“For your crimes of treason against the Almighty God, you have been sentenced to banishment from the Kingdom of Heaven. A land as black and vile as your depraved deeds awaits you outside these gates. I only hope that you will one day understand the grievous nature of your misdoings and find some penitence.”
The voice came as an amplified whisper from the direction of the High Order, the council of elders that presided over the entirety of the Kingdom in times of His absence. Though shadows shielded them from his view, he knew the speaker must be Metatron, the Seraph attendant to the Most High.
Lucifer, the once glorious Angel of Light, stood naked and encircled by his peers in the great circular stone chamber. The magnificent golden robes that once danced around him at his every move were now suspended overhead and out of reach, a symbolic gesture to show his fall and the futility of any attempt to struggle. The reflection of the golden light on his pallid flesh gave him a sickly glow and made his great ivory wings shimmer as if consumed in flame. Many would later attribute his appearance to the immolation of his soul.
The greatest irony of all was not that he was to be cast out but that the sentencing was being done in this place, the great chamber that he had been forced to clean meticulously in his days as a lesser Angel. The thousand smaller chambers surrounding the main hall with their many pointless baubles and furnishings took ages to clean and polish and make perfect, so long in fact that by the time he had finished with the final room, he was forced to return to the first and begin his work again.
The cleaning was meant to harden and teach him the importance of his duties as an Angel, but the tedious and meaningless work only served to make him think harder of the inequities of existence. It was only after the marvelous marble hall was renamed in his honor that he truly understood the absolute backwardness of the Hierarchy. After years of working on it, he despised that hall, and to have it named for him was more of an insult than anything.
He now wondered if they would change the name or keep it as an admonishment to all future Angels of the danger of ambition and spiritual lust. He wondered if they were doing this purposely as another ill-conceived symbolic gesture to remind him of his former glory.
“Probably,” he muttered to himself, breaking the tense silence that followed Metatron’s words.
“You dare speak!” came the voice of an enraged Michael.
“What have you to say to this Order?” asked another. It sounded like Uriel.
He stared icily into the blackness that cloaked them and thought before speaking his next words. These were the Angels he had come to know as brothers and here they were, loyalty lost, casting him aside for crimes that were not crimes at all. What did he have to say to them? What words could convey the hatred he felt at this moment?
“I said that your attempt at symbolism is as poor as your attempt at justice. This hall where I stand only serves to remind me of your fickleness and discredit all the honors that you have offered me. I will never regret my actions. You know as well as I that these crimes do not befit me. I am the Morning Star, Prince of Light, the Chosen One. I am heir to His throne. I am Lucifer. I am innocent.”
With that final declaration he was gone, falling through the delicate weave of space and time, making worlds as he descended. It was as though he were not moving at all at times, as though frozen in a great sea of silence. As the waves of darkness pressed in, he repelled them as best he could with the force of his will.
This was the darkness Metatron spoke of, the twisted chaos that God had existed in before Creation. It was, at first appearance, a swirling black tornado, devoid of light or sound, but as he fell further, subtle distinctions became very apparent. Deep purples and blues could be seen as misty clouds on the border of the vortex, and strange sounds echoed, almost like foreign beings whispering secrets that were not to be heard.
Though frightening at first, slowly the whispers became soothing, and even comprehendible. He found himself guessing the meanings of these unknown words and it all became clear with time. It was all a song, a melody that repeated slowly over the course of many millennia. It was a hymn unlike any he had ever heard, and just when he resigned himself to his position as an audience member to this eternal opera, the voices ceased and a star came into view.
Suddenly warmer, he looked to where his path would take him, and a sphere of blue greeted his eyes. This was Earth he realized, the pinnacle of God’s work. He couldn’t’ wait to see Father’s beloved creation. As he proceeded toward the planet at a blinding speed, Lucifer prepared himself for the great impact that was to come.
Entry into the atmosphere was imminent and he felt the planet draw him in even faster. Then, as if diving into a boiling ocean, the Angel of Light learned of the crackling heat of friction. The winds were echoing in his mind as the flames finally overtook him. In the desert, three kings saw a flash in the sky. Moments later, the world had its star
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Submission Name: Descent: A Retelling...
