The Soothsayer - Post Mortem

This entry is dedicated to fellows who stayed since 1848, witnessed a time line of wheelchairs, wondered about the irony of a cigarette and sat through a funeral with a pretty redhead and the 'porn people'.

Thank you for your patience and consistency.

Had planned to write an afterword halfway into the series. After several editing, I decided to cut short the entry into FAQ formating.


The Origins.
I hadn't plan on writing a long one. Probably a two to three parters about supernatural elements, critically an anti-hero in an already familiar background. My favorite fairy tales were Pied Piper, Mermaid and the Matchstick Girl. The latter struck my core the most because the notion of death in dreams than living like a dog allured me deeply. Seeing that I often turned to fantasies, it's not very hard to understand why.

Before Soothsayer, I was actually comptemplating on a story about a suicide bomber. The terrorist at the brink of his vengeance to the world was desperately trying to fight his blood lust psychosis, had decided that this world needed saving than a wholesale destruction and there were too many beautiful things left to thrive. He had detonated himself in an abandoned beach, figuring that he was beyond salvation.

That notion was reflected as Eilert became the terrible Danish Fire Monster.


Other Influences.
The influences became obvious as the series formed shape. Gaiman's storytelling through multiple characters angle, The Swamp Thing, Lucifer and my life long fascination with fallen angels.

And Evangelion. With all the stories about super-beings and mechas trying to defend the world from apocalypse and destruction, they always succeed in the end, thus ending the episodes as gay as can be, happily ever all. Evangelion opened my eyes with the world actually lost and it ended in blood and smokes. I was awed by its highly interpretable ending of Shinji and Asuka by the sea of red amniotic fluid alone in the entirety of the post apocalyptic world.

I had always tried to incorporate real issues that I'm had been immersed: Sacrifice, Afterlife, Faith, Euthanasia and Fatalism. Euthanasia, one of the topic that I spent weeks researching in school years for a group debate. (I then made Sarah Qwek stumbled upon Vvael's book whilst researching for a debate in Intermission.)


My Stance On Literary Violence.
In Altered, tridents were employed. I loved tridents and written a story medieval war story where lots of tridents tore and pierced the bloody skies. People just don't write enough arms in stories. My weapon of choices would be throwing knives, tridents and revolvers.


North.
In the episode North, though it was never mentioned, Eilert did put down the leprosy patients.


Testament.
Testament was the change. I abandoned the Eilert angle and went for the publicized version of the Danish Fire Monster in the eager eyes of Madeleine Mattiassons. It was a refreshing change. I liked it a lot. I rarely write character's background into the story, only to give away bits through conversation and their course of actions, in Testament, I gave a swift tour of Madeleine's past and I enjoyed writing it so much that I knew I had to write Eilert's too (Monster). There were many background stories I was interested in writing, but never gotten around to it. One of them was Oriaries. It would be fascinating to depict her in her nursing scrubs trying to save London from Cholera.

I began to weave actual historical facts into their time line which I had decided was 1849. Myth had it the matchstick girl had first circulated in 1848 in Denmark. By 1849, I gathered that Eilert should have accomplished a reputation as the local bogeyman.

In Testament, we came to learn that Eilert was just getting well adjusted with his powers and even expanding his ability to burn folks without contact. He was getting too powerful for his own good. This story would go nowhere! He can't be killed, he got tons of power, he could kill people from a distance, his notion of burning people into dreams is simply too romantic to write him off. All there were left was the struggle for his humanity. I had to find out more about the human core in him so I could end this story rightly. Two endings opened up at this moment:

Eilert would perish. But then what's the moral of the story if a kind hearted man should die?

Eilert would thrive. He can't. He would be the King of the world. Here by jabbing real historical facts posed the problem that the whole whole cannot know about his existence, except that he was a myth. With his armor of flames, I couldn't hide Eilert from the world any longer.

I cornered myself with another problem. Madeleine survived till present times. It had wiped out any chance of me plotting apocalypse in the future series, for apparently, Eilert remained nothing more than a legend. He have to go somewhere.

Thus the descent and the suspension.

Testament was the only single person view point writing for Soothsayer. I have decided not to get into my character's head again. It was very exhaustive as I find that minds can be very distracting, emotional and shifting altogether. (I tried to reference this experience in Phantasmagoria.)


Why I Plough On?
I had realised that it would take longer to end the series and no one seemed to be interested enough. I cannot just cancel it, my pride would never allow me to pleasure people that much. I would write on until it is really conclusive and in accordance to the earlier story line. My motivation to complete Soothsayer was pretty much based on defiance and spite.

Then the responses picked up a bit. Though I will still write on regardless of readership, but having people who read it helps in pushing me to write faster.


Aad.
Tribute to Cujo.


Servants.
I was dragging the series. It was then I had decided to blow up the joint and bring forth the war to Hell.

Servants revealed Vvael's mortal name: Uncle Bou. Later which Sarah Qwek came upon Bou Blanc's 'To Hell With Heaven' book, for those who had never read Servants would probably get confused.

Kepharel was a goth boy.


Cigarette.
My favorite episode. I rarely explain in details about the characters or the environment's features, but with Cigarette, I decorated Hell.


Candlelights
I enjoyed writing the rainbow scout so much. He was like that parrot on the shoulder of the pirate.

My favorite character in the entire series was Asmodai.

The time line in both Heaven and Hell was fashioned after Vertigo's Lucifer in which the devil and God went into exile, leaving mankind to their devices.


Genders.
In the original roles for Sarah Qwek and Jane Masaki were male intended. It was then I realised the gender ratio in the series wasn't equally distributed with the storytelling heavily relied on Vvael, Eilert, Suicides and Kepharel. Though the celestinal leaders were Balthial and Oriares, I had to write more female leads into the story.

The location was selectively Australia as I had often heard about racial discrimination tales of the Chinese over there. Sarah Qwek was a Singaporean student, sharing an apartment with Jane Masaki. I got the Japanese name from Amu Masaki, a skillful Japanese pornstar who had now retired. She is my age.

Jeniong had raised quite a few loopholes in this episode which I truly thank her for. I decided to leave the mistakes as they were to present my growth in the series.


Malignancy.
This episode always conjured a variety of emotions within me each time I read it. I like it that the good cop and the bad racist cop had a role reversal in the end, sort of like the movie Crash. And how Sarah was shot instead of Jane.


Exodus.
The plan was to have a two parter describing the fall of both realms and then the finale. Saul was a typical two dimensional hero type. Marianne was named after a bubbly temp clerk in my hospital who went on to medical school this year.

The two options of exit from Heaven at this point was the Ascension Stairs which only the angels could pass, thus mortalized and the Limbo Of Infants.


Conscription.
Conscription was yet another extra addition to the series. I was having a terrible time tying up all the loose ends for Exodus (II). I wrote and rewrote seven times over a span of an entire month's time and it was frustrating. Conscription allowed me to get away from the vehicle of the plot. I wanted to write something senseless and nonchalant to the series. Of all the angels, Degaliel was the exact embodiment.


Exodus (II).
I killed off Kepharel in a Shakespearean way. Enter stage, gave speech, short battle, killed by a mortal stab, exit stage.

Suicides was supposed to seek out Asmodai, but somehow that slipped through my fingers.


Epilogue.
Epilogue was written under thirty minutes. It was the one I kept returning from time to time. It was the only proper ending I ever wrote for anything longer than two pages. It revealed more about the friendship bonded by the angel Vvael, the demon Suicides and the human agent Eilert.

The Nursing Home was named after deciphering's real name.

The football game that Suicides was watching was referring to American Football, not soccer.

Suicides never reigned in Hell thereafter. In his travels among the stars, he unwillingly helped Marianne in defending a siege in the Limbo Of Infants.

Higelot died from a stroke and his daughter inherited the care of Balthial.

Balthial lived to two hundred. A year before her natural death, she had recovered well enough to perform simple chores around the house and had routinely rise to watch the brilliant sunrises every morning.

Abandoning her nursing degree, Sarah Qwek returned to reside in Singapore.

This experience had been valuable. I was somewhat proud that I was able to see it to a proper end.

laters.
raknax.

The Soothsayer - Epilogue

Swane's Residence, Old Compton Street, London. Year 2006.
Midnight. Droopy silver crescent and dotted stars. Wet streets and moist ambiance.
The shadows round the tattered edges of the corner walls slided gently.

'Thud.'

Eilert Swane woke up from the noise from his locked door. About time, he thought. His dreams about Degaliel were too long and unbearable to carry each time he awaken to find himself all alone in London. Someone had broken the spell he had cast on his door.

Eilert Swane felt for a baseball bat from the dressing table. He glided silvery to the chest of the walls, the powdery moonlight splashed on his features. He had barely aged since the Exodus, except his head full of white mane and some crowfeet beneath his eyes whenever he grins. The Exodus happened a hundred and fifty years ago in mortal time line.

