TF- C - 00.00 - THE FALLEN Dark Fantasy Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy (Books 1 - 3)

by Steve Windsor

But Rain almighty resurrected him … just as she did every last soul in the old Heaven and Hell. It was her first act as the Protector-god of this new eternity—the kingdom of Rain’s reign.

  The aftermath of the night’s judgments passed beneath Faith as he flew. The smell of burned souls on the floor of the arena assaulted his nostrils, and smoke mixed with ash slowly wafted up toward the transparent domed ceiling of the Hallowed Hall. And that smell, mixed with the sweet fragrance of vanilla and molasses, alternated a feeling of despair and hope in his own soul.

  Rain’s new eternity was all about nurturing the natural balance of power. Good and “not so good,” she would say, “two sides to the same soul.” Good relied on evil and evil could not exist unless it were defined by good. So she forced them both to depend on one another for survival. It was how wars were avoided.

  Faith smiled and flapped his wings a little faster. How such a young ruler had come to understand the nuance of that concept gave him renewed faith in all their futures.

  “Faith.” That was the name they gave him after he was judged in Heaven. Before that it was “the father,” and before that, “Father Benito.” That was his favorite. It was the name he received when he started his journey toward understanding the true nature of God—graduated the seminary. Now, the very name of the previous protector was synonymous with evil and treachery and it was forbidden to speak it. “God” was blasphemy.

  Faith understood why Rain had commanded it to be so—the woman… Finding out God was a woman was still the hardest thing for him to reconcile when he finally saw Heaven. Now, when he allowed himself to stop and remember it all, he realized he had come to grips with quite a lot.

  Losing his own faith, defiling his church with all manner of sin and sinner, and then authoring the blasphemous book that would end eternity—the Book of Blood that wiped out humanity itself… Yet all of that paled in comparison to that other thing.

  He could barely think of it, but falling into the grasp of that temptress woman…? Faith knew that it wasn’t a small miracle he had ended up above the lake of fire, tucked into the first Heaven as if he wasn’t who he knew himself to be.

  The “first” Heaven… “For one Man-monkey’s Heaven,” Rain had said in one of her speeches before a particularly long night of judgments, “is simply another’s second Heaven.” What she really meant was another one’s Hell. But Rain led by example—she had never spoken a profanity or blasphemy, as a girl or a god. Before or after the end, if Faith remembered correctly.

  That was the way he wrote her in his book and he was responsible for all of it—the Battle of the Books, for certain. For Faith was the author of the end of humanity. He wrote his Book of Blood as a protest against the Bible, because God never spoke to him the way he imagined. It was the word of a revolution in Hell—the coup that overthrew God and the Devil and ended their plans to enslave all the souls in the two Heavens for another eternity and then … forever.

  The Battle of the Books had put so many in agony… The fallen angel, Faith, was not worthy of the Heaven where he now lived. He felt that understanding growing in both of his hearts.

  The Rosary-covered prison bars in the dungeons beneath the Arena of Reckoning were still where all of the worst souls were kept. Souls so vile and hateful that even Rain believed them to be beyond redemption.

  No angel in the two Heavens understood why Rain left the dungeons intact after the great darkness of oblivion ended the last eternity and ushered in hers. But for an innocent young soul who allowed even the most repugnant of the Man-monkeys from the last eternity to repent… If Rain couldn’t save an angel from their worst selves, they probably weren’t worth saving at all.

  Located just above the great fiery lake, the Dungeons of the Damned were constantly hot and muggy. The walls dripped black blood from the wrong hearts of the wretched and crimson-red blood from the right hearts of the righteous. All of it spilled, since time began in the Garden, in the arena above. The life liquid of evil and good, slowly oozed to the floor—Chinasian water torture to the souls imprisoned there—a constant, dripping reminder of their failures and follies. And no eternity could change that fact.

  Faith folded his wings behind him and interlocked their feathers to form his shield. They formed the sunburned, shimmering image of a bright, shining-white star—the symbol of the brightest soul that ever graced the Pearly Gates of Heaven—the warmark of Rain the almighty.

  Then Faith pushed out all of his armored feathers and scraped their steel together, checking to make sure they would work if he needed them. As he did, the sounds of metal echoed down the tunnel.

