Too deviant for the heaven, too holy for hell, released unto a dark world, A world where fear and evil reigned, and where there was no hope for life to ever grow upon it. The Fallen landed.
There was no light. No way to sustain life.
The Fallen were bright compared to their surroundings, but they were no longer divine. The white of their feathers darkened as their souls fell victim to the darkness of the world in which they had landed.
The darkness was overwhelming. There was silence all around. Then out of the silence could be heard one sound. A shriek. So terrifying a call for help. The cry of a woman.
The youngest Fallen looked to his brothers. He spoke the first words of that world. "Our time has come." And with a short nod, he turned away, knowing his brothers would follow.
"Prophet," the oldest spoke.
The youngest turned to his brother.
"How are we to see?" the oldest asked him.
Prophet turned to the shortest of his brothers. "Mystic, light our way," he demanded.
The shortest nodded, and taking a step forward, sent a huge ball of fire to the sky. This lit the face of the void they'd landed upon.
All that could be seen were shadows. Despite the pale yellow fire that lit the way, the sky remained gray.
"Do not fear," Prophet said. "We must keep marching on."
So Mystic and the other three turned to follow their youngest brother.
On and on they marched into the dreary grey nothingness. Surrounding them was only shadows. Mystic attempted to light the shadows with bits of fire, but they were only snuffed out to sparks, which whizzed away into the distance.
Prophet held out a hand for the others to stop. He tilted his head slightly to the right. "Do you hear that?" he asked in a hushed whisper.
A shrill, almost silent scream echoed from the seeming distance.
"Where's it coming from?" Mystic asked.
Then Prophet dropped to his knees and lowered his cheek to the ground. The shrieking seemed to grow louder, but only slightly.
"Destroyer!" Prophet called to the tallest of his brothers, who was but a few inches shorter than he.
Destroyer hurried forward. "Yes, brother?" he asked.
"We need to get through. The call is from under the ground," Prophet explained.
Destroyer nodded. "Stand back!" he ordered his brothers. The Fallen took a wary step back, away from their brother.
Destroyer took two quick, running steps, then punched the ground as hard as possible. A great rift was opened in the ground, kicking up the stale, grey dust to reveal rich, black soil, then the hollows of the inside of the world in which they stood.
Destroyer stood, and turned to face his brothers. The other four Fallen were hurriedly brushing the dust from their bodies.
Prophet nodded to Destroyer. "Onward," he said. And the Fallen continued. Right down into the great rift created by Destroyer.
Mystic stooped down near the edge of the rift. He took a hand full of the soil in his hand.
"Not now!" Prophet whined.
Mystic shot his little brother an angry look. "Whomever we are after to rescue may need this. Are you going to deprive them for the sake of time?"
Prophet looked from Mystic to his eldest brother, who nodded.
"Fine!" Prophet sighed.
Mystic stared intently at the soil in his hand. And with a soft voice, he began to sing. It was a soft, sweet song in a sacred tongue.
Slowly, a small green sprout arose from the black soil. Mystic held his free hand out flat over the soil, and dripped a small amount of water into it to feed the plant. Carefully, he placed the soil back on the ground at the edge of the rift.
"Mourner," Mystic said.
The quietest of the Fallen stepped forward. He looked down at the little plant; the only color in a grey world.
"Be strong. Live long," Mourner spoke. And the little green sprout seemed to stretch just the tiniest bit towards the fire in the sky.
"Great, you made your little green thing-"
"It's called a plant!" Mystic interrupted.
"-plant," Prophet corrected himself. With a huff, Prophet turned to his oldest brother. "Is she near?"
The oldest nodded and searched the horizon for a moment. Then, without warning, he broke off in a dead run.
Mourner turned his senses to those of the girl, and took off after the oldest.
Destroyer and Mystic looked to Prophet.
"Well? Follow them!" the youngest ordered, motioning for them to continue.
The three Fallen hurried after their brothers.
"I don't like the feel of this," Mystic said. He kept his senses turned to the spirits. "They grow more hostile the further we go."
Prophet gave his brother a stern look. "We must go on. For her."
