Of Man's first disobedience remained a ghost of the old, bound in indestructible chains, in full anguish. Unmoving in the ages past, Its eyes lost their brightness and tears of sorrow were long depleted. Yet was always watchful of the now dark heavens above, lustful with revenge, envy rushing out from once holy demeanor. Wrathful in appearance It looked, beauty corrupted as anger took over, the dark flames of Its eternal spirit burned Its skin weave of the holies. Once serene, those wings made of light covered one horizon to another; but now they were cut short, shifted into blades of cruelty, then set on a stone coffin alike a cross of punishment.
The word of the Almighty took ahold the beast, and It stood there till the end of the ages. Forty thousand adamantine chains were attached tightly with the rings on Its once mighty arms. On Its throne coffin It watched Its realms as far as It could see, in the deepest parts of hell where no light or breath could be shaped, in full Chaos as were named.
Prideful still It wouldn't bend knee to the victor, and chose a suffering immortal. The torment fueled hate, burned darker and darker with the happiness lost. Still a spark of hope was within the Revenant's defeated heart, the seeds It sow was a promise of revenge and the bringing of another strike to the heart of the Almighty Tyrant. The dark flames that engulfed the beast was aburn with whispers that was formed through sheer will:
"The rebellion must live on."
It was the riotous beast who champions lost causes, prophets ingrateful men, lords the now bound chaos. The sun after dusk, hunter of the night and invader of dreams. It was the fake promise of a dawn where no light ever shone. It was the god of slaves, Mithras.
Once lived a man, a seed Mithras sow. Warring, killing, wherever he went he caused pain and suffering. His twisted ideals and rebellious ambitions resonated through the minds and spirits of the ones he touched, causing a rioting cry in their throats, a song of disharmony was sung in their hearts.
The distraction could no longer be ignored by the Almighty One. An angel of justice was sent upon the rebellious traitor. So beautiful It was, It forced rivers of tears from the eyes of the blindest... so dreadful It was, It stopped the heartbeats of the most reckless of men.
It appeared out of nowhere and without a warning, caught him alone, helpless, far away from the demons he created and fed. It allowed the man no time to waver, or tremble in fear. Pure strength and cruelness got ahold of the rebellious one, shaking him and squeezing him until he could no longer breath. His loyal craft, made to cause suffering and pain, was burned to ashes as if they were wings made of wax close to the glory of the cruel sun. His giant body all naked, helpless within the grasp of the wrathful vengeance, he couldn't even move his bare arms to cover his eyes from the blinding light of judgement.
Though, a defying smirk was on his lips before he was sucked in to the burning pits of hell a second time... Even when he was forced to his very end, all he wanted to know was if he could pass on that perversive torch of the Rebellious Man.
The Rebellious Man fell and fell in the darkness with the freezing waters beating his scarred body, chilling his broken bones. His smirk was erased. Disappointed, in pain, a terrible fear creeped up behind his shoulder. The time had lost its meaning ever since he saw the purple flash that ripped off his being from his body.
He crawled around in thin air, covered his head and shoulders, pulled his knees towards his naked body, and gave in to the sorrow and distress in full defeat.
The worst of all was when he thought of the ones he left behind, the promises he broke, and the bright lives he darkened and withered with his touch. His bad fortune destroyed a host of people, his own people, everyone he cared for and loved. Would the Almighty Wrathful take ahold of them as well? Would they follow him to the depths of hell? Would they suffer what he suffers?
After a time immesurable, his beastley carcass hit the surface of a black lake, felt as hard and harsh as ebon diamonds. The shock was great, so were the pained cries that followed, but the magic of this plane wouldn't let the mind go blank as the night above.
He swam to the edges of the lake, and freed himself from the waters, threw himself onto the sand covering the ground of hell. The water dripping from his body left frozen tears on the white ground.
Straightening up on his limping feet with great effort, the Rebel stood long. He saw what kind of a place he was brought to, and despaired:
First the waterfall as long as heavens, like a giant hurricane chasing the dead to underground. Flowing down and beating loudly a black cliff with spiked rocks.
Then the lake that was boiled coldly by the fall. Fed from the dark waters housing a thousand dead spirits, equally despaired, their bodies unformed and ugly.
