That Intro Bit That Ya Gotta Do

Well ... since you've been curious enough to open up this page to see what the heck it could possibly contain ... I suppose I'll attempt to enlighten you.

First off ... despite the title, this isn't a story about God. Neither is it a story about judgement or sin or death or evil. It has some of that stuff in it, but it isn't about it. It isn't really even a story about the supernatural or the fantastic, though they make wonderful settings and provide bizarre characters and are great fun to write. So .. what is it about? That's a good question. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself. I know it has something to do with life, a little bit to do with wonder, and some of to do with love. A lot of it is about transcendence and breaking boundaries that were never meant to be broken. Questioning fate and destiny and the nature of the immortal.

Okay okay ... I know that's quite a philosophic mouthful and doesn't really tell you much. Let's just keep it simple. It's about an angel and a boy and the things that they discover. There's the usual bits you find in a good story -- lies, deceit, betrayal, a few tears, some fights, some deaths. Sensuality, but not much in the way of sex, so if you're looking for that, you'd best look elsewhere. Lots of sci-fi and fantasy elements that I can't help putting in, and more than a few hints at contemporary and not-so-contemporary literature. Frequently, I'm not even sure what I'm writing. The plotline and my own motivation become blurred at more than a few points, but trust me, there's a reason behind it, even if it does sometimes disappear in the haze.

Anyhow, time for the disclaimer. These works may contain sexual references and mention of violence. If this is illegal or morally wrong for you or against your religion or whatever else .. then DON'T read it. I'm not responsible if you do read it and then suffer a crisis of conscience or a moral breakdown or something. Go take a deep breath and lie down. It's just words - it won't hurt you.

On the other hand, if you like this or find it interesting, or even just have some thoughts on it, please email me at I'll gladly reply to anything, except flames. Reader exposure and response has thus far been rather minimal ... so I've no idea what the wider audience thinks of what I write. Who knows? Maybe I'm just producing drivel. I've yet to really find out.

So, honourable reader, welcome to the prologue of "The Angel and the Boy". Read on and enjoy.


"The Angel and the Boy"

"Paradise Lost"

   It was a rainy day in Paradise. Not heavy pouring rain, but a light constant pattering, revitalising and nourishing the trees and flowers. The greenery became greener and flowers brighter, fruit fattening on vine and branch. An angel stepped hurriedly across the ground, reaching the shelter of a lemon tree, sitting down at it's base in the dry patch, as the shower intensified, splashing down mere inches away from his feet. He brushed the drops from his hair and robe and shifted position on the ground to get comfortable, watched contentedly as life grew and was sustained around him. The steady hissing of the gentle rain shower was interrupted only by a faint beating of wings. The angel looked upwards as another angel appeared and landed on one of Eden's paths. The newcomer was slightly taller than him, a muscled, bearded blonde colossus, wearing a simple white robe, with a golden robe-vest over it. He looked around and squinted back and forth, hesitantly. Spotting him, the figure strode quickly across the ground and sat down next to him, flicking water off his wings and wiping his beard with a hand. It was a warm day, and despite the wet, robes and hair dried quickly.

   "Shouldn't you be busy with some task in Heaven?" the blonde angel queried him.

   "No". He shook his head. "I was told by Him that there weren't many administration details left over from the Creation that hadn't already been taken care of. He gave me time off."

   "That's true. I even plucked up the courage to approach His throne and ask Him what lies in store for the future."

   The first angel nodded and smoothed his chestnut brown hair back, now merely damp. As angels went, he was astoundingly beautiful. The face, smooth and white, shimmering hazel eyes. The physique was muscular, as his companion's was, but it hid a vaster intellect and creative power, an innocent wisdom, yet not naive. "And He said?"

   "He said 'Great things await, my child. Great things that shall be marvelled at by all.' "

   The first angel laughed. "A typical response. Directionless and completely meaningless until what He's actually talking about has happened. I should ask you why you are here too. Do you also have time off?"

   "Yes. I thought I would visit Eden and explore it before He adds any further 'great things' to it but of course, it would just be raining when I arrive."

   They both smiled, and turned to watch the rain, sheets of incandescent silver, moving against the background of fresh green and brown and the gaudy cocktail of colours that made the floral vista. Birdcalls and songs echoed eerily throughout the static of falling water. It was a true natural paradise.

   "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

   "It is." the blonde angel agreed.

