Father Lewis stood in the dimly lit church, the scent of incense lingering in the air as he arranged the altar for Sunday Mass. His hands moved with practiced precision, placing the chalice and paten in their rightful spots. The sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting vibrant colors across the pews.
The church was located in a small village in a quiet district of rural Wales, but urban life had crept closer over the years. The days when everyone knew each other were long gone, replaced by the hustle and bustle of a growing town. The stone walls of the building still held centuries of history, but the sense of a close-knit community had faded. The wooden pews, polished by generations of faithful hands, now seated a congregation that was more diverse and less familiar with one another.
Father Lewis enjoyed the serene moments before the congregation arrived. The stillness of the church in the early morning was a time for reflection and preparation, a time he cherished.
"Mornin', Father," Sister Mary greeted as she approached, her habit rustling softly.
"Mornin', Sister Mary. Everything ready for today?" Father Lewis asked, his voice carrying a thick Welsh lilt, his eyes crinkling with a warm smile.
"Aye, Father. The choir's practicin' the hymns, and the altar boys are settin' up the candles."
"Lovely," he replied, nodding. "Quite lovely."
Sister Mary gave a small bow and moved off to oversee the final preparations. Father Lewis took a moment to look around the church, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. The flickering candles, the soft hum of the organ as the choir warmed up, the faint echo of footsteps on the stone floor.
He made his way to the entrance, where a few early parishioners were already gathering. He greeted each of them warmly, exchanging pleasantries and blessings. The village was getting bigger and bigger by the year. Long gone were the days when he knew the names of everyone.
And long gone were the days when this hall was full, he thought feeling a twinge of regret. Young'uns these days were a rare sight on Sundays. He didn't hold it against them. They're all working hard to make a living. And working hard was a prayer of its own.
"Good to see yeh, Gwen. How's the family?" he asked, patting an elderly woman on the shoulder.
"They're well, Father, thank ye," she replied with a smile.
"Glad to hear it," he said, nodding. "Take care, now."
"Aye, Father," called out Tom, a farmer with weathered hands. "Heard anythin' 'bout the fair next week?"
"Ah, not yet, Tom. But I reckon it'll be grand, like always," Father Lewis replied with a chuckle. "You bringin' yer prize sheep?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Father," Tom grinned.
As the church began to fill, Father Lewis greeted everyone who arrived, he resolved to offer guidance and support to those who came. He also prayed for those who couldn't make it, hoping that his prayers would reach them despite their absence.
"Good mornin', Father," said Elen, a young mother with a baby in her arms.
"Ah, Elen! And how's little Dafydd today?" Father Lewis asked, reaching out to gently tickle the baby's chin.
"He's been keepin' me up all night, but he's a blessin'," Elen laughed softly.
"He's a strong one, that's for sure," Father Lewis smiled. "God bless you both."
As the clock struck the hour, the attendance seemed to stop growing. With the soft murmur of voices settling into the pews, Father Lewis took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and calm. The choir, situated in the loft above, began to sing a hymn, their voices blending in harmonious reverence. The music filled the space, lifting the spirits of all who were present.
Father Lewis stood at the front, watching as the congregation fell into a hushed silence, their attention drawn to the music. He could see familiar faces, some weathered by time and others fresh with new beginnings. The vibrancy of the gathering filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.
Once the choir finished their hymn and the organist played a few bars of instrumental music, Father Lewis stepped up to the pulpit. The moment he'd been waiting for had arrived. He tried to speak, but no words came out.
Instead, he felt Him.
A powerful, indescribable feeling washed over him. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts. Tears began to slip down his cheeks, unbidden and relentless. It was a sensation he couldn't quite grasp—something deep and vast, like a profound connection to a truth beyond his understanding
Terror gripped him. Every sin he'd ever committed hit him all at once, sharper and more unforgiving than he'd ever felt. His mind raced through every wrong he'd done, every person he'd hurt. It was as if the weight of his sins was crushing him, making him want to drop to his knees and beg for mercy he feared he might never get.
Then, just as suddenly, the fear began to lift. It was replaced by a warm, comforting presence. A gentle, protective presence enveloped him, offering acceptance, forgiveness, and an overwhelming sense of soothing warmth. The joy that followed was profound and uncontainable, like a flood of healing light pouring into his soul. He felt a deep, comforting assurance that he was enveloped in unconditional love, his burdens lifted, and his heart finally at peace.
It was as if a father who had scolded his child was now embracing them with compassion.
He heard the singing of a choir, but it wasn't coming from the boys and girls behind him. It resonated from inside of him, from the very depths of his soul. The music was beautiful, far more beautiful than any he had ever heard. It was as if the notes were woven from pure light, each one carrying a sense of peace and clarity.
The words of the praise escaped him, far above his understanding, yet their message was clear.
Do Good to Be Good
As he looked up, he saw that the same feeling seemed to touch everyone in the congregation. Faces were turned upward, eyes glistening, a shared sense of wonder and acceptance evident in their expressions. The church was filled with a collective, intangible emotion that bound them all together.
The doors of the church seemed to have been flung wide open, as if by an unseen force. People who had never before set foot in the church now rushed in, their faces a mix of awe and terror. The divine presence they felt seemed to draw them in with an irresistible pull.
The hall filled rapidly, with more and more people crowding in until there was no room left. Faces pressed against the windows, and the aisles became a chaotic sea of bodies. Some appeared overcome with reverence, while others looked frightened.
Father Lewis, overwhelmed and unsure of how to handle the chaos unfolding before him, raised his hands and motioned for the crowd to move outward. He tried to project calm and authority, hoping to bring some order to the pandemonium. "Please, make space! Move back!" he called out, his voice strained but firm. His eyes darted around, trying to catch the attention of those nearest the doors, urging them to step back and allow others to find their way in.
Despite his efforts, the crowd surged forward, pressing against the walls and each other in a frantic attempt to get inside. The air was filled with murmured prayers and fearful whispers, blending with the clamor of shuffling feet and anxious voices.
Father Lewis stepped down from the pulpit and made his way to the doors, determined to help guide the chaotic throng. "There's space outside too, folks. Please, step outside nice and calm-like, and we'll sort things out there. We'll make room for everyone outside, aye?"
He forced himself to speak, even though he really wanted to drop to his knees and pray. But the powerful feeling inside kept him steady, urging him to guide the people instead of giving in to panic.
Slowly, the crowd began to move outside, easing the pressure as they spread into the open air. Father Lewis kept directing them, his voice calm despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. The church grounds quickly filled with people, their faces showing a mix of awe and confusion.
Father Lewis stood alone in the now-quiet church, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him. The profound sense of divine presence still lingered, almost tangible in the still air. He took a moment to collect himself.
He stepped back to the pulpit, gathering his thoughts. The church, though empty, seemed alive with the echoes of what had just occurred. The air felt electric, as if waiting for something he didn't know.
