The Divine resentment, breaks the path to Ascendence.
Heavens crumble. For the new reversed metamorphose of valor, swords and spears have been rised, angels singing the hymn of crimson glory.
Backwards walking in a funeral march The Fate crumbled to pieces, shards and luminescents, reflecting the imposibility of transcedence nor through eveil nor through good.
"There is no sin without a virtue and there is no purity without misery. " Rathma
Both unite in their ways completing the circle of nature in a perfect duality of cause. As a world is not a fine diamond, just an alteration of both good and eveil. Both untaned, as they are the wild expressions of the ablazing soul.
"Understanding the enigmas of Cosmos is the the only ladder to ascendence and true Divinity. " Itherael
Graveyard of hope
Imperius burned like a bonefire, ablazed in shades of crimson red as the anger took the best of him, striping him off of any dignity he had left.
Holding Solarion tight in his iron fist of war, he clenched his tense body struck by a shiver wich can only be known as betray. Disgust.
This empowering baptize in the spark of wrath turned him into a warroir of plumbum vertigo.
"I am at peace. I did the right thing in helping my children defend their souls." The kneling angel whispered as rivers of his own angelic silver blood fell in torrents over the trembling body who neared it's final moment. This courage was the torch for Heaven's real metamorphose, but they were not ready to abandon the old and welcome the new. For now, they circled blind, around the same tight ways digging, snoring in sharp laughs of ignorance to their own grave.
"I did the right thing, and my legacy will be shown by time."
Proud lied dying the very first offering of Imperius to the pagan specter who possessed his being. Specter's name was Wrath, one as old as the Universe, and his adoration towards the mystic Utopia will be the testament written in waves of blood to testify the strengths of the bold iron fisted Archangel.
"SILENCE!"
And there was silence.
An icy silence born out of fear condamned the angelic host to a detriment of abandonment.
From that very moment, the respect Itherael hold for Imperius faded away.
The twisted Image of this restless animalic spirit possessed his judgement, filling the Archangel with bitter resentment. Resentment that his divinity could not forgive nor forget, only bash harshly at, in the safety of his layers flourished in a solemn secrecy.
Only the scream of Imperius remained to echo for a long time in Itherael's head, far after all of this has passed under the kingdom of the past. Hazy, the vague image of an impaled angel who imposed might, even in death, swirled wild but only as a flash - a falling star, a precious jewell of Anu's broken crown, reversed by the ignorance of angels - forced to impose defiance and expose rot.
The Prophet, as he called himself martyr, sealer of the border between humanity and Divinity of Heavens.
This acceptance of duality, reversed the sacred scriptures of the Code Of Heavens, expanding their tight universe to the road never taken. Road wich became the Witch humans burned in bonefires for sealing peace with the deceiving demons disguised as prophetic gods of safety. Gods-(demons) who offered peace for blood, but this peace was just a veil, placed over the eyes of the smothered.
"WE NEED TO FIND A WAY TO FORTIFY THE ANGELS, MAKE THEM INVINCIBLE!" Imperius screamed loud, opening his arms like a fan as he waited, impatient for an answer.
"We can baptize them in the Light of Anu when they are born and when they leave and come from the battlefield. Like humans do with their ch..." But the fiery fist of Imperius punched violently the stomach of Tyrael storming the mortal in a restless wave of stumbling moves. He screamed, his helpless voice echoing alone through the empty halls of Heavens as there was no one to lift a finger to aid him.
"Brother!" Too late, Auriel and Itherael moved in defense of their fallen brother who jerked his teeth, humiliated.
"DO NEVER COME AT ME WITH THE WAYS OF THOSE BORN OF SIN! I AM TIRED OF THEIR VERY EXISTENCE! UNDERSTAND ME BROTHERS!" The ruby wings flickered like ribons caught in a storm, the voice erupted violent from the being of disgrated grace. Flaming the silky essence of Imperius twitched inside the metal armor what became too small for him. Little were the words used to express how deeply his disgust loathed inside his mind, heart, soul and essence.
"Violence is not a virtue of Anu brother, but the whip of Tathment!" Itherael was speaking firm the words rested in the air, impregnating the atmosphere with shame.
"Itherael is right Imperius!" Auriel hissed before Imperius could speak again.
Then Valor felt small in action, now he felt small in being.
