Fallen Lightbringers’ Return - Chapter 76: Currently in Heaven I

There comes a time where every human living on earth has asked this question: Does God exist? And every time, the human finds no concrete answer.

In a place, far far away from earth (yet so infinitely close, one may say), there exists a world of white and silver. Here, no shadows existed, as there was only love, affection and joy. The ground was made of clouds, and the sky was made out of clouds. Yet, it was not cold. Instead, everywhere, warmth exuded this world, though no sun was to be found. Strange.

A young, lonesome boy, in his hand a flute, stood in front of a humongous gate. He had short blond hair and a calming smile. His eyes, though, were pitch-black, filled to the brim, as if absorbing any light that existed—a contrary appearance to this place he stood in. He wore only a white robe, his bare feet grazing the clouds. How he felt, no one knew.

Suddenly, another person, a man with red hair, appeared right behind him, as if out of thin air. “I’ve arrived,” he said.

“You’re late,” the boy spoke, “Inciter.”

The Inciter grinned. “My apologies, I was held up. I found quite an interesting specimen, you see? It was a hard time deciding what rewards to offer him.” He placed his hands together as if to apologize. “As repentance, I shall deduct 10 points off my score.”

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t understand that point thingie of yours in the first place.” The boy smiled. He placed the back of his flute on his cheek. “But for you to be curious about someone in this lowly universe.. . that is indeed interesting. Why don’t you introduce me?”

“I’d rather not. You’d kill him. You stay in your own universe and mind your own business,” he said, “You are just like me, after all.” The Inciter paused as he looked at the boy. “The Undoer, the Sixth of the Twelve Heavenly Signs.”

The boy continued smiling. He clenched his fist, and the flute in his hand broke into a fine dust. “Don’t talk too much trash now, kid.” He shook his palm. “Oops, you made me break my stuff again.”

“Well, let’s not mind the small details, alright?” The Inciter cackled. “As always, the midget has a short fuse.”

The Undoer felt a vein in his forehead twitch. Through his smile, fangs started showing. His pitch-black eyes stared down on The Inciter. “And you are always a bag of dicks. Of all things, why do I have to work with you?”

“Small details, small details. But well, our enemy is just that strong. If it weren’t for your power, we may have needed 4 more Heavenly Signs.” He stretched his body. “So, are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The3 boy sighed and scratched his head. He faced the huge gates once more. “Now, shall we kill God?”

—a few hours before the First Advent. The Inciter and The Undoer appear before Edens Gates. Their goal. .. the destruction of Heaven.

…

Imanadiel was a rather unusual name for an Angel. Still, she would not have it any other way. In fact, it was one of her proudest characteristics. Unlike humans, their Creator had not bestowed them with the idea of free will, thus anything that brings out their uniqueness was seen as a luxury for Angels. However, they did not envy the life of humans, nor did they bear any ill will towards them, that is because they know, the Lord’s wish is their command, and there existed no one who’d even think about defying it.

Imanadiel too loved being an Angel, but she loved humanity too. And though she knew not of dreams, ambitions, and desires, while watching over the many people on earth she did wonder what it felt to live like them—a life free of their own choices.

So, was the current scene birthed from her desire? Did her thoughts of disobedience bring forth this destruction?

“In my long life.. .” She coughed, her mouth full of blood, “Have I seen such tragedy.. .”

An Angel was not capable of tears, for they felt only the purest and most joyous emotions, yet Imanadiel, for the first time in her life, cried.

The silver city, her home, which she had come to love for all its facets, had been razed down, utterly destroyed. It used to be so huge, standing tall in the sky, obscured in a hazy cloud and reaching out what seemed like an eternity, with roads—forked, straight, and curved—leading to many worlds, all beautiful and stunning.

She coughed, her mouth filled with black phlegm. Smoke kept rising from the destroyed buildings, stinging her eyes. Her wings had broken off, black blood dripping to the ground and decaying the plants. She looked up, and there stood a boy in a robe.

The Angel Imanadiel lifted her hands and in it appeared a white sword, glowing away the darkness. She stood up, then fell down again. As she watched her leg, she realized it was broken.

The boy appeared before her face. He had his hands behind his back and smiled peacefully. “Looks like there were some left, huh?”