He glanced out through the open doors at the crowd assembled outside. Faces were turned toward him, filled with a mix of wonder, confusion, and anticipation. Father Lewis knew he had to address them, to help them understand and make sense of what was happening.
But what could he say? Even he didn't fully grasp what had happened. He felt a deep uncertainty. He didn't have the answers, but he knew he had to speak, to guide them.
With a deep breath, he stepped outside, facing the crowd
"Fuh-Father, looks like we've got a full house today," Young John, one of the church's volunteers, stammered, his voice tinged with unease. He was clearly struggling to maintain his composure, his eyes darting nervously around the huge crowd.
Father Lewis offered a reassuring smile, though his own nerves were frayed. "Aye, it does, doesn't it," he replied, his tone trying to mask his own apprehension.
As he looked out at the vast crowd, his throat tightened with the weight of the moment. He'd never faced such a large assembly before—if he didn't know better, he'd think the entire town had come. The murmurs and whispers from the thousands of faces seemed to make the crowd feel even bigger and more overwhelming.
"This is what I'd hoped for, isn't it? More people showing up," he thought to himself, though the realization brought no comfort.
Father Lewis looked out at the crowd, feeling his throat tighten. He had never spoken to such a large group before. It seemed like the whole town had shown up. The whispers and murmurs from the thousands of faces made the crowd feel even bigger and more overwhelming.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself. The weight of the moment felt heavy, but he pushed forward. He wet his lips and gathered his courage.
He paused, struck by a sudden, clear thought. He had planned his sermon carefully, but now, with so many expectant faces before him, he felt an urgent need to speak about something different—something that felt very important.
As he stood there, the words came to him effortlessly. Scriptures and sacred phrases danced in his mind with an almost divine clarity. It was as if the heavens themselves were whispering the right words into his ears.
He drew a deep breath, his heart swelling with purpose. The divine inspiration surged within him, urging him to speak with an authority and passion that transcended his own understanding.
Across the globe, in the fleeting moments of ascension when sin was absent, every place of worship—church, mosque, synagogue, temple, and beyond—resounded with the voices of the devout.
The countless scholars and faithful, the Sons of Adam, gathered and addressed their brethren.
And spoke of the First Father.
As the World of the Living and Heaven rejuvenated in the presence of the All-King, the First Ring of the Realm of the Damned faced a harsh contrast. The red hue of Pentagram City's sky was obliterated, replaced by a blinding brightness.
The oppressive glare of the Archetype flooded the city, scorching the heavens and leaving nothing hidden from view. Shadows were eradicated under the searing light, turning every corner into a glaring exposure.
The weight of the All-King's presence pressed heavily upon the sinners. Their every movement felt burdened by the immense divine authority that loomed above. The rejection drove the weak-minded to the verge of insanity.
Under the relentless glare, their struggles became desperate. Each step was an effort against the suffocating pressure, their actions hindered by the overwhelming force of the All-King's radiance.
Two sinners stumbled through the wreckage, fighting their way across the ravaged streets of Pentagram City. Explosions and gunfire rang out constantly, adding to the chaotic noise that surrounded them. They pushed through the mess, desperately trying to get as far away as possible from the hellish shitshow around them.
Yet even the relentless cacophony of battle, it was almost a relief compared to the frenzied, fanatical chanting that filled the city. The wild, insane worship of the cults was a maddening backdrop to their escape.
Husk, leading the way, kept his eyes peeled for any threats. His movements were deliberate and focused, cutting through the turmoil with grim determination. Angel Dust, the normally flamboyant spider demon, clung to Husk's side. Angel was barely hanging on, tears streaming down his face and mixing with grime and sweat. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, each one a painful effort.
Husk tightened his grip around Angel's waist. "We're getting closer," he said, his voice gruff but steady. Angel managed a weak grunt of acknowledgment, too drained to offer more than that.
A sudden flash of movement at the edge of his vision made Husk react instantly. He yanked Angel behind a pile of trash, doing his best to blend in with the surroundings. Husk's curse escaped his lips as he heard the voices of a group of cultish fucks drawing near.
The cultists' conversation was a low murmur, punctuated by the occasional bark of laughter. The blinding sky cast harsh shadows, making it hard to see their faces, but the danger was clear. Husk closed his eyes and held his breath, doing his best to steady Angel's trembling frame.
The former bartender strained to catch their words: "sacrifice," "Rapture," and the one that really pissed him off—"Holy Father." Each term dripped with a sickening zeal that only fueled his anger.
Husk clenched his jaw tightly, his fingers digging into Angel's side as he fought to keep them hidden.
Out of all the fucking shit he had to deal with—Alastor aside, obviously—these chuckle fucks were by far the most deranged shits he'd ever encountered. And that was saying something, considering they were in fucking Hell. Children of Adam.
The latest cult to spring up from the city's endless chaos over the past week. Cults weren't exactly new down here, but Husk had never seen one gain so much traction so quickly. Still, he had to admit, these fuckers had more reason to exist than any other goddamn group in Pentagram City. With all the shit that kept popping up, the First cocksucker was starting to look more and more biblical.
The only reason Husk didn't join them, aside from the fact that these bastards wanted his fucking head on a spike, was because he'd had the displeasure of seeing what Adam was really like. A psychotic, short-tempered asshole who was far from the holy figure these lunatics believed him to be.
If only they knew the truth.
But honestly, the thought of them knowing the real Adam was probably worse. These sick fucks would just get even more twisted if they knew what Husk knew.
Luckily, a huge explosion blasted from the other side, where Vox was tearing through ZeeZee's territory. One minute it was calm, the next, the Vees were fighting her and another skeletal overlord who Husk didn't bother to remember his name.
"Death claims you, Television of Death!" The skeletal overlord yelled as he attacked Vox, only to get blasted away.
The sky lit up with a jagged lightning bolt, and the static laughter echoed through the streets. The cultists jerked around, startled and distracted, and started moving away.
Husk seized the moment, pulling Angel closer as they edged out from behind the trash. Husk pulled Angel up, his grip firm but gentle. "We need to move, now," he said, his voice low and urgent. Angel Dust, barely able to stay on his feet, nodded weakly.
Every now and then, Husk would glance over his shoulder, making sure they weren't being followed. The constant tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw showed just how on edge he was.
Angel's breaths came in ragged gasps, each step more laborious than the last. Husk tried to keep up a steady pace, but the spider demon's condition made it tough. "Hang in there, kid," Husk urged, though he could see the exhaustion and pain etched clearly on Angel's face. He didn't know what Valentino did to him, but it was obviously pretty fucking bad.
As they rounded another corner, Husk suddenly pulled Angel back against the wall. They crouched low, hiding in the shadows as a new group of Children of Adam appeared. The sick bastards were busy tormenting a poor, rat-like
The demon was bound and strung up by its wrists, the skin stretched tight across its frame. The cultists, with their twisted grins, brandished angelic knives—blades glowing with a sickly, holy light. The demon's cries were muffled, but the sheer agony in its eyes was unmistakable. Blood dripped from the blade's edge, mixing with the grime on the ground.
