by Donovan Neal
Finally, thought Michael.
The umbilical to the Kiln came into view and Michael could hear the roar of the Stones of Fire: the source of Hell’s power. As Michael entered the Kiln, he heard the clamoring of sounds, the echoes of stones vying for his attention, ready to mold as he willed. The stones sung to him within the furnace of fire, each in a melody unique to its properties. Prior when El had created Charon, Michael had not noticed the songs that radiated from them: he had been too overwhelmed by wonder and fear.
As the glowing, heated gems of orchestral chorus filled the cavern with melody, Michael noticed harmony in the fire. Hymns like none in all creation, he closed his eyes to listen and savor their tune.
He listened; realizing that within the melody there was one stone that did not sing as the others. A larger stone that sung a song in harmony yet unique from the others He had never noticed it before, being too overwhelmed by the presence of God and being in the Kiln to witness the birth of Charon. Nevertheless, it was clear to him now, a much larger stone in the center of the room: a Primestone. It called to him, nay beckoned to him with the singing of its melody. A melody from which he realized all other melodies sprung. The Primestone glistened in the fire, moist despite the heat and flame, and where the other Stones of Fire called out, "to be," this one was not so. It simply sang, "I am." Then Michael understood the secret of the Kiln. Here, within this fiery cavern, God did not just fashion his ministers of flame. Angels alone were not this crucibles function. Nay, here hidden alone to all but the most worthy of Elohim, to he who was Chief Prince, El granted one power to join the Godhead—to be as El.
Michael knelt down and placed his trembling hand over the stone to touch it. He listened to its song, and its refrain called for him to cup it in an orgasmic embrace and partake of its "fruit."
When he saw that it was pleasant to the eyes and a stone to be desired to ascend to power, he reached closer to touch it: a touch that he might be as El and possess the power of the Almighty.
The Primestone crackled with energy, and tendrils of plasma rose from the gemstone and reached up to embrace his fingers.
Perhaps El would have me be God — to use his own power to defeat Lucifer?
Michael knew now why Lucifer would not cede his position. He understood why Lucifer was so obsessed when he heard that Michael had gone into the Kiln. It was clear for, unbeknownst to all of Heaven, yeah even Raphael, God held within the Kiln a secret that only He and the Chief Prince knew, that within this chamber, one might become God. Michael was humbled that El would reveal to him such an intimate truth.
The giant gemstone called to him, and Michael dreamt of what he could do with such power. Those fallen in battle he could resurrect; perhaps he might make a universe after his own likeness, and after his own image. He could force those who sided with Lucifer to reason. More and more his thoughts raced with how God could change all things, and then he understood that the stone was more than just a receptacle to contain and dispense God’s power. It was a test, and the words of Iofiel flooded back to his remembrance.
‘Have you too left El to follow the path of Lucifer?’
His failure to control himself with Iofiel haunted him. He pulled his trembling hand back and scooted away from the gemstone. He shook himself to gain composure and marveled that the Lord would leave such power within his grasp.
“No, there is no God but El,” he said to himself.
Perception dawned on him that Lucifer saw the stones as common, as things to use for control. He remembered what El had taught him when Lucifer departed from the communion table.
“And it shall come to pass when thou must confront thy brother, do not confront him alone, for you will speak to the stones, and they will be. Charge them, Michael of the Kortai, and they will aid thee. But beware, for within lies a token of my faith in thee. Fail me not, and thou shalt be Chief Prince.”
“But Lord why must this be at all?”
“Fear not, for there must need be a falling away first, that the man of sin might be revealed, the son of perdition, who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God. For even now the mystery of iniquity doest already work, and for now it must be, and I must be taken from out of the way, but, alas, the Wicked shall be revealed whom I will consume with the spirit of my mouth and shall destroy with the brightness of my coming.”
Michael rose to stand and anger swelled within him.
Lucifer cannot be allowed to have the Kilnstones.