Imanadiels face scrunched together, painting her expression with rage. It was him. A single boy, coming out of nowhere, destroyed everything she stood for. How many of her kin had he killed? For all her brethren, she had to fight. The anger that boiled over, turned into strength in her hand and she let the blade on the Undoer.

However, no matter what she did, she could not reach him. The sword of light stopped in front of the boy, not moving an inch. He lifted his finger and touched the tip. “Well, it was a nice try,” he said and laughed.” At once, the blade started to disintegrate, deconstructed from atom to atom, and it reached the Angel too, as she disappeared without any trace.

The Inciter appeared right next to him. “That is the last of them.” He paused. “With this, heaven has fallen.”

“Your tracking ability is quite useful, I have to say.” The boy brushed some dust off his shoulder. He looked into the distance. The buildings had rotten away, the ground charred black, the sky filled with a black miasma, and the waters into poison. The city, in his hands, had turned into a wasteland. “However, I have to say, this is quite dull.”

The Inciter laughed. He was about to comment something when he suddenly perked up and turned serious. “He is comi—” before he could say anything, he got flung away into the sky by an invisible force.

The boy cackled, his face twisting with joy. He stepped back as winds blew through his robe. “You’ve arrived.” The Undoer squinted his eyes.

From far away, he saw a Person, no, a Girl, looking as young as him, with long black hair that cascaded down her feet. Her whole body was covered in bright light, illuminating heaven and washing all the darkness and despair away. Her eyes, in contrast to The Undoer, were completely white, appearing as if She was blind. However, it was the opposite—She could see too much.

The Girl was omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent, standing above all cosmic powers and abstract entities. She contained power immeasurable to even the greatest of gods, for She was the source of life and creation. With a mere thought, the universe in Her hands could dissipate and be recreated, all in Her will. She ruled over eternity and infinity, existing before time itself did. She held no title, for there existed no being worthy enough to name Her.

—’She’ was God.

“Stand.” Her voice reverberated throughout the silver city, and at once, the angels that had once fallen, rose again, ready for a battle with new life breathed into them.

Imanadiel opened her eyes once more. She sprung up, gasping for breath. Her mouth slackened as she felt around her whole body. “I, I am alive?” She gasped. “But how?” She looked around and saw her brethren, who she was sure did before her, kowtowing on the ground, praying.

But it wasn’t their revival that made these winged beings kneel in repentance. It also wasn’t the gradual restoration of heaven, as the buildings reconstructed themselves and the roads realigned. The only reason an Angel would place their head down was to give worship.

Miracles were an everyday occurrence for Imanadiel, but a power of this scale, there was only one being capable of such feat. “Oh Lord, thou hast returned.” She clasped her hands together and bowed down.

At once, trumpets echoed throughout the world, with the brightest angels forming a choir. Innumerable souls (in the form of light) sprouted from the grounds, swaying from left to right. The darkness and decay called forth by the Undoer quickly dissipated, and from there life was birthed once more, the things destroyed rebuild themselves, and angels stood up as if time itself had been rewound.

The Seraphim—twelve-winged angels clad in white flame—flew up to God, in their hand an ancient throne. Tens of thousands of these celestial beings circled around the Seat of the Lord for Her to take a seat. They screamed, “Holy, holy, oh, holy,” their passion manifesting into a flame as bright as the sun.

The Cherubim, who would normally never leave their designated spots, appeared one by one, paying their respects to the Creator.

The Ophanim—the angels of war and peace whose size were the biggest—slammed their respective weapons on the ground, acting as a drum, and celebrating.

Seven Archangels rose from the ashes, and appeared beside God. They had their heads down, not even daring to look at their Lord.

Michael, the oldest of them all, the Warrior Angel, voiced everybody’s thoughts. “Your Supreme Lordness, my humble being welcomes you home.”

The Lord did not reply. His eyes remained on The Undoer, though they seemed to stare even past him. “It has been a while, Michael.”

Imanadiel shuddered. Her head remained locked on the ground, but she could not help grin. How many eons had it been since their kind had gathered in such great mass? Though they had been through a lot of hardships and inner disputes before, it was all gone now. No longer did they hold any internal strives, as every angel banded as one.

For God had returned.