"Feel the holy fire of Adam as we gut this piece of trash!" one cultist bellowed, plunging his knife into the demon's stomach and tearing it upward, blood and entrails spilling out.
Another shouted, carving deep, jagged lines across the demon's chest, the blade slicing through flesh and muscle with sickening ease. "Witness Adam's righteous wrath as we rip this bastard to shreds!"
"Rejoice in Adam's vengeance as we flay this scum alive!" a cultist chanted, pulling at the demon's skin with pliers and peeling it back, exposing raw, bloody tissue.
"See the divine justice of Adam as we carve his name into this worthless filth!" a cultist chanted, pulling at the demon's skin with pliers and peeling it back, exposing raw, bloody tissue.
"Rejoice in Adam's vengeance as we put this scum out of the Father's unholy land!" the leader roared, slashing the knife across the demon's neck, severing the head entirely. "For the Holy Father!"
"""!For the Holy Father!""
The head hit the ground with a sickening thud and rolled towards Husk and Angel. Its vacant eyes stared sightlessly as blood pooled around it, while the cultists continued their frenzied chanting, voices rising in ecstatic fervor.
Husk glanced at the head with a hint of pity but quickly shook it off and prepared to move. Then, out of nowhere, the head emitted a ragged cough. Its eyes rolled and locked onto Husk.
The head blinked once and then let out a shrill, panicked scream.
"What the fuck?!" Husk and the others exclaimed. It wasn't the scream that shocked them—it was the fact that a decapitated head, cut by an angelic blade, was still alive.
The loud curse pierced through the chaos, instantly alerting the cultists to Husk and Angel Dust's hiding spot. Their eyes locked onto the two hotel residents with a fierce, murderous glare.
"Kill them!" the leader roared, pointing a finger at Husk and Angel. "They're traitors to the Holy Father!"
Before the order could be fully processed, a card whizzed through the air and sliced cleanly through the leader's forehead.
The leader's head jerked back violently, eyes widening in shock as the card sliced through his skull. He crumpled to the ground, the card still embedded in his head, blood oozing around it. The cultists went wild, their organized frenzy breaking down into shouts and curses, the alley echoing with chaos.
Husk seized the moment, throwing more of his angelic cards with deadly accuracy. He was glad he still had some of the cards Carmilla had given him. The cards punched through the cultists' heads, but they didn't die. Instead, their bodies twitched and convulsed, and they stood back up.
The leader, still with the card sticking out of his head, staggered to his feet. His mouth twisted into a snarl as he screamed, "I'll rape your fucking corpse, heathen!" His voice was distorted and filled with rage, making it clear that the holy weapons weren't stopping them.
Realizing the futility, Husk turned tail and ran. Angel Dust sluggishly reached into his pocket and threw a small smoke bomb they'd gotten from Cherri before they separated. The alley was filled with dark smoke and the curses of the cultish fucks.
Husk and Angel Dust used the confusion, running through the thick smoke. The sounds of the cultists' angry shouts and hacking coughs faded behind them, the smoke giving them a brief moment of safety.
Husk and Angel Dust stumbled through the smoke, their breaths ragged and faces smeared with grime. The cultists' shouts faded, but their brief relief was short-lived.
Suddenly, they were slammed to the ground, their faces pressed hard against the asphalt. It wasn't just physical weight; it felt like a divine force was crushing them. Every sin they'd ever committed flashed before their eyes—every wrong, every pain they'd caused. It was like being dragged down by a thousand lead chains, each one heavier than the last.
The pain was intense and real. It burned through their souls, a relentless wave of suffering that seemed endless. Every ounce of guilt and anguish they'd ever inflicted twisted inside them, making it feel like they were drowning in their own torment.
Husk lay there, crushed under the weight of an unforgiving divine force. He clung to a desperate hope, whispering prayers to any god or angel he'd ever offended, but none answered. The divine presence that he had once defied offered no relief, no respite from the suffocating pressure.
Inside his head, a viscous and hateful melody twisted and turned. He couldn't make out the words, but the meaning was unmistakable. The melody was a relentless barrage of scorn and condemnation. It echoed a single, brutal message:
He was a stain. A filth that should have never existed.
He was rejected.
As he lay there, Husk's mind was a storm of curses.
He cursed Charlie for making him believe he was worth more than just a piece of shit, for giving him hope only to crush it in the end.
He cursed Angel Dust, Cherri, and Nifty for making him care, for pulling him deeper into this mess and making it all worse.
He cursed Adam for making his already hellish life even more miserable.
He cursed Alastor for dragging him into this nightmare from the start and for the damned chain around his neck that pulsed with relentless intensity.
And above all, as he lay there, tears streaming down his face, he cursed himself for not learning his fucking lesson.
Because once again, Husk had gambled and lost.
Elation.
Completion.
Fulfillment.
Adam Kadmon barked out a laugh as he stood at the center of Heaven. A profound sense of peace washed over him. All doubts, all fears, all questions melted away. He was whole, complete, and utterly fulfilled.
This was it. The completion he had sought for so long, was finally within his grasp. Denied to him by his own actions, by the mistakes and missteps he had taken along the way. Denied by the actions of others, the betrayals and disappointments along his path.
This was the fulfillment he had always been destined for in Eden. The state of being he had always known was his true purpose. The ultimate realization of what he was always meant to become.
He was Adam Kadmon, the archetypal man, the primordial being, the embodiment of divine potential. He laughed, and all Creation laughed with him.
The very fabric of his being resonated with the divine harmony of the realm. He could feel the flow of creation, the rhythm of existence, and the pulse of the cosmos. Every heartbeat was a symphony, every breath a whisper of eternity.
He looked around, the vibrant, golden light of Heaven illuminating every corner. He looked around at the grandeur of the Realm of Formation, Yetzirah, the Third Heaven. Golden light spilled over every surface, creating an otherworldly glow. The forming suns and moons traced his movements across the sky, casting their shifting shadows as if in reverent accompaniment to his presence.
The Seraphim, bowed their heads in reverence, acknowledging his superiority. Adam felt their respect, their admiration, and it bolstered the overwhelming sense of ascension within him.
A realization struck him. An instinct, as ancient as his being, surged within him—angels, humans, and demons alike bowing at his feet. For he was the All-King, the supreme sovereign of all creation, the ultimate authority that transcended every realm and dimension.
For in that moment, in the tapestry of Creation, none mattered but him.
Neither Life
Nor Death.
His essence radiated power, demanding reverence and submission from every being. It was an instinct deeply rooted in the very core of his existence, an undeniable truth that resonated through every fiber of his being.
He could see it clearly in his mind's eye: the celestial hierarchy bending to his will, the mortal realm looking up to him in awe, and even the infernal legions acknowledging his supremacy. It was a vision of absolute dominion, a throne built not from gold or jewels but from the sheer force of his divine essence.
