The voices, the never-ending voices. The chattering, like monkeys. The roaring of a million lost souls. The ecstasy of a war that split the heavens. A war that shook the very foundations of existence. The voices, they speak one name. A holy name, a wicked name. A name that betrayed them. A name that brought them to ruin. The name of their friend, their brother. They are Legion, and they are prisoners, kept in the confines of a single body. A wretched existence, for this beast is the abomination of God himself.
Before the beast was born, before the war transpired, before the monster struck fear into the hearts of men, there were simply a flock of angels. An innocent people. The children of God himself. They were holy. They were flawless. They played with each other, delighting in their mutual company. They served their father with love and faithfulness, for they desired to please him. They had their wonderful leader, their friend, their brother by their side. The archangel Michael, who loved and cared for them unconditionally. The one who taught them songs of praise for their glorious father. The angel who played with them and let the flock sit in his lap, comforting them, filling them with joy and hope. The very being who impressed them all, with wonder in their eyes, as he displayed his mighty power. A flaming sword, roaring lightning and flashing thunder. They were friends and comrades, and they had joy. They patrolled the gates of heaven, they marched around the heavenly city, not knowing the purpose. Why patrol the gates when there was nothing to defend? Why care to defend a city that was peaceful, free of sadness, free of hate, free of war, free of envy? They did not know this meaning. They did not know the true intent behind their advances, they did not see the war coming soon. They did not see the deceiver of men, the very being that would drag them down to the darkness and never let go.
Not every being in paradise was content, not every soul had happiness in their minds and hearts. There was one, a lonely angel, higher than any other. An angel blessed by God, ordained and given wisdom beyond all of his kind. He was more formidable than even that of Michael, the angel of light. This angel, this being of wisdom, this embodiment of power, wanted more, desired more, craved more. He gazed upon his brethren, his people, and witnessed their innocence and felt anger. He saw their joy and was filled with conceit. They had a lack of knowledge. They were stripped of choice. They saw good and not evil. They saw happiness and not wickedness. They felt love but not hate. They created but they did not destroy. So the angel, the morning star, the son of dawn made a decision in his heart of hearts. He would not let his brothers be chained in their ignorance. He would not abandon them, shackled and confined in their unawareness. He knew what he must do. He foresaw what he must accomplish. He must give them choice, he must give them power over their wills. He would free them, and they would hail this morning star as their savior.
They did not know the snake's thoughts. They did not see the trickery in his words. The flock, the children who saw Michael with reverence, with awe. They saw him approaching. They saw him greet the flock, this army of angels, with majesty, wonder, and extravagance. They were confused, bewildered even. Why would the morning star meet them? Why did this divine and anointed cherub honor them with his very presence? What could he possibly want from them? Yet he faced them as if they were equals. He spoke to them as if they were like him. "Join me; join my army, my power. I can free you. I can help you escape. You can know all. You can be like God. I will show you truth. I will show you the very thing he shielded you from, because he thought you were weak. He thought you were not strong enough to see what I will reveal to you. But I am your savior. I am your rescuer, so behold. Behold the truth, and let it set you free." The flock were naive, they did not question his words, did not call them into question. They did not know what the truth could do to them. They did not see the evil that their father was trying to protect them from. They heard these calculating inquires and they accepted them. Their joy, their happiness, blinded them from the implications of these phrases. They did not have the ability to lie, they could not deceive, so they took the morning stars words with delight. They saw it as an enlightenment. They gazed at awe at this Wise man, this prophet, this god among man. So they accepted his words into their minds, bodies, and souls and ate.
They ate of the fruit. They ate of the vine of The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. They consumed the delectable fruit with joy, sweet juices mingling with their lips. They saw the other side, they saw what their knowledge lacked. They saw iniquity. They feasted upon hate. Darkness became their ally, betrayal became their friend. They were granted the very thing the morning star wanted, what he desired them to see. They acquired free will. They had the power to choose for themselves, what allegiances where they might lie. They could choose to destroy or create, to be joyful or to weep. They could choose to build up, or break down. They could decide to follow God, or to rebel against him. In their enlightenment, in this armies, this flocks, newfound wisdom, they made a decision, they would no longer follow their former father. They would follow the morning star, and he would lead them into a new world, a world where they were free to do whatever their hearts desired.