Mystic nodded. He, Destroyer and Prophet continued on until they finally caught up to their two brothers.
The two Fallen had stopped dead in the middle of a wide open space.
"Mystic! We need light!" the oldest ordered.
"It's no use," Mystic said, a note of defeat in his voice. "The shadows are too strong. My light is always put out."
The oldest Fallen cursed under his breath. "I need to see. She's here. Somewhere." He paced about in a mindless way, a lost expression on his face.
"Just…please, can you at least try?" Mourner begged for the sake of his older brother.
Mystic nodded and released a bit of light into the air.
The oldest leaped forward and pushed his brothers behind him just as a huge, winged shadow creature flew over the light and absorbed it.
Destroyer stepped forward and slammed his palm into the shadow creature. The force of the impact shattered the shadow, and tiny bits of black glass fell to the ground.
Mystic stooped down to examine a shard of the glass. A bit of fire was added to it, and it melted down into a thick, hot magma.
"Is this light enough for you?" Mystic demanded, holding the dim ember out to his oldest brother.
"I need more," he said, shaking his head confusedly again.
Mystic lit the path of the shadow-glass scattered along the ground.
"That's good," the oldest said.
Mourner gently touched his brother's shoulder. "Hush. It will be well," he said softly.
The oldest seemed to melt into his brother's gentle touch.
Mourner tilted his head a bit towards the right. His eyes fell closed and his whole body relaxed. Moments later, his eyes snapped open and he took off again. The others followed him.
Mourner stopped dead in his tracks again. "Mystic," he ordered.
Mystic responded by casting a ball of fire out into the shadows. It was snuffed out, but it seemed to have been enough.
Mourner took off again, slightly to the left this time. His oldest brother right on his heels.
Mystic attempted to light the path again, as he approached is brothers.
Mourner was on his knees, his whole body thrown over a slight figure. All that could be seen was a sheet of long, ebony hair.
"Deviant!" Mourner called. The oldest, who was crouched protectively in front of Mourner and whomever he was protecting, held out a hand.
Another shadow creature flew towards them. But they weren't attacking the Fallen. They were after the girl.
Deviant instantly stood and hit the shadow as hard as he could. It shattered to glass just as another came after him.
"Mystic!" Prophet warned, pointing to the glass shards as they attempted to reassemble.
Mystic reacted by lighting the glass with fire, making it melt down into an eerie glow.
Destroyer jumped in beside Deviant, helping to shelter the shadow creatures as they attacked. Mystic stood behind them, instantly lighting the shattered glass.
A bit of magma touched the girl, and she cried out in pain. "We have to get her out of here," Mourner said, holding tight to her body.
Prophet looked down at Mourner, the way he held tight to the girl. He nodded, and gently stooped down to help the two up. But the girl was too weak to hold her own weight.
"Give her to me," Prophet said, softly. Mourner looked down at the girl's pale face. A pair of crystal blue eyes were struggling to stay open under heavy eye lids.
"Rest," Mourner said. "We'll take care of you. It will be okay." And with that, he carefully allowed Prophet to lift the girl up into his arms.
"Go ahead," Deviant said. "Get her out of here. We've got this." The oldest turned back to destroying the shadows that attempted to attack the girl.
Mourner and Prophet turned away and followed the path of magma back to the rift. "Holy-" Mourner started as he stepped into the light cast down through the rift.
Prophet looked up where his brother was pointing. The small plant Mystic had created earlier was now a tall, sturdy tree. "That must have been one hell of a blessing you put on it. For it to grow so much, so fast?" Prophet said. Mourner only chuckled a bit, then used the roots to carefully climb his way out.
Prophet simply vanished into thin air, only to reappear under the shadow of the tree's green leaves. He gently laid the girl down against the tree's trunk. Her bright eyes fluttered open. Prophet crouched down beside the girl, gently clasping his hands while his elbows rested on his knees. The girl's breathing picked up as her eyes caught on Prophet. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped open with fear and astonishment.
"Hush. I'm not going to hurt you," Prophet said in almost a whisper.
