Seth ignored the bite of the cold winds tearing through the tattered remnants of the clothes Aclima had lovingly sewn for him. The Sloth of Sin's bandages wrapped around his wounds began to loosen, and the dull ache in his body seemed to intensify, but both were swept away into the back of his mind by a rush of emotion. In that moment, nothing mattered more to Seth than the man in his arms.
His brother. The First Pride of his father and mother.
Cain.
Seth loosened his embrace, leaning away slightly to give the eldest brother space to breathe. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to let go entirely. He needed to feel the weight of Cain, to know that this moment was real.
Cain's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as if he had run miles, though Seth knew the reasons were far more profound than mere exhaustion. Azura had always said he was more brawn than brain, his flesh had moved before his mind caught, but he found himself not regretting slamming into his brother.
Seth's own breath mirrored his brother's, but it wasn't from the exertion of the fight with Lilith.
O his brother was within reach.
"Sorry... sorry, brother of mine," Seth stammered, his voice hurried, the ancient and long forgotten tongue of old his lips accompanied by the manners and respect he hadn't had to use in eons. The words came without thought, instinct taking over as he cradled Cain in his arms and his stump. "I meant you no harm."
He tightened his grip, not too tight, just enough to hold on, as if Cain might disappear if he let go. "This one has waited for eons and eons to lay eyes upon you..." Seth's voice faltered as the overwhelming weight of the moment pressed down on him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the wetness in his eyes threatened to spill over.
For all the battles he had fought, for all the blood he had spilled through the years, nothing had prepared him for this. Seth had imagined this moment countless times, the day he would meet his brother—the First Son of their father.
But as he looked into Cain's face, the man he had dreamed of meeting, he found his brother's gaze distant, never meeting his own.
A knot twisted in Seth's gut as he searched Cain's eyes, hoping for some flicker of recognition, some acknowledgment of their bond. But Cain's face was a mask of indifference, his eyes clouded with something Seth couldn't decipher— Anger? Guilt? Fear? Of him? For what reason would his brother fear of Seth?
Cain shifted uncomfortably in Seth's embrace, his muscles tense, the warmth of the reunion already starting to dissipate. With a strained groan, Cain pushed against Seth's chest, his hands firm but not forceful enough to cause harm. "Stop," Cain rasped, his voice hoarse, almost fragile. "Let me go."
"Brother..." He said softly, hoping.
Cain's muscles tensed at Seth's touch, his expression hardening as the words struck him like daggers and seemed to slice through whatever fragile resolve Cain had mustered. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, his eyes flared with a spark of pain. But it was fleeting, quickly snuffed out by the crushing weight of his guilt.
"Don't call me that," Cain snapped, trying to yank his arm free from Seth's grasp, as if the touch burned him. His voice was harsh, brittle, like the crack of dry wood under pressure. "I'm not your brother. I'm not anyone's brother. So, if you would please, unhand me. "
Seth's heart sank, but he loosened his grip before he realized, allowing Cain to push him away. He had imagined so many things, but not this. Not rejection. His arms fell limply to his sides as Cain straightened up, creating a painful distance between them.
Seth's chest tightened, disbelief flashing across his features as he saw his brother stand and made to move away from Seth. He opened his mouth to protest, to say something—anything—but the words died in his throat. This was his brother. His blood. There could be no mistake. Yet here Cain was, denying him. Rejecting him.
No, he won't allow it.
An uneasy laugh finally emerged from Seth's throat as he rushed to his feet, his sole hand grasping Cain's forearm. "Brother, if this foolish little brother has caused any sort of offense, then he shall prostrate until his head bleeds and offer you a thousand apologies," Seth said hurriedly, his voice tainted with shame and regret. "But do not deny the blood in our veins. 'The fool'—it is a title my wife, and our sister Azura frequently use on me, and for good reason." Seth didn't miss the way Cain stiffened at the mention of her name. "Yet, I am not enough of a nitwit not to recognize my own brother."
For a moment, the wind howled between them, carrying the weight of Seth's words. Cain stood rigid, his eyes cast downward, still refusing to meet his gaze. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched as though fighting against the torrent of emotions threatening to break free.
"You're mistaking me for someone else," Cain finally gritted out, his voice thick with rising frustration.
Seth lowered his head, feeling the bite of the cold against his skin but paying it no mind. "Pardon this one's dishonorableness and audacity, but in all creation, there is no one who would mistake you for another," Seth replied quietly, his voice gentle yet resolute. "The Mark wouldn't allow it, brother."
Cain's head snapped up, but his eyes did not meet Seth's. His voice was laced with venom as he lashed out, "If you can see the Mark, then you see what it says! Whatever semblance of blood between us is cursed. It carries death, not kinship. So get that through your thick skull, leave me alone, and stop calling me that!"
The sting of Cain's words struck deep, but Seth did not flinch. His heart ached at the venom in his brother's voice, but more so at the pain behind it—the unbearable burden Cain carried alone for so long.
"But you are my broth—"
"I said don't fucking call me that!" Cain snapped, his voice rising as he jerked his arm out of Seth's grasp. The movement was so sharp, so sudden, that it startled Seth, cutting his words short. Before he could react, Cain's hand flew out, fast and harsh, the back of his hand slamming into Seth's chin.
The force of the blow knocked Seth off balance, his body hitting the cold ground with a thud. For a moment, everything blurred—the world spun, and he tasted blood in his mouth.
As he lay there, dazed, a huge smile crept onto Seth's face. As expected of his brother. Cain was strong, still capable of such power.
But the smile quickly died when Seth caught sight of Cain's face
The raw agony twisted across his brother's features, a sight that pierced through the haze of pain in Seth's mind. Cain had fallen to his knees, his body trembling as his wide eyes fixated on the blood smeared on Seth's lips.
His hands twitched, hovering in the air, wanting to reach out but unable to move, as if the curse that marked him held him back. His whole body shook violently, tears streaming down his face in silent agony. His lips trembled, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions that seemed ready to break him.
"I—I didn't mean to..." Cain's voice cracked as his trembling hand reached toward Seth but stopped short, frozen in its uncertainty. "I didn't want... I—
A low, guttural cry finally escaped him, filled with years of regret and pain. Cain clutched his arms around himself, his breathing ragged and desperate, like every gasp cut deeper. His head hung low, shoulders trembling as he fought against the weight of his own guilt.