   The first angel was fixated on the rain, the patterns the light made when it played over it and through it. "You know ... I'm sure I could do the same. In fact, I'm positive of it."

   "Do what?"

   "Create things." he said, still mesmerised on the movement. "I could make beautiful creatures and plants. Lovely shapes and art in the stone and sky. And light, lots of light to shine upon it all."

   "I don't doubt that you could." replied the blonde angel, and neither did he. This one was probably His favourite, if there was such a thing. As such, He hadn't yet designated a second in command, but the odds on him getting the post were high. Whenever He gave praise to His angels for their service, there was always a special word reserved for this one. He had it all. Beauty. Charisma. Imagination. Strength. Intelligence. And an uncanny perceptiveness.

   "I don't just mean building or crafting things, I mean creating them. As He does. I'm sure I could do just as well as He."

   The blonde angel frowned. "I'm not sure of that. Besides, the power to create as He does is a power that is purely His. I don't think He'd like it much if we tried to imitate Him too closely."

   "But I can! I'm sure of it!" the first angel insisted. "He'd not have any complaint for it either - it would be solely to augment His beauty. I know I am capable of it."

   "I believe you. I just think it unwise to act on it. You don't want to do anything to bring His enmity."

   The first angel said nothing but turned back towards the rain, which had lightened to a smattering. The blonde angel stood and sighed.

   "I think I'll head back and see what can be done in Heaven. It seems that the weather is against me when I want time off." he shrugged helplessly. "What else is there to do? I shall see you later, friend. Be well."

   "Bye." the answer was just a murmur, the first angel once again lost deep in thought. There was a flurry of wings and then nothing but the soft sound of falling rain. All was still.

- - - - -

   The archangel Michael landed in His city and began idly wandering through the magnificent structures on his way to the Chamber of the Highest, where His most important servants met to run things when He did not deign to do it Himself. He was perhaps halfway there when a messenger ran up to him.

   "My Lord Michael?"


   "It is His wish that you come directly to the throne and hear Him."

   The archangel's eyes widened. Now this was interesting. "Thank you. I shall go there directly."

   The messenger nodded curtly and continued on his way. Changing direction, Michael steered himself towards the throne. He saw it and its occupant long before he was close to it. The throne itself loomed in the air, as high as a building. The occupant was visible, as always, from a great distance. Of His manifestation in Heaven, a more precise description was impossible. How could He be described that was accurate? The only word that fitted was 'everything', the only feeling that was inspired in His presence was the feeling of utter humility and the most profound acceptance of existence as it was. Things felt right. They felt good, comfortable. As the archangel rounded the last building before entering the massive square before the throne, he caught sight of the seraphim, encircling the structure itself and singing constantly. The music was sweet and triumphant, strains washing blissfully over the archangel as he approached. He reached the foot of the throne, as close as was appropriate and knelt, not daring to look up.

   "I am here, my Lord."

   There was a sigh, the faintest whisper of sound, a scrap of His breath, but to him it was as loud as the outer chorus of seraphs, a clarion call, thunder in the ether. Michael felt invigorated, the merest touch of it on his cheek making his mind do cartwheels. It was a wonderful sensation, just being here. Any second now, He was about to speak. And He did.

   "Lift Your Head, My Son. It Is Good You Are So Humble But You May Face Me With No Shame. No Harm Shall Come Of It."

   "Yes, my Lord." was all he could manage. Imperceptibly he tilted his head backward so that he was looking in the right direction, but his eyes were still fixed firmly on his shoes. Taking some mental preparation, he held his gaze on the marble for a second more then looked up suddenly, onto the view, the supernova, the star fire and the glory, in front of and above him.

   Michael was looking into His face. And He was looking back.

   "Much Better. Michael, I Have Called You Here For A Reason. You Are To Become The Commander Of The Army Of Heaven."

   "An army, my Lord? Who is there to fight and why would they fight against you?"

   "There Will Be An Enemy Soon Enough. As Hard As It May Be To Believe, There Will Be Some Who Will Follow Another Along A Path That Will Lead To Destruction At The Very End."

   "But how will I gather up enough angels and from which orders shall I recruit them?"

   "Little Recruiting Will Be Needed. The Angels Will Come To My Banner As Needed. For Many, It Will Be Their One Calling - To Serve In My Army. As From Which Orders, The Vast Majority Of Them Will Simply Be Angels. There Will Be A Few Cherubim For Special Tasks And More Of The Powers Will Serve As Elite Soldiers, But Mostly They Will Be Your Ordinary Kinsfolk, My Son."