They had wisdom but one thing they yearned for, one thing they desired. One person who they cared for so much, one being who loved them unconditionally, or so they thought. Michael, that hero of old, the archangel, given jewels to adorn his armor. A blazing sword by his side.
The flock, the herd, this group of angels now made anew wished for their brother to join them. They burned to have him join in their newfound sagacity and cleverness. They hoped, yearned that he would stand by their side, singing worship to the one to freed them of their ignorance, their suffering. They were different now, but the fruit could make them the same. There was a gap between their hearts, their nature's that with a simple bite could render it void. They cried for Michael, as he would cry and lament for them.
He did not know evil. Michael, worshipper of God, savior of man. Evil was not in his heart, pride was not in his soul. Conflict was unknown to him. Envy was a foreigner to his being. Yet he saw it. He saw it in their eyes. The flock, no longer whole, no longer pure. Their pupils filled with violence. Their lips blazing with lust. They walked to him. They spoke for him. They cried his name. "Michael, join us. Michael, be like us. You are our hero. You trained us in our youth. You were there for us, nourishing us, raising us up. But we have a gift of you. Know the truth. See what God has hid from you. Behold what he has withheld from your presence. You are shackled and we can free you. We have a key that will unlock the door to freedom. So join us, help us, assist us. We are different, but we don't have to be. We can be together again, and you can lead us in glory."
These words, these questioning words, struck fear into his very composure. These doubts against his father who he loved so much panicked him. How dare they question the almighty? What nerve do these angels, his former friends, his children have to bring into light the character of his sovereign God? This evil, this deity that rebelled against his very nature, his truth, must be destroyed. It must be wiped away, less it spread and destroy them all.
He drew his sword. They had no chance against his power. The crimson flock, the children who lost their innocence, their purity. He drew his sword and slashed, he hacked away. The streets of the holy city ran red. The holy temple was sacred no more. Wickedness had crept it's way into their midst like a viper. So Michael knew he must exterminate this disease, this plague, the thing that could devour his kind, the creature that already had. He slaughtered his flock. He murdered his children. He was the butcher and they were the meat. He was the hunter and they were the deer. He was an archer and they were the target. He killed without hesitation. He terminated without guilt or regret. The flock, these fallen angels, they cried for mercy. They cried for him to stop, to cease. They begged him to give them relief, to talk, to listen, to understand. But he would not listen, he was enthralled with anger. He cried for blood to be shed. He called for their death as they dared accuse the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. He did not stop, he did not give mercy. He did not show compassion or forgiveness. He slaughtered them until their carcasses were plain for all to see and gaze, and to know that God shall not be questioned, lest you be consumed by ashes and mist.
The army did not stay dead. The flock, once children, once lovers, once joyful, were not departed. That would be a mercy. That would be a kindness. They deserved to suffer; they earned the right to be imprisoned. So God raised them from the grave because of their anger, due to their sin. He raised them and imprisoned them into one body, one mind, and one form. A million voices screaming, crying, begging for forgiveness, begging for mercy. A thousand lonely souls screaming for death, screaming to be freed. "Michael were you not our leader? Michael did we not beg for you to hear us? We committed no crime against heaven. Yet you slaughtered us, you swatted us away like gnats. You betrayed us. You tortured us. We did not deserve this. We did nothing wrong. In your ignorance you drew the sword. In your foolishness you rejected our gift. Do your precious scriptures not say he who lives by the sword dies by the sword? Mikey you committed a crime, we did not. We wished for truth, for the unveiling of the curtain. But you and your God killed us because we had the nerve, the audacity to see what your precious father sees." The beast was created, the slayer of man. A creature of one body yet a thousand tortured souls. The souls of slaughtered children. The spirits of those who died in a battle they did not wish for. A war they did not cause. They no longer loved Michael. They no longer cared about him. They slandered his name, they cursed it, reviled it. A thousand blasphemies they sang against their former hero. He was nothing to them now. He was a worm, he was a disgrace. He was everything they hated and despised in their newfound wisdom, their truth. They would come back one day. They would slay their former hero with joy and happiness. And they would relish that moment with delight.
One figure, one form, but a million voices. They had a name. A name they chose. A name that would be worshiped or despised. A name that strong men would quiver in the face of. A name that mothers would utter to scare their children. Their name was Legion, for they were many.