In reaffirmation of the celestial hierarchy, the King of All That Is flared his Authority to All Beneath him. The blessed sons and daughters stood tall in the face of his benevolence, their forms radiant with grace.
His word was law, his will a guiding force that shaped the fate of Angels and Winners alike. The seraphim and cherubim, those beings of pure light and virtue, existed only to serve his divine purposes, their every action a reflection of his supreme guidance. He was their beacon, their ruler, their reason for existence.
"Stand tall," his presence decreed, "for you are My chosen, the radiant, the exalted among all creation."
In stark contrast, the cursed, forsaken progeny were crushed to their knees, experiencing his malevolence as a weight they could not bear.
His presence was even more commanding. The demons and Sinners, who thrived on chaos and rebellion, bowed in submission to his unassailable power. He was the architect of their fates, the enforcer of their torment, and the ultimate judge of their sins. His authority was absolute, his influence boundless.
"Curse yourselves for being born into My world" his presence commanded, "For you are the damned, unworthy of My light that graces this world."
The throne tenders descended from above, their voices raised in a chorus of praise as they floated gracefully down. Their songs were a symphony of adulation, each note crafted to highlight the magnificence of Adam's brilliance. They swirled around him, their robes shimmering in the divine light, creating an ethereal dance of colors and melodies.
As the Divine Singularity took shape, it was a grotesque, eldritch entity. It was an enormous, writhing mass of shadow and light, lacking any humanoid form. Instead, it was a pulsating void covered in countless, eerie eyes that glowed with a sickly light, peering from every angle.
Twelve massive wings sprouted from its form, each one a grotesque expanse of translucent membrane stretched over skeletal structures. They flapped slowly, creating a mix of haunting and mesmerizing patterns in the air.
A cursed God befitting of a Cursed World.
Kadmon stood at the center of it all, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He basked in the reverence of the celestial entourage, allowing himself to drink in every note, every word, every gesture of worship. It was as though he were absorbing their adulation like sunlight, feeding off the energy of their worship.
Their praises were not just about his presence but about his unparalleled greatness, his supremacy that dwarfed everything in creation. They extolled his divine wisdom, his unmatched power, and his rightful place at the pinnacle of existence. The celestial beings had to sing his praises, for what else could one do in the face of such overwhelming glory?
Adam's rule was not just a matter of cosmic hierarchy; it was an intrinsic part of the fabric of reality itself. For he was the Supreme Sovereign of the Celestial and Infernal Realms, the Divine Arbiter of All Existence, the Eternal Architect of the Cosmos, the Omnipotent Judge of Fate, and the Unrivaled Master of Creation and Destruction.
He was Adam Kad-!
Adam Kadmon's fist crashed into his own face, shattering it into a cascade of fragmented, writhing shadows.
A heavy stillness hung in the air, thick and oppressive. The Archangels remained bowed and oblivious. The throne tenders continued their singing, their voices unwavering in their praise, completely unaware of the sudden violence that had interrupted Adam's moment of arrogance.
"I'm on a high," Adam Kadmon thought, snapping out of his reverie with an annoyed hum as his fingers tore his own head off. He recognized the sensation—being swept up in his own power.
His other arm circled around to take hold of his wings and began to tear them. Each wing ripped away with a sickening sound, the flesh and sinew parting as shadows poured from the wounds. His eldritch form spasmed, the grotesque limbs flailing and disintegrating into dark mist.
With thousands of years of experience, he knew the signs. He'd faced this feeling before and understood how dangerous it could be. Arrogance had led to his downfall in both of his second deaths. "Whoa, that was a close call," he mused as he resumed tearing himself form whatever embarrassing being he was about to become.
Adam's monstrous form began to dissolve, the writhing shadows receding as he fought for control. He gritted his teeth, focusing on his humanity, grounding himself in the core of who he was. Slowly, the chaos subsided, and his form shifted back to something more recognizable, taking the form of the Eldest and layering in over the form of the youngest.
'Guess double the Adam means mean double the Pride.'
His pride had tricked him once before, leading to his defeat by Zeus.
It had fooled him twice, resulting in his end at the hands of a psychotic midget with a knife.
Adam shook his head, brushing off the temptation. He focused on the present, grounding himself in reality. He wasn't about to get fooled a third time.
He snorted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You almost got me, you bastard."
The allure of absolute power, the seductive whisper of dominion, tried to worm its way back into his thoughts. Adam felt the ancient instinct rise again, urging him to embrace his role as the supreme sovereign. But he seized that instinct, that seductive pull of power, and tore it apart with a cackle.
As if he'll fall for that again.
He rejected it all. The divinity. The kingdom. The wisdom.
And most of all, he rejected those binding chains of Godhood that sought to ensnare his essence and strip away his true self. Adam felt the weight of the universe pressing down, the temptation to ascend to godhood, to rule over all. It was a seductive call, a promise of unparalleled power and authority. But he saw it for what it was—a cage, gilded and grand, but a cage nonetheless.
Creation was clearly trying to upgrade him to some celestial VIP status, but Adam knew better. He saw through the grandiose pitch. Becoming a substitute for the Old Man would just strip away his true self. Why exchange his genuine, messy identity for a celestial makeover?
Even as the universe itself bowed before him, offering a throne and trying to fit him into the final slot of its grand cosmic puzzle, Adam couldn't help but find it amusing. Trying too hard was off-putting, y'know?
The pitch was grand, but Adam saw right through it. By becoming more; he would've been Less.
He was Adam. Nothing more, nothing less.
Simple, unadorned, and perfectly content
So, Adam told Creation to take a hike and leave him to his own terms.
He was not here to rule or dominate. He was not a god to command or a king to be worshipped.
The Archangels, their faces covered with their wings, prostrated with hope and expectation. They saw him as the missing link, the final piece to their divine puzzle. But Adam saw beyond their adoration. He saw the loss of his essence, the erosion of his true self.
He saw them bowing, wising, and praying. He swiftly crushed their hopes.
"Rise," Adam said, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm not so petty and arrogant to have old friends bow at my feet. I am no king to command, nor am I a master to order. I stand here with all creation as my equal."
He was not the Lord.
He was not the supreme sovereign or the All-King.
He was not a figure of divine power and boundless rule.
He was Adam—just Adam.
He chose to stay true to who he was, not what he could become.
He rejected Perfection because it was a step-down.
He was a Human.
For him, that was something far greater than any God.
He wasn't just a divine figure; he was the sum of men who had lived, loved, and struggled. His eyes showed the depth of their experiences—the laughter and tears, the triumphs and failures.
Adam stood there not as a distant ruler but as someone who had walked through the highs and lows of life. He wasn't asking for worship or submission. Instead, he was showing that he understood them because he had felt what they felt.