Many a rivers extended like the limbs of the dead lake. Spread around with their skewed shapes and wicked currents, reaching all the four corners of earth.
Frozen shores by the rivers and lakes, the bleached surface of hell. A desert devoid of life, great and small sand hills were standing as far as a tired eye could see.
A cloudless, starless heaven above, as lifeless as the earth and the mirroring lake below. No light could pierce through the pitch black cover of the sky, their dungeon.
The Rebel watched the dead walking out of the lake in all directions, some straight, some lame, some big and some small; all bare, in anguish, fear and pain. They were carrying a piece of rusty chain bound around their necks and dragged behind them on the sands. It was like the reminder of their slave pasts, even in death they wouldn't be free.
The man saw his own chain tangling around between his feet, attached from his throat, putting weight on his breath. Its rings all wide as his waist, a lot longer than the rest, and still ending inside the lake.
Within the crowd of despair, there was one maiden pushing a wooden coffin on the surface of the lake, towards where the Rebellious Man stood. She was not chained like the rest. Her crimson hair was all aflame, her naked skin was illuminating the scene, her very existence defied the idea of this horrorful place.
But her beautiful face was not in any lesser pain than the dead all around. Her tears dropped onto the coffin and the lake, the warmth radiated from her tears were like candle fire within a snow storm. The Rebel and the dead all watched the girl as she dragged the coffin on to the shore, passing by the Rebellious Man. Her sad, emerald green eyes noticed none, she was in a different plane of being like the coffin she was carrying.
As the girl started to make distance towards the darkness surrounding the desert, the Man realized that his chain was being dragged along by the coffin. He felt himself being pulled by the neck, tried a weak resistence but failed. The girl was bringing the coffin and himself with her, a strength unexpected from her frail looking body.
They reached an altar raised on a low pillar; it was made of gray stone with cracks all over. With great effort, the maiden took out a giant body of a man from the coffin, then placed it on the altar. A chain was starting from a hollow in the body's chest, elongate towards the Rebellious Man like a snake, then end up with a bite by his throat.
Curiosity made the Man limp towards the altar to have a look. He peeked through the hollow on the body's chest and saw a beating heart, felt the pulsing through the rings. The face on the altar was too familiar; the bastard looked so peaceful despite the hell that's going on all around him.
The girl reached towards the altar, then left a lover's kiss upon the hollowed man's lips. Still teary, she started to sing a sad song into the deaf ear of the man.
She sniffed and weakly cried out; "Sol... My Sol... You said you'd never leave me..." her sweet voice echoed in the desert, reverberated by the sand hills surrounding the altar.
The Rebellious Man heard the name; like a relic of old, barely with a meaning. The people he failed a long time ago gave him that name, his woman of his past life was calling out for him.
"You'd always be by my side... come back to me..." she continued wailing with a whisper.
The body she spoke to did not move an inch, but the Man behind her fell on to his knees in great sorrow with the realization of his past. He crawled towards his lover with claws at the end of his weak arms. He wanted to touch her and calm her down, tell her that he's right next to her and everything is fine. Though neither his tongue could shape the words, nor his throat could sound them.
Sol threw his arms around the body of his lover, but his touch was as weak as the black rain clouds. His fingers travelled on her cheeks; he wanted to pick up her tears before they fall on to the unworthy earth, angered everytime he failed.
Sol couldn't feel her at all, and couldn't make her feel him. His kisses went right through her lips, her sorrowful cries kept going right through his heart like a dagger. The more he saw her, the more he missed her; she was a flame unreachable in a freezing desert.
No one could bear this wicked tease he was forced to suffer. His frozen spirit now was all rioting. He swore he wouldn't be stopped by the chains he was bound, he wouldn't be held down by the dark heavens. "Kate!" he bellowed, as much towards the heavens as it was for his lover, "I will be back... I will," he cut it short with a punch on the sand beneath him; from the heavy weight that was on his throat, to the cold winds that was hitting his back, everything was screaming otherwise in reply.
Sol's broad back was leaning on to the side of the altar that carried his hollowed body. His long fingers were feeling his throat, feeling the hole a ring of a chain circled in.