   "As it is your wish, so shall it be my command. Are there others you wish to specifically join me in this?"

   "An Archangel For Your Standard Bearer You Shall Take And There Shall Be Another Who Shall Command A Garrison For My City Alone. But It Is You And Solely You Where The Overall Command Shall Lie. In This I Shall Not Direct You, You Will Have To Go Without Guidance, But Know That I Shall Be Watching And Will Be There When Needed."

   "Thank you, my Lord." the archangel hesitated and was about to stand and leave when the voice spoke again.

   "You Have Two More Questions To Ask, My Son. Ask Them And I Will Answer."

   Michael nodded. "Well .. why have you chosen me for this and not him? He is your favourite and the best suited for the job and also ... is it ... is it right for angels to use the power of creation, as you did?"

   The voice was silent, but that silence was conspicuously loud, so loud, that the seraphim seemed to sing quieter than they were.

   "Those Questions Are Tied Closer Than You May Realise. I Chose You Because It Is You That Will Serve Me The Most Faithfully In This Position. There Are Other Tasks For Him To Do. To The Second Question, I Give You Leave To Be Creative Within The Bounds Of What Has Been Given. To Make And Change And Reform What Is There. However, The Power Of Creation Itself Is Not Within The Sphere Of The Angel - It Is Only Through Me That It May Be Used."

   The archangel bowed low then retreated from His presence. There was much work to be done.

- - - - -

   The beautiful angel sat no longer idle on the paths of Eden. He moved about, watching the animals and birds in their habitats. A brilliant coloured macaw flew from branch to branch, while beneath, a boar piglet dug around in the undergrowth, searching for some buried morsel. A doe and fawn grazed placidly on the fresh growth the rain had brought. A monarch butterfly flew into the angel's view, flitting in front of him. Extending his arm, he opened his palm and the butterfly landed. He could feel the weight of it, small, but it was there, pressing lightly on the skin, amber and black swirls on the wings which moved back and forth with lazy abandon. He examined it with precision, stared at it intently. It was such a marvel how it was put together so well, all the body parts seeming to lock into one another like a puzzle that had been crafted so carefully. Without warning, the butterfly took off again, dancing merrily through the air and into the trees, lost from sight.

   He stared down, his open palm now empty. He had it within himself, he knew. It was just locked deeply in a part of him that he wasn't meant to see into. Maybe ... maybe he would try it. Just once. He closed his eyes, putting forth his thoughts and then ... there was a faint ripple in his mind, like someone dropping a pebble in the mental pool. He opened his eyes, feeling the familiar weight on his palm.

   A butterfly was in his palm.

   It was like the monarch, except the wings were iridescent, changing colour and shining in the sunlight. He had done it. He had used the power of creation. And on top of that, he'd improved it, made it more wondrous. What else could he do with that, he wondered. If he was able to create .. then he must be able to ... well, there was only one way to find out. After the first step, this was going to be easy. With a mental flourish, he took the second one .. and it was gone. The space where the butterfly had been was empty again.

   The power of destruction.

   The angel smiled to himself. The power of creation and of destruction was his to wield - he could now do everything that He could do as well. There was so much that could be done in His name, to beautify Eden, to beautify the Earth further. Whole new landscapes of endless possibility were stretched before him. But ... he needed others to help him with this. He would teach them how to truly make it better, how to create wonderful things. Now that he'd proven that an angel had the power to do this, then all angels should be taught it, under his guidance. It wouldn't be hard to get His blessing for this, surely. There was so much to be gained ...

   Launching into the air, he left Eden and headed back.

- - - - -

   The fires of the forges of Heaven burned brightly, painting the outer walls an ochre-sunset hue. The master smith finished polishing the massive blade and handed it to Michael. He examined the edge keenly, and saw his own reflection in the polished flat of the sword. The steel was the work of unsurpassed quality, imbued with the white-hot strength of the stars, without flaw or twist.

   "Iskarith, you outdo yourself with every blade. This one, however, is the best of the lot. I have never seen such craftsmanship!"

   The angel-smith bobbed his head in reverence. "Thank you, my lord. I but do His work. It is yours to keep. A gift for the Commander himself."

   The archangel laughed. "Give yourself some credit, my friend. None can better this smithy. I shall wear it with honour."