His humanity was his core. It made him approachable, real. He was Adam—imperfect, relatable, and true to himself. In that, he offered a connection that was both genuine and powerful. Kadmon was just another mantle to be donned, another title among many, a role to be played, but it didn't define who he truly was.
As Adam spoke, the Archangels around him shifted in their stances. For a moment, their eyes flashed with confusion, rejection, and disappointment. They had hoped he might be the Old Man returned or someone to replace Him. The realization that he was neither struck them deeply.
But then, understanding dawned upon them. The initial dismay melted away, replaced by genuine happiness. Together, their reactions shifted from initial rejection to a shared sense of understanding and joy. They were overjoyed with his return, not as a king or a god, but as a friend.
For Adam, that was more than enough.
Adam watched as the celestial beings lifted their heads. Their smiles, warm and open, seemed to falter slightly, their expressions shifting. He noticed their breaths catch, and a faint tension filled the air.
...
Hmm?
Was it something about his new look? Maybe it was throwing them off. He felt a twinge of self-consciousness, wondering if he'd done something to unsettle them.
Maybe he should have given them a heads-up or a warning. He was just trying to reconnect, but if he'd made things awkward, that wasn't his intention.
Thinking about it, Adam realized he had been objectively born just less than a minute ago. That could definitely give them some reservations. He needed to show them he was still the Adam they knew, just a bit different.
What did Eve say about first impressions? Smile and be approachable!
With that thought, he flashed them a wide, warm grin. He hoped it would help ease their concerns and remind them he was still the same old Adam, just with a bit of a flair.
Adam's smile remained as he tried to project warmth and approachability. However, if anything, the tension in the room seemed to grow thicker. The celestial beings' bodies became even more still, their once easy demeanor replaced by a subtle unease.
Adam's gaze shifted to Michael, who stood closest to him. Her eyes were wide, and her face had turned a noticeable shade of red. Her breathing was shallow, and Adam could see her chest rising and falling with each breath.
He wondered what could be causing such a reaction. Was it his new appearance or something else entirely? It was odd to see Michael, usually so composed and unflappable, visibly affected.
Adam turned around to look small sun and moon circling him. They were awfully close, and now that he thought about it, it did feel a bit hot in here. Maybe they were the reason for her discomfort.
"Maybe the sun's just a bit too strong," he mused aloud, glancing at Michael with a touch of concern. "I hope she's not getting heatstroke or something. This celestial setup might be a bit overwhelming."
With a warm smile, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to offer some reassurance. The touch was meant to be comforting, a way to show that he noticed her discomfort and wanted to help.
Adam noticed that his gesture didn't seem to help. Instead of providing reassurance, it seemed to make things worse. Michael's eyes widened even more, her face flushing deeper with every second. Her breaths came in quick, shallow bursts, and her whole posture stiffened as if she were struggling to maintain composure.
Before things could get any more awkward, Sera stepped forward to greet him. Her voice was warm and welcoming, though it carried a hint of formality.
"It is good to have you back, Adam. Your presence alone has brought a renewed sense of purpose to us all."
Adam noticed that she, too, seemed a bit flushed, but he brushed it off, focusing on the positive. With a friendly smile, he said, "What's with the formal tone, Sera? We're all friends here. You and I go way back."
Sera glanced at his smile, then quickly looked away.
Zadkiel approached, his own tone warm but reserved. "Adam, it's good to see you again."
Adam, eager to reconnect, reached out to pat Zadkiel on the shoulder. "It's great to see you too, Zadkiel."
But Zadkiel gently moved out of the way, a faint strained smile on his face. he nodded and quickly made some distance between the two of them.
Adam couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. He had tried to keep things light and friendly, but it seemed like his attempt to reconnect might have missed the mark. He watched Sera's reaction with growing unease, her flushed cheeks and averted gaze making him wonder if he was somehow making things worse.
"Am I...doing something wrong?" he thought, mentally replaying his interactions. He really hoped he was not coming off the wrong way.
The rest of the Archangels came forward to greet Adam, each offering their own version of a warm welcome. He made an effort to keep things relaxed, responding with the easy familiarity of old friends catching up.
As the conversation flowed, Adam became increasingly aware of the Tenders' persistent singing. Their song, though initially soothing, had started to grate on his nerves. The melody was relentless, and to make matters worse, the Tenders were inching closer into his personal space.
"Adam, Adam, source of love, Blessed by the heavens above. Your return brings joy untold, A story of the ages, forever bold."
Adam shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the friendly exchanges with the Archangels while subtly inching away from the encroaching crowd. It was becoming a bit much, but he didn't want to make a scene by telling them to piss off.
He did his best to maintain his composure as the Tenders' persistent singing grew more intrusive. One of them got so close that a feather from his wing nearly brushed his nostrils. With a forced smile, he gently but firmly grabbed the little shit by the scruff.
"How do I turn this damn thing off?" he asked, his patience wearing thin. "It's starting to piss me off."
The Archangels offered no response, their faces a mix of amusement and awkwardness as they observed the scene.
Adam felt a flush of embarrassment, realizing he might have overstepped. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his relaxed demeanor. "I'm sorry about that," he said with a sheepish grin. "Just-"Witness Adam, the force that awakens the infinite! In your light, the boundaries of reality dissolve and dreams take flight!"
Adam felt his eyebrow twitch as he glared at the little creature in his hands. Cherubim —his first set of memories had supplied him with the name and function of the multi-eyed, wheel-shaped angel. He had seen these little beings only once, ten thousand years ago when the Old Man had first welcomed him into creation. But these creatures were supposed to reside in the highest realms of Heaven, so why were they bothering him down here?
Did they mistake him for the Old Man? He shook his head. It couldn't be. They were clearly saying his name. They probably had nothing better to do. Or maybe he was much more popular than he remembered.
He was the Dickmaster's successor, after all.
"Adam, the pillar of creation! The unyielding force of goodness! The heart of all existence! Glory to Adam!"
He let out a breath—a meaningless action, he knew, since he no longer needed to breathe. Still, he hesitated to reject his old mannerisms. Muscle memory was a vital thing for a human, and Adam took great pride in his humanity.
"Pipe down, would ya?" Adam's voice cut through the praise as he shook the cherubim lightly in his hand.
But the cherubim, lost in its adoration, remained oblivious to his words. "Adam, the Alpha and Omega! The beacon of hope! The divine essence that unites us all! Glory, glory, glory to the First Father!"
"Oi! Don't ignore me, damn it." Adam tapped the little angel between its wings, yet to no success. Soon, several more of its kind joined in on the praise, much to the First Man's growing annoyance.
He took it back. these things clearly didn't like him. They wanted to annoy him.
The situation escalated quickly from adorably annoying to seriously irritating as the living creatures and ophanim—both of which were larger than him—began to circle him, their voices loud and echoing. "Adam, the eternal light! The bringer of truth! The divine perfection! Praise be to Adam!"