Seth's shock lasted for barely a second before his instincts took over. Cain's sobs, his shaking—it was too much. He had seen men break before, but this was his brother, and Cain was crumbling in front of him.
Without thinking, Seth acted. His hand came up, not in anger, but to ground him, a sharp backhand across Cain's face. The strike wasn't cruel, but it was enough to snap Cain out of his spiraling and draw some droplets of blood from his lips.
"Look at me." Seth said gently but firmly, making sure to smile. "See? I'm okay. And so are you."
He hit his brother, and, as pain does to all men, it grounded him. A sign that, even in all this pain, they could still feel.
Cain's eyes, wild and unfocused, flicked up, but it was clear he was still fighting against the pull of his own mind. His chest heaved, breath uneven, but Seth held on, firm but kind, talking him through every panicked gasp.
"We're still here. Still standing. One hit doesn't break us, right?" Cain didn't respond, his hands still trembling. But Seth didn't push.
Slowly, Seth knelt beside Cain, his hand resting lightly on his brother's shoulder. "We both got hit, huh?" His voice was calm, almost teasing, though the hurt lingered beneath the surface. "So now we're even. You hit me, I hit you. No blood between us, yeah?"
Cain's body shook, his breathing ragged, but he wasn't pulling away. Seth's words cut through the haze, just enough. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. "Hey," Seth continued, his hand moving to Cain's face, gently wiping the blood from his lip, "Look at me, Cain. Just breathe."
"Slow down. One breath at a time," Seth said softly, never breaking eye contact. "We're not going anywhere. Just breathe with me."
It wasn't perfect. Cain's sobs quieted but never fully stopped. His body continued to shake, weighed down by centuries of guilt that neither of them could shake loose.
Slowly, painfully slowly, the storm within him eased, shifting from violent waves to a relentless, dull ache. "I didn't mean to... I'm sorry..." Cain whispered, his voice broken, barely holding together.
Seth knew his brother's torment ran deeper than any wound or scar he'd ever seen. There were demons inside Cain's head—demons Seth couldn't fight, couldn't even reach. All he could do was anchor him here, in this moment, when everything else threatened to tear him apart.
"We're both still here," Seth murmured again, his tone gentle but firm, like a lifeline. "That's what matters. We're still brothers. Whatever happened, whatever comes next—we're still here."
Cain's shaking slowed, his breathing still ragged but a bit steadier. He didn't have the strength to respond, not fully, but he didn't pull away either. Seth didn't need more than that right now. He just held his brother, grounding him, pulling him out of that darkness inch by inch.
It wasn't everything.
But it was enough—for now.
Seth sat beside Cain, letting the silence stretch between them. The wind howled in the distance, carrying away any words that might have been left unsaid. His hand remained on Cain's shoulder, steady, offering a quiet sense of reassurance.
After what felt like an eternity, Cain finally stirred, leaning back just enough to ease away from Seth's touch, though not entirely. His voice, though still rough, broke the silence. "Why are you here?"
Seth gave a small, wry smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, I didn't mean to end up here. I heard the Fat Clown mention that the was Sin of Sloth hiding away a man, and I remembered Gabriel saying that was where he delivered the Lord's message met you a couple thousand years ago. So, figured I'd check it out, and what do you know? It was actually you."
He leaned back, still chuckling softly. "Turns out, you've got quite the woman. She's nice enough to patch me up, but whatever drugs she gave me? Man, it's got me seeing colors I didn't even know existed." He laughed again, shaking his head. "I swear, I can taste the wind right now." Seth just laughed and patted him on the shoulder a couple of times, a wide grin spreading across his face only for it to drop when his brother frowned and shied away from the touch.
"Sorry..." he said retracting his hand.
"...Why would you want to meet me?" Cain rasped, his gaze fixed on a distant point, avoiding Seth's eyes. "Your family—" he emphasized the word with a painful edge, "—should've told you what I was like. What reason would you have to meet a monster and a failure like me?"
Seth's expression hardened with resolve. "No, brother. I know what I heard, and I know what I see. The tales might not have told the whole story, but they spoke of a man who was loved and who made a terrible mistake. Our family didn't try to shield me; they told me the truth as they knew it. And I see that truth in you—the pain, the regret. That's not the mark of a monster but of someone who has been through unimaginable suffering."
Cain's shoulders slumped, and he shook his head weakly. "You must've been lied to, then," he said, his voice cracking. "They probably spun some story to shield you from the truth. I'm not a man worth knowing. Cain is a failure, a monster, a lesson to All humanity. The stories—they're just a way to protect you from seeing what I really am."
His gaze turned to the snow-covered ground, full of bitterness and sorrow. "The heavens have cast me aside; I've turned Mother into an abomination with my actions; I've lost all faith in myself. And now at last, even Father has finally seen reason and turned his back on me. As he should. As You should do."
Seth shook his head. "Whatever happened to Mother was of her own doing and hubris," he countered gently. "And Father has never, and will never, reject you. So perish the thought. He held more love for you than anyone else."
He stared into the distance, the weight of his guilt and rejection pressing down on him. "I've heard his choir clear in my mind, the judgment and the disdain. I know what I've become, and it's not something he, or anyone, should forgive." He hand rose, fingers around the materializing golden ethereal chain. "This chain—!"
"—!"Is no different than mine!" Seth interrupted, his voice rising with anger and desperation. He pulled forward a chain materializing from his own heart, forcing it into Cain's view. "Yet my halo still burns bright, and my wings are as white as the snow we stand on."
Cain stared, his mouth slightly agape. "I told you He already—"
"That was not Father!" Seth cut him off sharply, his voice shaking with anger. "I've felt that presence too, and I know it's not Father. While you felt his wrath, I felt its so-called love. It was a twisted echo of love, condescending and cruel—a mockery of what real love should be."
The mere recollection of that false presence made Seth's skin crawl. The cold, hollow feeling it left behind was so different from their father's simple, honest love and pride. It was far removed from the Lord's all-encompassing, pure love.
Whatever this presence had been, it was hollow, distorted—a reflection of judgment, not the acceptance and love their father had always shown them.
"You're not rejected by our father; you're ensnared by a falsehood." Seth's eyes softened as he looked at Cain, trying to reach him. "No matter what you believe, Father has never turned away from you. He's never stopped loving you, Cain. You just need to let go of that guilt and see it for yourself."