He watched the copper fist that planted with rush in the soft stomach of Tyrael, only contempt entraceing his being.
Disgust!
This was the feeling he experienced since he learned of the blasphemy of Inarius.
This was the essence that feed him since then.
In every shape of existence, disgust materialized itself in each aspect of everything shaping the vision of Imperius, to a tight ivory tower always in flames. But sadly, there was no one to save him out of this ruin of desolate degradation. Only he had to be the saviour of all. The one who carried the fate of Heavens on his back, through the hazard of the infamous Oblivion. And with this conviction sealed in secrecy upon himself, Imperius drink the bitter cup of truth, marching forward Utopia.
"Brother, I know you feel desoriented! But please, take a moment to rest, do not act on haste or hatred as this are not virtues." Imperius grabbed tight the collar of Itherael holding him up in the air. He wanted to strike him down,...
He felt the impediment in reaching safety was now his brother Iterael, but his urges told him otherwise.
"NEVER SPEAK SO LIGHTLY OF ME AGAIN! ITHERAEL !" The scream echoed far, to the bloody gates of hell, exposing the weakness of the strongest angel to the lords of hell who laught at such paranoia.
But their lips were sealed, as they waited patient for the future to unfold, only then they could act again. Now, they simply fell into the deep slumber of hibernation.
Itherael just drew his sword out heading it to the wings of the restless Imperius.
"Silencing me with your force will never bring peace." Firm, Itherarl's words struck inside the wild heart of Imperius, like an arrow. After he said his words he vanished in a cloud of smoke, materializing far from Imperius, the sword still clutched in his palm.
"BOTH OF YOU END IT!" Tyrael screamed jumping in between the angels who were ready for a fight for honor and dominance. "My intention was only to help, not to disturb you brothers. I am terribly sorry. But this is not the time for violence. What would the Demon Lords do if they saw us like this? They would use our fear to create a path for themselfs." Breathing rashpy Tyrael spoke loud, his body shrinking from pain. An ungloved hand clutched tight around the reopened wound from his stomach who screamed in burning agony.
"Tyrael is right! We can not leave ourselfs play in the hands of the Demons. We need to be united and whole, as we have always been. Shatter the eveil eye that feel upon our home. Rebuilding the Heavens, fortifying the angels. This are our duties." Auriel spoke the truth in a bland tone, her violet wings opened wide. Each of her movements emanated a sense of peace and security, watching her, Tyrael felt his pain dissipate as he absorbed the high energy from her words. "And you Imperius, leave your anger aside! Understand that humanity has saved us from Oblivion."
"Sister, you are asking too much from me!" Stiff, Imperius hissed loud. As he heard the reason of his sorrow being praised. How easy they spoke of their weakness, how easy they let their lifes hang in the hands of the abominations of Ianrius and the daughter of the demon lord.
Closing his wings tight around his body, Imperius sighed feeling how all the words of his bretherin cut through him like a thousend swords. The fury boiled venomous within him, blocking all the paths to valor. He then flyed off as he desired not to hurt his angelic brothers in another vertigo of rage.
Tyrael crumbled sore to the ground the sensation of his blood flowing reversed had him tearing in ache.
"Let's get him on Sanctuary." Auriel told as her hand laied useless over the shoulder of Tyrael.
"No!" There was a rush in Tyrael's tone, a fear unmeasured. "The nephalem may come to the Heavnes and ravage it all in an attempt to protect me."
"But..."
"He is right Auriel. Let's get him to my layers, I'll carry him."
And all of them left, to the desolate libraries of Fate, where time itself stopped.
Serenity floated around tge Library of fate, a silent hymn of liberation mengled through the atmosphere. But in Tyrael's soul the shards of pain crushed deep within his smothered heart.
He sighed loud, drawing the attention of Itherael who dropped the scrolls of fate, sprinting alarmed towards his suffering brother. But there was nothing gruwesome, or terrible. Just a notion of acute sorrow lingering through the soul of Justice.
'Have I done the right choice?' Tyrael began to ask the words that had his heart spinning.
Liberating, heroic, beautiful was the dream of mortality, but when it morphed into reality it became the burden of eons. As the truth of verity spoke to him in sharp notions of abandonment and chaos, Tyrael became to understand what he had lost.
His seraphic existence hanged hollow around his dreams crushing the foundation of it all. With the change of vision the glimpses of his past glory became a bitter goal that rushed his venom out onto his own self.