He turned to look at the Archangels for help. His eyes narrowed a bit. Why were they so far away from him?
They huddled together in a tight circle, clearly deep in discussion. Every once in a while, a head would pop up, glance his way, and then quickly turn back down. Their murmurs grew more intense, more animated. A couple of smacks over Uriel's head rang out.
What the hell are they- "Glory to the pure heart of Adam! The radiant light of the heavens, shining ever bright!" A Cherubim zoomed right into his face, practically vibrating with energy.
"Shut up! I can't even hear my own damn thoughts!" Adam said, his frustration breaking through his previous serene demeanor as he smacked the tender away. One of the living creatures took the chance to nuzzle its lion-like head against his cheek. He pushed it away, only for another to take its place.
Was this bullying? Was he being bullied?
"They're quite dedicated, aren't they?" A chuckling sound reached his ears. Adam turned to look at the angel who had spoken. It was Gabriel, the Messenger of God, nearly the same height as Adam, with short brown hair and eyes of a striking iridescent hue.
Adam's frustration softened slightly as he glanced at Gabriel before he pushed another. "Yeah, well, it's starting to feel like a damn mob scene."
"Yeah... They mean well," Gabriel admitted his tone a mix of awkwardness and sincerity. "They just... might need a little guidance on when to dial it back." He cleared his throat and coughed into his fist. "You're not exactly...uh.. making it easy for them."
Adam raised an eyebrow at Gabriel's last remark, his gaze moving to the archangel. He found Gabriel's eyes drifting away, clearly avoiding direct contact. A faint blush colored the archangel's cheeks, which deepened the more Adam observed.
What.
Sera, Michael, and Raphael, standing nearby closer to him, also seemed to be averting their eyes, their cheeks tinged with varying shades of pink. The scene was both amusing and perplexing to Adam.
"Is something the matter? "You all seem a bit... off," Adam asked, his curiosity growing. he moved a bit to stand closer to them, only for them to move away from him. "Sera?" He turned to the high seraphim, who only gave him a strained smile and backed away.
Rude!
Adam's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of the situation. He took another step toward Jophiel, but the Angel of Love raised her arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"About close enough, First Man," Jophiel said, her tone firm but edged with awkwardness.
Adam looked around at the archangels, his confusion deepening. It seemed that he was clearly missing a bit of context.
He thought of it as a joke before, but he was actually getting worried that he was being bullied.
A snap of a finger echoed, and the surroundings dimmed. suddenly the choir that wouldn't leave him alone seemed unable to reach him. Passing through him as if he was not there. And he wasn't, he realized.
A suspended dimension. One seemed to host only him and the Archangels.
Haniel, with her cascading white hair, pale skin, and silver eyes, approached from the back of the group. Her steps were steady and purposeful until she stopped before him, offering a small bow. "Please, do not take offense," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "My siblings' reaction is merely a natural one. Your presence is simply overwhelming."
Adam observed her closely, noticing that, unlike the others, she had no trouble making eye contact with him. Her silver eyes met his directly, showing no signs of discomfort or hesitation. "Thank you...?" he replied, unsure if her words were a compliment.
"Due to your latest trial, your presence feels not quite indifferent to the Lord's," The first angel explained. "Of course, it's only slightly similar and a much inferior version, but even that is not an easy presence to stand in. It has an effect on others."
Was the 'much inferior' really needed?
She paused, looking around at her siblings. "To them, it's like standing in the presence of the Almighty. It's intense and overwhelming, making it hard to act normally." She then added, "But there's a difference. Your presence is mixed with human emotions, making it a bit less dignified than the Lord's. There's an element of... well, let's just say it's more earthy."
So, it was his fault. Adam raised his head to look at the Archangels huddled a bit of distance away. they waved at him. he waved back. Adam nodded slowly, taking in her explanation. "But you don't seem too bothered by it."
Haniel offered a small, reassuring smile. "I am part of the first pair of angels created and the first creatures—"
"The second is obviously me!" Uriel interrupted, flashing a peace sign from behind her.
"—to ever be given sentience. I've spent more time by the Lord's side than anyone else. I'm more accustomed to such phenomena. I still feel it, of course. I'm just better at staying composed."
And true enough, from a certain angle, if the light hit just right and she didn't move, and Adam looked very, very closely, there might have been a tint of red on her cheek. Probably.
"Of course, the Lord's presence was much smoother than yours. You're basically bashing us in the face with it," Uriel stated as he approached. He put his arm around Adam's shoulders and moved him a bit away from the group."So, if you want me to act the part of the bashful maiden like Junior-"Eat shit"- over there, you'll have to try much harder than a smile, and light show. I'm not easy. No offense."
"Because you're older than them."
"By billions of years." Uriel nodded.
"I'm sorry that you're too old to get it up," Adam shot back with a grin.
Uriel laughed. "Touché, First Man. Touché." He laughed heartily, clapping Adam on the shoulder. "You've still got that sharp wit. I'll give you—" Uriel paused, genuinely taken aback by something. "Damn, you've got some beautiful eyes."
"Thanks, I made them myself. Yours are pretty nice too" Adam quipped, looking at Uriel's featureless mask.
Haniel stepped forward, her silver eyes observing the exchange. "Uriel," she said softly, her tone carrying a hint of admonishment.
Uriel looked at her, slightly puzzled. "What? Can't two completely straight men compliment each other?"
Haniel sighed gently. "Perhaps it would be wise to focus on more pressing matters at the moment."
Adam couldn't help but laugh. It was reassuring to know he wasn't a victim of social rejection, just too awesome for his own good. He pointed to an ophanim that was flying around like an annoying fly. "So these things are simply confused?"
"I wouldn't say confused," Uriel replied, his tone light. "These things are actually a lot smarter than you'd think. I'd say they're just happy to see you. And that you're similar to the Lord is a plus."
Yay, he was just the second-best thing available. That would've done wonders to his past version's insecurities! Still, it was nice to know they weren't actually confusing him for the Old Man. Neither part of Adam was keen on that comparison for different reasons, of course.
"But seriously, the young'uns aren't used to the full brunt of divinity for so long. So, try to dial it back a bit before one of them does something we'd all regret." Uriel pointed towards the rest of the archangels who seemed to be handling it to varying levels of composure.
Haniel and Uriel could mostly shrug it off. Gabriel and Sera were definitely under stress but still managed to smile and wave in his direction, while Michael stood with her back to him, full armor donned, trying to pretend he didn't exist. The Taxiarch was shaking. She also had her spear out for some reason and was moving it from one side to the other, much to the unease of her siblings around her.
So it really was an issue of age. So that meant...
"Is... is she okay?" Adam asked, pointing at Emily, who was even younger than Adam and was standing incredibly still with a wide-eyed, thousand-yard stare into space.
Uriel shrugged, not seeming overly concerned. "She'll be fine. Nothing too damaging. It's like getting hit with a blast of nostalgia and awe all at once. Her brain is just blue-screening."