'Identify yourself! This is your only warning!' Eilert threw his voice into the dark living room as he sneaked stealthily into the kitchen for sharper weapons.

'It's me. You fucking bastard! What the fuck did you do to your door?' A throaty voice which Eilert had not heard from over a decade, cawed out indignantly.

Eilert felt for the switch and lighted his house. A tall pale man in pilot sunglasses with dirt brown suede climbed over the white couch with his soiled shoes and threw his branded bag over the coffee table.

'Suicides.' Smiled Eilert Swane as he disarmed himself of the iron bat and went into the kitchen, 'It's a defensive ward. Scotch?' He dug into the cupboard and tugged out two old fashioned.

'Want them with rocks.' Requested Suicides thinly as he took off his sunglasses, revealing his blood red pupils. He relaxed himself in the comfort of a proper home, switched on the television through the remote and tossing channels after channels. 'Any games on?'

'Dunno. Haven't been watching them for a while.' Said Eilert as he handed an old fashioned of Scotch over. He settled himself in an armchair facing Suicides.

'Why the need for the ward?' Asked Suicides, barely looking at his host. As he drank his Scotch, his mouthful of canine teeth glistered in the shine of the alcohol. 'Haven't they by now get the general idea that you can't be hurt at all?'

'I had indeed destroyed their worlds. And that general idea? It's not so true after all.' Eilert drank his Scotch in a grimace shot and started pouring from the bottle again.

'Ah. That wickedly beautiful lass of Cherubim? Whassa' name? Degaliel? It's a pity they don't make angels like that anymore.' Chuckled Suicides over the sound of the television displaying a football match. 'You know where is she now?'

'They should be preparing for the final stage, seeing that the date is set.' Answered Eilert Swane.

'Oh. So they know the date? Do tell.'

'Yes. Just got it yesterday, from Degaliel.' Eilert went for his third shot, 'It's the 19th of August, 2007.'

'You know something? My folks had nominated me to reign.' Snorted Suicides as he pulled out a dog-eared notebook of names. 'And these people will fucking get it when they die pissing and goes to my Hell. What a boy, that traitor Ndmh! Manage to rebuild the freaking City on his own. I say, here's to that boy!' Suicides raised a toast.

'To Ndmh.' Cheered Eilert quietly as he touched his old fashioned to Suicides'. 'Yeah. What brings you here all the way?'

Suicides peered sideways at Eilert Swane and said, 'I've found the last book.'



St. Owen Psychiatric Nursing Home, London.

Eilert Swane turned from the heat of the afternoon into the air conditioned admission office of the nursing home. He looked around the dozen of people and saw her towering high and flawless in front of the vending machine. Some men were looking at the beautiful creature in mesmerising stares and unable to look away. Only Eilert knew that they were looking at an archangel, one of the last surviving Cherubims that Oriaries had stationed on Earth for its defense against the Inferno. For he was able to see her three pairs of flagging wings and the halo that emitted from her core. Despite losing the physicality of the Fire Of Judgment, Eilert Swane could still see souls. The glorious angel sipped her pipping coffee in ecstasy. The Cherubims had counted to three hundred then, but as the Heaven burst, most of them had perished in heartbreaks and absolute sorrows.

That was how he had found Degaliel. Several years he had spent in the hospital from recovering from his injuries, he had returned to the Tainted Seal of Samuel where he first descended to burn sinners a hundred and fifty-seven years ago. He learnt that the local authority had tried to explain the town's wreckage with an unfortunate event of gas explosion and they were the survivors. It seemed that when Eilert returned to the town, it was in the process of being rebuild. Just as Eilert was leaving, he was made to follow a distant mewing of a fox. The fox had lead him under the spoils of a deserted mansion where he had found Degaliel paralysed with grief in the depth of a stony well. 

Eilert Swane walked over and introduced himself to the angel at the vending machine, 'Hi. My name is Eilert Swane. Are they here already?'

The angel as if was pricked by the mention of Eilert's name, frowned intensively and stared venomously at him. She allowed their silence sheared by, as if trying to tell Eilert how much she had loathe him. With a swift glance. Eilert had saw her reaching for something in her jacket.

'Eilert!' Higelot called out as he walked towards them. He pumped Eilert's hand heartily and led him to the admission counter. Balthial was unbearable to look at in her wheelchair. She stared glassy into the blank air, her body shriveled into a frail frame of an old woman whom looked like a thousand years old. Balthial had a feeding tube dangling from the innards of her nostril and her bony fingers wrapped in sores and wrinkled skin clasped onto each other as she rocked forth and back in her wheelchair, muttering to herself mindlessly.

'I have failed Oriaries...' Higelot hung his head in shame.

Eilert patted Higelot on the shoulder, 'You offered your best. There is not much you could do for a person who refuse to be heal. So this is where she wants? And you? Will you be going back?'

'I reckon not.' Replied Higelot, 'I can't leave her here alone in this place. As much as she hated my presence, I have promised Oriaries and I will see to this task until the very last breath.'

'I will visit you guys more often. Erm. Do you remember Vvael's dying wish?' Asked Eilert softly.

However they had delay in aging in regards to mortal longevity, they are still vulnerable to the human cycle of sickness and death. Vvael upon spending his waking hours caring for Balthial had caught on her madness. He had gone insane for most of his mortal livelihood and published a book on the War Of Judgment and Exodus. For the last couple of hours on his deathbed, Vvael became sober and had requested Eilert to seek and destroy all the publications. Eilert had traveled far and wide around the world since, and had burned all Vvael's books saved one.

'What about it?' Said Higelot absent-mindedly as the nurse led them to Balthial's ward.

'I know where the last book is.'



Jane Masaki's Funeral, Melbourne, Australia.
The evening skies hang lowly with flashing bits of lightning crackled amidst its humid atmosphere.
Rain approached cautiously, scouting with its herald and sister - the wind, fussing outside the funeral parlour.

Eilert Swane and Suicides got out of their rental car that they had parked in front of the funeral parlour. They entered the parlour and settled themselves at the back row of the attendees. A tall blond was giving an eulogy in front of a huge picture of an Asian looking girl. The blond was having difficulty giving her ill prepared speech as sounds of muffed crying kept perturbed from the background. Someone was apparently torn from the death.

Jane Masaki looked so young and innocent in that picture without the glitter of her makeover. They found the happiest picture that Masaki was ever caught in, where she smiled the heartiest, her brown mane tossed in the breeze and a secret twinkle in her eyes. The twinkle of hope. This was her picture before pornography. Her parents were in a corner, looking rather flushed with embarrassment than sadness. They kept staring with incredulity as boys and girls from the amateur porn industry entered the parlour to pay respect for the tragic fate of Jane Masaki.

'Oh sing it. This is so cool.' Whispered Suicides at the corner of his lips. He had kept his pilot shades on and looked as if he was enjoying the funeral. 'They are porn people!'

'Who's funeral is this?' Asked Eilert. The muffled cries got more and more hysterical as the tall blond struggled to finish her speech.

'What you seek is in the coffin, boy.' Said Suicides as he buttoned his coat and moved towards the front seat with a grieving redhead, 'Get your own dinner, I would probably see you in the next morning.'

Suicides sat beside the redhead, 'Surely it is too cruel to be alone at this moment of time. My name is Bob. How are you acquainted with the deceased?'

Eilert had to get closer to the coffin, he walked to the altar and bowed to the picture. When asked if he would like to view Jane Masaki, he agreed.

Eilert went behind the white backdrop of the picture and saw that an opened coffin was situated at the center of the small room with flowers all over the walls. A girl in her early twenties was howling her lungs out in her wheelchair. Her arm was bandaged with a triangular sheet. She was bawling her puffy eyes out and couldn't cease to tremble in sweat. Her composure was convulsing in utter sorrow.

Eilert Swane looked into the grieving soul of Sarah Qwek and learnt the terrible tragedy behind her friendship with the deceased Masaki. Sarah Qwek hadn't died back then in Rios' Diner where Masaki had held hostage. Percy had shot Qwek in the left chest, where her left lung was blew and she had massive hemorrhage. Qwek had recovered through extensive surgeries and rehabilitations, although she could never partake in strenuous exercises again with a single lung in place. Of course, crying her eyes out like that toiled and tortured her body breathlessly, but Qwek didn't cared a bit about herself. Her bestie was dead.

Jane Masaki was still awaiting trial when she committed suicide in her cell. Her suicide was very brutal for she had bashed her head against the wall until she had bleed to death. There was so much blood afterwards and the botched marks on the wall had revealed that she had repeatedly smashed her head into the wall again and again in guilty fury. In her mind, Masaki was thinking about the little girl she had shot at Rios'.

Eilert Swane grabbed a chair and sat beside Sarah Qwek quietly.

After a while when Qwek gasped for air and ceased sobbing, she turned to Eilert, 'I'm... I'm sorry. How... how are you... related ...related to Jane?'

'Not at all.' Said Eilert truthfully, 'I'm here to recover a book.'

'Wha... What?'

