THE FALLEN
—
Death was quicker than anything Adam had ever felt. A flash, shock and horror, brief contentment, then blackness.
He had never died before. His ascension had come near the end of his mortality. Thus, the sensation, or rather absence of sensation, was completely alien.
Adam quickly decided that disembodiment wasn't a good look. No perception whatsoever, just his own thoughts, bouncing around in his head like a screensaver.
At first, he entertained himself with some whistling. No sound, so only he could hear it. Some rock song or another, then on to the next. The next. The next.
Man, why's rebirth taking so freakin' long? he lamented, boredom gripping him. He had already repeated his fifth playlist three times, and it was a good one. He had to be in a bad situation to get bored of it.
Adam considered the actions he had taken. A few minutes prior? A few hours prior? It was hard to keep track of time here. That space between life, death, and rebirth. Existence and non-existence at once. It was even incorrect to say "here". It was more accurate to say nowhere.
He did not once regret beating the shit out of Lucifer's brat. The big guy, (metaphorically, he was actually really short) not so much. Once equal to the Seraphim in Heaven's hierarchy, it perhaps wasn't the smartest idea. But, hey. Adam had been the one to give rashness and impulsivity to humanity.
Slaughtering sinners, what's the big deal? Just another fun day out. But no, this time was different. Tragedy, boo hoo, yada yada. Well, when he got back there, he'd show 'em. There was no way in heaven that Heaven would tolerate the high exorcist being killed. Adam was sure of it. Hell would be cleansed in retribution on his behalf. Vengeance paid for with screams, then sweet silence.
…
He was getting worked up.
Back to rockin'.
—
Adam was getting worried now.
Nothing had happened for what seemed like an eternity to him. Singing to himself had gotten old, even talking aloud. There was no one to answer, after all.
Here, there was only time for reflection. To exist in your own memories. And reflect he did. Every song rocked, every food eaten, every woman conquered, every sinner slayed. It was gratifying for him to think about such a glorious life. There was, however, a gnawing in the back of his mind about it ending. Which set him off.
That bullshit about "accepting death" that he had momentarily entertained was completely lost. In voiceless anger, Adam screamed into the depths of his own mind. No response came.
The music finally died out. The stillness of the abyss still gripped him, freaking him out more than the angel would like to admit.
Was this a test? Some kind of rebirth-judgment for angels to pass?
There's fuckin' nothing, he thought, wordlessly gesturing to the general absence of matter.
Was he supposed to lament? Repent? He never sinned, so what gave the wait? He's Adam, he shouldn't have to wait to be reborn into a world lucky enough to have him.
Regret? What about it? By his own admission, he had never made a single mistake.
Was that what they wanted?
Fine, he thought. Mentally yelling he said: The only mistake I ever made was not ending the little bitch's life before she called her daddy to end mine.
He could already see Sera's disapproving gaze. He only stalled the kill on her orders. For a being so powerful, it was a wonder how she was so weak to not use it. There would be no discussion, no debate. But she was too squeamish to do what needed to be done.
Adam didn't regret a single fucking thing. HE did nothing wrong. HE did what he was told, did what was right, did what everyone else was too afraid to do.
He made the hard decisions. You know why? Because they weren't so hard to him. Out of all those crybabies, he was the only one who saw Hell. At all. Saw it and its inhabitants for what they were. That was the privilege of being an Exorcist. You saw and played around in impurities that physically could not exist back up there.
And maybe. Maybe, he took a little pleasure in his heavenly duties. But wasn't he allowed that? Some release from a lifetime of decorum and obedience? Some expression of his divinity over others?
Recompense for those days toiling in wasted, dusty earth, scrounging for a hardly edible crumb, padlocked paradise on the horizon. Inaccessible. While she lounged in a kingdom, feasting with the tainted souls of his wayward children. Nine-hundred-and-thirty fucking long years. He had yearned for death long before the Seraphim had given him his rightful place.
It wasn't that he didn't have children, or other things to do. Building civilization was a hard job.
But to this man, raised to expect everything, the mere glimpse of something he couldn't have was infuriating.
Adam was meant to be the king of all creation. Every person, plant, tiny fucking cockroach was fair game. And his to do what he wanted with.
Alas, his time on Earth wasn't close. His time in Heaven, perhaps. Some enjoyment. Some punishment to her, subjects writhing under his tender care.
His daughters. Lute. That stung a little, he had to admit. They would attempt to avenge him. It seemed increasingly unlikely he'd be there to watch. It had been days, weeks. His inner voice was exhausted. Sometimes, Adam caught himself just laying into the abyss. Letting it engulf him, absorbing him into nonexistence.
He couldn't allow that. To exit so pitifully was unfathomable to such an egotistical being as him.