That sounded bad. Adam furrowed his brows. "But she seemed fine just a couple of minutes ago."
Uriel nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, well, the problem is that your presence is working nonstop. The more she's exposed to it, the more intense it becomes for her. It's like being hit with a constant wave of energy. The longer it goes on, the harder it is for her to handle.
Adam, a frown deepening on his face, looked between Haniel and Uriel and pointed out "You just told me that resistance depends on how long they've been exposed to Big G's presence."
Uriel looked at him, the mask obscuring his expression but clearly working to understand Adam's point. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. "Oh, that! Yeah, that's the Almighty's presence which is very great to be in by the way. Your case is a bit different, didn't I mention that?"
Adam's frown deepened. "What do you mean, it's different? I thought it was all about exposure time. Are you saying this isn't the same?"
Well, yes and no. The Almighty's presence has a certain... consistency. It's one thing to deal with a constant, predictable exposure, like the one you're talking about. On the other hand, yours is more like a storm Your presence, on the other hand, is more like a storm. It shifts and intensifies unpredictably, making it harder for beings to adapt and resist. the Oldest angel interjected instead of her younger brother. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, unsure how the phrase the next part." Your presence is mixed with human emotions, which makes it a bit less... dignified than the Lord's."
Adam frowned. "Less dignified?"
Haniel nodded, stepping closer. "Your divine presence carries the weight of human experiences and emotions—love, fear, desire. It's more... relatable but also more intense. The Lord's presence is pure divinity, serene and overwhelming, but without the added layer of human complexity."
"Basically, you're blasting us with both divine light and human heat," Uriel added with a cackle. "Emily was lucky enough to pass out, but poor virgin Michael's got it bad. Add in the conversation we had while you were sleeping..."Uriel shook his head in mock compassion. He was clearly enjoying it. He patted Adam's shoulder. "She means well."
Adam's eyes widened in genuine scandal as he absorbed Uriel's explanation "So, you're telling me I'm basically flashing everyone—literally, metaphysically, and spiritually? I'm practically giving off a divine strip show."
Haniel nodded with a small, amused smile. "Not quite the wording I'd choose, but yes, it's more than just light. It's intense. You're radiating a presence that's far beyond mere illumination. It's a mix of divine power and human emotion."
Uriel burst into laughter, unable to contain his amusement. "Exactly! Instead of the usual, soothing 'Be at ease, my child,' it's coming off more like 'Hey there, sweet cheeks, come to Daddy and let me show you a good time!'—complete with a cheeky wink and a purr at the end. It's like you're hosting a celestial rave and everyone who sees you is invited—whether they want to be or not."
Ew.
Adam made a disgusted face, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue. "Wait, even my kids?" he asked, clearly bothered by the idea. He couldn't fathom his children seeing him as some sort of sexual deviant.
Uriel's laughter faded slowly, replaced by a thoughtful humming. He glanced at Haniel, who nodded. "Wouldn't worry much about it," he finally said with a shrug. "The effect only works through auditory and visual senses. Human souls can't handle witnessing True Divinity; at most, they'd see a bright light."
"You keep saying that, but I'm not a god," Adam replied with a frown. He had already rejected that shtick. "I'm just Adam. No divine thrones or cosmic power trips for me. Make sure to let everyone know that."
Haniel shook her head, her expression gentle. "You're not a god, Adam, but your presence carries a piece of the divine," she explained. "It's like a ripple of something greater. Mortals can sense it, but they can't fully understand it. Think of it as them experiencing a glimpse of something extraordinary without grasping the full picture."
Adam sighed, still frowning. "So, my kids will just see me as some kind of bright light?"
"Not exactly. They'll see you as something special, but not overwhelming. They'll sense the extraordinary in you, but in a way that feels right for them." Haniel smiled reassuringly as she looked at him. "So don't worry, you ha—Oh my, your eyes are truly captivating."
She seemed momentarily distracted, her gaze lingering on Adam's eyes before she cleared her throat and refocused, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
Adam glanced at Haniel, deciding not to press the comment further. He turned to Uriel."So, you mentioned I should dial it down a bit. How do I do that?"
Uriel shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know."
Adam made a face, disappointment clear in his eyes. "Aren't you the angel of Wisdom and Knowledge?"
Uriel shot back with a grin. "And Light!"
Adam sighed, clearly unimpressed. "You're kinda useless, aren't you?" he said, a hint of frustration in his voice.
From afar, Cassil's voice rang out in agreement. "Preach it!"
"Hey, I'm good at what I do. Just not everything."Uriel, for his part, didn't look ashamed at all. He simply shrugged and offered a nonchalant suggestion. "For now, how about you just try to relax and see what happens?"
Adam took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs and then slowly exhaling. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the sensation of his shoulders dropping, releasing the tension he hadn't even realized he was holding. His muscles relaxed, loosening from their rigid state.
He let go of his frustrations, feeling the weight of the celestial expectations lift slightly. With each breath, he imagined himself sinking into the gentle rhythm of his surroundings, the hum of the Tenders becoming a soft background noise rather than an irritation.
Adam felt a slight shift in the atmosphere as he embraced the calm, and he noticed that the discomfort around him seemed to ease.
This felt nice. It felt almost...liberating.
Adam let the stress out of his system and felt the universe sigh with him.
"Stop! Stop! You're only making it worse!" Uriel's voice cut through the chaos, jolting Adam from his attempt to relax.
Adam opened his eyes, bewildered. What he saw in front of him made him blink. The scene before him was a wild, frantic struggle. Michael was thrashing with a frantic look, her face flushed with an intense, almost feverish energy as she stomped her way toward him. Uriel and Haniel were pushing against her torso, their faces strained with the effort. Jophiel had her arms wrapped tightly around Michael's face, trying to keep her under control.
Sera and Gabriel were pulling at Michael's arms, desperately trying to slow her down. Raguel and Cassiel grappled with her legs, trying to restrain them. Chamuel, Raguel, and Zadkiel were tugging at her wings, each straining to maintain some semblance of order.
"Please, Michael, calm down!" Sera shouted, her voice filled with desperation.
"Think about what you're doing!" Gabriel pleaded, trying to steady Michael's flailing limbs.
"It's a misunderstanding, Michael! A misunderstanding! Gabriel read it all wrong!" Raguel yelled, his frustration evident.
Jophiel, her wings fluttering in a vain attempt to slow down the chaos, called out, "Stop it! You might fall!"
"I shall not," Michael's cold reply came.
Despite their frantic efforts and pleas, they couldn't stop her. The combined force of their struggle dragged them all closer to Adam. Michael was now within arm's reach, and Adam could only watch in stunned silence.
"Don't just stand there! Do something, you handsome bastard!" Cassiel yelled over his shoulder, frustration lacing his words. "Control you're pheromones or something!"
Adam nodded his head, trying to refocus. He attempted to flex his concentration again, but a strange tightness caught in his throat. His gaze went back to Michael, still struggling and pulling everyone closer.
