being something he claimed for himself. The angels Michael and Gabriel, curse them!, had names uttered by the creator of those devoted creatures. But when Nisroc, Angelique, and the hordes of other lost servants had rebelled, they were not only stripped of their given Forever names, but even the memory of those names had been erased.
Nisroc sighed and stared ahead of him into impenetrable darkness. He wondered idly what his real God-given name had been. Was it Daniel? Was it Jebidiah?
He also wondered what kept him warm in this blasted frozen wasteland of nothing unless it was hatred, pure and simple. Vitriol flooded his veins and swelled his heart. He hated Angelique. She was no more female than he was male, but she had taken the reins of power in the NetherPlace, proclaiming herself Queen of the Damned. And she had said to them, the horde of cast out angels, “I am woman. I am your queen.”
His lips curled into a smile so brutal and sarcastic that it could have turned a neutron star to dust sifting through the galaxies. How quaint a title she gave herself. She should have called herself Angelique, Whore Dog of the Universe. Or Angelique, Foul Monster of All Creation. Something more appropriate to her real character. How dare she call herself a queen.
When Nisroc thought of Angelique, as he often did because she was the most powerful among them and because he had centuries of time in which to think, he felt a curious fury churning in the deep cauldron of his chest. She held the power of Earth life over him. She gave it and she took it away. She had only gifted him with that beautiful life twice and the second time she had sorely found him wanting.
For that one mistake--though he agreed it was a large one--she made him suffer. Alone, cut off even from his brethren, the other Fallen Ones. He lived in solitary while the stars died and birthed, while galaxies spun into extinction, while the Earth filled with more and more humans, some of whom still had hope and faith and goodness and souls that strived toward perfection.
“You ruined it all,” she had said.
As if he didn’t know. As if he was stupid as an animal or a human. He knew at what cost he’d lost the life of Caesar. He knew they might have been able to take full control of the entire world. He knew he was…
A failure.
He looked left and right, as if expecting a blast of light to penetrate the unfathomable dark that embraced him. A light that would remark on his truthfulness and then ask him questions he could never begin to answer.
He said it aloud, just to hear himself speak. I am a failure, a miserable failure. His voice was mellifluous and captivating, the voice of an angel.
Yes, he’d failed, but hadn’t he suffered enough? Didn’t Angelique make drastic mistakes herself, like taking over the dead body of a child? Yet she went without chastisement. Only he was punished, forced into spending eternities in the void.
Alone.
He didn’t expect justice. That was one thing that would always be denied him. But he did yearn with every fiber of his being to be flesh again, to feel the wind on his skin, to savor the chill of water cascading over his face, to walk in the sun and lie naked beneath the moon. He wanted flavor on his tongue like he remembered from before. Cherries, red and juicy, figs brown and meaty, the mouth-watering taste of goat roasted with garlic cloves and the heady scent of wine sweet with honey. He wanted all of it, everything, Every Thing, that could only be experienced on Earth. On the perfect planet.
Men. Oh the men and women who had been given the Earth as their home, never once realizing how precious it was! His envy was so large it was like a boulder on his wide shoulders. Men were stunted, powerless, and without a shred of worthiness; they lived short and ridiculous lives. Why had all of it been given to them? He, on the other hand, once incarnated, could conceivably live for hundreds of years, thousands! He’d never make
Nisroc sighed and stared ahead of him into impenetrable darkness. He wondered idly what his real God-given name had been. Was it Daniel? Was it Jebidiah?
He also wondered what kept him warm in this blasted frozen wasteland of nothing unless it was hatred, pure and simple. Vitriol flooded his veins and swelled his heart. He hated Angelique. She was no more female than he was male, but she had taken the reins of power in the NetherPlace, proclaiming herself Queen of the Damned. And she had said to them, the horde of cast out angels, “I am woman. I am your queen.”
His lips curled into a smile so brutal and sarcastic that it could have turned a neutron star to dust sifting through the galaxies. How quaint a title she gave herself. She should have called herself Angelique, Whore Dog of the Universe. Or Angelique, Foul Monster of All Creation. Something more appropriate to her real character. How dare she call herself a queen.
When Nisroc thought of Angelique, as he often did because she was the most powerful among them and because he had centuries of time in which to think, he felt a curious fury churning in the deep cauldron of his chest. She held the power of Earth life over him. She gave it and she took it away. She had only gifted him with that beautiful life twice and the second time she had sorely found him wanting.
For that one mistake--though he agreed it was a large one--she made him suffer. Alone, cut off even from his brethren, the other Fallen Ones. He lived in solitary while the stars died and birthed, while galaxies spun into extinction, while the Earth filled with more and more humans, some of whom still had hope and faith and goodness and souls that strived toward perfection.
“You ruined it all,” she had said.
As if he didn’t know. As if he was stupid as an animal or a human. He knew at what cost he’d lost the life of Caesar. He knew they might have been able to take full control of the entire world. He knew he was…
A failure.
He looked left and right, as if expecting a blast of light to penetrate the unfathomable dark that embraced him. A light that would remark on his truthfulness and then ask him questions he could never begin to answer.
He said it aloud, just to hear himself speak. I am a failure, a miserable failure. His voice was mellifluous and captivating, the voice of an angel.
Yes, he’d failed, but hadn’t he suffered enough? Didn’t Angelique make drastic mistakes herself, like taking over the dead body of a child? Yet she went without chastisement. Only he was punished, forced into spending eternities in the void.
Alone.
He didn’t expect justice. That was one thing that would always be denied him. But he did yearn with every fiber of his being to be flesh again, to feel the wind on his skin, to savor the chill of water cascading over his face, to walk in the sun and lie naked beneath the moon. He wanted flavor on his tongue like he remembered from before. Cherries, red and juicy, figs brown and meaty, the mouth-watering taste of goat roasted with garlic cloves and the heady scent of wine sweet with honey. He wanted all of it, everything, Every Thing, that could only be experienced on Earth. On the perfect planet.
Men. Oh the men and women who had been given the Earth as their home, never once realizing how precious it was! His envy was so large it was like a boulder on his wide shoulders. Men were stunted, powerless, and without a shred of worthiness; they lived short and ridiculous lives. Why had all of it been given to them? He, on the other hand, once incarnated, could conceivably live for hundreds of years, thousands! He’d never make
Similar Books