His thoughts drifted back onto his children. He had lived long, and the more children he lost, the less the next impacted him. Blurring together, the millions, billions of lives he spawned became as distant as the stars. And it never once crossed his mind that those he slayed in Hell had once been of him, and in some way still were. Even his daughters. Gazing upon their dismembered, bloody corpses incited only anger. Sadness had long been burned out of him.
Melancholy filled him. It was the only expression close that the jaded angel could feel.
Despite his better judgment, he metaphorically-sat there in silence. His outburst had not changed anything. So be it. He could bide his time. Rage wouldn't do any good right now.
He should calm down.
—
FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! WHAT-DO-WE-SAY? FUCK YOU!
Adam sang the chorus of his new melody in a foul-mouthed falsetto. It was a brief relief, but did barely anything for him. It too lost its novelty in a scant few days.
Anything, everything Adam could do he did. He touched on every topic in his mind, every argument, talked to every person (and talked back what they said). The emptiness and complete meaninglessness of his thoughts grated supremely.
He had rarely touched metaphysical literature, even in the infinite libraries of Heaven. But every immortal entity, demonic and angelic alike, feared what came after. There was no colloquial term for the place, as it was taboo to even speak of a Second Death.
That's the problem with all those softies, Adam thought. They never have to come the teeniest, tiniest bit near any danger, but get mad at ME when I PROTECT THEM?
He saw those dirty looks they gave him after court. He didn't give a shit then, and he gave a negative shit right now.
His mind shifted back to the topic of the Second Death. After destruction some angels reformed. Some didn't. It seemed increasingly likely that he'd be the latter. There was no way to tell, with the only example of angelic death being the War in Heaven.
He tossed this concept around in his head a little. Time was metaphorical here, and only given structure by Adam's linear thinking. However, as his mind slowly frayed, his perception of the fundamental building blocks of reality would deteriorate. That was evident in the couple of minutes it took for Adam to shake himself out of his stupor.
Should he sleep? Let himself fade away?
Despite his inactivity, the angel felt exhausted. Mentally and emotionally.
It felt like his body near the end of his mortality. Frail, old, with nearly fifty of his children assisting every movement. He could barely see, barely hear. But his mind was as sharp and young as ever. He got with the times, he adapted. Now, though, there was nothing to anchor Adam. No people, no ideals, no hobbies. He saw his full life bared out to him.
It suddenly seemed less glorious. Repetitive, more like. The pleasures seemed so fleeting, the horrors so vivid. Nostalgia did not help whatsoever.
Faced with death, he had the overwhelming feeling that he had never lived. Did every human being think this way when they met their end? Possibly.
Wow. He hadn't thought of himself as human in a long, long time. His nonexistent skin crawled. Thoughts were turning dark and morbid. Vengeance was gone from his mind, only apathy craving relief. He wanted out of here.
But nothing was given to the angel. He only had himself for company, which always had been enough in the past. Now though, he craved the novelty of meeting a new person. Of sleeping in a bed with fresh sheets. Of sitting down to have a cup of coffee. He would even take being punched in the face.
Just please, get me out of here, the angel pleaded.
…
No response came.
Adam watched and waited.
—
The sense of pulling immediately awoke him.
He was in a state of microsleep. One moment he would rest, the other he would awaken. There were two reasons for that.
First, to check if anything changed. Which it never did. Second, to make sure that he didn't die again. To prove to himself that his mind was still working. A third death would be fuckin' annoying.
And working it was. Something new, finally. Adam was elated. He wouldn't be for long.
It was a strange sensation. It felt like falling down a hole, the sides of it sliding past his skin. Touch! Oh, how I've missed you! If he had a face, it would be stretched as wide as possible.
He didn't know where he was going. Maybe back to Heaven? Would it be so hard to believe?
He nearly shed a metaphorical tear. Some kind of form came back to him. It wasn't skin. It was more like a cloak, something enveloping him. It felt…warm. Radiant, golden. He remembered the day when Sera had placed that halo atop his head. It felt exactly like that, except around his whole body.
His trajectory continued on like this. Slowly, his "shell" invaginated deeper. More and more layers, some sort of form built itself around him. Or…no. It was more like it was being revealed. Like his senses were being unblocked.
Adam felt like a rocket zooming through space. His sense of touch was back, sort of. He couldn't hear, couldn't see, but that confirmation of existence was good enough for him.
Then, quite suddenly, something brushed against his shell. It startled him.
It felt…oily?
Some kind of thin, slithering stalk drew its way across Adam's "chest". It caressed him in the way a lover would, pulsing and undulating rather sensually.
Another joined it. A twinge of concern found itself in the angel's mind, just behind the happiness of finally leaving this vacuum of an existence.