Eilert pointed to a couple of books of the shawl on Qwek's lap. 'Bou Blanc. Did it belong to Jane?'

Qwek pulled up a tattered book titled 'To Hell With Heaven', and said, 'No. It's mine, but I've decided to bury... bury...' Qwek threw another crying fit at the thought of burying her best friend.

'Bury the book with her, I see.' Eilert nodded, 'I take it she likes the book? Have you read it?'

Qwek nodded as she blew her nose with a tissue. 'You... You read Blanc too?'

'Not really. Is he any good?'

Qwek smiled in her tears and shook her head. 'Blanc is probably the worst writer ever. But he is an interesting worst writer.'

'I know the good bits in the story. Tell me who do you think are the bad guys in the book?' Asked Eilert Swane.

'It's complex. Too complex. There is no such things as good or bad guys anymore.' Answered Qwek, 'We are all walking on a paved path.'

'And you can easily understand how it can happen to good people like her?' Said Eilert as he looked at the coffin.

'But Blanc said that there was no God at all. You can't walked on a paved path without its creator.' Asked Qwek.

'Blanc was mad when he wrote that. Tell me about the ending.' Said Eilert.

'Without heaven and hell, the human world eventually perished slowly and painfully.' Replied Qwek.

'Blanc was wrong. There is still hope for the living.' Said Eilert as he gotten up and folded his chair.

'I thought you wanted the book?' Asked Qwek.

'Not if you want to bury it.' Said Eilert.

'You want it to be gone. Do you know Blanc?' Questioned Qwek.

'He... He is a dear friend of mine. It is his wish to recover all his publications.' Admitted Eilert as he turned to exit the room.

'Wait!' Said Qwek as she rolled her chair, dropping all other books in the process. 'Blanc was a century old now. Blanc... Blanc had mentioned that the displaced angels now roamed our world. Are you...?'

Without turning back, Eilert returned his answer. 'I'm the one whom displaced them.'

Eilert Swane got out of the parlour and realised that it was beginning to rain. Suicides had took the car and no doubt comforting the redhead at this very minute. In the shower of the silvery rain, he thought of the distant Silver City being rebuilt by Ndmh, how he would missed Degaliel deeply next year when she had to return to Heaven and how Suicides will rule Hell. Eilert thought about his ability to see souls and his immortality. Unlike the other survivors of the Exodus, imbued once with Judgment, Eilert Swane could never die. Without death, he could no longer see Degaliel, or even Suicides. He would be alone in this world where everything decays and dies but him. Not that solidarity was ever a problem for him. Yes. Not a problem at all, for God will return. He thought all there was to contemplate about the end and beginning.

God will return.

Comforted by that thought, Eilert Swane pulled up the collar of his coat in the cold and strolled away in the rain.






This concludes the running series of The Soothsayer.

The Soothsayer - Exodus (II)

Exodus is a two parter in which the sequel will tell the plight of the Inferno.

Hell upon the Infinite Hours.

In the relinquished lands of shattered time, tempest brimstone of ebb fire, sulphur and smitten evils; the wanton figure of the mortal cripple was the first to awake from their traumatic exit.

Eilert Swane in manky mangled cavity of spit and blood stared at Hell with his swollen eyes from behind a hill of ravaged corpses from both realms had found himself waking in the meaty rubbles of limbs and blood. The skies lit with the raging triplet suns sharpened with a formidable energy of raw venereal, smelt of futile tussles and trepidation of crushing fear electrified the skin and bones. The extrangled sentential host of himself - the Fire Spirit in the form of a star drawn crucifix across the horizon of the Wall seemed to expand with vigour, its flames crawled along the aerial carpets and its proportion swelled vehemently full.

As Eilert sat between his angelic and demonic liberators; both destroyed and lingered with dying breaths, he remembered a lore he once heard when he was little. Three idiots sat beneath the falling skies and thought they had grew so large to fill up to the heaven, celebrated in joy that they will be something else than idiots had their happy brains squashed as the world ended. It was a funny story, Eilert thought, for lore were rarely about dissolution. What moral values could it impart to the young generation if destructions matter?

Eilert began a soft humming of an old German Lutheran hymn taught by Pastor Nathan, 'Christe, Redemptor omnium'. His muffed voice from the soft of his palate reached out into the bristling air, like the invisible wings of a butterfly over the corpses of the hosts and likened to the bleak taste of abandonment and alienation on the tongue of a featherless crow, cawing out the songs of gratitude and redemption to the fallen in the mire of their defeat.

'We are not bleedin' idiots.' Coughed Suicides, the Zephr in grievous injuries. He clawed his talons across the trembling soil, propping himself in a sitting position. 'Mine, mine. That drudge is fast jolly growing!' He commented as he watched the Fire Crucifix burning a distance away, shielded by the mast of corpses.

Eilert laughed and snorted, 'I think I may have pissed blood. It's true, idiots we may not be destined, but it's sure is how things like to end.'

'How's the Cherubim? Dead?' Cloaked Suicides as he tried to get up, for he knew the longer they stayed here, the sooner death becomes them. But, alas the toil of the rescue took away much of him, leaving him battered afflictions, the Zephr fell back to his weakening knees.

'By the scared and the feared, look at the size of that eldritch!'  Claimed Vvael, of Cherubim in thunderstruck, then deeply embarrassed by his spoken thoughts. 'It's shifting and Kepharel no longer could will it.'

'We are truly the three idiots here and now. For idiots watched with awe and awe is coming when the skies are falling. Not total awe though, but horrors beyond horrors. It is coming and brace yourself. It is but a nasty feeling for the skies had truly fallen.' Prepared the wretched human in fear and anticipation.

'You're reckless with words. Only the single-minded knaves fashioned the habit and their lives to tell tall tales to threaten the world, and you had the nerves and the atrocity in this hour to...' Suicides stopped short of his words, allowing them to trail in the long silence while his hand went for his heaving chest. His palpitations were crushing him from within.

'I'm what I am, remember? I hold the truth. In entirety.' Smiled Eilert unbearably that he bit the lips and his tongue so hard from convulsion that they kept bleeding. His head was whirling in swampy murk, hung heavy with giddiness.

Vvael for a moment forgotten the primary wound in his guts and went clawing for his temples, he rolled to the ground crying with nausea. He couldn't stop throwing up. Tears poured from his orifices.

'What is going on?' Cried Vvael, snatching at an invisible pain in the itch of his heart.

'It's heaven.' Said Eilert as he laid on his back and clutching his fists, attempting to tame his convulsions.

And Eilert's words came truest. There was a soundless snapping motion as if the grandest creature of the world broke its heart and died. The silence quivered and dragged the moment as the flying angels from the skies all fell to the ground and cried for mercy. The demons howled in exasperations and Vvael realised the ultimate of all horripilations combined had happened.

'It's heaven.' Realised Suicides, as he stared blankly into the space and his tears flowing. 'The angels invaded us but it was their home, it was heaven that went first.'

'It's burst.' Completed Vvael. 'It burst just like that. The paradox of the entanglement between the two planes feeding off each other came true. Without one, the other perished in order.'

'Yes. Just like that.' Muttered Eilert in quiet eulogy. 'And we are next...'

The Fire Expurgate burnt brighter and seemingly growing. It looked more like a tree in combustion than a charring crucifix. Hell wobbled for a while. The angels picked themselves up from their sorrows of Heaven's passing and prepared themselves in defensive stance. A new enemy? Lucifer? Hell shook again, split the ground and the sour warmth of the air stung their eyes. They fell back against one another. They were surrounded by the wrath of Hell itself. The Fire Spirit swelled to a triple size and continued to jet hairs of fire into the infernal skies. It was like a blooming tree of flames, blazing scorched growth into the warmth of the aerial atmosphere until the clouds hung heavily with the dripping flames. It made a sound of soft macabre at first. Then Hell hurled again, sweeping the angels off their feet. The inferno terrain cracked like a shattered mirror.

The tongues of fire tried to eat the triplet suns but they burned brightly in resistance. A cumbrous belch from the Fire Tree a distance away as if trying to add strength to consume the suns pulverized the basalt. The suns exploded violently and rained flares. They shot down like piercing meteorites, slaying some hundred angels and demons alike. The rest scurried for shelter. Soon the entirety of Hell's ceiling was devoured by Fire Fir's flames.

The angels realised that it was too late to flee as there were nowhere to take wing.

'You meddlers!' Roared Kepharel with maddeningly eyes as he found the mortal, the angel and the devil behind the carneous hill. Kepharel himself was heavily damaged from his war with the Infernal dragon, used his sword as a clutch. His entourage of loyalist followed closed behind, they were all too with tears in their eyes from the passing of the glorious Silver City, each muttering prayers beneath their lips.

'Kill them all! Annihilate them all!' Barked Kepharel in raucous dismay. Of foremost of his schemes, he hadn't plan on wiping out his homeland. The wayward bound of his ideals suggested strongly that he had to act from will now, instead of depending on the vision given by Yahweh. But it was in Yahweh's devices, that he was the chosen Epoch! How have things led to such end, where such he could no longer bring his angels home?