  He gazed down the dungeon’s dark passageway. Despair and anger loomed in the air and the scent of pent-up violence fought its way into his nostrils. The dungeons weren’t hot from the flames of the lake below alone—dark souls sweltered sin and suffering from every cell. The heat stuck on Faith like lava from the shores of the lake.

  The dungeons glowed and flickered a deep orange and black. Cells lined both sides of the long, dark tunnel. Faith knew it ran in a huge circle around and underneath the entire edge of the arena above. And other tunnels crisscrossed underneath the arena, cutting the big circular passageway around the edge like the spokes of a great wheel. And each of those tunnels were lined with cells, as well. All of it led to one place, the center of the arena—the destiny of souls.

  As Faith walked, black shadows flitted and fluttered in the corners and crevices of each cell. He glanced at the bars on their gates—great, rusted-iron pillars that were covered with the remnants of Rosary beads. The cult charms were how Life had imprisoned bright and dark souls. Now, each cell was locked and branded with the molten-iron seal of Rain’s star. To break a seal was blasphemy and punishable by annihilation—the only way for an angel to truly die.

  Any angel in the two Heavens and any being in the new garden could be resurrected from death—the ten billion souls lasted through each eternity—but annihilation was permanent. It was a fate that all feared, and no seal had ever been broken.

  A raspy, vile voice whispered from the shadows of its cell, “Faith…”

  And Faith jerked his head toward the voice. A figure flitted into the blackness.

  Across the tunnel, another voice whispered and lisped like a snake, “Faith…”

  He moved away from it.

  And then another crowed at him, “Faith!” And he spun around to face it.

  And this time, a caw echoed from down the tunnel, “Faith!” He backed away, toward the edge of the tunnel. And then he bumped into the bars on the cell behind him.

  Then a voice was right in his ear. “Ah, Father Benito,” the voice said.

  Faith tried to flap away from it, but a burning hand grabbed his wing and he could feel the red hot coals on the back of his neck. And the heat singed into his feathers … and he knew who it was.

  Lived was just another clever way that the evil creature disguised himself. But whatever name he had come to be known by—Dark Angel of Light, Day Star, Lucifer, Liar, or “Long-licker,” as Jump liked to call him—to Faith, the vile, red-winged angel who had tortured him and then burned him to ashes in front of a million faithful and fallen angels, was the worst of all of them—the devil, Lived.

  “It seems you are well known here,” said Lived, breathing heat into Faith’s ear. “Almost as famous as I am. However, thinking about it, maybe it is infamous.” Lived paused and they both listened to the cawing and crowing echo through the dungeon. “Listen to them. Why, it almost sounds as if they believe you are one of them, doesn’t it. What do you think, father, do you belong down here? … Or perhaps you are simply here for a … conjugal visit.”

  Faith’s neck burned and he winced and cried out, “Aaah!” Then he clenched his jaw and leaned into the pain. He knew he deserved it. “I am not… I will never—”

  “Lover?” a raspy, seductive voice growled from down and across the tunnel. Then a slightly maniacal laugh and then a small giggle followed it. “You
are so long in … coming.”

  “Ahh…” Lived whispered, burning flame into Faith’s ear, “there she is.” And he let go of Faith’s neck. Faith stumbled forward a half step. “Go ahead, then,” Lived said. “Who am I to stand in the way of … old lovers?” But then he grabbed Faith again and breathed hot fire into his ear when he shouted, “Give her tits a squeeze for me, father!” And he slowed down a little and ran his long tongue around Faith’s ear. “And oh, by the way … peace be with you.” And then he looked across and down the tunnel, at the darkness of the woman’s cell. “And also with you … nasty little whore.” Then he let go of Faith again, and he threw his head back and cackled loudly, “A match made in Hell!” He looked behind him. “Just like ours, my little lamb.”

  — LXXIX —

  WHEN I WAKE up this time… Thank God, I think, not even catching myself in my blasphemy. But whatever, because the sun is warm, I can feel the sand between my toes, and I’m lying on my stomach with my top untied, tanning my back on my big orange beach towel. I recognize where I am immediately—the hot-ass beach in Cancun, Mehico baby! Been coming here since I was thirteen. Booyah!

  But damn, Tessa’s arm blown off? And that interrogation room? That resurrection sucked. That detention—I’ve gotta be more careful—these thoughts and flashes are like playing Russian roulette with a machine gun. Lying cocksuckers—I should have known. You’re in it now, Mercedes, I think. Then I turn my head, looking to see if they’re with me. I make sure not to lift up and have my boobs pop out when I do it. Not that they’re huge, but—oh, whatever.

  No, of course I don’t care now, you little humping hatchlings, but I’m probably about like, thirteen or fourteen on this resurrection, and in Man-monkey years that’s like… Shit, I don’t know. All of you are so good at math, you figure it out.

  Anyways, I’m too little for you shits to go gawking at my gods, I know that much… . Huh? … Well, we aren’t in Hell, now are we, so I can say anything I want. Trust me, the Man-monkey… I guess you would call us Woman-monkeys. Hah! Totally funny … whatever. But women were always screaming and moaning for God during sex. My mother—all the time.

  When I first caught them… Oh shit, never mind, I’ve said too much already. I told you I’m saving that for later. Maybe I’ll just take you down there. It’s sorta hard to explain—better for you to see it for real. But now is not—I don’t want to right now.

  What? … “Gods?” Seriously, that’s what you want to…? It’s what Jump calls them, because like, when he first saw Life, he couldn’t stop staring at hers—total old-man perv. He told you that story, didn’t he? … No? Well, I told you about old cocksuckers and sex. Can you imagine him and grandma Salvation. Yeah, try and scrape that off your feathers. Sick!

  Now listen, just calm down a little, try to enjoy the sun. You were all just bitching about the cold like, five minutes ago. So shut up, I’m gonna cop some Z’s. Don’t let me burn, okay?

  And when I look, there they are—Brie and Tessa—tanning their boobs, lying face up on either side of me. Exhibitionist little… And Brie—not much to tan on her, but Tessa… Not now—I can see that—but when she was like, fifteen, when she laid on her back we would call her “pit-tits.” She was huge. Lucky bitch.

  There, are you happy now? Sick little purgatory pervs.

  Anyways, I’m glad to see both of them, because dream or whatever—sure they’re bitches, but they’re my bitches. And dead? I don’t think so.

  And I’m pretty excited to go out with them tonight. That’s what I remember—party night in Cancun and there’s no minimum age. I put my head back down, smiling—it’s been a while since I felt that way about either one of them.

  We never really did much, back then—now. Mostly we just yacked and jacked and smacked a little yayo. Maybe not now—we look a little young to be snorting coke or shooting J. I don’t remember when we actually started that. About the same time we started sucking dicks, I gue—

  Hey, hey! Whoa… Chill… You don’t know me yet. Judgmental little shits. Do you know how all this works? … Do ya? … No, you don’t. None of you were Man-monkeys. None of you were at the Battle of the Books, either, were you?

  Shut your heaven-holes—it’s called rhetorically … or something. Yeah, don’t answer.

  Well, I was there, and I was—and I’m in charge of all a you. Goddammit this job sucks. Now you’re making me commit blasphemy again. I can’t wait until you deliver your first souls to the arena. You have no idea. Hell and Heaven, none of you are even full-fledged archangels yet—featherless little… A little dick sucking will be the least of your worries.

  You’re asking too many questions. I’ll tell you everything when we get back. You little—in fact, you don’t stop squawking at me, you aren’t going to want to go back, because I’m making Salvation hammer you. You can bet that. Out … of … control!

  Hah, well you should be afraid. You ever heard of Vegas? … Of course you haven’t. That’s because me and Salvation burned it to the ground, idiots. Aw shit! And now you got me talking about Vegas.

  A couple of hours of suntanning with infant oil, and Tessa and Brie’s baked brown breasts later, and the three of us are headed to the Bravo Mike to do a little jacking. Because every place has one, oh yeah.

  And then I think about it and I remember. Oh no…

  “Why don’t we ditch on the shopping?” I say to them as we walk.

  Brie stops. “And a bitch says what?” she says. “The party’s not ’til like, nine. I can’t tan anymore. So what are we gonna do until then?”

  But I keep walking, eyeing the market ahead, and Tessa keeps walking with me.

  Brie catches back up. “Bitches…” she mumbles. Then she says, “What should we do, then?”

  “We could boot some liqs,” Tessa says. She likes the sweet booze. Brie and me, the hard stuff. Tessa looks at me. “Got any credits?” she asks.

  “Jesus,” I say, because like, I know she’s not that hurting for credits. “Doesn’t your dad give you any credits? How did you even get on the flight?” I close my fingers and thumb, snapping my hand at her face. “Mute—I don’t wanna know.” Because, private jet or not, everyone pays for the flight.

  Brie bumps into me on purpose and I stumble, kick a rock that goes shooting off the trail. “We can’t all be Kings, bitch,” she says. “Stop ragging her. I got credits. And she’s right—it’s hot. I could use a Blonde Bimbo or three.”

  Blonde Bimbos—nothing but trouble: shot of coconut rum, shot of peach schnapps, shot of Tuaca—if you can even find “T.” If you can’t, sub in some State swill like, mixed with OJ and vanilla and shit. Throw some pineapple juice on top of the whole thing to make it go down without a frown… I like mine blended, but Tess and Brie—on the rocks, all the way.

  Over Brie’s bitching, I barely hear my wave tablet singing and going off in the bottom of my big beach bag. By the time I open it—

  …King, you have an International wave … Incoming wave … Incoming wave…

  We all stop and Brie looks at me with her big, blue, jealous eyes. “Oh my-God, how did you get that? He’s like, my favorite singer ever!”

  And I already know that. I made one of my daddy’s techno-junkies reprogram the voice-synth module on my tablet with the little wavestar’s voice. I did it just to fuck with Brie. I smile and dig in my bag for my wave tablet. “Identify,” I say, pushing past my extra pair of panties to get to it.

  Franklin James King, Prime Officer, King and Tamonos Enterprises… Incoming wave … Incoming wave…

  Brie has her hands on her hips by now, because she knows that I couldn’t care less about her favorite singer. She laughs a little. “Such a bitch,” she says, “I love it, totally illegal. How the—you must live in minimum.”

  I smile down at my bag. “Got my own room.”

  Tessa is just shaking her head—she knows me. “You mean cell.”

  And I finally find my little, transparent glass tablet at the very bottom of
my bag. “Shit…” I say. It’s got infant oil all over it. “Dammit.” I wipe it off on my swim mini, put it up to my ear, and then I hold it there with my shoulder while I dig in my bag for my swipes. “Accept”—the phone chimes, letting me know it’s connected—“Hi, Daddy, how’s Seattle?”

  I’m wiping my hands when he starts in. He doesn’t even bother with the weather chit-chit. All he wants to know about are the credit comms he’s getting. I already know he has alarms on every tab of my hex-chip. Six little auto-waves, ratting me out to him when I’m cracking too many credits.

  So I tell him, “I had to get a new swim—”

  And he launches off into some shit about credits and my mom and other stuff. Not like he’s going to go broke off one swim mini, Jesus.

  “Because that one didn’t fit anymore,” I tell him. It’s the truth, because they are starting to grow.

  I can tell he doesn’t get it, because he’s asking me why I need the expensive one. As if I should be buying the surplus synthetics that the citizens wear.

  “Yes,” I say to him, “the bottoms did still fit. But my boobs don’t.” That should shut him up.

  I’m pretty sure it works, because there’s a long silence on the other end of the wave. But then he goes right back at me.

  So I grab my wave tablet and hold it away from my face. I look at Brie and Tessa, busy trying not to giggle. And I open and close my free hand at them and rock my head from side to side, mocking my dad’s voice, because we can all still hear him ragging me.

  When I put the tablet back to my ear, I barely catch the last of his “sermon” about credits. “No, I’m not kidding,” I say. And I put my finger to my lips and motion for them to be quiet. Then I hold the tablet out in front of me, flat in my palm. “Holo.”

  And the 3D holographic image of my dad’s head projects above the wave-tablet.

  Then I point the vid-port at my cups and I say, “See, look.”

  And I wasn’t shitting him—they are even bursting out of this year’s mini-top. Anyways, I know it will probably shock him enough to shut him up, because whenever I bring up that subject, he gets all freaky and sends me to my mother.