Forever was short for himself.
After he collapsed and collided with a new incarnation Tyrael looked around him.
He found no glory in the scum,
No dreams to defend,
No might in the deserted brutality,
No honesty in the mascarade of destiny,
No life in the cadaverous frail body,
No ropes to hang his doubts by,
No escape from his mistake.
Last night he fell from the grace, the seraphim sang a song of woe, from ashes he rised, in ashes he colapsed, devoured by the smallness of his mortality.
Now he crumbled inside this immaculate walls of crystal, the Heavens became a pure reflexion of his shame.
Sighing, Tyrael closed his eyes clutching his arms around himself. A crippled hug for broken honor.
"All we know may yet come to a great end terrible end if we do not act.1 When I let go of who I am. I become who I might be2." The words floaded from beneath the lips of Tyrael who calmed as the heavenly water brushed the pulm wound and crimson stitched of the sharp cut. "This is what I should do." Tyrael murmured almost asleep a lonely tear stumbling on his face. For justice, he lost grace, he lost his existence completly.
As this became one of the moments when his mortality trapped him on a solitary ground, then this solitude was followed by a cloak of desperation who whispered about a doom departure of all things from the grasp of existence.
His blood ran hot through his veins as the solitude brought with it a delusion of self, his heart beat fast whenever the anguish bit hungry from his spirit. He felt like he had to move, he had to run away to escape this all. He clutched his fists takeing in deep breaths, there was nothing for him in this Heavens, all angels rejected him as he was now the reflection of sin.
Blank, at the edge of two separate existences, somehow he kept his position with a faint stability. Nor angel, nor human, just a lost soul between two worlds of misery and woe.
"Enlighting words brother! You become wiser and wiser!" Itheral said, bland as always as he poured heavenly water to the wound.
"Those..." Tyrael began, a bit shocked of this new strange behaviour of his of spwaking aloud. "Those are not my words, I read them in a book." The right way was truth, justice never let his side, not at all.
"What books?" Itherael asked while dipping slowly a silky fabric into the heavenly water. His hands moved with a delicate care, they took the dumped cloath out like it was a precious jewell then soaked it by pressing it between his palms. Only now, Tyrael had the chance to see just how delicate his brother actually was in all that he did.
"The book of Kalan, written by the brother of Uldyssian."
Itherael stayed numb in his place, stoned into the moment as this piece of information crushed his expectation. His wings stretched around himself, like the silver rays of sun that escape from beneath the grey clouds.
"Oh, I never knew mortals were also enlightened." Itherael simply said before applying the bandage over the plum skin that shivered at the touch. Itherael just flied back in alert watching Tyrael, who sat motionless in front of him, his features betraying a shade of slight offense, hidden between his frowned eyebrous.
"Yes brother, many are very wise. Is a blessing they let behind their legacy through writing and tales."
"Can you..." Itherael began as he slowly procced to get closer to Tyrael. "Tell me more of that ?"
"The datails are hazy, but the book of Kalan is a memoir about the Sin War, The Priests of Rathma and wisdom. But here is the thing, the writing style is slightly different. I suspect there were more writers than Kalan. But why are they in shadow?" Itherael remained silent, his thauthts merging towards the words of power, spoken by his brother.
'Without action, there will be havoc.'
That sealed perfectly the fate of heavens, now crumbling into an age of futile desperation. Itherael crossed his hands over his chest ruminating at this enigma.
'Without change all will just crumble.' The truth angels hid from at any cost. Because change was the eye of destruction.
And there was again silence, a silence sealed in garments of sorrow, for peace can not descend over those who twist in torment. Tyrael got to lay back on the table but then he rised abruptly, his palms clutching over the soaring wound, he sighed trembling then murmured a incantation. Closing his tired eyes, the archangel gazed with a hollow mind, inside the turquoise spark that reached to were his body belonged. Without a second thaught, he step inside the orbiting light leaving Itherael behind, as he was just a ghost of his past.
Back at the monotone desk, gazing upon the monotone papers, warmed by the same monotone candle light, in the same monotone life.
He sacrificed so much and got only the burden of a crimson cross wich weighed heavelly upon himself. Slaming his hands over the desk, he rised up as a tornado, demolishong the chair in his wake.