"..I wish he would stop," Cain muttered, his voice hollow, the fight draining from him. His shoulders slumped, and the tension that had held him together for so long seemed to finally snap. He sagged, looking utterly exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally—like the weight of millennia of guilt had crushed whatever strength he had left.
"Stop... loving me. Stop forgiving me," he whispered, eyes downcast. "I don't deserve it. I never did." His voice cracked, barely above a breath. "I wish He would stop."
"I know you believe that," Seth said softly, his voice thick with patience. "But that's not how love works. It's not about deserving it, brother. It's just... there. Whether you want it or not. Can you honestly say that you hate us?"
Cain's face twisted with deep anguish as Seth's words settled over him. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first, the question striking something raw within him. He turned away, trying to shield himself from the truth.
"I..." His voice trembled, barely a whisper. "I've tried." He shook his head slowly, as if the admission itself was a struggle. "I've tried to hate you, to shut out everything you were to me. I thought it would be easier... thought it would justify everything."
Cain's fists clenched tighter. His nails dug into his palms drawing blood as though the pain would somehow make it all go away. "But I couldn't. Not really. I never could."
Seth's gaze softened, his chest tightening with empathy. "Because you care," he said gently, not pressing, just acknowledging the truth.
Cain bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes as he stared at the snow beneath him. "I do. And that's why it hurts so much," he admitted, his voice cracking. "That's why it has to stop. I can't... I don't deserve to feel that love. It's not fair to them, to Father, to any of you. I've wronged you all."
"You've never wronged me, brother," Seth countered firmly. "I can't speak for the others, but you haven't wronged me. What you did—you saved me. You helped me protect my family. That's not something I can or will ever forget."
Cain's body tensed as Seth spoke, a sharp contrast to the rigid denial he'd just uttered. His fists clenched, his expression unreadable. "You're mistaken," he muttered, though the defiance in his voice had faltered.
Seth only smirked, seeing through his brother's façade like an elder catching a child in a lie. "I know it's hard to admit," he said, his voice lighter now, "but you can't hide from the truth forever. Back then, when we were all blissfully unaware of the slaughter of our brothers and sisters, I remember Metatron—back when he was just my great-great-grandchild little Enoch—coming to me in tears."
Cain's gaze shifted slightly, listening despite himself.
"He said an angel had warned him about it," Seth continued, his smirk softening into something kinder. "At the time, I believed him. I had no reason not to. But during my battle with Mother... that's when I finally realized the truth. It wasn't an angel guiding him. It was you."
Cain's face tightened, but he said nothing.
"For seven days and seven nights, her attacks should've killed me. I should've fallen. But every time I couldn't block, every time I thought it was over, her blows veered off. They missed. And that wasn't chance. It wasn't me. I wasn't alone, even though I thought I was."
Cain's jaw clenched, his fists shaking. "You're giving me credit for something I didn't do," he muttered.
Seth crossed his arms, leaning back with a thoughtful hum that rumbled low in his throat. His eyes studied Cain, brow furrowed in contemplation. For a moment, he said nothing, just letting the silence stretch between them.
"Very well," he finally muttered with a nod. With a decisive slap to his knees, Seth stood up, and Cain's confused stare followed him as he moved. But even now, Cain couldn't meet his eye. Seth walked around behind him and then, to Cain's surprise, slumped down on the ground, resting his back against his brother's.
"What are you—?" Cain began, trying to turn around, but was stopped when Seth's wings unfurled, forming a makeshift barrier between the two of them.
Seth's arms sneaked back circling around Cain's and crossed at the elbows in an unexpected gesture of solidarity, despite Cain's resistance.
"You're so wrapped up in your guilt, in what you've done, that you can't even recognize when you've tried to make amends," Seth said with quiet conviction. "Even now, you can't see it. So, desperate times call for desperate measures." His voice grew resolute as he declared, "I say you're a repentant man; you say I'm just a dumb brat who doesn't know any better."
"I never said—" Cain started, but Seth cut him off sharply, not letting him finish.
"Shut up!" Seth's tone, though harsh, held an undeniable undercurrent of care. "This is obviously because while we knew of each other, we don't know one another." He leaned his head back, resting it lightly against Cain's. "So, until you accept that I'm your brother and I don't care what you've done, we're staying like this. Deal with it."
The gesture was strange, almost childish in its stubbornness, but Seth was determined. If Cain wouldn't accept his love as a brother willingly, then he would sit here as long as it took.
He had an eternity of time to kill.
His wives would understand. Rather, they would kill him if he didn't.
"In the meantime, we'll get to know one another! I'll start!" Seth declared, his voice brightening with a forced cheerfulness that was impossible to ignore.
Cain let out a choked out, his body still tense. "Y-You're serious?!"
"Damn straight!" The Blessed Son bellowed. "I am the Father of Enoch and Enos!" Seth's voice rose, carrying with it the weight of his pride and defiance. "Husband of Aclima and Azura! The youngest brother of Cain and Abel and the older brother of Jemuel, Elidad and many others! I am the Son of Adam and Eve!" His tone grew louder with each declaration, as though daring Cain to deny him, to deny their bond.
"And throughout my life—" Seth continued, his voice practically booming now, "I have fought! I have struggled! I have survived! Not just for me, but for the family we both share! The family that loves you!" His wings tightened their embrace, refusing to let Cain slip away, physically or emotionally.
"You're not the only one who's suffered, Cain! But I've never turned my back on this family. And I won't turn my back on you!"
Cain flinched, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. Seth's words crashed over him like a tidal wave, the raw emotion behind them undeniable. Cain had been so used to his own self-loathing that he hadn't expected Seth to fight so hard, to care so much.
"And as much as you keep trying to push me away, I'm still your brother! " Seth bellowed, his voice cracking with the strain of his emotion, " Seth be mine name! To whom am I talking to?!"
Cain felt his throat tighten, his heart pounding in his chest as Seth's voice thundered in his ears. He wasn't used to this—wasn't prepared for this relentless love, this force of will that Seth embodied. He had spent so long buried in his guilt, wrapped in layers of shame and self-hatred, that the idea of anyone still caring for him felt foreign. Wrong.
He swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he balled them into fists, trying to stave off the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
"I…" Cain's voice wavered, barely audible, as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to face this. "I can't, Seth…"
Seth shifted slightly, but he didn't back down. His wings remained in place, his presence unwavering, and Cain could feel the heat of his brother's determination pressing against him.
"You can," Seth insisted, his tone softening just a fraction, but still resolute. "You don't have to carry this alone anymore. Just say it. Say who you are."
Cain squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. "I don't… I don't deserve that."
"You're not running from this, Cain," Seth said firmly. "You're my brother. You're Cain."
The name felt like a stone in Cain's throat, heavy and unbearable. "I don't want to be him anymore," he whispered, voice raw with pain. "I don't want to be Cain!"
He didn't want to be here. Didn't want to face Seth or himself, or the memories he'd tried so hard to bury. But Seth wasn't giving him any room to hide. "I don't want to be Cain anymore," he repeated, the bitterness thick in his voice. "That name—everything it stands for—it's a curse. I don't want it. I don't want any of—!"
"Well, that's too damn bad!" Before Cain could even finish his sentence, Seth slammed his head back like a hammer, cracking their skulls together with brutal force. Cain winced as pain shot through his head, a sharp jolt that rattled his senses.
With all politeness and manners Aclima drilled into him thrown into the wind, Seth barked, not giving an inch, his voice hard as steel. "You don't get to just throw it all away! Not your name, not who you are! You don't get to run anymore, brother!"
The First Son wanted to argue, to push Seth away, to retreat back into the numb, familiar isolation he'd wrapped himself in for so long. But Seth's relentless persistence was breaking through, and he hated it—hated how exposed he felt.
"You don't understand," Cain muttered, his voice low, trembling with barely contained emotion. "You don't know what it's like—to carry this, to live with it."
"Then let me know, Goddammit!" he shouted, the anger and desperation in his tone cutting through the cold air. "Let me understand by telling me: Who the fuck am I talking to?!"
"I'm no one!" Cain spat, his anger rising. "I'm nothing but a murderer, a failure, a curse—"
"That's not who you are!" Seth shouted, his frustration finally bubbling over. "That's what you've done, not who you are!"
Cain flinched again, his shoulders trembling as the weight of his own guilt pressed down on him. He tried to pull away from Seth, but Seth's arms pulled him back, keeping him close despite his attempts to distance himself.
Cain closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the world. But all he could see was Abel's unmoving body, his lifeless eyes staring back at him. The image was seared into his mind.
He wondered, with a deep, aching sorrow, if it was ever really okay for him to find some sort of redemption or forgiveness. The guilt was overwhelming, a heavy fog that made it hard for him to see any path forward.
The silence around him felt suffocating, filled with his own doubts and fears. He wasn't sure if he deserved to be held or cared for, or if he was worthy of anything but his own self-loathing. The question of whether it was truly okay for him to seek forgiveness, to believe in the possibility of redemption, lingered painfully in his mind
Cain's body trembled, and for a long moment, he was silent. The weight of Seth's words pressed heavily on him. Tears welled up in Cain's eyes, but he fought to keep them from falling, his face twisted in a mask of pain and confusion.
"The penguins are laughing at us, brother." After a long pause, Seth broke the silence with a tired but resolute tone. "Either you start talking or I'm hitting you again. And trust me, I'm way too drugged up to feel anything right now!".
"Just shut up!" Cain snapped, his voice breaking. "I'm… I'm trying...so please, just...shut up."
"..Sorry."
His resolve began to crack under the pressure. After a long, tense silence, Cain's voice emerged, barely more than a whisper. "I— I don't know if I can— if I'm allowed—"
The words were choked, half-formed and hesitant. Cain's grip on himself was faltering, the enormity of his guilt and the weight of his actions pressing down on him more heavily than ever.
"I've— I've done so many terrible things," he said, his voice breaking. "I've hurt so many people. How can I ever make up for that?"
He was silent for a moment, his breathing ragged. The weight of his guilt was palpable, and his mind was a turbulent sea of regret and doubt. His tears, long held back, began to seep from the corners of his eyes.
"I... I don't know if I can ever be forgiven," he admitted softly. "I've tried so hard to hide from it, to push it all away. But—"
Cain struggled to speak. His voice, thick with emotion, cracked repeatedly. "I... I'm the older brother of Aclima, Azura," he began, each name a heavy weight on his chest. "Seth and.. A-Ab-grk..."
He faltered, closing his eyes tightly as if the act could help him push through the pain. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the snot that dripped from his nose. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one more labored than the last.
"And ...Abel," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The name came out as a broken sob. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he tried to hold onto his resolve.
"I... I am the firstborn of A-Adam and.. Eve," he continued, his voice trembling
After a long, painful pause, , he looked up, eyes red and raw, and said with a voice full of pain,
"I am.. Cain."
Charlie loved her parents.
When she was younger, they were like the sun and moon—bright, warm, and capable of lighting up the darkest corners of her world. They made everything seem magical, like a never-ending festival where the fun never stopped. She couldn't imagine a world without them; they were everything to her.
As she grew older and started to step out into the world, the image of her parents began to blur a little. People said some harsh things about her mom and dad-Prince of lies and First whore were the most repeated- and there were whispers that made her heart ache. But she ignored them. To her, they were still the greatest people in the whole world.
By the time she hit one hundred and fifty, she knew they weren't perfect. No one was. They had their flaws and made mistakes, but that didn't change how much she loved them. They tried their best, and that meant everything to her.
Even when their arguments grew louder, and the warmth between them started to cool, Charlie saw their effort. Her mum would bury herself in work, and her dad would retreat into his own sadness, but they always tried for her. They never gave up on making Hell a better place, no matter how much the world seemed to drag them down.
Others might have hated them, but Charlie made sure to love them even more, to balance out the negativity. It was her way of holding onto hope and spreading the joy they had always tried to give her.
They weren't the best, but Charlie always knew they loved her.
Even when they separated, and her mum vanished while her dad locked himself away in his mansion, her trust in them never wavered. They were dreamers in a harsh world, and that made them special in her eyes.
They never lied to her; they just kept dreaming, even when it seemed impossible.
To Charlie, that was what made them truly amazing.
She couldn't breathe.
Charlie's chest felt like it was being crushed under a heavy weight, and she struggled to catch her breath.
She sat there, feeling like the garden was closing in on her, as Metatron droned on and on about the ancient past.