   Iskarith thanked him and returned to his business. Since His city was such a huge place, the outfitting of the new army had taken place at an absolutely stunning pace. As each new angel appeared, there was armour, greaves, bracers, sword and uniform ready, whether for the city guard, other tasks as designated by select archangels or for the regular army itself, and they were appearing en masse, already numbering far up into the millions, the number growing rapidly with each passing second. The only slow part was forging the weaponry for the officers. To get a sword of appropriate quality, only the most adept smith with the very best materials could be employed to create it - and that took time.

   He'd appointed all the deputies and senior officers as required, and chosen an archangel as his standard-bearer. His name was Zadkiel, the Righteousness of Him. He was steadfast, brave and intelligent - a fine angel for the post. Gabriel was to be the Herald, for official proclamations to whatever they would face in the way of the enemy. Several other important archangels had been given key posts. Michael thought long and hard as he descended the stairs outside the forges, trying to think if he'd missed anyone out. Hmmmm ... there was Iaoth, Sabrael, Sariel, Yarethan, Jophiel and Tyrael yet to be spoken to. And then he hadn't seen Gythial, Lamdrall or- .. damn .. he knew there was someone important who he'd left out completely. He frowned in frustration. He'd made that his priority, to talk to him about this, but then he'd gone and forgotten it completely. He called out to a newly recruited angel soldier who was passing by and asked if he'd been seen.

   "I haven't see him myself, my lord. Last thing I heard though, he was at His throne, although He isn't there Himself at the moment."

   Michael thanked him, and left immediately. The soldier was right. The throne was empty - the divine presence must have business elsewhere for a time. No doubt He would return soon, seraphim and all. The archangel arrived at the giant square in front of the massive edifice, which despite the clamour of activity in the surrounding city, was always empty when He was not there. The throne however, was not. A very distinctive brown haired angel with eyes of hazel, stood dead centre.

   Aghast, the archangel shouted up to him. "What are you doing up there?!"

   The angel smiled down at him. "Observing." The voice was clear and easy to hear, even from the height at which it was spoken.

   "You should probably come down. It's not .. uh .. very wise to be on His throne like that."

   The angel shook his head. "Come up here, Michael. I shall give you some true wisdom."

   Sighing, the archangel flew the distance and landed on the enormous throne, a metre from the angel. This did not look like it was heading in a very good direction.

   "What is it?"

   The angel ignored his question, suddenly interested in the new attire. "Armour and weapons? Let me see the sword."

   Michael unsheathed the weapon and held it in front of him. The angel gazed at it.

   "Impressive. But not nearly so as this. Watch."

   He put his hand out in front of him and stared at his palm for maybe two or three seconds. An identical blade appeared in it, right down to the finest carving in the hilt. He swished it back and forth experimentally in the air. As real as the original and just as strong.

   Michael gasped softly in trepidation. "You .. you cannot do this. I did not doubt that you had it in you, but it is NOT your place to create things like this. Creation is His power and His alone. I've already told you that and He affirmed it to me Himself when I spoke with Him earlier. We are as children when it comes to creation - we are not worthy to wield the power of our father as if it were a toy."

   "No, no, NO!" the angel cried, voice rising to a shout on the last word. "You are wrong, so wrong! Do you not see it? Do you truly still blindly think what He wishes you to think?". His face had flushed darkly, the hazel eyes filled with molten intensity. His voice lowered again, taking on an edge that it'd never had before. "Creation is an act of sheer will. It is the ultimate power in the universe and he who controls it is the master of all. You think that He forbids us from using it because He thinks the power is too great and we should somehow harm ourselves? The reason is it would make us even with Him and He, in His jealousy, cannot tolerate competitors. It is a gigantic ruse, so that it would be He and only He who would rule us .. but we do not need Him. To a lesser extent, we all have the power latent within us! But I have more - I can do everything that He can do. I have the power to make what I please, and beyond Him, I am willing to let those who would be subject to me learn from my teaching. I do not hoard it jealously but would give my tutelage for just a small price. I consider myself His equal at the very least, if not more."

   Scarcely believing what he was hearing, the archangel shook his head in disbelief. "I .. I cannot believe this. This is madness. You must know that you could run for millennia and never have even gone as far as a single of His steps. You are not and never ever will be His equal. If you end this now, He will forgive you and you can serve Him as before. I serve Him - and I am His archangel, Michael. You serve Him - and you .. you are his archangel too. You are ..."