Michael reached down to grab a stone. It was as hard as polished diamond and its brilliance gleamed. It sang soprano throughout the cavern when held, and with the other hand, Michael picked up another stone. It was black iron and a deep bass resonated from its song, a low hum that made one’s chest to vibrate. Each had a different song, and as he touched them together, their songs changed from unison to harmony and merged to form a new element mixed with the properties of diamond and iron.
He placed it within the Kiln’s fleshy walls and spoke angel speak. The Kiln hearkened to the word of El and took from Michael’s mind the image that he desired to fashion within the cavern’s womb: an angel of power with which to match the First of Angels.
The walls rumbled, and the wall took the stone. A bulge formed from within and grew immense. A membrane of mucus like substance appeared and dripped to the floor, a great sac with a dark figure within burst, and the newly formed angel fell to the fiery floor. Michael stood up to give it charge.
“Rise Ouranos, Titan of God, for you shalt be a standard to aid me. For the Prince of Angels comes to secure power, and we shall stand between him and the Lord.”
His head was that of a man, his arms as great oaks, and he shown as the sun in the sky, a brightness that could reflect all light and sound and wrap the light around his person. He looked down at Michael, and his whole body was like a mirror; Michael could see himself in the angel’s skin. The great behemoth stood in front of Michael with four great arms and eight flowing wings of light, and his legs were as that of a bear.
“Lo Titan, our enemy will be here soon. Go to and conceal thyself within the wall. Come when called for, and let thy aid be swift.”
The creature plodded to the back wall and like a chameleon, melted into the background, waiting silently for Michael to give command. Michael positioned himself in the center of the Kiln, kneeled, bowed his head, and prayed
Lord El, I face my brother to prevent this usurpation. Give me strength. Forgive thy servant and hold not this charge to my account. If there be other means whereby this might end, let it be, but if not…Michael paused, grimaced, and swallowed hard. Then let my sword be swift, and thy will be done in all things.
He stood, lifted his hands, and pointed to the stones about him, and they rose from the floor, hovering, and as Michael spoke the Elomic word for destruction, the stones lifted into the top of the fiery chamber and embedded themselves into the ceiling, germinating to become as willed by Michael, their songs changed to reflect his will. They seethed in the ceiling above and hissed as if simmering.
Michael knelt then removed from his folded wings a gemmed scabbard, and unsheathed a double bladed sword of fire made by the Lord himself. He struck the blade into the burning floor and imaged the Ophanim. Suddenly, hands rose from the ground to grasp the sharp blade. Blue coils of electric current wound themselves over the steel, and the fire of the sword turned from red to blue. Seven stones rose into the air and attached themselves like iron filings drawn to a magnet; and when all seven had attached themselves: the steel cracked. The sound of a thunderclap burst through the cavern, and Michael was knocked back. He eyed the sword as it rose from the ground spitting arcs of lightning. Two eyes and teeth materialized within the blade. He reached out to touch the hilt, and the blade split into seven swords, each alive with eyes that moved within the blades. The blades sang to him in the fire, and floated in the air above him.
M
ichael marveled at the swords, when he lifted the blade they encircled him, and when he swiped, they mimicked him. He thought of himself sheathing the blade, immediately they flew to him, reconnected to the sword, and it vibrated in his hands. He could feel the current race around him as he held it. Michael stood waiting. He gripped the hilt of the sword and closed his eyes.
El thou knowest what is at stake. I will not allow Lucifer to command the God stones.
Michael’s face grimaced as he heard the sound of familiar music from the opening of the umbilical to the Kiln. A glowing figure stepped into the fiery furnace with him. He opened his eyes and looked into the fire.
Lucifer had come.
********************
Abaddon lifted himself into the air with his great wings and flung from his back those who dared to strike at him. A swarm of angelic locusts surrounded him, and those that attacked him were stung and fell to their knees writhing in pain.
Ashtaroth lunged at Abaddon, and he too was stung and fell back. Abaddon yelled to him and pursued him as he fell to the ground. “Now I will bring your miserable life to an end, Astarte. From the onset, this is how it should have been. There will be no Michael or Lucifer to save you from my hand this time!”