It was a bunch of lies. They had to be.
Metatron's voice was constant, recounting the origins of angels, the birth of humanity, and the fall of Eden in a way that felt like it was turning her whole world upside down.
Her parents weren't like that, right?
Charlie's heart pounded in her chest. She tried to focus on Metatron's words, but they felt like they were spinning around her. Each sentence seemed to strip away a piece of the world she thought she understood.
She tried desperately to cling to the stories her parents had shared with her and the old picture book she cherished. Those had always been her comfort, her truth. But now, everything Metatron said seemed to tear those comforting beliefs apart.
She wanted to deny it all, and call Metatron a liar, but she couldn't. Not when she saw it all with her own eyes.
The father she had always seen as a hopeful dreamer, someone who never stopped trying to make Hell a better place despite the constant struggles, was painted in a different light. She had admired him for his unyielding spirit and determination. Now, Metatron's version made her question everything she had believed about him.
His siblings were as cold and rigid as he described, yet they cared for him back then in a way. They listened to him. They did not hate him for his dreams and idealistic nature, but because of the chaos he unleashed.
And her mother—Charlie had always thought of her as a fierce protector, even if she sometimes seemed distant.
When her mother left Eden, Charlie had believed it was because of Adam's controlling nature. Meeting Adam weeks ago, and seeing how he behaved had soothed whatever doubts she ever might have had. It helped her hold on to the idea that her parents' love and dreams for a better world were genuine.
But as Metatron continued his tale, the image she had of her parents began to crumble. The father she had looked up to wasn't the innocent, idealistic figure she had believed in. The mother who had left wasn't just escaping a tyrannical partner.
Metatron's story portrayed her parents as deceitful and driven by fear and rejection, not by a noble desire for a better world.
Adam wasn't the tyrant she had been led to believe. He was different back then. The Adam she met was a cruel, sadistic bastard who made her doubt how he ever got into Heavens. The one she saw was nothing like that. He had cared about her mother and considered her father a friend.
He truly loved Eve.
And Eve—oh, Eve. The truth about her shattered Charlie's heart into a thousand pieces. Her parents had told her that Eve was a prisoner, a servant. But Eve wasn't truly imprisoned until her parents had made her one for all eternity.
They lied and deceived her.
Fed her with lies and deception for so long made her hate herself with smiles and laughs.
Those weren't her parents; those were monsters wearing their faces.
They didn't care about Eve. They were ready to sacrifice everything, even curse an innocent woman for all eternity all based on a fear, a possibility.
They didn't care about anyone else but themselves.
It wasn't about free will.
It never was.
Was it all worth it to them?
Her parents had always painted themselves as the misunderstood heroes, fighting for something greater.
But now, all Charlie could see were two people willing to let others suffer, willing to ruin lives for their own selfish reasons.
How could this be true?
Everything her parents had ever told her—their struggles, their dreams, the way they'd talked about making Hell a better place—was it all just... lies?
Charlie's heart ached as she tried to piece it all together. Her father's grand speeches, her mother's cold but strong demeanor, the endless lessons on free will and hope... They were supposed to mean something. But now, those memories felt hollow.
Yet, to her surprise, she didn't hate them.
Even after everything Metatron had revealed, even after learning the darkness behind her parents' actions, the love she had for them didn't vanish. It didn't turn into rage or hatred. Instead, her trust in them—the belief she had always held onto so tightly—was what shattered.
Her admiration was replaced by pity.
They were pitiable.
To think she had spent so many years hating herself, convinced she wasn't living up to their expectations, wasn't fulfilling the legacy they had crafted for her.
All for this?
She wondered. Had her mother actually loved her? Did her dad, when he said that he would try to be better, ever plan to tell her the truth.
No, he would never.
The weight of it all crushed her, and for a moment, Charlie wished for nothing more than to disappear. She wanted the Earth to swallow her whole, to bury everything she'd heard today so she wouldn't have to face it.
But her prayers went unanswered.
Metatron didn't stop. His voice was calm, cold, and unyielding as he continued to tell her about the true extent of the evil her parents had unleashed.
The horrors that followed...
He spoke of Adam and Eve's children, of what had become of them.
He told her about the Fall of the Watchers, the Great Flood, the Rebellion that tore Heaven apart.
He spoke of God and Roo.
He mentioned the Extermination, how the Root of all Evil became entangled in Hell's fate, and the endless suffering of humans caught in between.
The Extermination which she thought were just due to an overpopulation problem turned out to be a the cruel and brutal solution catastrophe that threatened all Creation.
The cruelty of it all—the war between the Princes of Hell and the Sinners, led by the First Archfiend, Barṣīṣā.
Each new story felt like a blow to her chest, one after another. Every tale was like another crack in the foundation of everything Charlie had believed in.
And wasn't that a funny metaphor, considering how absolutely little she knew about… anything!?
By then, Metatron had been talking for nearly a full day, his voice relentless and devoid of emotion. The garden felt heavier with every passing minute, suffocating her. Not even the lovely animals seemed to heal her heart.
Charlie had always thought she understood Hell—its purpose, its history, the roles people played in it. Her parents at least had made sure to teach her that much correctly.
She'd grown up believing she could make a difference, that she could be the one to break the cycle of torment. But now, hearing all of this, she wasn't sure if she even knew what Hell really was.
Day turned into night, and the Tale of Creation continued for another day after that. Charlie's mind was about to shut down and her eyelids felt like heavy led when in the middle of the story of the Lord's sacrifice, the Scribe deemed to stop.
"I believe that this would be a suitable finishing spot," Metatron declared, his silver eyes as cold and detached as ever, not a trace of exhaustion visible after two days of relentless speech. "A shame that our time is nearing its end. I desired to show you more, but that seems to be mere wishfulness, O aberration of creation, a being neither Heaven nor Hell can claim, born of what should never have been."
Charlie barely registered his words. The weight in her chest had only grown heavier, a hollow ache spreading through her. How could she possibly move forward now? What was she supposed to do with this? Everything she had ever known—her parents, her mission to change Hell, her own sense of purpose—had crumbled in front of her.
Her parents weren't who she thought they were.
The Hell she had dedicated herself to saving wasn't what she thought it was.
Everything felt twisted, wrong. So terribly, painfully wrong.
But Metatron, ever emotionless, simply closed his book with a soft thud, rising from his seat like nothing he had said mattered. Nothing had changed for him. It was just another recounting of facts, another lifeless history lesson.