   He trailed off, unsure of how to finish it.

   "You are Lucifer."

   Time slowed to a crawl. The air seemed to thicken and the blood pounded in the archangel's veins. So much hinged on this. He dare not think what the consequences of this might be, if these things came to pass ...

   Lucifer spoke. "I will not serve."

   "Then I have no choice but to take you into custody, in His name so that you may receive His judgement."

   "No. This throne is now mine. It is I who will rule Heaven and give judgement from it. The word has been spread to all who would listen that they are free to a better place in my reign."


   The archangel laughed so gleefully. "The seeds of dissension have been planted . How many angels will serve Him when they can become something more under me? Every minute you stand here talking to me, more angels have turned to my words. Rebellion breaks forth. Who of your army will you trust when all could be traitors?"

   As the last word was spoken, there was bright burst of light from a tower to the west, across the city. A massive column cracked, falling in two, the tower it was supporting collapsing majestically, flames erupting from the windows as it did so. Then, another noise from the east, both turning to watch. This time the wall of a palace exploded, figures struggling in the air above the building and in the wreckage. They were angels, fighting one another.

   Lucifer turned back to face Michael, mouth in a twisted gloating smile, eyes glowing violently.

   "What will you do? Heaven is burning."

   "You have started this - you shall pay for it."

   Michael lifted the sword easily and swung. His opponent parried with equal ease and then counter-struck. They were matched - in stamina, strength and speed. Every blow was met by the other's weapon, every move had a foil. They fought back and forwards, sweat running in beads across the skin of both. The only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic clang of combat, the scuffing of movement on the throne itself, against the backdrop of Heaven - the sound of flames and the shouts of angels fighting against one another as the higher plane tore itself apart. The sky was smoke filled and darkened. But one of the two had to show a gap sometime, and it was Lucifer. The archangel was a little slow on a parry, and Michael brought his blade round in a sharp riposte, scraping the unarmoured archangel's ribs viciously and cutting the robe. Immediately, blood flowed, a scarlet flower blossoming at his side. Lucifer cried out in pain, Michael seizing the moment and bringing the hilt up to cuff him across the face. The archangel fell onto his back, releasing the sword, which tumbled across the short distance to the edge of the throne, coming to a halt right on the rim. It teetered there for a second before vanishing down.

   Michael looked down, his blade trained on Lucifer's stomach. Both were still breathing heavily, but this didn't stop the latter from pleading. The hazel eyes beseeched him, implored him to have mercy. Suddenly this figure in front of him no longer seemed a threat, but tired and weak and vulnerable. He didn't want to fight, he just wanted to get along.

   "Michael, please, can't we just end this? Why ... why do we have to fight? Can't you help me with this?"

   The blonde archangel said nothing, chest still rising and falling from the fight as he caught his breath. Lucifer was right. He'd attacked him. They shouldn't be fighting. They should be resolving this peacefully. The look on his face was one of such pain and regret - Michael was no longer so sure that he's set out to do so much damage.

   "I just want you to see the good side in this. There is so much this power could do for us. It can set us free and make us independent."

   He was right again. The things they would be able to do. There was just so much possibility ...

   Michael lowered his sword slowly. Gratefully, the archangel came to his feet.

   "You've done the right thing." he said, extremely relieved. Turning to stare out over the burning city, Lucifer glanced sideways at the archangel. "You know, I could really use your help with this. We'd make a great team Michael, you and I. Haven't you ever wanted to reach out and touch this place? To mould it to your thoughts. Look at it all ... " he gestured outwards, a single arm sweep enclosing the entirety of existence " ... haven't you ever wanted the power of control in your own hands?"

   Michael looked. And for the first time ever, he realised the magnitude of what Lucifer was talking about. He was here, in the middle of Heaven, at the seat of ultimate mastery. The entire cosmos was spread in front of him - from this vantage point, everyone else were as ants. To sit on this throne as ruler, he'd have the power to make or break anything he pleased. Enemies would be crushed at a heartbeat, the world ordered to his thoughts and waiting on his every word, the angels flying to meet his slightest whim. Such untenable potency, such illimitable dominion. And it could all be his ...

   "What do you say, my friend? Will you join me and be by my side?"

   The archangel's shoulders had loosened, resignedly. The gaze went to the marble, the face solemn, hands passing the sword back and forward between them, passively. Entrenched in thought, he looked up again to Lucifer's hopeful and expectant face.

