphalt, or down the empty rails of a long forgotten railway. They wander the forests around the outskirts of an old part of town, the walls of buildings cracked and sporting gaping holes, old warehouses with boarded up windows and crumbling foundations, even the ancient aisles of tombstones, the marble blackened and the names nearly washed away, needing to be re-engraved. They wander unseen meadows of tall weeds, they wander the undersides of bridges, the cars and trucks overhead rumbling across the top. They wander the shores of lakes and ponds, throwing rocks into the glassy water and leaning on the scab-like texture of pine tree trunks. The fallen pass many of their own kind, but speech is never heard between them. They continue past, their black and white wings folded across their backs, the backs that turn on the world, the backs that acknowledge no light, and the backs that cast their own, empty shadows as they trudge on, going nowhere and anywhere, not caring where as their souls struggle to stay and become whole, as their hearts fight to try and reseal themselves, the blood pouring through any opening available, rushing through tear ducts that fight to stay dry. Their whole body tries to make itself right, but the effort comes with time, and time comes slowly.

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The wind rushed over great, white peaks and billowy mountainsides. Their forms were like air, but not air. Their great white forms were painted in the soft glow of a striking sunset. Pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows, even the hint of red. The fiery inks of the sunset were burning inside their airy forms, slightly moist with the crystals of water, and the wind blew them apart, parting an opening through which the sun could be seen, a great, red drop of blood against the darkening sky, sinking behind the black silhouettes of the land beneath. The land that was unborn and virgin, its wild and curious waters rushing mercilessly against nothing and beating the nearly empty air, unfit for life. An angel gazed at the landscape, his curious eyes darting across the intriguing elements of the land. He seemed entranced by the dark waves, almost an inky black. He could see dark brown shapes underneath its wild surface, and they were named rocks by their Master of the Skies and all that lay beneath it.

“It’s a wonderful place, isn’t it?”

The angel was slightly startled, and he glanced behind him. Lucifer stood over his shoulder as he lay at the edge of a cloudy cliff, dangling his arm over the edge, the other curled snugly beneath his great robe and his stretched out stomach that lay against the cloudy ground.

“I almost didn’t see you, lying there like that.”

The angel smiled

“I don’t try to hide; it’s just that I love to look at this place so much.”

He gestured to the waters beneath him.

“It looks so…”

“Yes,” Lucifer said quietly.

The angel turned his head back to the waters.

“Do you think that the Lord will ever do anything with that land?”

Lucifer shrugged.

“The Lord is a puzzling figure, but He may decide to do something with it, I don’t know what.”

Lucifer smiled as a thought came to mind.

“What if we decided to form the land ourselves? I have wonderful ideas for it, but I wonder if the Lord would like to hear them. I’ve been deciding whether or not to tell Him.”

The angel rolled over, and pushed himself up, a confused look upon his face.

“Why haven’t you already told Him?”

Lucifer didn’t answer for a moment, thinking about the question that the young angel had probed him with.

“I think,” Lucifer said slowly, “That the Lord would not like what I had in mind. I think He would not want to mix His creations with mine. Besides, I have no authority to tell the Lord what to do.”

Lucifer sighed, glancing down at the rushing, inky waves. A dreamy look seemed to cross his face, but it vanished so quickly that the angel could not tell if it had even happened.

The angel looked down at the cloudy ground, and scooped up a swirling ball of the mysterious element. He played with it, and shaped it into the form of a strange creature. A creature with four legs. Legs that were similar to their own with knobs that Lucifer supposed were the knees. The back two legs were like their arms, elbow joints jutting behind it in a seamless curve. The bottom of the legs had hard, round shapes that Lucifer supposed were feet. The creature had a semi-long, barrel like body, a long, graceful neck that curved in an S pattern and a long, slightly tapering head with nostrils for a nose, a mouth that stretched to the sides, two beautifully shaped eyes, and strange, flowing, mist-like threads that Lucifer knew must be hair. It had small, rounded, triangular ears, a profoundly rounded jaw, and the same, misty threads at the end of its body, above the legs. Lucifer watched as the angel twisted wings from its thick and powerful shoulders.

The angel stood up, and picked a few colors from the clouds, orange for the body, yellow for the hair, a fading, yet bright blue for the eyes, the deepening purple for the feet, and a swirling red for the wings. After the angel had dabbed on the last, inky color, the creature came to life, letting out a shrill noise that deepened and faded to a guttural sound as the sound diminished. It lifted its front legs, pushed itself down onto its back legs, then beat its wings. It rose and flew around in the air, its hair billowing out behind it in a fabulous display of rippling yellow. Its wings seemed to trail red behind it as it flew, giving the same, shrill noise now and then, as it lifted its head and opened its mouth to let it out. The nostrils flared open as it breathed with its great, beautiful chest heaving as it pawed the air.

“What do you call that?” Lucifer queried.

“I call it a winged horse,” the angel replied. “The Lord said that He had an idea for the creature, but He asked me to develop the creature for Him. This is what I came up with. Of course, the Lord said that there can only be one with wings because of its size. They’ll be big enough for us to sit on, and they can carry us to places.”