"Don't call her that." Vaggie, who had been Charlie's anchor through this ordeal, was the first to break the silence. She held Charlie protectively, her voice rough from the hours of tension. "She's not some mistake. She's a person, someone who's fought for a better world, despite everything!"" she muttered with growl.
Metatron turned his head slowly, regarding Vaggie with a cold, calculating stare. "You seem to have developed a habit of forgetting your place, fallen feather of the Taxiarch." His smile was thin, barely there, but it was sharp. "Continue overestimating your own value. Test the patience of those above you. It will make your inevitable end far more amusing."
Vaggie stiffened, her arm tightening around Charlie as she glared back, but she said nothing.
"Stop it." Exhausted and overwhelmed, Charlie found herself stepping between them, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just... stop." Her words were soft but carried the weight of her turmoil. She looked up at Metatron, her eyes red and weary, trying to muster what little strength she had left. "What happened? What do you mean 'our time is up'?"
Metatron tilted his head ever so slightly, as though even acknowledging the question was a burden. "I have already informed you of what is deemed vital to know," he responded in his flat, dispassionate tone. "I would have shared more, but regrettably, I cannot for two reasons."
Charlie watched in stunned silence as the Seraphim turned his back to them, lowered his six wings and dropped to his knees, his head bowed low in reverence.
"The first," Metatron continued, "is that I believe I shall be needed elsewhere in a few minutes. The second, and far more pressing, is that the Exalted All-King approaches. If there's any shred of wisdom in your mind, I would suggest you prostrate yourselves immediately."
His tone never wavered, as if suggesting something as ordinary as a change in the weather, but his words struck Charlie like a physical blow. She glanced at Vaggie, her heart racing, not fully comprehending what was happening, only to find her girlfriend just as lost.
The Exalted All-King...?
Wait...
Could it be—?
Charlie felt it—a presence that made everything else fade to insignificance. The room seemed to vibrate with a force beyond comprehension, not out of fear or awe, but from a stark realization of her own smallness.
The power was immense, not because it was violent or overwhelming, but because it was purposefully indifferent. Its intent filled the space, unmistakably marking its destination. Yet, the presence itself did not advance; instead, Heaven seemed to shift, rearranging itself to accommodate his wishes.
The sun and moon of the garden moved with his intent, aligning themselves perfectly above the space where he would step. The animals, which had earlier captivated Charlie's attention, rushed to form a circle. As one, they knelt, heads bowed in silent reverence.
The heavens stopped their adjustment, and at the center stood the All-King.
Charlie's eyes, red and wide, locked onto his heterochromatic gaze—one eye blue, the other golden. Within them, she saw a vast, unfeeling apathy.
Without her willing it, her body bowed, pulling Vaggie down with her in a motion neither could resist.
She could feel his judgmental stare upon their kneeling forms, her own body stiffening under the weight of his scrutiny.
What began as indifference gradually shifted into annoyance.
Her grip on Vaggie tightened as she felt the strain of the moment.
A sigh echoed through the garden.
The All-King's voice cut through the tension with a mix of exasperation and weary amusement. "This act has lost its charm quickly and is becoming annoying," he said, his tone conveying a blend of irritation and resignation. "Once, it's funny; twice, it's cute; thrice, it's just bothersome."
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, "Raise your heads."
The command was clear. Charlie and Vaggie, still kneeling, slowly lifted their gazes. Charlie's eyes finally took in his form: a well-built man with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and hair that was a mix of blonde and dark strands. His face, handsome yet somehow familiar, was fixed in an annoyed expression.
But two things stood out to Charlie the most. First, unlike everyone she'd met from Heaven, he had no wings or halo. Second, there was a large cross across his torso, lightly pulsing with blue energy. Her eyes followed the cross from his collarbone down to just below his abs. They went a little lower before she quickly looked away, her face flushing with embarrassment.
The so called All-king liked to go around naked.
Shaking her head, she looked at the cross again. She knew crosses were supposed to reference Jesus Christ, and Metatron said that it was the Lord's sacrifice was the best place to stop...oh. Oh! Oooh, shit.
Wide eyed she turned to look at her girlfriend, a tilt of her head in the man's direction and a question unsaid. Again, Vaggie shrugged helplessly.
Between the not knowing about angelic weapons, the garden they were in, Adam's resurrection, Metatron, and now this All-King figure, a small part of Charlie realized that despite Vaggie being a former angel, her girlfriend didn't seem to know a anything about anything in Heaven.
But a much bigger part of Charlie's mind quickly reminded her that she herself was just as clueless about Hell and its history, despite being its princess. It was a definite pot-kettle-black situation, and she suddenly felt guilty for even thinking it. Vaggie had been nothing but supportive, and Charlie knew it wasn't fair to judge her like that.
She squeezed Vaggie's hand.
Metatron was the first to break the heavy silence. His voice was calm, each word measured with care."The humble Scribe of the Divine," he began, his tone formal and respectful, "extends his deepest respect to the exalted and venerable Lord of the All."
The Possibly-Jesus-Pending-Further-Information had moved his eyes off of them and was looking at the Seraphim with unimpressed look.
He paused briefly, letting his words sink in before continuing undeterred. "I stand here, as ever, in awe of your boundless wisdom and might. The heavens themselves shift at your will. We are but reflections of your grandeur, humbled by even the smallest glimpse of your essence."
The All-King sniffled, but said nothing
Metatron's voice rose, though it stayed reverent his arms spreading wide,. "It is an honor to stand in the presence of the one who governs the cosmos with purpose and precision! May your light guide us through the shadows of our own limitations!"
The Other man nodded with a hum.
He looked to the All-King, his expression serious. "Your arrival has ended our distractions, restoring the balance only you can uphold. We await your command, aligned in respect for your divine authority."
Charlie's eyes flickered nervously to the All-King, or whoever this being was, as Metatron continued to gush about his power. The All-King—still very much naked and listening.
Metatron, meanwhile, showed no signs of slowing down. His voice reverberated through the space, filling Heaven bow in reverence," he declared. "Your very name is the breath that gives life to worlds! The hand that stirs the stars into being. Your wisdom is vast, limitless, that even the Heavens tremble before you, just as the lowly students tremble in awe of the brooding, mysterious upperclassman!"