Mourner crouched down on the other side of the girl, carefully folding his wings back. Then he motioned to Prophet, who's wings were flared out to either side. "Put them away. You're scaring her."
Prophet looked down at the girl's frightened expression and nodded. Without another word, he carefully tucked his big, black feathered wings against his back.
"A-are you th-the sh-shadow k-keeper?" the girl asked.
Prophet looked questioningly to Mourner. But the older only shook his head. "If you mean to ask if we control the shadow creatures, then no. We're here to keep them away from you." Prophet replied.
"Why were they attacking you?" Mourner asked, softly.
The girl only stared at them for a moment. Then she burst into tears. Prophet shot his brother an angry look for upsetting her. Mourner ignored his brother, though. Instead, he reached out and pulled the girl against his chest. He quietly hushed her and rocked back and forth, soothingly, with the girl in his arms. She buried her head in Mourner's chest.
"It's okay, sweetie. We won't let them get you. You're safe. You'll be okay. I promise," Mourner whispered in her ear.
Prophet settled down on the grey dust under the shade of the tree. He lightly cleared his throat. Then he began to sing. His deep voice spun words of comfort and strength about the shade of the tree. From his song, everything seemed to gain strength. The elves of the tree grew brighter and stretched towards the fire in the sky. The girl also seemed to strengthen. Her tears dried. Her eyes brightened. She sat up a little, but still allowed Mourner to hold her.
"Shh! Don't disturb them," Deviant hissed to his brothers as they climbed from the rift. Destroyer and Mystic climbed up on either side of the oldest Fallen. The three stood and watched as their brothers comforted the girl.
"Mystic," Deviant shorter man looked to his oldest brother. "We need to close the rift before the shadows get out," Deviant reminded his brothers.
"You said the shadows can't destroy anything without a sense of fear, correct," Destroyer asked the oldest. Deviant nodded. "Something like the tree?" Destroyer offered, gently reaching up to stroke an overhanging limb.
"Well I guess," Deviant said.
"Are you suggesting we close the rift with the tree?" Mystic asked.
"Well, if the shadows can't get through it," Destroyer said.
"And how do you suggest we do that?" Mystic demanded.
Deviant studied the edge of the rift where a few of the tree's roots were exposed. "What if we used the roots?" he suggested.
"So…what? We use the roots to sew the rift shut?" Mystic asked.
"You mean how one would sew up a wound?" Destroyer clarified.
"It's worth a shot," Deviant said. So Mystic nodded and crouched down beside the rift. For a moment he just sat with his eyes closed and a hand on the tree's root. Then he began to sing. The girl cried out in fear as the ground began to shake, Without even thinking, Deviant ran to her aid.
Prophet stood and glared angrily at Deviant. "Are you three insane? You're frightening her!" he scolded.
Deviant placed a hand on his brother's chest. "Prophet, would you calm down? We're closing the rift. We're locking the shadows down there so they can never harm her again," he explained. Then he turned his attention to the girl. She was still clinging tight to Mourner, who was whispering in her ear. "We're sealing the rift. The shadows won't be able to get out. Ever," Deviant assured her.
"Mystic, hurry! They're getting closer!" Destroyer warned.
Mystic's eyebrows furrowed, and he quickened the pace of his song. The tree's roots quickly began to weave themselves together, carefully closing over the rift.
"Faster," Destroyer demanded.
Mystic worked faster, but it wasn't enough. Just as the last root fell into place, a single shadow creature escaped through the small space that had yet to be covered. The girl screamed as the shadow rushed straight towards her. But Deviant was not about to let that happen. He jumped out between the two, his wings flared. The mouth of the shadow creature opened wide and released the most horrid shriek. Deviant growled back and then lunged toward the shadow creature. Behind the fighting pair, Mourner readjusted his hold on the girl so that she was completely shielded from the shadow. Prophet crouched down in front of Mourner so as to create one more wall between the girl and the shadow. Destroyer hurried over to join his oldest brother in battle. Even with the Fallen's two strongest fighters, the shadow creature proved difficult to defeat. Both of the Fallen were exhausted from the fighting.