Lucifer was extremely impressed with the idea.

“You did a wonderful job of creating the creature. It’s powerful, yet majestic, bold and gentle, and it’s beautiful, yet strange.”

The angel grinned. “I was planning to show the Lord my finished idea today, and He’ll put it with others if He thinks it can be created for His creation. Others have created many other kinds of creatures, and they have put wings on all of them, but not all will have wings.”

“Well, you should show the Lord right away what you have done. I think that He’ll love this…this horse. It is a beautifully made creature that should deserve the consideration of the Lord.”

The angel whistled, and the small horse flew to his shoulder, standing there and looking curiously at Lucifer.

“Come,” Lucifer said eagerly.

“I will go with you. I would also like to tell the Lord what my ideas are.”

The angel followed Lucifer diligently and they weaved their way through the misty cloud-covered ground beneath them.

The great, rocky columns of the gate rose up, into a shelter of a clouds that were perfectly built across the top of the golden gates, silver forms twisted around their lustrous poles and the beautiful light of the moon glancing off the edges of the carefully crafted form, twisted and shaped together to give it a most beautiful look. Glittering colors of strange, hard, and rounded crystalline forms were embedded into various spots, making the silvery creatures seem more alive, and making them look as if they were living. The rocky columns were smooth with the look of being cracked beneath the surface. They were also covered in the twisted shapes of creatures, colored black, their eyes also glittering jewels. Ornate cravings were engraved onto the top of the columns, truly the work of a master. The gates stood open, and golden, twisted, and glowing letters hovered, unaided, above the entrance, spelling out the words:

‘My Realm Is Open To All Those Who Are In Need, And It Shall Never Close.’

The young angel had his head thrown back, and he gazed wondrously at the glowing words. Lucifer had simply glanced at them, thinking to himself that he could do something like that just as well. If the angel beside him could create a living beast from clouds, then, surely, anyone could have words that hovered aimlessly over the ground. It had only been a thought that hovered at the back of his consciousness, but he immediately regretted it.

They passed between the columns, coming to a pearly staircase that was nearly invisible. Stars glittered all around it as the sky began to turn from a deep-mahogany-like purple to a royal, navy blue. A large, silver globe hung, disc-like, rising from the left, its surface splotched with darker silvery colors that seemed to mark the features of its face, though the marks were placed in irregular places, giving the appearance that it had naturally happened. Clouds, gold-colored, rose around the edges of the staircase, rising to their waists, where golden cords were twisted around their robes, their immaculately white robes that glittered like snow that had not yet been created. The stars glittered off the features of their faces, and the moon cast their shadows, not yet black, for neither had yet fallen, but the shadows were a white, Lucifer’s more of a silvery-grey.

They began to ascend the translucent steps, gliding slowly up, anticipation and excitement growing with every step. Lucifer tried to remain calm, but his breath became a bit rapid as the eager face of the angel beside him seemed to glow.

‘Just think,’ he thought to himself. ‘What if the Lord actually thinks my ideas are worthy enough for the taming of the wild land beneath?’

Lucifer glanced beneath his feet, and he could see the wild water as it crashed and roared, great billows of wind pushing the waves. They seemed to fight each other, the waves forcing its way up and over the air as the wind blew apart the edges of the monstrous waves. They collided with each other time after time, falling into relapse. Then they continuously rose and fell, again and again, it seemed to entrance Lucifer. It was such a violent beauty to him, just as the powerful figure of the small horse had set his thoughts swirling about as the wings beat the air, as it had cried out with an unearthly sound, as the flash of the red and the yellow and the orange had sparked some sort of life into him. It had spurred his will to come, and tell the Lord about his ideas, unacceptable or not, they were still ideas.

He continued to glide up, his hair hanging like a curtain around his face as he continued to gaze down. He barely noticed his steps, but he made sure that he didn’t miss a step. His robe would suddenly billow out as he kicked it, continuing his ascent, lost in his own thoughts. He thought that the waters below should stay, in their untamed state. He thought that the Lord should create life beneath it. He though of heaven, being moved beneath the waves. The clouds would harden into vibrantly colored rocks, and he could drift through the waters, allowing himself to wander aimlessly, discovering marvel after marvel of the land beneath the waters. Land had to be awaiting below, what else could those mysterious, brown masses be? What else?

The floor suddenly turned to a bright gold, random blue patterns twisting through the floor. The floor had turned solid, and it threw Lucifer off for a moment. He nearly dropped to his knees to search for the lost waves, but, instead, looked up. A great light shone from a glittering throne. The light was white and all colors at the same time. The piercing light did not disturb their eyes as it does to humans. Humans are unholy, therefore, light is a pain to their eyes. The little horse gave another sound, but this one was a deep sound that vibrated on the air, rising and falling, suddenly peaking then dropping as it continued until it had completely fallen. Then the little horse was silent, its head slightly cocked to the side, gazing at the bright light.