Adam's body continued to reveal itself. His flesh grew more complex, growing outwards from his shell. He could feel little buds on his back where the wings would be. However, this body seemed metaphoric. It didn't feel like he was actually growing back into existence.
A strange feeling for sure. Confusion and worry mixed inside his skull. The growing number of tendrils that brushed him and pulled away didn't help.
His sense of touch further developed. He could feel warmth. The warmth of a fresh body, of blood covering him. That was the most similar experience Adam could draw up. There was a definite humidity in whatever space surrounded him.
He could feel runes continuing to draw themselves on his shell. They converged and became more complex around his "head". In two little swirls, they became something like eyes.
First came shapes. Nothing too confusing, because Adam hadn't seen anything for literal weeks.
Then, textures and movement differentiation came. Nothing registered in his head as a singular object. His vision was just a kaleidoscope of jarring, multicolored lights.
A few more moments, and his sight had developed fully.
And he saw it.
Fear filled his being, as he attempted to close his newly-formed eyes. When that didn't work, he tried to turn away. His body did not listen to his commands. Adam wanted to flee, hide away, screaming. His mind refused to comprehend the absurdity and wrongness.
A tumor on reality. Something gnawing, consuming the very fabric of the universe. It felt blasphemous to look upon it. Its visage could rival the worst atrocities Adam's children had ever committed.
Writhing…pulsating…sickening. Tendrils of unfathomable colors grabbed at him, needy and erratic. If he had a mouth, he would throw up.
A cold sense of primal, mindless terror filled the angel. All the way to his core.
All this time, his sense obfuscated, he had been next to this thing?
He was wailing, screaming, trapped inside himself. No mouth would give him the words to describe the indescribable.
Was this what awaited those that went through the Second Death? Consumption to a being far greater and terrible than anything ever before?
…If it was, Adam considered it the worst fate possible.
It was all-encompassing. Every way Adam turned, its gaze still followed his. Like a man in a warped mirror room, from a carnival. Every which way he turned, he encountered a distortion.
He thought he could see faces, limbs inside the horror. They pleaded out to Adam, mouths silently screaming, hands grasping with the urgency of the drowned. They were so far, yet so close. Distance held no meaning.
Adam only got ever closer. More tendrils enveloped his shell, even with his pitiful movements attempting to bat them away. He was paralyzed in the thing's gaze.
It drew him closer, million eyes and million maws turned towards him. Ready to accept their newest arrival. Coal-black flesh enveloping, it should've obscured him from view. But no. Something as simple as physics seemed like air to this thing.
The feeling of it was indescribably disgusting.
And then, the flaying started.
That layer of his that Adam adored, his divinity, was systematically chipped away. Tendrils dug into it, feeding. They wriggled in joy, as Adam's screams started once more. There was no coherence in them, simply the expression of stimuli that the body automatically engaged in.
It was pain, unbearable pain. Like worms crawling under his skin, eating him alive. They expanded and tore open his veins, gouging muscle, and snapping bone. His nerves were on fire, but never were destroyed. It wanted to savor this moment. The first of many tortures.
This continued. Endlessly, it seemed. Adam's volume got smaller, as more of him was consumed. The being seemed gleeful to have a new meal, and kept feeding.
Slowly, the angel's shell was chipped away. The visceral layers had less of a golden color, less angelic power in them. His mortality. It still existed, in some way.
That was what saved him.
For this creature was a devourer of immortals. It thrived on the vitality of ages. To eat that which was fleeting was to become fleeting itself.
As the tendrils dug in further, they recoiled in shock. This final, erratic movement threw Adam over the edge. He fell into the brief reprieve of unconsciousness.
Very quickly, the thing realized his humanity. The alien mind acted on instinct, pulling away tendrils from his comatose body.
Then promptly spitting Adam out a mortal man.
His comatose form moved at high speeds, speeding throughout nonexistence. In his current form, if physical space mattered whatsoever, he would've been about the size of a baseball.
It was quiet, empty, blissfully so for the sleeping man. For a few moments more, nothing would disturb his rest.
Then, another tear in reality opened. This one was less sick, less of an infected wound. It was more automated, like a response from a machine.
His small form quickly pushed through, emerging on the other side in a massive maelstrom of wind. All around Adam were thousands, hundreds of thousands of similar shards, encapsulations of entire human beings. Each fell from the sky in a dazzling display, like sharp, living hail.
The purple-tinged night alighted with the red light of massive urban metropolises in every direction. Further beyond, darkness consumed the horizon.
Adam fell further. Nearly at terminal velocity, the man finally struck the surface of a massive, unusually-raging lake.
He would sink down, down, further down. Plagued by nightmares of a half-remembered experience, the first man slumbered. Soon to dream.
Soon to awaken.