'All my strugles denied so easelly!' Tyrael whispered a shiver of fire walking up on his spine, this small shock had him stop in the middle of the room stoned. As the pit in his stomach grew, he moved like a restless wind around, holding his hands togeter. 'Can heaven be so cruel?' He mused shy, his head falling down gaze planted on his feet. 'No! It can't be! We are brothers.' As he stoped to gaze out on the window, a sickening shame grabed his heart when his eyes met the silver clouded sky. He clutched his head tightly, forcing himself out of such poisonous delusions of macabre sorrow.
"I'd better go to check in with the Horadrim."
After he let the door slam behind him, Tyrael headed straight to the main area hoping he will find some light hearted energy to cheer him up from such painfull thaughts.
"How can the slaves of such whore be accepted in the Horadrim!" The scream of Dyonus the paladin who defeated the Three had Tyrael froze in his spot.
"Dyous they are also the warriors who fight to maintain the light. But they worship not the same God as you do." Lorath stumbled onto his words, in an attempt to calm down the angry champion who sounded like he was on the verge of an ire.
"That whore of a man, thaught demonic reanimation magic to humans corrupting their pure souls to his twisted teachings. Rathma is not a God, he is a alut who perverts the life and death. We need to bring Sanctuary under the strict teachings of Zakarum." Dyonus sounded pleading a snap in his voice broke having his words tremble with fear.
"Dyonus, I will not argue with you as this will lead nowhere." The eyes of the old paladin hold captive within themselfs, a restless spark. His anger sucked the words of Zayl who sat still in front of him, twisting their meaning to new pockets of hate. "You posses just a limited understanding of those enigmas you expose. Peace can not descend with blood and havoc!"
Dyonus lost his temper and began to curse the God of Death, along with all the magic spell casters in the room. His spite and venom spiralled to Li-Ming, who was not going to take things so nice as Zayl. She pierced him with burning eyes, before opening her mouth to speak. The frown from her forehead grew tight until it became like a sharp line.
"If your order is so pure." The sassy way of her speaking was a chanting. She then turned to face the paladin who sat motionless, a shiver crossing his spine as the confruntation seemed to erupt out of nowhere. "Why was it corrupted to the core by demons?" Li-Ming added placeing her hands on her hips, smirking at the man who's face dropped. Before the man could speak, a vixen smile decorated her features as she crushed the poor man, who spiralled in a delirium of tragedy.
"You..." Rising a condemning finger at the woman, Dyogenus begin harsh as a blade.
"EBOUGH!" Tyrael screamed from the door step. "This is just tearing us apart!" He said that, tears sparkling into his eyes. As his soul broke to pieces, he watched all warriors in the eyes glancing at the malevilence that crushed his spirit.
Before they could shift the guilt from one another, he came in, eyes glaring mad at all of them. "There is no reason for pety matters! Everyone, go to your job!" He ordered them, angry as the tool of a just explanation of virtue was too much to bare at this time. Covering his face with his palms, he counted angry all the numbers he knew just to scare away the dogs who howled at his gateway of lucidity. He felt weighed down by the verity of this malevolence who spirraled down into a hazard.
As steps echoed through the room, the archangel breathed fast holding tight on his ground.
"Tyrael?"
"YES!" The archangel screamed drawing all atention on him. He went pale, from shame then watched Li-Ming who sat in front of him.
"Friend, are you all right?" Placeing a soft palm over his forehead, she tugged her lips. As the atmoaphere slowed down, Tyrael felt his body heavy, flesh weighing hard on his bones.
"Yes, tired." He murmured before closing his dry eyes that sore with pain as they sealed.
"I have a request to make you." Li-Ming whispered slowly watching around.
"Come in Leah."The mention of the forbiden name had both shiver, shaken by a grief who entombed itself in the deep layers of their souls. Sighing, Li-Ming followed Tyrael without saying a word.
Notes
1- the first quote is a quote from the book of Kalan.
2- the second quote if from Sun Tzu.
I would like to make mentions of existing pieces of art and literature in my works as this can bring many people to read them, and even inspire some. (Say this last quote is of Rathma to fir the universe) of course I will give credits to the one who said/wrote/painted that when I would introduce his/her's work in my fanfic.
Dyonus - the name is friven from Dyonisus the greek god of wine also called the mad god. Also he is responsable for makeing people go crazy or frenzy. The god inspired Nietzsche.