Charlie cringed internally. This was getting out of hand. The refined language and posh speech of the Seraphim did little to mask the cringe-worthy nature of his words, and the level of ass-kissing.
Wait.
Were they expected to do the same?
Metatron's tone remained impeccably refined as he continued, "My Lord, your presence can be likened to the unparalleled joy of returning to a realm where every detail is tailored to your every desire. Picture the ultimate indulgence of being welcomed by a cherished companion in a meticulously crafted erotic bunny suit, their every utterance imbued and ending with a charming 'Pyon Pyon,' a mark of their deep de-."
"Enoch." The All-King finally spoke, cutting off Metatron's tirade with a note of irritation.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"What the fuck are you on about?"
"Apologies, my Lord. The humble scribe was simply attempting to convey the depth of your magnificence," Metatron said, his monotone unwavering. "Has it not met your expectations? If not, I shall direct my praises elsewhere—perhaps about your genitals. Your rode shall pier-!"
The All-King smacked Metatron on the head, effectively silencing him. "That's not what I meant. I know you've been watching me and the archangels, you voyeuristic little puke. So why are you referring to me like that if you know I hate it?"
"I believed it would be humorous," Metatron said, shrugging slightly.
"Well, it's not."
"It is For me, my Lord."
The All-King smacked him again.
The Hell dwellers watched in confusion as the two heavenly beings acted out what Charlie could only describe as a surreal comedy routine.
"I see you're still the same cheeky brat." The All-King said with a frown at the Seraphim. But the frown twitched for a second before it blossomed into an fond, but exasperated smile.
He opened his arms. "Come here you little shit."
Metatron, ever the obedient servant despite his missteps, stepped forward with a slight bow, a smile tugging at his lips despite the reprimand. He embraced the All-King, the tension in the room easing as the gesture softened the earlier friction.
The All-King clapped Metatron on the back, his eyes now twinkling with a rare touch of genuine affection. "You're a pain, but you're our pain. I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Of course. I shall strive to be just as irritating in the future," Metatron chuckled, a light, almost self-deprecating sound. "It warms the heart to have you amongst us."
Charlie glanced between them, bewildered. She still had no idea who the man was, and the whole conversation was confusing. But the unexpectedly warm exchange made her smile despite herself.
The two embraced, the gesture lasting longer than Charlie expected. She could hear them whispering about something, though the words were too quiet to catch. When they finally broke apart, both were still smiling.
"I know what I'm doing," the All-King reassured the Seraphim.
Metatron gave him a pointed look, then nodded with closed eyes. "...Very well, I shall trust your judgment."
With that, Metatron's tone softened, still respectful, but there was a finality in his words. He took a step back, sparing one last glance at the pair before bowing to the All-king slightly and departing with a formal, "By your leave."
"Don't be a stranger," the Possibly Jesus called out after him, waving lazily. "Come visit every once in a while."
Then, just like that, the Seraphim vanished as though he'd never been there at all.
Charlie blinked, trying to process everything. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, still trying to make sense of what she'd witnessed.
The All-King, now standing alone, turned his gaze back toward Charlie and Vaggie. There was something familiar about him, something that tugged at her memory, but she couldn't quite place it. His earlier warmth shifted, replaced by a more serious expression, though a faint smile still lingered on his lips. "Let's talk, shall we?"
The man moved toward Charlie and Vaggie with a casual grace, his steps quiet but deliberate. Before Charlie could react, he dropped to the ground in front of them, much closer than she was comfortable with—especially considering his distinct lack of clothing. Her eyes widened for a moment, and she quickly averted her gaze, her face flushing with embarrassment.
She focused on Vaggie next to her, trying to keep her expression polite, even though the situation was anything but. Luckily, the animals that had been frozen earlier seemed to come to life again, and a few of them wasted no time in surrounding the All-King, offering an impromptu and much-needed sense of censorship.
Charlie breathed a silent sigh of relief, though the awkwardness still hung in the air. She could feel his presence, strong and undeniable, even without looking directly at him.
Charlie coughed into her fist, trying to push aside the lingering embarrassment and keep her anxiety at bay. "I'm sorry if this comes out as rude," she began, her voice shaky, "but I was just thinking—he said it was a good stopping point, which was really surprising, and I also just learned that you actually exist, which is, you know, kind of overwhelming, and I mean, I never really thought.. Because, I mean, it's all a bit much, and I'm still kind of processing everything, so if that's too blunt or anything, I'm really sorry, but it's just—"
She cut herself off, her fingers nervously fidgeting under her nose. She closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
"...Are you Jesus?" Charlie asked, cringing at the squeaky tremor in her voice.
Vaggie, who had been standing quietly beside Charlie, suddenly stiffened. Her eyes widened in shock as she finally caught up with the realization Charlie had made earlier. Her face went pale, her normally confident demeanor crumbling as disbelief and fear took over. She looked at the man with wide eyes, her grey skin now resembling a blank sheet of paper.
The All-King regarded them with a neutral expression and an even tone. "I guess it makes sense you wouldn't recognize me. But no, though we're closely related. He's the second to my first. Self-sacrifice isn't really my style. I'm more of a 'kill the problem' type of guy."
"'Second to my first'..." Vaggie muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, as the weight of his words hit her, she somehow managed to look even paler. "A-are you... God?"
Charlie's brows furrowed, her confusion deepening. "A-Aren't they the same?"
"Technicalities," the All-King replied casually, his tone still calm and composed. "But no, I am no God. And to my annoyance, you're not the first to make that mistake."
The two let out a sigh of relief they didn't realize they were holding. An Archangel was bad enough, but offending God—who was apparently real, what the fuck, Dad!—was a much worse prospect.
Vaggie gulped audibly beside her, her voice shaky as she spoke. "Metatron called you 'the Lord' and 'All-King,' so we thought..."
The man waved her off with a casual gesture. "Enoch was being a dumbass. Probably." he said, dismissing the notion with a flick of his hand. "I am the Lord of nothing, and the king of even less."
"So... who are you?" Charlie asked, wincing as the question left her lips, half-expecting another round of cryptic non-answers.
"You'll figure it out," he dismissed with a casual wave, clearly uninterested in clarifying further. Instead, he shifted the conversation with a question of his own. "So, Heaven been to your liking?"