Ashtaroth fell hard into the ground and swerved to his side as Abaddon crashed into the earth, barely missing him. Ashtaroth rose quickly to his feet, and with wings spread before him, he used them as a shield to protect his face from the locust swarm that encircled his foe.
He drew his sword, struck at Abaddon, and clipped his leathery wing. The Arelim yelled in pain, stepped back, and then laughed maniacally.
“I am going to enjoy this.”
Abaddon motioned with his hand and the swarm which before had attacked Lucifer’s foes now arched and raced to fall upon Ashtaroth. They fell upon him and stung and bit into his flesh. He attempted to wave them away, but it was to no gain as his vision darkened, and he fell to the earth writhing in agony and screaming. The locusts covered his body so that naught but a thrashing shape twisted on the ground.
“Now Astarte, you shall know pain. Let anguish be thy companion, for it is not yet my desire to kill you, but to savor and to feast upon your suffering with my own eyes, for you to taste what it is to be savored by Hell.”
Round about them both, warriors attempted to strike at Abaddon but a wall of locusts kept them at bay, and those that were not in liege with Lucifer still fought to fend off his legions. The clash of steel could be heard in the distance. As Abaddon knelt down to gloat over the convulsive body of Ashtaroth, he pulled his sword from its sheath to behead him.
Ashtaroth saw through the veil of carnivorous like insects that Abaddon lifted his sword to cut off his head. In terrified agony, he reached out to him to spare him, only to see the Arelim jolted and thrown back by a blur from behind him.
Abaddon hurtled backwards against a wall, and a hazy like figure pummeled his face, and then kicked him in the abdomen. Abaddon curled up in a ball and vomited. Coughing, he shook himself and stretched out his wings attempting to take flight, but a hammer like blow fell on his back and knocked the wind from his lungs. He smashed into the ground, wheezing as the blows came as if from nowhere and assaulted him from every direction. He held his hands over his face for a defense. Light flashed before his eyes, and he beheld a bright, glowing figure enveloped with the presence of God standing before him.
Gabriel, staff in hand, stood over him and spoke, “I have a message for you.” The archangel then took his staff and swung it as a bat into Abaddon’s face, and great drops of blood and spittle flung from his cheek.
Abaddon fell hard to the earth. Groggily struggling to regain himself, he stood, and sputtered blood as he spoke. “You do me great honor High Prince, but it will take more than that to defeat me.”
Gabriel nodded in agreement then motioned his hand skyward.
“Behold.”
Abaddon looked up, and lo the heavens swarmed with Malakim and Gryphon Riders, and at their front, Talus and Sariel plummeted from the sky with an army of angels all headed straight towards him.
********************
The Zoa looked at them both, and its mouth opened to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth. Spittle fell from its mouth, and it tentacled arms and legs tensed as it eyed them. Like one of the sea predators of Earth, it slowly encircled them. Eyeing its prey, it hissed at them menacingly.
Lilith backed away slowly and pulled from his cloak the tome he possessed, quickly found the section on the Zoa, and wrote in angelic script the word deletion.
The creature then raced towards them, and Raphael ran, dived over a table while the Zoa leapt after him, jumping over the table and smashing into chairs and streams of books.
Lilith completed his writing, and the creature turned to consume him, for he was closer, but as the Zoa approached, it began to fade. It roared.
Howling, it reached to grab Lilith, and Lilith instinctively changed to his gaseous form. The creature stung him, Lilith cried out in pain, and the Zoa disappeared from view, but not before Lilith clutched his arm, now sore from the welt that burned him.
“Stings, huh? I always wondered what would happened if one of those things actually touched me. I’ve learned something new today.” Raphael laughed.
Lilith scowled at him and spoke, still clutching his arm. “Laugh as you like, for you will not laugh long. I am pleased that I have the chance to finally deal with you as I see fit,” said Lilith.
“And in what way would an errant Grigori deal with the Prince of Chronicles?” replied Raphael.
“Let us just say I seek to rewrite the tale of thy existence.”
Lilith lifted his pen, and it transformed into a dagger. “I now wield the Pen and Inkhorn of God. I am now he who writes creation. Your inkhorn and stylus belong to me now.”
