Title: Fallen
Author: Sefilin (sefilin@yahoo.com)
Teaser: The musings of a Fallen angel
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
URL: http://www.geocities.com/sefilin/
==========
So farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear,
Farewell Remorse: all Good to me is lost;
Evil be thou my Good.
~ John Milton
Paradise Lost (Book IV; lines 108-110)
==========
It was fifty years since he'd last entered a church, fifty years since the
distinctive heat from walking on sanctified ground had been felt. Ignoring the minor
discomfort, he walked towards one of his mortal companions in his latest efforts on
Earth.
The child was one of his favourites, perfect for the task he had set himself
before time existed and the child's race was but a spark in the mind of God. He had
given the child many gifts in his delight, personal attention being foremost among
them. It was so very rare that he found a mortal worth working with, but this one
was a masterpiece; he really had to remember to commend Chemos the next time he
reported in. And the crowning glory of the child; that he himself had annointed him
with a name.
What Dante would have thought, having the Prince of Lies bestow upon his child
the name of his fallen angel, kept him occupied at times, amused, as he always was by
the fact that they had all taken names bestowed upon them by humans. All of them
except himself whose name had been engraved upon the universe at God's first speaking
it. The Adversary[1] he was and The Adversary he would always be.
It was a job he was uniquely suited for, only he having the strength of will to
stand up to Heaven's King. 'The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a
Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n,'[2] he recited to himself once more, very much
liking the way Milton had put that, and so true it was too. But beyond that, only he
had the depth of hate required to continue on this path he had chosen, the depth with
which to lead his fellow Fallen through exile and back into Glory.
To destroy God required patience, a careful strengthening of his position in
this created world where mortal flesh, so easily led astray, dwelt. This was the
battlefield he had chosen and the loss of his beloved children was the grief he would
force on God's soul.
To hurt God.
He glanced at the child sitting in the pew before him, unwittingly amused once
more by the succinct, beautiful way he had of putting all of their sentiments. But
where the young one believed that placing his children in pain would hurt God in
turn, he knew better. The spiritual loss of these mortals was what would most pain
their Father, for them to fall beyond desire for redemption. Or in the case of those
beautiful assassins, Weiß, beyond belief in redemption for themselves. Little did
they know that God would forgive anything, were they just to turn to Him.
Bitter gaul rose in his chest as he dwelt on that. It had not taken him long
following the fall of Adam and Eve to realise that and then, then... The hate
directed towards God had risen, risen to the point where nothing could lessen it.
God had forgiven Adam and his wife, merely because they had asked it of him. They
had been restored into grace and favour with a single request. Whereas he remained
outcast, beyond hope of redemption.
There was a time when he had wondered if God would allow him to return to the
fold if he had shown remorse, but his pride had not allowed it, so he had become the
Lord of Deception, waging war against Heaven from the shadows of the human heart.
A sneer turned his mouth upwards at the corners as his mind dwelt once more on
the lowly creatures God had created to stand in place beside Himself. Why He loved
them so dearly, he could not understand and nor did he truly want to. He'd almost
been seduced into loving them himself, the first time he'd set eyes on one of them.
Adam and Eve had been beautiful, so like their creator, though strange with their
flesh. He had recalled their value to God, however, and his resolution to cause
their downfall hardened and his successful plan commenced.
And now, thousands of years into the future, he was still working on it; not
that time meant anything to one who lived beyond it.
The child finally turned, his single golden eye glowing with a madness caused
long ago. Blood coated his face, splashed across his blue sleeveless jacket. A
fresh scar graced his arm where one of the churchs' patrons had chosen to fight back;
he was now lying, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.
Still smirking, he sighed inwardly, wishing the child had refrained from
killing within a church. The odds of those that visited such a place being Saved was
high and when they died they moved beyond his reach, the Son had been given the keys
to the gates of Sheol[3] where the dead rested, and guarded them carefully. No
longer did his own daughter, Death, hold sway.