Deviant cried out in pain as the shadow creature bit down, hard, on his forearm. Destroyer reacted by wrapping an arm around the shadow's neck and wrenching it's head back, away from Deviant's body. There was an awful creaking sound as something in the shadow creature broke under Destroyer's strength. Deviant lashed out and swung a mean right hook into the shadow's chest, leaving behind the ringing echo of breaking glass.
"Get out of my way so I can burn the damned thing," Mystic growled, shoving his brothers aside. With a blast of fire, he melted the glass to magma, then began to sing, forming the dirt up over it.
"Good spirits, curse this evil shadow that it may never rise back up . Condemn it to suffer in a boiling pit, hidden from this world's inhabitants by a pile of earth, stone, and life for the rest of eternity. Let it's brethren be forever damned, as well, to be forever tortured by the glowing remains of the shadows that have been destroyed. Allow them to burn, knowing they never again may be the fear of the living." His four brothers fell silent for a moment as Mourner cursed and sealed the shadows.
Mystic hurried to the aid of his oldest brother. With a short healing song, Deviant's arm was completely scarred over.
Mourner allowed the girl to shift round back into his lap. This time, however, she sat with her back against his chest. Mourner wrapped his arms protectively around her waist. The rest of the Fallen sat down in a circle facing her.
"Who are you," Prophet demanded.
The girl seemed to think about tit for a moment. "I don't really know,
she said.
"Well, what's your name?" Deviant asked.
"I don't have one. At least…I don't think I do."
Mystic smiled softly at her. "Would you like to have a name?" he asked sweetly.
The girl tilted her head slightly to the side. "Tell my your names, first," she demanded.
"I'm Mourner," said the Fallen holding her.
"I'm Mystic," said the shortest.
"I'm Destroyer," said the second tallest.
"I'm Deviant," said the oldest.
"I'm Prophet," said the tallest, but youngest. "And we are the Fallen Angels."
All five extended their wings so the tips of their feathers brushed those of the one's sitting next to them.
"Would you like us to give you a name?" Mystic offered again. The girl nodded. Mystic looked to Prophet. "You have control of the words. You name her," he ordered.
Prophet studied her face for moment. For the first time since they'd found her, the youngest actually saw her. She had bright, shining blue eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, pale ivory skin, perfect pink lips, a pointed chin, long eyelashes, a narrow waist, and long, thick black hair. But there was something more about her. Something inside her. Something that would prove her to be the most beautiful being to ever walk the face of that world.
"Synnova," Prophet said, smiling with satisfaction.
"Well, it's pretty, but what does it mean?" she asked.
"A beautiful sight," Deviant replied. "And I must agree. You are quite beautiful, inside and out."
"Well," Mourner began. "Synnova it is." He gently slid her off his lap and stood, then extended a hand to help her up.
"Well, Synnova, this world is yours. How would you like me to shape it?" Mystic asked.
So, with Mourner and Deviant on either side of her, Synnova began telling Mystic how to create her kingdom. Destroyer used his powers to remove the awful gray dust so Mystic had fresh soil to work with. As something new came into existence, Prophet named it, and Mourner blessed it. Soon, a beautiful world had been created, and the evil shadows were forgotten as they no longer posed a threat. The Fallen found there was no longer a need for them.
"Do you have to go?" Synnova asked for seemingly the hundredth time as she swung Mourner's hand with hers.
"I'm afraid so," Prophet told her.
"But I'll be all alone," she said.
"No, you won't You have all of your creations," Mystic reminded her.
"But they're not like you or me," Synnova pointed out.
Prophet looked to his brothers. Without a word, they all seemed to come to a conclusion. Each of the Fallen separated a small bit of himself. Mourner left some of his comfort. Deviant left some of his protection. Destroyer left some o this strength. Mystic left some of his skill. Prophet left some of his knowledge. These parts combined to create a companion to comfort, protect, hold, create for, teach, and love Synnova. They named him Vilhelm, meaning strong mind and protection. Then, with great sorrow, the Fallen took off into the night sky.
Cast down from the heaven that watches over us, they are the guardians of our world. Forever in the shadows, only appearing when they are needed most. They are the Fallen Angels.