An explosion rocked the building and both swayed to their sides and lost balance. Raphael smiled. “Aye, you do have my belongings, they were handed to me by El himself, and I would see them returned. Raphael held his dagger; his inkhorn floated by his head.
Lilith took the tome still in his hand, inscribed in Elohim the words for delete, and looked at Raphael giddily.
“Goodbye, my Prince,” Lilith said sarcastically.
But nothing happened, and Raphael moved closer towards him holding the hilt of his dagger in hand and chuckled. “Perhaps…,” said Raphael, “my name is not spelled correctly. Did you check your spelling or is the grammar not clear? Or pray tell the Elomic language has escaped you?” Raphael laughed mockingly at him.
Irritated Lilith looked down at what he had written and quickly wrote the verse again to delete Raphael, but nothing happened, and his face soured with disapproval and anger.
“You see, Lilith; to be Sephiroth, to command the power of El to create and delete from creation, one must have three elements: the Pen of God, which you do possess, and the Inkhorn of God, but they are of no use unless you possess this.”
Raphael lifted from the inside of his breast a gilded edged tome for Lilith to see; it gave off a golden hue and pulsed, as Raphael held within his hand his own beating heart shaped in the form of a great book. Raphael smiled and placed the tome back snuggly within his chest.
Lilith frowned and raised the dagger he held.
“Then ––” said Lilith, “allow me to relieve you of your Heartstone.”
Lilith assumed his gaseous form, vanished from view, reappeared behind Raphael, and thrust his dagger to stab him in the back, but Raphael turned and parried. Attempting to strike in return only to hit ether as Lilith quickly turned to mist.
Lilith and Raphael attacked one another. Daggers sparked as steel clashed with steel. Raphael deflected each attempted strike and ducked and weaved to avoid being cut down. Raphael moved quickly and leaped over the stone table, and upon it were books spread out, but Lilith was there to meet him. The Grigori caught Raphael by the face and slit his cheek, and blood poured from the wound. Raphael cried out, pressed ha
rd against his nerve, and wiped blood from his face.
“Yield to me as Chief Chronicler, and I will allow you to assume the mantle of poor Hariph here,” said Lilith.
Raphael saw the steward of the hall lying face down dead and said, “Look to your own fate Lilith. You desire to be Sephiroth, and like your master, you lust for position above your station. If power is what you seek, then by all means take it.” Raphael then pulled from the tome of his own heart and let Lilith see it beating; its sheets moved as new text formed on its pages. He threw the book into the fireplace within the room, and as it began to burn, Raphael staggered and collapsed.
“No!” cried Lilith and he vanished to appear suddenly bending over the now burning book to remove it from the flames. As he reached to grab the tome, Raphael pounced upon him and thrust his dagger into Lilith’s hand. Lilith screamed in pain as the dagger pierced his flesh to find its tip in the book now ablaze.
Lilith tried to mist, but he could not for the blade of Raphael held his hand in the book.
When Lilith reached to grapple with Raphael, Raphael forced Lilith’s hand to write in the flaming book the angelic script for his name in his own blood. Lilith repeatedly pummeled Raphael to break free but could not, for Raphael held fast and scratched into the burning pages, delete. When the last character was entered, Lilith screamed and slowly began to fade from view.
Raphael looked upon his brother, released him, and spoke. “Let the memory of the just be blessed, but the name of the wicked rot, and your memory cut off from the realm forever.”
Lilith struggled to switch between mist and solid form but could not. His body grew grey, and he writhed in pain while from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. He turned to ash, the remains fell to the floor, and the wind swept the embers away.
When Lilith was no more, the Inkhorn and stylus of God fell to the floor. Raphael picked them up, lifted the tome of El and, doused the cinders that fell from its cover, and placed it back securely into the folds of his chest. His strength slowly returned to him, and he sat to rest against a wall. Through the windows of the building, he saw Malakim gryphons descend from the skies to smite those with Lucifer’s mark, and his sprit lifted.