He gritted his teeth for a split second when he remembered that, knowing that
the prophets' predictions were coming true. But there was still time before the
final battle and with the way his fellow Fallen and their minions were going, he
would have the upper hand.
A golden eye blinked at him as the child ran a single finger along the edge of
the bloodstained blade he carried, indifferent to his presence. He reached out a
hand and caressed the other's cheek before turning on his heel, "Come, Crawford has a
job for us."
Farfarello followed obediently, bloodlust curbed for the present.
Stepping outside, he paused at the top of the steps and glanced around, noting
the black limousine in front of the building and knowing Crawford and Nagi waited
within. The child made directly for it, not pausing as he had.
He looked around the quiet neighbourhood, noticing how peaceful it looked, how
pure. But now there was a stain within the church behind him, and he knew that
within the houses lay darkness, or, at the very least, an absence of spiritual light.
Ah, he did love Japan. God held little sway here, being merely a thing to warp
for entertainment's purpose more than a deity that existed. There were other similar
nations, almost completely empty of God's influence, but Japan remained one of his
favourites. It was so easy to corrupt those who held little to no knowledge of the
true state of things.
From the vehicle below him a tall man dressed in incongruous white stood, light
glinting off glasses as his cold eyes stared at him.
"Schuldig," the voice was an order and he chose to obey it, finding it
convenient for his purposes. He ran down the steps and slid into the car, dragging
his sunglasses down from where they sat on top of his head and sinking into the
leather upholstery for the trip.
Once more he dwelt upon the appropriateness of this temporary name, wondering
if the Nun who had named him at the orphanage had any inkling of who and what he
really was.
Schuldig...
Guilty.
He laughed. Yes, indeed, he was guilty as only one who Sins could be.
As only one who created Sin could be.
===Owari===
[1] Satan translates to the Adversary.
[2] Paradise Lost - Book I, lines 254 & 255
[3] Sheol = in Jewish/Hebrew tradition, Sheol is a shadowy world where the dead
dwell.
Author: Sefilin (sefilin@yahoo.com)
Teaser: The musings of a Fallen angel
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
URL: http://www.geocities.com/sefilin/
==========
So farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear,
Farewell Remorse: all Good to me is lost;
Evil be thou my Good.
~ John Milton
Paradise Lost (Book IV; lines 108-110)
==========
It was fifty years since he'd last entered a church, fifty years since the
distinctive heat from walking on sanctified ground had been felt. Ignoring the minor
discomfort, he walked towards one of his mortal companions in his latest efforts on
Earth.
The child was one of his favourites, perfect for the task he had set himself
before time existed and the child's race was but a spark in the mind of God. He had
given the child many gifts in his delight, personal attention being foremost among
them. It was so very rare that he found a mortal worth working with, but this one
was a masterpiece; he really had to remember to commend Chemos the next time he
reported in. And the crowning glory of the child; that he himself had annointed him
with a name.
What Dante would have thought, having the Prince of Lies bestow upon his child
the name of his fallen angel, kept him occupied at times, amused, as he always was by
the fact that they had all taken names bestowed upon them by humans. All of them
except himself whose name had been engraved upon the universe at God's first speaking
it. The Adversary[1] he was and The Adversary he would always be.
It was a job he was uniquely suited for, only he having the strength of will to
stand up to Heaven's King. 'The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a
Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n,'[2] he recited to himself once more, very much
liking the way Milton had put that, and so true it was too. But beyond that, only he
had the depth of hate required to continue on this path he had chosen, the depth with
which to lead his fellow Fallen through exile and back into Glory.
To destroy God required patience, a careful strengthening of his position in
this created world where mortal flesh, so easily led astray, dwelt. This was the
battlefield he had chosen and the loss of his beloved children was the grief he would
force on God's soul.
To hurt God.
