CHAPTER 1: CORRUPTION
Balthamos stood, only a few yards away from the opening to the land of the dead, watching as astream of ghosts, some unsure, others knowing what would happen exited, then vanished in a matter of seconds, their atoms spreading to find their loved ones. Half of Balthamos was daringhim to go inside, and the other cautioning him, telling him that he shouldn't. In the end he decidedit would be better to go in, and learn, than to miss out and regret, so he carefully proceeded tothe entrance. Balthamos peered around the entrance ducking to avoid ghosts.
He suddenly felt unsure. The only thing he knew about the land of the dead was that there were harpies guarding it, and let no one enter unless they were dead.
Mentally he slapped himself thinking that Baruch would do this for him if it had been Baruch that had lived, and he that had died. Putting on a mask of determination, he marched a few feet, and then suddenly he looked down and his determination suddenly dropped a couple notches, knowing that he no longer had the ability to fly he would have to climb down the gigantic cliff as Humans would. Balthamos knew he still could fly, but in his current state of depression, he couldn't. He then tried to think of how he would see Baruch again, and how that would make him so joyful!
He tested his wings again, and he flew. Oh the joy of flight! Balthamos thought. But this is nothing compared to how happy I shall be when I see my beloved Baruch! He gently glided down the tremendous cliff, dodging on coming ghosts, escaping towards the world.
After a few minutes, he gently curved up as the cliff started to end and he floated over the gigantic gap in which the Church had attempted to murder Lyra. He stopped suddenly. He felt a strange thing happen, as if the wound in his heart caused by Baruch's death had started to heal, little by little, as if he was getting happier, arising from his depression, little by little.
"Baruch!!!" He cried not knowing where she was, but knowing she was near. He flew as fast as he could, quickly searching every ghosts face, searching for his Baruch.
Fear stopped him cold. Gazing straight at him was a harpy with a ghost next to her telling stories of its life. The harpy was age old, scarred not from battles, but by life, a face, molded in perpetual disgust, eyes formed to be forever hard and cold, a body shriveled and frail, yet powerful and sleek, with wings of what would be black feathers but instead looked like something other than black, with years of dirt and grime plastered on them. Balthamos stayed frozen, feeling as if his whole life was being read by this harpy. After being read for a little while, the harpy seemed to grunt, and looked away, knowing why Balthamos was here, and let him continue with what he was doing.
A familiar face floated past Balthamos, not even taking a glance at him. But Balthamos would recognize that face anywhere. "Baruch! Oh my beloved Baruch!" He rushed towards the ghost and embraced it as much as an angel could with a ghost. However, all he got in response was a terrified look.
"Who are you?" The ghost Balthamos identified as Baruch whispered silently. Balthamos was shocked.
"But—Baruch do you not recognize me, my beloved?" The ghost still retained its terrified look.
"And how do you know my name?" it trembled. A tear escaped Balthamos. As it slowly traveled down his cheek, his bright figure gave his tear a radical effect.
"Do—Do you not recognize me?" Balthamos let more tears escape. He also let a sob escape him
"...No" Baruch replied, his terror slowly morphing into sorrow and pity for this angel he did not recognize
"Then—Then what do you remember, how did you die?" Balthamos stammered in between sobs.
"I died in a car crash—and right after everything went all black, I remember an old man appear in my mind—he was very, very old. I think he was God, anyway, he told me I had a very important thing to do and then I remember I was in some sort of mountain that was all cloudy, and you couldn't see anything outside of it, and the old man was there, and he smiled. I felt something on my back, it sort of rippled, and it looked as if something was going to come out, and then—something was going to happen, but that's all I can remember..." Baruch looked troubled.
"Then... Then you are my Baruch! But you are not my Baruch..." Balthamos thought about what Baruch had told him, tears still flowing. Suddenly the answer came. The Authority uses angels for his own needs. I—I am not an individual. I am a slave. Sorrow turned into anger. The Authority wipes all angels of their memories when they die. Then what was I made for? Am I just a slave who thinks he's free? Then the most disturbing of thoughts reached him. Then... When I die...I won't remember any of this! He froze. He wouldn't recall anything about his beloved Baruch. He did not know what he was feeling. It was some sort of fusion between sorrow, anger, and confusion. But the most predominant was hate. Hate towards the now dead Authority. Hate towards whoever was the Authority now.
All the time in which Balthamos thought this, Baruch stared at him in a pitiful look of remorse.
"Baruch... Don't forget this... I—I love you... And... And when I'm done... You shall know...You shall know!!!" He swore as he took a final glance at his beloved and flew off, following the path that so many ghosts have taken. When he reached the outside, he sat under a tree and wept.
Days passed, and that weeping slowly turned into tears of anger. And when Balthamos felt no more sorrow, and he was purely hate. He was no longer Balthamos. He was no longer an angel. He was a Demon. And his name was Satan.
A/N Oooo... The suspense =P This was a pretty long chapter x.x. Please R&R and please keep flames to a minimum =P Constructive criticism is however is something I want. Chapter 2 will come out soon. [[edit]] Giarc tells me Baruch is a guy too, so I had to err.. Fix that. Giarc also tells me Balthamos died. Which I also don't seem to recall, so lets all just pretend he's alive shall we? =P