Ndmh, of Dominions in his battle weary form spoke out against their leader, 'It is of utmost importance that you domesticate the rampancy of the Fire Colossus! Be advice that with the growing demise that Hell could no longer wield the refuge and stand to encumber the same straits of The Silver City!'

'Stand down, Ndmh!' Ordered Kepharel, 'The Silver City... The Silver... These three must have ordinate the death of Heaven somehow. Seek vengeance!'

'Ha! Boy, just admit to your minions!' Spat Suicides in a grim laugh, 'You no longer can will your Fire Pygmy now, can you?'

To that resort, Kepharel offered no debate. His bloodied fists shook with a helpless rage as if the devil was right.

'Kepharel.' Ndmh pursued further in a firmer tone, 'Are you able to will your Fire Spirit?'

Kepharel looked at Ndmh with his fluttering eyelashes, his porcelain features splashed with the silence of his blood remained as it was, his eyes deepen with an inner confusion that he could not fathom, a suggestion of his power decline.

'Are you still in control of this war?' Asked Ndmh, drawing a step away from their leader.

Kepharel peered gloomily at the brimming star of an incinerating tree and muttered to himself, 'Surreal. This is not supposed to be it. I have the reins. I hold the truth. I am the becoming.'

'Kepharel.' Ndmh asked for the third time. 'The angels are dying. What are we going to do now? What is your plan now?'

Kepharel kept his trembling eyes, full of tears in view of his estranged weapon of destruction, now it seemed to be cause of their destruction as well. Flashes of fiery bolt rained forth endlessly, lighting all creatures in golden luster, tearing them holes in torsos and splitting limbs apart. Kepharel quivered, 'this is not how I had seethe. Not like this!'

'Kepharel!' Declared Ndmh as he drew his sword, 'I have no choice but hereby relieve you of your charge to the Hosts and commit my command in your place.' Ndmh turned to the dust embroiled angels, 'Keep your loyalty with Kepharel if you desire, for those who will not see to their own annihilation fight with me!'

Another basal agitation growled as the Fire Fir belched in its blossoming, sending burning arrows of firestorm, seeing to the massacre of the creatures in Hell. Ndmh gave orders for two dozen of hosts to surrounded the Fire Fir in mid-air, valiantly beneath their shields against the firestorm, each reached out a claw towards the Fire Fir. The Fire Fir as if expecting resistance, began to swing its overbearing branches of flaming trunks and leaves to smite the darting angels. The intensity of the angels' concentration was so severe that rain of fire bounced right off their field of focus and static seemed to be rushing to the monstrous Tree.

'No! Don't be foolish!' Roared Kepharel in desperation.

The formation of the angels cruised their energies in unison and cast serial mean-spirited waves of blinding chain lightning bolts. The Fire Fir cried in agony and seemingly cowered down in defeat as the flashes of their attacks exploded simultaneously, smashing its talons of branches away. The sizzling statics lit a dome powered by the lightning of the angels as they concentrated to spend all their strength to booster the kill.

'Stop it! Stop it!' Cried Kepharel, he tried to proceed to the formation site, but was hindered by his injuries. 'You don't understand, if it went berserk, attacking it will only make it worse!'

The chain lightning were draining all of their powers, but the Fire Fir appeared not to back down. With a roar of defiance, it rose with its wicks of spanning branches of golden flames, spun in fury and knocked the wind out of the angels. Expecting more assaults, the Fire Fir bellowed deeply in pain and cracked itself straight down to a half. It's half of fiery bastion heckled and began to mould its shape unlike the tree. It grew long limbs of fire and a dark mouth as the only feature in its effulgent appearance. It was fast and sprung towering to the angels, slaughtering them in a single blow in furious claws. It ran on fours and spat arraying liquidated flames, appearing like a giant rabid wolf. It seek out the remaining creatures of demons and angels, chewing them in hurry. The Fire Fir resumed it's stance and continued to focus on its expansion.

'Ndmh. That is pure judgment you are fighting. The odds are not on your side ' Said Oriaries, of Cherubim accompanied by Higelot, of Virtues, emerging at last in the lands of mutilated flesh.

'Judgement, Oriaries? I fear we had abandoned the dire fear of being judge the minute we've descended to Hell.' Jeered Ndmh in a mouthful of blood as his chest was crushed by the strength of the Fir. The Fiery Wolf as it screamed hysterically, exploding the atmosphere in crushing hue of black and yellow. From the ashes, the Fire Fir raised a dozen more Herculean creatures of brimming claws and hungry jaws. It was determined to annihilate all.

'Let us be or trial us, whatever it is, be fast.' Spat Ndmh as he regrouped his forces. Ndmh boomed his hoarse voice to the defeated mass, 'Hosts! Strike them until reckoning! We will not go down without a fight!' He became the first to arraign, leading as an example. The desperate angels war cried and joined Ndmh, accelerating into their doom.

Oriaries called out to the fallen and the Hordes in favor of Ndmh, she urged them to join the hosts, their very harbingers of destruction to fight against the Wolves and the Tree. Her argument that their collaboration at this point will be vital to their survival and that the hosts had indeed suffered foolishly with the nullification of The Silver City as retribution for their greed.

Having enough of being strike down helplessly, the Hordes reworked their war machines and fired offences back to the Wolves, while its fitter kins soared into the steaming atmosphere and faced them head on. The Hordes were nevertheless reluctant to fight alongside with the hosts, they banded themselves together to attack a Feral while the Hosts concentrated on another, the surge in numbers favored their warfare and kept the Wolves from wiping out everything.

'Have you realised what you just did?' Said Kepharel wide eyed to Oriaries.

'I know the truth behind them, Kep. I certainly know what I had done and of most, yours... I had Higelot uncovered your trails and we knew what you had and perhaps much more than you.''

Higelot began. 'I tracked your tracks right back to the Old Throne of His Glory just before The Silver City crumbled and found out the truth behind your Fire Monster of the Danish Mountains. Vvael, surely being one of the Cherubim there in witness of the Rebellion, you must have found the Fire Beast familiar.'

'The Rebellion Of Pride? Where Samuel was strike down by Father ten hundred thousand years ago. He was struck down by the Fire of Judgment!' Recalled Vvael in realisation, now understanding why he had saw the statue of Lucifer in the mind of Eilert Swane.

'You must still be a cherub back then.' Suggested Oriaries to Kepharel, 'And our Father struck Samuel down with His Fire. You were there. And you went back, didn't you? You went back for the soft burning barrage. Through the lingering flames, you saw your desire to rule. It made you thought you were chosen. That luster of Judgment marred with the Samuel's desire. You kept it, and planned it all along. You imbued it into a mortal and your plans work out fine. Eilert Swane was never a dream eater, nor soul burner. He was a walking judge. The true sin eater. You got here. You got Hell. You got everything save one thought. That we are on the stand now. That we can be judged too.'

'I was there by His Will. He wanted me to possess His Fire. I was the chosen one!' Hissed Kepharel. 'For I hath seen through His eyes!'

'Look around you, young rouge.' Offered Oriaries, 'Is this what you had seen in your visions? The destruction of both realms? The fire and the darkness. This belongs to the dreams of a soothsayer, not an Epoch. These were all what he saw in his visions. The end is nigh. He had meant that for us. This judgment had meant for us all along. Of all of us, it was the mere mortal who was above us.'

'What?' Asked Kepharel, turning around to see Eilert.

Eilert Swane smiled, almost with pride. 'Yes. I have allowed myself to participate in your scheme. Judgment is nigh. Haven't you been listening to what I had been saying my whole life? You had indeed made me dreamt into becoming what you want me to be, but I had seen much more. I had seen the downfall of God's firstborns. Who is the puppeteer and who is the puppet now?'

A shadow swooped down with the raining hailstorm of meteorites. So swift and silent that it was undetected by the hosts.

'Look at us. Scrambling for allies, trading loyalties and plotting against one another during Father's absence.' Croaked Vvael in shame. 'It's a domino sprung in action that we have basely fulfill all that takes to lead us to our destructions. We are all nothing better than the damned marching towards their end in their judgment.'

'Ndmh and the Hordes are not able to hold out any longer!' Alerted Higelot over the maniacal screams of the Fiery Wolves as they tried to smite the titillating warfare by the angels and the demons. Hell shook violently as if it could no longer contain the fight it had pregnant. The Tree had became the skies. 'These hide of the hill won't able to hide us from the Wolves and the meteorites.'

The Zephr sniffed the air and picked a scent. It was a scent that the devil carried his entire life. He knew that it was going be very interesting soon.

'The entrances of Hell were all gone and so were the exits. However I have come to contemplate an alternative.' Suggested Oriaries grimly, 'the mortal realm that I had suspended, it seemed to be the last places of the worlds that His judgment had not beamed on. The legions of Cherubims wait there. However, there will be a heavy price to pay.'