   Softly, almost downcast, he answered. "Yes, I will."

   Lucifer smiled victoriously. "This is the correct decis-"

   He was interrupted as Michael's fist smashed into his mouth, almost splitting the lip. He flew backwards, lying right at the very brink this time.

   "I will only join you at your side because you are nothing more than an angel, as I am."

   The archangel rubbed his bleeding lip in shock, the eyes narrowing and face distorting as he snarled back.

   "Dead, He is dead. Your Lord is dead to the world and it is I who has given and will give the final blow."

   "No. The only one who is dead is you. My friend and His favourite, Lucifer, the Morning Star, the brightest light in Heaven, is dead. I no longer know you. But in His name, I cast you out of Heaven. Forever."

   With that, Michael grabbed him bodily and threw him off the throne.

   The archangel Lucifer fell.

   Michael flew down, following him. Lucifer rose quickly from his prone position on the ground and as Michael came after him, he turned, and with a flick of his hand, a wall of flames appeared on the marble between them, towering high into the sky. Facing him, just a few metres away, yet completely untouchable, the archangel gestured again, this time creating a sable cloak. While he fastened it around his neck, he called across to Michael, who was watching in powerless anger behind the wall, as the archangel nonchalantly fixed the cloak to himself.

   "I will return one day in the future, to take my throne and my intended place. That day, you shall regret your decision, oh Commander of Heaven. You shall regret every single part of every single moment from then on, because I have a special fate planned for you."

   With that, a gust of wind blew across the wall of flame, making it jump and roar. Lucifer fixed him with one last look, then he turned on his heel, cloak billowing, and walked away. As he went, flames sprang up behind him, crawling outward over the buildings and walls, in a wake of destruction. The marble collapsed and in some places melted, chunks and rivulets bombarding the square, massive clouds of dust rising. As quickly as it had come, it went again, the dust settling and the flame subsiding.

   He was gone.

   Michael was about to start forward after him, when he heard a voice behind him.

   "Let Him Go, My Son."

   The archangel did not turn, but stayed facing the way he was, the way Lucifer went.

   "I see now who the enemy is, my Lord. It is us."

   "That Is Correct. That Is Your Adversary And He Will Be So For A Very Long Time."

   "How long will his rebellion last, my Lord?"

   "It Will Last Long Enough. It Will Last Until The Younger Children Finally Grow Up."

   "Younger children? We must be the elder, if there are younger, but I know of nothing younger than us."

   "They Are Not Here Yet But Will Be Very Soon. Mortal And With Only One Life To Live, But I Think You Will Find Them Intriguing."

   Michael could but nod, from his fatigue.

   The voice laughed benignly. "You Are Tired From Fighting Him, I See. On This Throne Too. Oh, And Next Time, Please Try Not To Spill Blood On It, Hmmm?"

   The archangel went bright red in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

   "That's Alright. Just As Long As It Doesn't Happen Again."

   Michael could have sworn that if He was looking at him, He would have winked. The archangel could barely stop from giggling.

   "Of course, my Lord."

   "Good." the voice chuckled. "Now It Is Time For You To Go Somewhere And Rest. Go To Eden And Enjoy It For A While. The Rebellion Has Been Stemmed And You Need A Little Time To Yourself. Also, I Give You My Promise That It Won't Rain."

   He smiled. "Thank you, my Lord."

   Leaving His presence, Michael departed for Paradise. It was time for relaxation.

- - - - -

   Far away, in the fastness of the void, the fallen angel Lucifer burned. With the masses of the fallen at his beck, he burned with the strength of his iron will and with his hatred of those who would not let him rule. He burned with hatred for those angels that stayed loyal, he burned with hatred for the archangel Michael who so stubbornly refused to see the truth. And most of all he burned with his hatred of Him. That hatred burned so strongly that his very form was wreathed in a corona of fire, blackening the skin painfully, but the pain was irrelevant, because above it all, was the lust for power, which drove him ceaselessly.

   In his own dark land, fashioned from his own thoughts, Lucifer burned. From his own city, his own palace and throne, he burned, but ever was his thoughts turned towards one throne. The one throne which mattered the most. It was his intent to get there and rule from it, no matter the cost. Making use of whatever was necessary.

   Whether by using angels, His elder children, or the new ones, the younger ones, he would get there. He would rule or destroy everything trying.

   He would not be denied.