He glanced at the child sitting in the pew before him, unwittingly amused once
more by the succinct, beautiful way he had of putting all of their sentiments. But
where the young one believed that placing his children in pain would hurt God in
turn, he knew better. The spiritual loss of these mortals was what would most pain
their Father, for them to fall beyond desire for redemption. Or in the case of those
beautiful assassins, Weiß, beyond belief in redemption for themselves. Little did
they know that God would forgive anything, were they just to turn to Him.
Bitter gaul rose in his chest as he dwelt on that. It had not taken him long
following the fall of Adam and Eve to realise that and then, then... The hate
directed towards God had risen, risen to the point where nothing could lessen it.
God had forgiven Adam and his wife, merely because they had asked it of him. They
had been restored into grace and favour with a single request. Whereas he remained
outcast, beyond hope of redemption.
There was a time when he had wondered if God would allow him to return to the
fold if he had shown remorse, but his pride had not allowed it, so he had become the
Lord of Deception, waging war against Heaven from the shadows of the human heart.
A sneer turned his mouth upwards at the corners as his mind dwelt once more on
the lowly creatures God had created to stand in place beside Himself. Why He loved
them so dearly, he could not understand and nor did he truly want to. He'd almost
been seduced into loving them himself, the first time he'd set eyes on one of them.
Adam and Eve had been beautiful, so like their creator, though strange with their
flesh. He had recalled their value to God, however, and his resolution to cause
their downfall hardened and his successful plan commenced.
And now, thousands of years into the future, he was still working on it; not
that time meant anything to one who lived beyond it.
The child finally turned, his single golden eye glowing with a madness caused
long ago. Blood coated his face, splashed across his blue sleeveless jacket. A
fresh scar graced his arm where one of the churchs' patrons had chosen to fight back;
he was now lying, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.
Still smirking, he sighed inwardly, wishing the child had refrained from
killing within a church. The odds of those that visited such a place being Saved was
high and when they died they moved beyond his reach, the Son had been given the keys
to the gates of Sheol[3] where the dead rested, and guarded them carefully. No
longer did his own daughter, Death, hold sway.
He gritted his teeth for a split second when he remembered that, knowing that
the prophets' predictions were coming true. But there was still time before the
final battle and with the way his fellow Fallen and their minions were going, he
would have the upper hand.
A golden eye blinked at him as the child ran a single finger along the edge of
the bloodstained blade he carried, indifferent to his presence. He reached out a
hand and caressed the other's cheek before turning on his heel, "Come, Crawford has a
job for us."
Farfarello followed obediently, bloodlust curbed for the present.
Stepping outside, he paused at the top of the steps and glanced around, noting
the black limousine in front of the building and knowing Crawford and Nagi waited
within. The child made directly for it, not pausing as he had.
He looked around the quiet neighbourhood, noticing how peaceful it looked, how
pure. But now there was a stain within the church behind him, and he knew that
within the houses lay darkness, or, at the very least, an absence of spiritual light.
Ah, he did love Japan. God held little sway here, being merely a thing to warp
for entertainment's purpose more than a deity that existed. There were other similar
nations, almost completely empty of God's influence, but Japan remained one of his
favourites. It was so easy to corrupt those who held little to no knowledge of the
true state of things.
From the vehicle below him a tall man dressed in incongruous white stood, light
glinting off glasses as his cold eyes stared at him.
"Schuldig," the voice was an order and he chose to obey it, finding it
convenient for his purposes. He ran down the steps and slid into the car, dragging
his sunglasses down from where they sat on top of his head and sinking into the
leather upholstery for the trip.
Once more he dwelt upon the appropriateness of this temporary name, wondering
if the Nun who had named him at the orphanage had any inkling of who and what he
really was.
Schuldig...
Guilty.
He laughed. Yes, indeed, he was guilty as only one who Sins could be.
As only one who created Sin could be.
===Owari===
[1] Satan translates to the Adversary.
[2] Paradise Lost - Book I, lines 254 & 255
[3] Sheol = in Jewish/Hebrew tradition, Sheol is a shadowy world where the dead
dwell.