The Zephr saw the shadow that was sneaking onto them and surprised at its animosity.

'The only way to join the mortal world now was through the Valley Of Passing. It was supposed to be a one-way trip for dead mortals. Though it won’t dissipate the Hosts if they tried to go through it, but with reversing such nature, will cost us our stations as the Hosts.’ Offered Oriaries solemnly.

‘So be it, comrade.’ Said Vvael. ‘At least we live. Whether we will it or not, we are already judged in His eyes, along with the treacherous and the vile.  This is no more salvation at this point of time, perhaps if we lived long enough, working in His grace, Father would return and take us in his blessing again.’

It was Balthial, mute and disillusioned that had descended to the fleeing Kepharel. Her name was the last word that Kepharel ever tried to sound. Balthial struck the jeweled sword of Oriaries deep into the young angel's back. She twisted and wedged the blade so viciously, making sure that Kepharel had suffered every bit of her wrath.

'Balthial! What are you doing?' Yelled Oriaries as they rushed to Kepharel's aid.

Balthial stood with crestfallen eyes at the demise of the world's end. The world that she was charged with the highest order. Her tears ran blood pellets down her soft cheeks and her shivering lips clattered in rage. She raised the sword and plunged away at Kepharel's face. Oriaries grabbed Balthial away but Kepharel was already dead.

Balthial didn't celebrate her vengeance, but cried more blood at how things had come to such. She allowed Oriaries' sword to fall from her grip and knelt strengthlessly to the floor. Oriaries hugged Balthial tightly in her arms as she felt the protege of Gabriel growing sicker and sicker from her fate.

'We have to act now.' Said Oriaries as she hushed and comforted the sobbing Balthial who was now rendered to a defenseless child with her hands full of blood. In a distant, she could hear the indignant voice of Ndmh, 'Stop them from spawning more! This is madness!'

'To the Eastern end, you will find the Valley of Passing unscathed and intact.' Said Oriaries as she unfurled her wings. 'I will create a diversion that give you a moment to escape. Higelot, use that opportunity to gather as much survivors, be it the Hosts or the Hordes. Save as much as you can. Take them without discrimination. Ensure the safety of Vvael and the mortal. And promise me that you will take good care of Balthial. She needs it.'

Before Higelot could protest, Oriaries said, 'Only I can hold them off now.' She turned to Suicides, 'Iahmel, please help gather all the surviving Hordes the best you can. It's so nice to see you after so long.'

The Zephr stared silently at the Cherubim. Despite his refusal to acknowledge, he knew that this was the only chance the Hordes had in face of extinction.

Oriaries to Eilert Swane, 'your campaign is by far the most successful of us. As a supposingly meek neutral agent, you have managed to turn the table and destroy Heaven and Hell singlehandedly. Such destiny! Human, I ask of you to answer me truthfully. Is it really Yahweh? Is He back?'

Eilert said, 'I don't know but I had always believe so. Maybe not now that everything is gone, but He will return when it's time.'

Oriaries smiled with eyes brimming with light tears, 'Thank you, that's all I need to know.'

Oriaries took to air with her three pairs of wings and threw a blast of charge at the giant Feral that Ndmh was battling with his burnt wings, the Feral was stunned and smashed onto the basalt. The Wolves gathered closer with curiosity.

Ndmh laughed in harsh irony, 'They kept spawning, it had became a full forest of them, just wanting to tear us apart.'

Oriaries told Ndmh her plan to the mortal world and explained its consequences, 'Get all your defenders out of Hell, angels and demons alike. Your valor had been outstanding. Your fight is no longer in the wretchedness of this arena, you have to rebuild The Silver City in due time, restore His Glory and gain His forgiveness to us all. You have to do it and you can do it.'

'But I am a traitor!' Ndmh claimed.

'So am I when I strike back against his Judgement. We all are in His eyes now. Believe me, one day when Father chose to return, you must lead us back to The Silver City. Only you can do it. Stay with the mortal agent, you will have a lot to learn from him about unwavering Hope and Faith. Those are your primary constructions of The Silver City.' Said Oriaries as she fled off into the mist of the flaming Wolves and meteorites.

Ndmh pulled back the defenders, angels and demons alike. Suicides rounded up the Hordes, while Higelot cast a temporary shield when they had emerged from the fleshy hill and extended it to cover the fleeing creatures of Hell. Oriaries muttered a brief prayer of forgiveness to Yahweh as she sped like a lightening bolt through the Fire into the core of the Tree. Her collision created a blinding effect as the Wolves howled in anguish as if it had hurt them as well.

When the blinding light finally ended, Hell shrieked for the final time in loathsome burden and ceased to exist no more.

To Be Continued...

The Soothsayer - Conscription

The Suspended World of Mankind, Denmark, 1894 - The Vacant Town Of Tainted Seal.

Degaliel, Of Cherubim wandered off in sheer boredom, from the flock of thousands of Cherubic defenders in lieu of Inferno's possible invasion of Earth.

For the young Cherubim waited long with waning patience and a soundless neighbouring city, though suspended by the powers of The Great Oriaries, was filled with alluring sights and colors that beckoned Degaliel to venture.

Folks paused stop from their way to work in the dusky morning, street lamps frozen like yellow lumps and the mist appeared shimmering in its muted struggle to dissipate. Everything looked like an art piece from the museum. Degaliel trotted her bare feet, with soft brilliance melting the dusk with her wings, she explored the city filled with mannequins blissfully ignorant of their fates that came crumbling down.

They were like dolls, with curious eyes and eager expressions, probably wanting to get ahead in life. 1849; the beginning in the course of history that brought violence to the corners of Europe with its working class revolutions, as if a poetic reflection to the events that took place by the hungry youths in The Silver City.

Their idyllic township tucked away from the mandates of Amsterdam's ruler-ship and its eventual displacement into constitutional monarchy did not troubled its citizens. However, no matter cities if regardless sizes, were preoccupied with their war with the Prussians. Perhaps, that was why the government was so inclined to possess the mythical monster of Fire so desperately.

Degaliel belonged to the infantile ranks of the Great Cherubims, had never set foot in the realm of mortal sins before, was fascinated with the tragedies beneath each human creature she encountered. In the mortal world, happiness unlike in Heaven was not a basic attribute but a far twisted version of emotion which could only be place with the likes of self gratification and delusive assurance. It was more of a process of in which its environment and the human culture abused its beings to the breaking point where they could only appreciate random things like sunlight, music and even feed off each other's tragedies. Perhaps that was why these mortal folks looked up to their kind whom could rise beyond their personal miseries, and not to be castrated by their wretched destinies and miserable backgrounds.

They said the world had become a more and more difficult place to survive, despite the advancement of its technology and science. It was their spirituality that requires saving. Yahweh had left his creations to their own devices, and it had proved such heartbreaking impacts in their lives. It was true that they had gotten more convenient and smarter, but they walked around with holes in their hearts. They couldn't sleep with ease in most nights and they thought about ending their lives every single day.

Degaliel found a pair of lovebirds in the gloom of a park. Agenthe, the girl which looked no more past her sixteen birthday was laying on the thighs of an older man, Emil.  Degalial sat with them, attempting to learn what was making the smiles on their faces. The nearby lamp was rock of glow with little moths hanging around it like stars to the moon. Apparently, the lovebirds had spent the entire night, probably talking away until the dawn cracked.

Degalial looked at Emil. She realised that Emil was married and that he hadn't told his naive girlfriend. And Agenthe was so in love with the two timing Emil! Degaliel could make Agenthe learnt the truth with a snap of her fingers. Degaliel squirmed and looked into their futures; after Agenthe knew that Emil was married, she was so obsessed with the loss of her innocence, that she harassed Emil and his family again and again until she appeared one day in their doorstep, doused in pig blood and hung herself in front of Emil's wife and children.

Degaliel was a little surprised by the course of events that could led to upon a simple truth. Degaliel looked into the possible future if she had made Emil eloped with Agenthe to a faraway place where their love could sustain; the youngest of Emil's son would grow up in void of love and full of poverty, engaged in a terrible heist on the date of his fourteen birthday with his friends and a gun that would take the lives of five innocent people, furthering altering and endangering fifty other lives in their network of collision.

Degaliel walked on the soft mud of the park to the lamp and plucked away a brown moth to examine the tiny creature. What if? Degaliel thought, if she had made Emil and Agenthe upon unsuspenion, as if waking up in amnesia, believed that they had never fall in love before and then leave each other forever. Degaliel looked again and realised that they would meet again as strangers three years later in this park and became lovers all over again. Such verbosity of the nature in love! Degaliel looked into their fates and counted that it would take at least a hundred bouts of divinity interventions and at least two disasters of huge proportions that would implicate more than a thousand lives to stop them from falling in love. And one of that disasters involved apocalypse in which Hell will engulf lives on Earth.