Then the great, booming voice that had no texture, no distinct sound, neither male nor female, and almost non existent, spoke. It had no distinct sound, because all expected the voice of God to sound a different way, all expected that God was everyone and no one, neither male, nor female. God just was. Everyone saw God differently. Everyone heard God differently. So, God was everything and nothing. God was existent and non-existent. God was.

The voice spoke words that weren’t words, and each understood. Each heard God say something different. The voice talked about the horse to the young angel, and it talked about discussing Lucifer’s ideas, but it concluded that the horse was good, and Lucifer’s thoughts were not. But, it promised to keep the oceans, for the sake of Lucifer. The waves, though, were to be tamed by the moon, spurred by the wind, and he promised life could be established beneath the waves, just not His life. He allowed Lucifer to create a number of the life beneath the waters, then God would slightly alter them so that the creatures seemed more natural, so that they would not be a threat to His creation. The young angel was bubbling as his horse, created from the clouds, suddenly burst in the air, a full figured horse standing there before him, its wings a reddish mahogany, the body a brown, the hair still mostly golden, and the hooves now a black. Its eyes were a glassy, bright blue, a black, round dot moving inside the sea of blue, and resting upon its true creator. The angel left, the horse following him diligently, and Lucifer stood before the blinding figure of God, turning back to face God as the horse disappeared between the columns that lay below seemingly miles of stairs.

Lucifer felt strange now, his body seemed to grow hot, and he felt tight and tense, his brow aching as it was furrowed together, his eyes, a steely grey, now half-shadowed by his clenched brow, his jaw shut tight, and his hands curling into solid fists. Why did he ever come to tell the Lord about his ideas? His ideas were, as he had guessed, unfit for God’s creation. He was angry at himself, at God, and everyone. He wasn’t quite sure what anger was, but that’s what came to mind as his tensed body stood imposingly before the glowing light of God.

God reached down, and Lucifer ran back down the steps, disappearing from the moon’s glow, from the glittering stars, and from his failed ideas. But they were not failed. Lucifer finally let himself go, and he rounded up many more angels that felt as if they had been offended. The angels’ shadows turned black, their eyes darkened to deep bloody reds, and Lucifer’s eyes became a vibrant red, a glowing, swirling, blood-red. Glowing yellows and venomous greens amongst fiery oranges and midnight reds came as a mass, a mob of angels with black shadows and darkening souls. Heaven became a war zone, and when Lucifer stood with his band before God one last time, when God brought down his hand, Lucifer did not run, Lucifer did not fear, and Lucifer and his followers fell beneath the staircase, which shattered and spilled their souls onto what land lay below.

They each fell into the elements of the Earth, save for Lucifer, who was plunged into the core of the Earth, having fallen through a deep and wide hole, his spread wings hitting the sides and tearing from his body as his robes became a red color from his own blood. His screams disappeared below the Earth, and he fell into a great cavern that extended down into a glowing pit. It was so intensely hot, that he found it excruciatingly difficult to crawl to the edge of the pit, which lay miles above the swirling, violent beauty of what Lucifer thought of as the waves of the ocean. He reached out, tears streaming from his eyes as the muffled cries of his followers were suddenly drowned out by the memory of the waves that had crashed beneath the staircase, and now had become a barren land that was in the process of God’s creation. Lucifer reached in vain, his face contorted with sobs, and he edged closer and closer, inching more and more over the edge. He ended up with his legs still resting on solid ground, and the rest of him over the fiery pit, his left arm pushing against a rock jutting from the side, his right hand reaching for the pit.

The pit swirled beneath him, and it rose up, steam curling from the cold rocks that had now been burned and softened by the glowing, and rushing waves of the ocean of molten rock. Blood ran down Lucifer’s arms, pouring out from the severe wounds from his back and shoulders. Lucifer was now, truly unholy. He no longer had wings that had been given to him by God Himself. He no longer had the privilege of those mighty wings. He no longer had the authority of heaven. He was a fallen angel, and he was sent here to suffer in this pit, this scalding, blistering heat of a pit.

He shifted, his arms weak from the wounds, his arm buckled, and it came loose from the wall of the pit. He fell, screaming, “DAMN YOU!”

The scream was drawn out, echoing against the walls of the pit, and the silvery chain by which the Angel’s Pendant had hung, ruptured, and a scorching heat scarred his neck. The pendant dangled in mid-air as he gave a half-hearted effort to save the pendant before it fell from within his reach. The pendant swirled a red, from the silver that it had previously been, and it fell below Lucifer as he missed it by inches. It brushed between his fingers, and he failed to grasp it as it sank into the flaming heat of the pit. Lucifer plummeted down with it, blood rushing from behind him, furling from the edges of his body, and up against the walls of the pit. His robes began to smolder around the edges, turning black, and the blood that stained it began to set, becoming permanent. Moments before Lucifer reached the conflagration below him, he heard the voice of everyone and no one, neither male nor female, with no texture, no distinct character or resonance to it, and it spoke words that weren’t words: