A Fall from Grace
With the break of dawn an otherworldly light seeps through the ceiling, illuminating the round hall below. As the light grows stronger the splendor of the room can clearly be seen, revealing huge arches and elegant carvings, all blended together, creating a breathtaking sight.
Six thrones are placed around the room, forming a closed circle. The thrones currently stand empty, yet they emanate an archaic aura of might that permeates the room, attesting to the power of their owners.
In the middle of the room stands an unadorned stone, in stark contrast to its surroundings. The stone is pitch-black and seems to slowly devour the light shining on it. If one were to get close they would feel it pulling at them, calling to them.
At the base of the stone feathers can be seen strewn around, scattered seemingly at random. These feathers are clearly extraordinary, as they seem to give off a faint, pristine glow.
Or, at least they would, if not for the specks of dried blood staining them.
Above the soiled feathers, pinned to the black stone, hangs a limp man.
His bare torso slowly heaves, showing that he still hasn’t given up on life. His hands are nailed to the black stone, making rivulets of red liquid run down his arms. His face is hidden beneath dirty, yellow hair that flows down his bowed head.
Ragged breathing can be heard from underneath. His life seems to hang onto a single, fragile thread that could be cut at any moment.
Suddenly the massive doors leading into the hall start to open. Light shines through the spring in between, revealing five tall figures walking in with even strides. Four of the figures slowly take their places around the room, occupying their respective thrones.
The last person makes his way to the throne in front of the chained man and takes his seat. He’s clad in a gilded armor, covering his body from head to toe, seemingly impenetrable, yet light and quick, almost as if made out of liquid gold flowing around his frame. On his knees rests a sword, emitting a cold blue light.
A pair of white, feathered wings sprout from his back, marking him as one of the archangels of the high heavens. His face is clean shaven, exposing his powerful jaw and high cheekbones. Golden hair gathers into a braid behind his lifted head, giving off a soothing light, almost as if glowing.
“You’ve seen better days, brother,” he utters with a deep and penetrating voice. “Just look at how far you’ve fallen. You shouldn’t have disobeyed the Master, and perhaps you’d still be free, sitting here amongst us.”
Slowly raising his head, the wounded man gazes at the angel. “I was never free to begin with. Neither are you now, nor will you ever be,” he replies in a raspy voice.
Sighing, the angel lowers his head to look into the man’s eyes. “You were once one of us. Yet you disobeyed Him, forsaking all that we stand for. You, who were supposed to walk in the light, have now delved into the dark.”
The wounded man lets out a disdainful snort. “You talk about walking in the light, yet you cannot see? He is but a tyrant, using us as his pawns,” he answers angrily, “the Master no longer cares for anything, watching as the world slowly burns to ashes. Why should I choose to follow him?”
“You better watch your tongue, pup. We live to serve the Master’s will.”
The angel pauses, seemingly recalling some distant memory.
“Is this all because of that woman? You can’t blame the Master for acting, it was your own fault for wanting what was not yours. Your own decisions led to your downfall.”
“She wasn’t his property,” the chained man spits, trying to free himself of his bonds as the nails bite deep into his flesh, dying his arms red with blood.
The angel gives the man one last look, before grabbing the hilt of his sword.
“Our talk ends here. It seems there is nothing left that will change your mind.” Rising from his throne the angel brandishes his sword. “We thought of you as the truest of us, ‘Lightbringer’, we called you. With great pride i watched as you grew up into the just and honorable man you were. It saddens me that you chose to abandon all for the sake of a mere dream. Goodbye, brother”
The angel steps forward, stabbing his sword into the chained man’s chest.
Without meeting any resistance the sword slides in between the man’s ribs, penetrating his heart.
“The shadowstone will devour your soul. This is where your journey ends,” the angel whispers.
A drop off blood slowly falls from the side of the chained man’s mouth, yet he shows no sign of regret, only a hint of sadness flashes through his eyes. “You fools, don’t let Him play with your lives,” he utters in a quiet voice.
Before the angel is able to react the black stone starts emitting a rumbling noise. The whole room starts to shake as cracks appear on the stone. A foreboding red glow rises from the deepest part of the crystallized darkness.
“This can’t be! What did you do!” the angel shouts as the other angels pull out their weapons.
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Black smoke starts to ooze from the cracks in the stone, creating an impenetrable barrier around the chained man. Eerie whispers of long forgotten souls echo throughout the hall, calling in long lost tongues.
The smoke starts gathering at the chained man’s chest, right where the sword pierced it and slowly enters through the wound. The veins around the wound turn black, creating a spiderweb-like pattern with his blackened heart as its center. A small vortex is formed, greedily sucking in the black mist.
Meanwhile the people outside the fog frantically try to break through the smoke, yet nothing seems to damage the illusory barrier and they helplessly watch as the smoke circles around, disappearing into what seems to be an endless abyss. As the smoke fades a dark figure is revealed, standing tall.
Before them stands not the weak and wounded man from before, but a handsome youth. His wounds have long since disappeared, leaving no traces of ever being there. Hair as dark as night drapes his tanned shoulders and two curved horns are clearly visible, sticking out from the sides of his head. The ripped wings on his back now fully healed, once pristine white, turned deep black.
Wide-eyed the angel stares at the youth. “Why… why would you sell your soul?”
The youth raises his head, revealing two crimson eyes, staring at the angel in front of him.
“If I can’t make you open your eyes, then I’ll just have to force them open,” he says, while freeing himself of the last of his shackles. “You will come to see the mistake you’ve made, let this be my warning to you.”
As the final strand of smoke disappears, the cracks in the black stone widen, erupting in a blinding light. Thunder sounds throughout the hall. Then everything falls into silence.
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An old man sits on the porch of his small hunting villa, watching the idyllic alpine scenery while sipping on a hot beverage in his hands. Suddenly black clouds start gathering above the mountaintops, forming an enormous maelstrom, seemingly wanting to suck in all and everything. The man’s eyes widen, as he stares at the whirlwind in front of him. Quickly he comes to his senses and hurries into his cellar to take cover.
Boulders, the size of trucks, are thrown around like small pebbles, and tall trees are uprooted by the blowing wind. In the midst of this spectacle a thundering roar is heard and a black bolt of lightning strikes the mountainside, shattering the rock like brittle glass. The vortex soon disappears, leaving only destruction in its wake.
With hands still shaking the old man emerges from his hiding. The house, which he just entered, is now completely destroyed. The floor is strewn with pieces of broken glass and debris, and the roof is nowhere to be seen. One of the walls has caved in, letting a chilly breeze enter through the hole.
As he walks outside all he sees is destruction. Trees lie scattered around, only a handful still standing. Pieces of his car, which a moment ago stood beside his house, now lie strewn around the mayhem as colorful parts amidst the broken trees.
As he raises his head too look at the towering peaks he notices that the side of a mountain is missing, revealing an ugly scar in the once beautiful scenery. The man stands there, stunned at the sight before him. Slowly reality dawns on him, and he takes a few fumbling steps forward, determined to find out what caused all of this.
Walking towards the broken mountain, a huge crater appears before him. All is desolation around him, no signs of animals or plants. Even the ground is covered with sleek, black stone. Glass, the man muses, created when the lightning struck the ground. From the corner of his eye something manages to catch his attention, the silhouette of a person, standing in the middle of the crater.
As the old man walks closer the frame of a youth in his early twenties is revealed. The young man stands there, stark naked in the chilly autumn breeze, yet doesn’t seem to notice the cold. His long black hair whips around in the wind as he turns over to look at the newcomer.
The old man freezes in his tracks as two crimson eyes lock onto him, sizing him up. A cold shiver runs down his spine. His body tells him to flee, yet he can’t seem to make his legs move.
“Who… Who are you?” The old man finally manages to ask, as pearls of sweat roll down his forehead.
The young man pauses, turning to look at the sun, contemplating the old man’s question. Rays of light shine down on him, creating a halo around his dark silhouette. Finally, coming to some sort of conclusion, he turns back to the old man and flashes a mysterious smile.
“I am Lucifer. I am the Lightbringer”
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I am a bit of a masochist, so just criticize whatever i write (constructive criticism is greatly appreciated)
If you find any spelling errors etc. etc. just spam comments, thanks