"O-Oh, yeah! It's a lot more beautiful than I imagined," Charlie stammered, trying to steady her voice as she thought back to the splendor of the place. "It's... incredible, really."
"It's the people that are the problem," Vaggie blurted out, her eyes widening in horror a second later as she realized what she'd just said. "I... uh, I mean—"
The Not-All-King hummed thoughtfully, not looking the least bit offended. "Yeah, I'd guess a fallen angel wouldn't be too keen on the locals around here. Heard you got quite the send-off when you left—wings and an eye, huh? Fucking Adam, eh?."
Vaggie's expression darkened immediately, her fists clenching at the mention of her fall, a mixture of pain and resentment flickering across her face.
Charlie gently placed her hand on top of Vaggie's, offering a quiet, comforting presence.
"Heard you got your lick-back, though," the Not-All-King added with a sly grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "Must've felt pretty sweet."
Vaggie's jaw tightened for a moment before she shook her head. "No... I mean, at first, yeah, it did. But after a while, I didn't care about it anymore." Her voice softened. "By then, I guess I had some closure."
The man tilted his head. "So, no hard feelings? Not even about your Ex-Boss or his lieutenant?"
Vaggie's expression hardened again as she looked down at the ground. "I still hate him. Both of them, really," she muttered, her scowl deepening. "But... now I understand where it all came from. And Lute... was always different when it came to him. I mean, fuck both of them, but I guess they're not the monsters I thought they were."
Her grip tightened on Charlie's hand, and when she looked up, her face softened into a small, warm smile. "Besides... falling wasn't all that bad." She squeezed Charlie's hand a little tighter, the affection clear in her gaze.
The Not-All-King chuckled softly, a knowing smirk crossing his face. "Funny how time and a little perspective can change things, huh?"
Charlie's eyes welled up as she hugged Vaggie tightly, letting the flood of emotions spill over. "Vaggie," she whispered, her voice shaking with happiness.
Vaggie hugged her back just as tight, though her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Huh, I guess you're rubbing off on me. My eye is starting to itch," she said, rubbing her eye through the patch with a half-smile.
"It's okay, Vaggie," Charlie said, her voice soft and reassuring. "You can cry with me."
"No, seriously. It's really itching!" Vaggie exclaimed, her voice rising in surprise. She let go of Charlie and reached up to rub at her eyepatch again.
"Vaggie..." Charlie's tone shifted, concern creeping in.
"Gah!" Vaggie cried out, her fingers tearing at the eyepatch as she desperately scratched the itch. Slowly, she released her grip as the itch subsided, and her fingers dropped to her side. She blinked a few times before opening her eyes—both of them.
Her left eye was back.
Vaggie stared in stunned silence, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at Charlie, who stood frozen, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief. "I can see..."
"Vaggie..." Charlie whispered, her voice trembling.
"The scars on your back are healed, too," the Not-All-King stated absent-mindedly, lifting a cat that had crawled onto his lap and holding it in the air, as if it was the most casual observation in the world.
Vaggie's hand shot up to her back instinctively, her eyes widening as her fingers ran over the now smooth skin where once there had been deep, permanent reminders of her fall.
Charlie was still standing in shock, her lips parted, trying to find the words. "H-How...?" she finally managed to stammer.
The Not-All-King gave a dismissive wave with one hand, still focusing more on the cat than the two of them "Don't mention it," he said with a grin, scratching the cat behind its ears. "I'm awesome, aren't I?" He said, mostly to the cat.
Vaggie stammered, her voice shaky as she tried to comprehend the sudden restoration of her body. "Th-thank you, sir... I don't even know what to say..."
"Hah! 'Sir'... Well, ain't that a trip down memory lane," he laughed. "No pain, right?"
"Uh—no, sir." Vaggie shook her head.
"Eye working well?"
"Yes, sir!" She nodded.
"Good." He said, his tone dropping. "Now, fuck off."
Vaggie disappeared.
Charlie blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. "Uh—what? Vaggie?!" She barely had time to react before Vaggie vanished—no grand spectacle, no dramatic exit—just gone. Charlie's eyes widened, her heart leaping into her throat. Confusion quickly gave way to searing anger as she turned to face him. Her demonic heritage flared like an inferno, horns erupting from her skull and power surging through her veins. She growled, "What did you—"
His middle finger touched between her eyes, and all her anger evaporated.
She didn't see the man in front of her anymore. Instead, she saw the Him, far larger than the Seven Realms of Heaven, gazing down at her with an overwhelming presence.
Charlie froze, her breath caught in her throat as the overwhelming presence engulfed her. It wasn't just fear—this was something primal, something ancient, like staring into the heart of eternity itself.
The vastness of Him—the true Him—loomed over her, a presence that dwarfed everything she had ever known, making even Hell seem like a speck of dust in the infinite expanse.
Her eyes widened, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Her demonic features shrank back, her horns retreating as she trembled, feeling utterly powerless.
The man—The All-King, or whoever he truly was—kept his finger pressed gently against her forehead. His voice, calm and almost casual, broke through the paralyzing silence.
"Now you see, don't you?" he said softly, his tone devoid of any malice, but somehow that made it worse. "I'm not who you think I am. Not your God. Not your devil. Not your problem."
"W-what..." she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper, "what was that...?"
"I like you, kid. I really do," he said with a primal smirk. "But show me their likeness again, and I'll hurt you."
Charlie's blood ran cold at the veiled threat. The man wasn't bluffing. She could feel it.
"Now," he continued, his tone shifting back to a more relaxed state, "if you're done freaking out... Vaggie's fine. I just sent her back to your hotel. Needed a bit of private space, you see."
With those words, the entire space around them began to shift. The peaceful garden, the clear sky, and the animals all dissolved, disappearing as if they had never existed.
In their place, a wild, untamed landscape stretched out as far as the eye could see—vast, ancient, and unclaimed. Mountains loomed in the distance, and a nearby river flowed through the untouched terrain.
It took Charlie a moment to process the change, but the clarity of the blue sky and the recognizable features of the land soon hit her. The realization made her heart skip a beat. She had seen this place before—not long ago, in Metatron's tale.
This was Earth. Not just any part of Earth, either—this was the land where Adam and Eve had first set foot after being cast out of the Garden of Eden.
The Man—no, Adam—said with a grin, arms outstretched as if to present the expanse of land around them.
"Welcome to my humble abode,"