Degaliel smiled with a sighed and placed the brown insect back to the surface of the air. Perhaps in their short fervent lives, lying with each other in the park was the ultimate happiness that humans could wish to obtain, and this was everything to them. Not wanting to ruin that, Degaliel did not alter the lovers' fate in any way. Degaliel wanted to explore the rest of the city, but she wanted to sit with the lovers, busking in the maddeningly glister of the love. Degaliel split herself into two entities, with one sitting in the park with Emil and Agenthe, while the other self explored the morning city.

Degaliel passed rows of dew moisten windows along the blocks of buildings down the turn of the street. The mail office, the grocery store, the dance school and other quiescent architectures of a singular pattern cambered beneath the distant half light of an impotent sun. It's shadow was the township's surname with breaths so poignant and immutable. Degaliel skipped in front of her reflection through the glass window and was amused by it. The Silver City was practically raised on glass, yet the hosts never spared a thought for their reflections. It was refreshing to learn that how some creatures of this world could triumph or decline just by mere aging skins and bones. Degaliel paused in her play and listened in the paralyzed echo of this funny little world. She was not entirely alone on Earth.

Degaliel's twin had stopped wondering about the affection between Emil and Agenthe and went further deep into the somber park. She returned with a shard of glass and a can of morning dew. With an angle facing the lovebirds, she projected their shapes into the morning dew in which their fuzzy images came to motion in the can. Degaliel's twin could watch the romanticism of Emil and Agenthe as if they had been unsuspended. Under the indecency of sunlight through the trees in the park, she watched the lovebirds reacted their passion with kisses and muted whispers that drew secret giggles. She watched Emil's burly hand over Agenthe's waist and the maiden's fingers running along her lover's beard. She observed as Emil sighed with an invisible burden and Agenthe's pristine comfort that was selfless and divine, as if her bosom was a blanket of a clear sky and her lips sang the hymns of gallantry. Agenthe's face was the morning sun in which would drive away the doloriferous veils from the dusk and bring forth the light into Emil's heavy heart.

Degaliel's twin wondered about the mysteries of their languages and the sensation that their touch brought and gratified their souls. Her curiosity grew with passing moment, intensifying so greatly that she had to act upon it. Degaliel's twin began to snap the shard of glass into dust and sprinkled into the morning dew. She then proceeded to mould medium sized figurines with mud, dead leaves and branches like a sculptor. Degaliel's twin pressed her dolls into the features of Emil and Agenthe. Upon satisfaction, she brought the mud figurines to animation with the drain of the morning dew on their faces.

Degaliel's twin folded her legs like a child and watched earnestly as her figurines staged out Emil and Agenthe's love in dreamy declarations and unbridled exuberance.

After a stretch of time unmarked by the frozen dusk, Degaliel's twin was not satisfied with just watching and listening to the clay borne lovers caught in the twilight moment of mortal euphoria. Degaliel's twin needed the participation, she needed to feel what the Emil and Agenthe went through. She mashed up the mud figurines and gathered more dirt in her arms. She went to a strong and sturdy maple tree and plastered the earth on its trunk. Upon completion, Degaliel's twin hugged the tree tightly with fingers clawing into the wood, her tears bursting through her sore eyes and her heart wanting to feel love.

For Yahweh had absconded for too long.

With a long deep sigh, Degaliel's twin pulled out a radiant creation of a man from the tree who was designed to love her and nothing else.  The twin then flew her lover into the mist of the trees and settled on a nice brunch. She felt the lines in his palm, tracing to the popping veins at his wrist into the dale of the forearm. She felt him brushing away the fringes of her golden locks, his eyelashes to her eyelashes and their pupils met with constrictions of attention. The hearts were in their lips as she heard him whispering his first words in her ears. The message formidable and stung the flesh of the ear gently. Her heart was in her ear and his was in his words. Their toes greeted with passion in a smaller wars of their own. Her lover held her from behind and rested his forehead between her scapulae, the weight of his shoulder pressing and his warmth suppressing the coldness of the marrow.

The twilight blinkered.

Degaliel who was standing outside the soda shop peering her sight through the morning crowd to see what was moving towards her. Could Oriaries' enchantment over the mortal plane be altered? Degaliel braced herself to a stroke of posture as she prepared herself for battle. To the end of the street, the flawless Degaliel ventured, with her proud wings spanned willowy despite the suspended breeze.

It was a whimpering fox, leaving a braze of blood trail in its wake. It cawed softly to the angel. Degaliel turned quickly to look at the town, as if expecting the spell to be broken and its people awaken to witness her. But the sleepy town remained frozen with only two creatures breathing at this moment. The magic was flawed! But Oriaries had been powerful beyond her worlds, either it would take a higher divine intervention to crack her charm, or that Oriaries was in too deep with the troubles in Hell so much that the distance was cutting her off from her instructions. Degaliel held the dying fox in her arms, with an understanding that the fox must have free itself from a hunter's trap in the local woods but had grew delirious from its mortal injuries and wandered into the town. If only it had the intelligence to appreciated the suspension of Earth's nature, for the townsmen, if unsuspended would care less for the little dying beast.

When Degaliel healed the fox's wound, the winds of the world restored. Soon, a flood of strong breeze found its way into every corner of the world. It tipped the hats and scarves off the human beings and rocked the boats wobbling in its still waters. The winds made sounds from dry throats and hollow caves. Degaliel thought its revival had to do with her intervening from saving the fox's life. Then it produced more. The skies moved by the carrion of winds, swollen with darker clouds and flashes of lightnings swam among them. Degaliel saw a pair of shooting stars drawn from the horizon to the darkness of the fall. The winds determined to cracked open the harden seas and exploded splinters of ice shards all over. The skies was red and unbearable. Blood red. It wasn't her doing, Degaliel decided. Something was happening to The Silver City. She felt that the rest of the Cherubims reacting. She had to fall in with them. The skies looked as if it would burst any moment now. Degaliel had to get to her twin first. She let go of the whining fox and proceeded on her way.

Degaliel reached the shadowy park where she left her twin with Emil and Agenthe. Her twin was laid dead on the floor of the dirt with a heap of smitten clay mess all over. Emil and Agenthe sat in their bench, with frozen eyes admiring each other, unaffected by the deaths. Degaliel held her dead twin in her arms, her twin had been crying when she died. Degaliel touched the forehead of her twin and learnt the wilful story of their creation and love.

'You wanted to feel the mortal love. And mortal love hurts most in all realms combined.' Said Degaliel softly to her twin, as if reciting a eulogy. 'Creation is never difficult. To emulate Father in his works is a dream shared by all worlds. Mortal love is a self abused addiction. Perhaps that's why Father had left in the first place. And you have learnt it in its hardest way.'

The heart broken twin swayed by the overbearing winds and blew into dust on the heap of her lover's clay torso. The skies were brimming with murder. Degaliel hasten her pace to her kinsmen.



To Be Continued...

The Soothsayer - Exodus (I)

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The Soothsayer - Malignancy

And their voices drowned in the complete ruins of the rain.

Rois' Diner - Melbourne, Australia. Year 2005.

There were downpour all over the country. Outside the twenty-four hours diner parked a dozen police cars with blazing sirens and two ambulances. The rain hit them mercilessly. A dozen black umbrellas cowered in shivers in face of the storm.

Lieutenant Ron gnawed the tobacco in his mouth like an old goat.

Sergeant Percy brought Sarah Qwek to the lieutenant.

'Lieutenant. She is here. She's the one.'

Lieutenant Ron took a quick look at Qwek and returned his glaze back to the diner. 'Media's crawling over all the place, Percy.' He said.

'I'll get to it. Sir.' Replied the ever efficient sergeant.

'No. no.' Said Lieutenant Ron as he looked at Qwek again. 'Let them see how the chinky rodents are ruining this country. Let them know.'

Sergeant Percy defended Qwek and shot hastily, 'Sir! It is not appropriate!'

Lieutenant Ron spoke without looking at them, 'Yeah. Yeah. Pecker. Go get the girl in.'

As Qwek went along with Sergeant Percy, she stared at Lieutenant Ron and said, 'Fuck you.'

Lieutenant Ron laughed as if he heard the funniest joke in the world.

Sergeant Percy briefed Qwek as they approached the diner in caution, 'Listen carefully. Get her to calm down and drop the gun. Or hold her off as long as you can, until we figure out a way to get you.'

Qwek said in the freezing cold, 'Are you guys going to shoot her?'

Sergeant Percy said, 'Mdm, no promises here. Your friend shot four people dead in there.'

Qwek exclaimed, 'Four! You didn't mentioned about dead people just now!'

Sergeant Percy coaxed, 'You are the only one she wants to see. You need to help her out. Is she not your friend?'

Qwek said, 'Yes. She is.'

And from here, Sarah Qwek went on along. She pushed open the plastic door, held her hands up and entered the dark diner. She saw a couple of bodies moving in the low of the shadowy corner.

'Jane?' Said Qwek recalling that her friend had a gun, was hysterical and shot four people dead. Her voice was almost a whimper. She calmed herself and called out again, 'Jane. It's Sarah. I'm here. Where are you?'

'Sarah!' Masaki ran over from the booth seat at the end and hugged her friend tightly. 'Oh Sarah baby! I'm in so much shit now!'

'Fuck. Jane. What the fuck happened?' Asked Qwek as she sat them down in a booth seat. She could see the police sirens blazing from the glossy window.

'I don't know. I don't know. It was Justin. He made me do it.' Said Masaki in quivering lips, not at all looking at Qwek.

'Where's Justin?'

'There. With his best friends.' Masaki pointed to a corner of three corpses. Justin and his two friends had been shot dead in the head and chest. It was a bloody mess.

'Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.' Exclaimed Qwek holding her hair, 'Where's your gun?'

'Sarah. Please don't be mad! You need to help me! I have no one to turn to now.' Pleaded Masaki.

'The gun. Jane. Where's the gun?' Repeated Qwek again.

'It's in my pants.'

'Give it to me.' Said Qwek sternly.

'No. Baby. No.'

'You asked for help. Now give me the gun.'

'No.' Said Masaki firmly. She was crying.

'Then I'm going to leave you here. I can't help you.' Explained Qwek.

'Don't.' Begged Masaki as she handed over the gun to Qwek. The piece of tool felt so heavy in her hands.

'Okay. Okay. Next you are going to release them.' Qwek was referring to the dozen of hostages at the bar. They were the common people wanting to have dinner at the diner in shirts and ties. Masaki had them tied and gagged.

'Sit with me. I need this. Talk to me about something else. What are they going to do to me when they caught me?' Asked Masaki in sobs.

'Oh dear.' Said Qwek as she hugged Masaki. 'I don't know.'

'Sit with me. Talk to me about something else. Spend some time with me before they get me.' Said Masaki, holding onto Qwek's sleeve.

'Percy said four. There were four.' Remembered Qwek. 'Jane. There were four deaths.'

'I don't know what you are saying.'

Qwek looked at the hostages. One of the hostage looked to the direction of the kitchen.

'No. Don't go there. Baby.' Fought Masaki.

Qwek went into the kitchen. She saw a lady tied and gagged to the edge of the table. She was unconscious and breathing. There were a trail of blood on the floor leading to the freezer. Qwek opened the door of the freezer and found a dead girl on the icy floor. She looked about five. She was shot in the head. Qwek shut the freezer tightly and mouthed in fear, 'Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god....'

'What have you done? Jane. What happened?' Asked Qwek feeling the blood and the life of hers drained and emptied as she returned to the booth seat.

'It was an accident. I was angry and panicked. I kept firing. And it hit the girl. It was not supposed to. I couldn't face her so I dragged her to a place where I couldn't. Her mother was threatening me. I had to tie her away to a place where I can't face her too.' Said Masaki.

'Oh shit. Oh shit. Jane. What have gotten into you? A killing spree?' Said Qwek.

'Don't judge me. Not when you don't know what they did to me. Don't be that bitch.' Said Masaki.

'Fair enough. I'm sorry. I'm really am.' Qwek said. 'What exactly happened?'

'Can we talk about something else? Just sit down and talk about something else.' Smiled Masaki with tears on her beautiful face. 'Tell me about the book that Blanc wrote. Have you finished it? What happened?'

Qwek sat down and held Masaki's hand. 'Bou Blanc. Ahem. Well. It's like what we said, everything falls apart. It was God's will all along, or so the speculation suggested. It's like Noah Ark again, just that this time, only heaven and hell came under scrutiny. Heaven and hell fold. It appeared that they are mutual and could not exist without one another. They exist to justify each other. I haven't finished the book. The finals are near and I didn't have time to read.'

'You didn't have time for anything else too.' Chided Masaki, releasing her hand from the grip.

'I... Is that so?' Said Qwek. 'Are you blaming me for all these? It's a pretty big responsibility.'

'You're being that bitch.' Scoffed Masaki, 'You knew what I meant. Don't put my head in the water like this. Not in such times.'

'It's pretty fucked up, Jane. You are pretty fucked.' Said Qwek, 'You among most things I can imagine. But a murderer? Jane. I loved you. You have to tell me you don't just go around killing people. I know you. You are that Jane in which I told you every single detail in my life. You are that Jane that carried me to the hospital when I'm burning in forty degree temperature. You are that Jane that are proud and confident of everything you are in life. You are my bestie. You are my person. Jane. Please. Let me know what happened?'

Msaski beamed shyly and tears began to flow. 'Cry for me when I'm done and over with. Sarah Qwek. Will you cry for me? I know you have this inability to cry. Cry for me. Can you do that for me? For our friendship?'

Qwek looked at the shivering Masaki earnestly.

'We broken up. Justin and me.' Started Masaki in tears, 'He was drinking too much and he beats me from time to time. I had to get away. Then they came while you were away in school. Justin and his frat pals. Fucking pigs! They raped me and tortured me.They made me do things. Horrible stuff. They said that I'm into porn and that it was in my blood that I could be subjected to their perversion. It's in my blood? Fucking pigs. Do you what they made me do? Sarah? Do you know what they made me do after they peed and beat the crap out of me?'

'They bleedin' made me fucked a dog. Sarah.'

'Oh my god. Oh fuck.' Replied Qwek in shock.

'They had a gun. They were drunk. They wanted to bring me to a brothel outside the town. Justin wanted me to pay back in interests. He said. He was drunk, the fucking pigs were all drunk. They needed coffee and dinner. We came to this diner. His friend was called Rocket or something. Kept pinching my breasts and he had the gun while Justin was ordering. He was putting the head of the gun into my vagina. They wouldn't let me wear anything inside. Rocket put the gun in me and was giggling like a pig. I managed to snatch the gun from him. And I start shooting. I was... out of my head. Literally. I could see me shooting from the corner. Until I hit the little girl. Oh my god! What have I done? She was dead in a blink. So was Justin and Rocket and the other pig. All dead. Everyone was screaming and looking at me. As if it was in my blood. To fuck up. And so I tied them up and wait for you. I need you so much.'

Qwek held Masaki tightly, 'Oh dear. I didn't know. I'm sorry that I been away! I'm sorry what they did to you! I'm sorry for everything!'

The entrance of the diner's door blew opened and the policemen rushed in with torches and firearms.

Sarah Qwek turned away with the gun in her hand and yelled, 'It's okay! I have the gun! She's...'

A gunshot fired and it exploded through Sarah Qwek's chest and she was thrown to the wall of the booth seat with blood all over the table.

'Fuck! Percy! What the fuck!' Screamed Lieutenant Ron. He made a grab for Jane Masaki.

'She... She had a gun. I thought... I thought... Oh my. Oh my. Oh my...' Said Sergeant Percy as he dropped to his knees with his jaws hanging and bugling eyes.

'What the fuck are you bozos staring at? Help the girl for Christ's sake! Get the medics in! Numbnuts!' Commanded Lieutenant Ron.

'Sarah! Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!' Fought Masaki hysterically as they forced her away in captivity.

And their voices drowned in the complete ruins of the rain.



To Be Continued...

The Soothsayer - Phantasmagoria

It's that gentle odd feeling that bubbled from the hot soup of your infantile fear as your head began to whirl with questions surfacing, when one was lost. But no, the questions didn't pop as they swelled round and full, like those darn bubbles. They wouldn't go away. They were the wraiths that haunted you with that gentle odd feeling in the very first place. To remind your feeble comprehension that you were indeed lost. And maybe, you would feel beneath the subplot of your fear, that you might be lost for good. Sometimes it might not be such a bad idea too, you know? If you are lost forever, then you are not lost at all. You are just searching. Something you might want to tell yourself as the time flew and you were lost.

Everyone got lost every now and then. Some strayed from the course, while others got themselves lost in attempt to learn something valuable. So one might want to know what happen in the first place, when one started to disappear in unfamiliarity and details. That could be important. The horrors that ensue later on would mostly determine by how you lost yourself in the very first place.

Like most things desperate, getting lost tugged feverish on blind faith. Vvael was in a forest filled with blinding lights. The jungle was raised from earth to the starless night with bronze shone crucifixes. Some dozen blue steel of the crosses bore the housing of the crows with yellow eyes and coats so dark that they glistered in nefarious darksome. They peered at Vvael in bored interest, their yellow eyes flickering. On blind faith that you thought you knew how to tell the difference in details. On blind deciphering wisdom. Vvael held onto to the rusty wheel of his wheelchair. Because things changed and shifted in this place. They always did. And that made finding his way challenging to date. At some point of his travel, the metal trees of crucifixes bent around and over to form the grim designs of the human hearts. They whimpered at the mercy of the midnight breeze. You know how they look when things bent and twisted. They always have this hole in the middle. The darkness that ate them empty from the core.

They were lonely. He was lonely. Darkness of the loneliness.

And he was just a boy.

Vvael bit back his attention. Distraction was very dangerous in places that shifted and turned. Higelot understood that too. Heaven was drastically altered. So much that it could be described as wounded. Virtue was the highest code of honor among God's creation. The purest of chasity. And with virtue, one could never be afraid. Higelot, the host championing Virtues felt fear for the first time in his existence. And absolute fear, in case if one had never felt it in his entirety, was both physiological and intrinsically fascinating. Your guts burden, your temples moisten and your scalp stung. A dirty mix of sweetness dipped in coal black cauldron of anticipation and when one really taste it, the hint of the bitter sweetness was euphorically claustrophobic and apocalyptic.

There were sand everywhere. No buildings, sanctuaries and no songs. The Silver City from a distance was supposed to appear like a crystal crown of brilliance. The utopia. Now it was buried in grayish sand and ashes. It filled up to Higelot's ankles. Higelot tried to look to the stars for bearings. But the stars were long gone, along with the songs. Higelot unfurled his wings and pierced his flight. He could not afford to get lost in times like this.

Vvael was ushered in a flash into this exquisite room among many rooms in the great mansion. Vvael rolled himself to the dusty window and peered out of the shades. He saw the view of the town. The ebony forestation of crucifixes. And an empty field of dead petals.

He must have often peered out from here. The corner of his room. All he could do for the days. Watching people across the streets. Watching healthy children playing in the field. Kicking a ball around. Running in summer scent.

For many years in his establishment in the mortal realm, Vvael thought he studied enough and understood how easily distractions could change people's lives. He witnessed eager boys walking into his bar for the very first time in their lives, turned out bitter and scornful drunk twenty years later. He saw old conies reminiscing their previous lives and guessing the what ifs with many bottles of intoxication. Vvael thought he knew all there were to know about the human distractions. Until now. Vvael was in a human mind and learnt that he had underestimated the threshold of distractions that a human mind could bear. Eilert Swane's mind shifted and shifted. He was lonely, frightened, lost, sad and involved in other emotions that crippled him as a person. Outwardly, he just appeared to be a frail rich boy in a wheelchair, but interiorly, he was engulfed by the crippledom of the ability to feel otherwise.

If being lonely was the only the thing that he could only feel. Then he wished he could stop feeling. Anything. Such negativity was not uncalled for. For Young Master Swane had long decide that he could never feel happy, no matter what else. Maybe if he could walk. Maybe not. Maybe it wasn't about his crippledom in the first place.

It was his heart all along.

All along.

While Vvael was a watcher, the observer, Higelot was the hunter. Instead of trying to make sense of the stories and metaphors, Higelot pounced on details and ran on his instinct. Among the sandy rubbles and the void of serenity, Higelot picked up a scent of familiarity. A distinct, yet faint scent of corruption that had not existed in the Silver City for thousands of years until now, when everything falls apart. Higelot hunted the scent.

Vvael rolled onto the empty street. A thunder groaned and some lights among the low hung clouds. The atmopshere was crushing with a depressive hue. The town was in a ruin. Run down shophouses, cottages broken into and decreased garden beds. Brown ships anchored near the bay and the sea was but a puddle of mud in the ground. A divergence of three pathways in the intersection of the town's fountain. The three statues erected in upon the stone of the dried fountain each pointed a different direction. The angel with grey chalky marble wings, the devil with broken horns and the boy without legs. Vvael reached over to touch the boy statue and the head crumbled softly to blowing dust.

It was his heart all along.

It began to rain in Heaven. The Silver City got its fair share of drizzle from time to time, but this rain was nothing like anything ever existed anywhere, even in the world of Man. The rain washed away the sand into cream and flowing cement. The rain washed away the dignified silence of the ruin of the most important places in all existences into a maelstrom of rushing nosies and rumblings of all creatures as if they broke their backs in a wicked trap and had to die crying. Not unlike Hell. The rain was washing away the scent. Higelot sped. He was struggling against the profound nature of this storm. His wings pained in unimaginable places and shapes. He could not afford to lose the scent. The scent so close to the source. The problem and the end. Higelot tumbled to the white and gray wash of the destruction. His wings caked in rain and dirt. He had to get to the scent before it was lost to the rain for when he too would be lost in this myriad of lost paradises and shards of brewing turmoils. Not when the world depended on it. Not when the hearts of all existences depended on it.

It was near the dried fountain, they hit him across the jaw and sent his wheelchair sprawling onto the asphalt. The folks were made of clay. They had no eyes, just unhinged jaws of soil. They giggled like frightened children. One of them gotten over Vvael and started strangling him with sheer force. The fingers dug like knives, cutting into his throat. Vvael fought and tried to tear the clay face of his assailant. All he could hear was giggles. The yellow dirt scratched away by Vvael's nails and revealed the grinning face of The Adversary.

'Samuel?' Vvael asked in chokes and tears.

'Sshh...' Coaxed the Lightbringer dressed in clay, 'Less talking. More dying. Child.' With quick a flash in the Morningstar's eye, 'Remember, little cherub, Remember you picked this route.'

'I'm not sorry! I'm not sorry!' Cried Vvael in short, quick breaths.

'Love. Hush.' Grinned Lucifer, his wings unfurled. 'You knew this day will come. Each of you knew. That I will return with my hands all over the brown nose necks of you cowards. Where is He now? Beg Him for your salvation. Beg Him to make me go away.'

He was angry. He was very angry. At the world, at himself and his meaningless existence.

The Lightbringer squeezed his grip harder, 'What's wrong with me? What's wrong with choices? What's wrong with self-belief that you could get stronger then they, than He believes in you? I am the example of free will. I am the Epoch. I am free.'

'Samuel...' Cloaked Vvael, 'We already had free will. We chose not to fall.'

Lucifer roared, 'Do not attempt to tell me what you thought you already knew. Because you don't! You wouldn't end up in such perilous state if you had.'

Higelot found the root of the scent. The rain crashed on. He found himself square at where His throne was before it was moved to the sanctuary. After Yahwen cast Angel Samuel, captain of heavenly hosts down, there was a hole in which the light wouldn't shine. It led straight down, along the fall, along the grim path in which they fell. The hole continued to burn in eternity and they had to moved His throne. The place in which the greatest confrontation acted on no longer had the blessing of His grace. Higelot found the hole and it continued to burn.

The First of The Fallen went for the kill, but instead he flew and was tore apart. The mud blew in rocky pieces and his grin smeared in the wind. Vvael felt for his burning throat and saw who rescued him, it was Suicides the Zephr. Suicides pulled Vvael hastily to his wheelchair.

'But he is your lord...' Choked Vvael.

'Please, angel. Surely you don't take faith even in such counterfeit.' Hissed Suicides as he butchered the rest of the clay people. 'A divergence in his mind. Maybe more. The influences.'

Vvael pointed to the chalk angel on the fountain, 'Kepharel. I can understand. But the devil?'

Suicides heaved and pushed Vvael's chair away, 'The devil is inside everyone these days.'

It's God. It's God's will that he is the herald. And through him, faith and redemption will reignite and the world will once again earn His trust and land a place in His embrace after death. Eilert traveled far and wide, through the ice and the fire. He will get there. For his life will be meaningless without His message. And one more person he reached, another one repented. Eilert would scale treacherous mountains and swim across seas to the end of the world if this was what He wanted. With the legs given by the Him, he would go to the end of the universe if he had to, for in Him, he renewed his faith in things that were thought to ease inside him, and Eilert Swane was happy for change. A purposeful life was a lived one. Regardless of the endless despises and the beatings he received, Eilert received them earnestly like food to the soul. Each spit made him stronger, each punch made him wanted to preach more. He was happy.

They found him. They found Eilert Swane wrapped in a warm cocoon in the ground of sulphur and diamonds. In an underground coffin under the scalp, Kepharel kept Eilert's conscious alive. The rouge angel couldn't get rid of the mere mortal, for Kepharel was no more than a whisper in his ears than his own will over his body. And crippled Cherubim and the Zephr was right. Eilert Swane, The Fire Monster, The Fire Spirit, The Soul Eater was something more than a puppet manipulated by a simple plot of overthrowing Hell. The properties and the purpose was underestimated by both the forces of the dark and the light.

From the moment of their entry to the Inferno, Eilert could no longer will his body. He was caged in his own mind, witnessing the war. But Eilert anticipated that. Though he loathed the rouge angel from robbing him of his destiny, Eilert surrendered. Because he knew and saw the greater plan. He was no longer just the herald to his people. He was more.

The end is drawing near.

The ground shook and bellowed. Something was happening to the Fire Monster and they had to be quick. Suicides dug Eilert Swane's bended composure up and sat him onto Vvael's lap on the wheelchair. Suicides pushed them in a hurry. The skies ripped apart, sucking all lights and sounds into the darkness.

Vvael asked Eilert, 'Are you alright? We need you to get a grip over your powers and stop this madness.'

In gasping breaths, Eilert smiled, 'It's too late. The end is nigh.'

Oh, he know he is right.



To Be Continued...