Adam couldn't help but focus on the details of Michael's struggle. Her flowing golden hair was being pulled back roughly, exposing the strain on her face. Her teeth were clenched tightly, and veins stood out on her neck as she dragged everyone with her. Her growl was a soothing familiar melody.
Her small nose was turned up, and her eyebrows were knitted together in a fierce glare. The massive blush spread across her cheeks, and her nostrils flared with each breath. The sight was chaotic and intense, capturing his attention completely.
Adam had made the comparison before, but now it felt unsettlingly like a carbon copy. Holy shit, eyes aside, she really was just like Eve when she was horny.
Both Eve's.
"Beautiful..." the word slipped from his lips unconsciously. As soon as he said it, his eyes widened in realization.
Shit.
In a flash, both Sera and Gabriel were thrown aside as Michael's arms lunged at him. Only his instincts allowed him to grab her wrists before they touched his face. Her face was now unbearably close to his.
Adam's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from Michael, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Her eyes were wide, filled with an intense, almost desperate energy.
"H-Hey, Michael!" he shouted, trying to shake her out of whatever frenzy had overtaken her. He pushed against her arms, but they barely budged. What the hell? He knew was strong, but to this degree. The woman was probably even stronger than Zeus. How was she so strong?!
"Michael, snap out of it!" he yelled again, desperation creeping into his voice. He could see the confusion and struggle in her eyes, but she wasn't backing down. Adam tried to pull his Presence inwards, but a moment of distraction was more than enough for Michael's hand to graze his face and her strength to bring him to his knees.
"This brings me no joy, First Man, but it is my duty." She gritted out.
"Then, Stop!" Adam countered.
"The Lords Wills it!"
Michael pushed harder, closing the gap between them. Adam' tried to maintain his grip on her wrists. Finally taking her seriously, Adam's muscles bulged as he started to push her hands away. It was working, but it was slow. His mind raced, searching for a way to break through to her.
He really didn't want to hurt her.
The other Archangels were trying to pull Michael back, but her sheer determination kept them at bay. Adam's arms trembled with the effort of holding her off, his mind flashing back to memories of Eve's strength and intensity which was really not helping!
"Michael, listen to me!" he pleaded, his voice strained. "You need to calm down!"
For a moment, her eyes flickered with recognition, but the frenzy in her gaze didn't fade. Instead, she pushed harder, her body pressing closer to his. A small part of Adam's mind supplied him that they were a bit smaller than Eve's, but a bit bigger than Eve's.
Suddenly, she stopped pushing.
"You called me beautiful..." Michael said in a low, but happy whisper. Her intense expression softened, a hint of a smile forming on her lips.
Adam felt his brows furrow before he remembered. Well, of course, she was. She looked like Eve. And Eve was very beautiful. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, trying to find the right words. "I did."
Michael's arms loosened completely, and she stepped back, still holding that soft smile. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.
Adam's arms lowered as he saw her relax. Her siblings let out a collective breath of air as she finally stopped.
"I was worried," the Taxiarch said, looking at the ground. She then looked up at him and smiled. "But now I'm relieved."
"Hm?" Adam began to respond, but in a blur, Michael unfurled her wings and barreled into him and taking both of the into the distance before any of her siblings could follow.
Fuck! She deceived him. She let him lower his guard before she jumped him.
Just like Eve used to do!
Michael grabbed both of Adam's wrists in one hand. Her fingers closed around his wrists with a powerful force, pinning them together and leaving no room for escape.
"Michael, stop! Michael! I'm a minor, Michael! I was just born!" Adam yelled, struggling against her hold. "I can't consent!"
"DEUS VULT!" she screamed with a fervent intensity.
"MICHAEAAAAAALLL!"
Luckily, Adam managed to get his power under control just in time before his innocence was stolen.
Michael pretended that nothing had ever happened.
In the Wrath ring, the desert simmered in the aftermath of the weight of the First Man's oppressive presence, which still clung to the air like a suffocating fog. The harsh landscape of Satan's Realm, already a blistering expanse of heat and sand, seemed even more unforgiving.
A lone woman stumbled across the dunes, her progress slow and labored. Her clothes, torn and tattered, flapped weakly against her broken and battered body. Each step was a battle against the scorching sand, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her once-proud demeanor was reduced to a mix of desperation and exhaustion.
The desert was empty except for the sound of her strained cries and the shifting sand beneath her feet. Every attempt to move forward felt like she was being swallowed by the desert itself. She had no clear destination, only a desperate need to escape.
Her legs, heavy and tired, dragged through the sand. Her body was covered in a mix of blood and sweat, with the sand sticking to her skin, marking her slow and painful decline.
Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the scorching sand. "No..." she gasped, her voice filled with terror. "No...no...no. Nononono." For what felt like the hundredth time, she tried to open a gate to another place, but nothing happened.
In her desperation, she reached out to summon one of the countless souls she once commanded. But there was no response. The forceful blow from the Blessed Son had shattered her chains, leaving her powerless and alone.
She attempted to use her arcane magic, hoping it would lift her from the sand. Instead, she was met with sharp pain as the rot in her soul grew worse. The dark pull of the abyss seemed to be drawing closer.
She felt Her whisper in her ears.
She shook her head in refusal, determined not to give in. She couldn't let it end like this. She tried to stand up on shaky legs, but each attempt only pushed her deeper into the sand. Her body trembled, muscles straining as she struggled to rise.
Her hands clawed at the ground, fingers digging into the hot, shifting sand, but it was no use. Each movement seemed to sink her further, making her plight even more pathetic.
Tears streamed down her face as she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. She was trapped, helpless, her strength fading with every passing second.
The Queen of Hell, Lilith, was at her last moment, fighting against an unstoppable tide.
Tears welled up in Lilith's eyes as the jaws of death drew closer. The abyss loomed near, its dark embrace threatening to pull her into its depths. She still had so much left to do, so many tasks unfinished. The thought of dying now, when there was still so much to accomplish, was unbearable.
Her heart ached with the desperate wish to see her daughter one last time. She longed to hold her, to reassure her, to make things right.
She cried and begged, her voice choked with desperation, praying for anyone or anything to come to her aid.
Amid her pleas, a thousand paths seemed to open, close, and intersect in a chaotic whirlwind. And through those tangled paths, a solitary figure wandered aimlessly.
The sense of a familiar presence caused Lilith to lift her head, her eyes meeting those of the man who now stood before her. He was dressed in ceremonial attire, almost priest-like, with dark brown hair and cold blue eyes that looked down at her with an unreadable expression.
What stood out most about him was the intricate tattoo on the left side of his face. It was a complex design of lines and crosses, forming a single word written in the language of Creation.
Murderer.
"Hello, Lilith," the disgraced First Son greeted the Fallen First Woman, his tone icy and detached.
"It has been some time since we've spoken."