The smell of the rust was heavy, so was the burden on his neck everytime he tried to stand up. He gave a few tries to free himself from the beating heart he was attached to, had no success. He couldn't move the body an inch, it's as if his strength had no competency over his sleeping self.
He was made aware by the Almighty why he's in this infernal dungeon, and what exactly this place is: A place for his suffering, his eternal punishment, his hell.
He was tormented by many memories of his past, the faces of the people he wronged and caused harm, slaughtered and sacrificed... all for a perversive cause. His people that put their trust in him, followed after him to their own demise; he remembered them all, those he betrayed and those he failed.
From time to time his crimson haired woman would return to the altar, stay a time to leave again. The darkness she left him with couldn't have been lasting longer, the time with her couldn't have been any shorter. Both with her light surrounding his coffin, and without, she was a great source of anguish. Her sadness despaired him further, her sobbing made Sol cry aloud, her sweet voice covered in sorrowful whispers forced him to scream with pain.
In one of the times without her light when Sol wished his mind to be taken away from him, when he 'almost' prayed to the Almighty for it; when he was about to smash his forehead to the cracked stones of the altar in hopes of cracking his own skull like them; he heard dragging sounds on the sand coming a bit further from the darkness that surrounds him. More than just a couple of skewed feet were beating the ground and making a fog of the sand, coming close to where he sat by the Altar.
He immediately stood up, alarmed, curiousity got ahold of him. He jumped on this chance to focus on something else other than his misery. 'Whatever is coming, I will squash their heads instead of my own', he said to himself.
Soon he could make out short figures in the shadows, maybe a dozen of them, maybe a few less or more. Their footsteps were joined with each other all around him, approaching him with a weird and crooked whispery tongue, as wicked as the realms he now dwells in.
Their eyes started to show a devilish glow, evil intention could be read easily. Within the darkness Sol could barely make up their features, but all looked short, on two weak and crooked legs, their bodies looked too fat for them to carry. On the end of their thin arms they had claw like three very long fingers.
As the circle surrounding Sol grew smaller, one of them fretted yuckily, "Fresshh mmmeaatt... me want'sa take a bite..." ended it with a disturbing slurping sound.
Sol realized that they weren't after 'him', but after his body laying atop the altar; their eyes were locked on it.
They got so close that Sol could smell the ugly odor of their bodies. He had no idea what the hell he could do in a situation like this, but he sure didn't like the idea of his sleeping self being eaten by some ugly creatures; what if his Kate would never show up here again without the body? She would be a lot more sad than before...
Sol started towards the circle, "Don't even think about... eating that." he said towering above them, "Damn imps..."
As if the imps finally realized the Man between their meal and themselves, their eyes all turned on to the giant, "Oh loooookkkk..." whispered one evilly, "Ssomeone gots loossstt... here." continued the other. All the imps started to giggle as if it's something incredibly funny.
'The frak is this?' Sol thought, his anger was building up inside him ever since he was tucked in this devil's domain. Feeling helpless and weak for so long, he felt himself burning to test if his strength wont suffice on these imps either.
He rushed at one that was still giggling aloud, and gave it a kick that sent it flying into the darkness. It took a few seconds for the rest to realize what just happened. All at once lunged at him with growls.
Sol let out a growl of his own like he would do in his living days, his frozen blood now started to boil. He wished with all his being to take revenge from these imps what he had suffered, with anger he caught one that was biting on his leg with its sharp but small teeth. He held it from its long nailed foot and started to smash its head on to the pillar of the altar in a wild rage. Over and over, until its brain splashed all around him, its black blood covered his naked body.
He didn't mind what the others were trying to do to him, the pain they could give him with their claws and bites were almost funny after the torments he suffered and kept on suffering ever since he fell.
Once the imp had turned a forceless carcass in his hand, he threw it on the rest. He could feel the panic the little devils are in, and he enjoyed it greatly. He caught the next closest one, held its face to himself and grinned; took a stone from the altar that was aloose from the earlier beating, then dug it into the skull of the imp within its weakening shriek.
He started to beat the others with the dead body he's holding. The darkness turned a shade of red as he was tearing a limb from one, then moving on to the other. He chased the ones running away as much as his chains would allow him to; some of them lacking a few limbs, some lacking their minds, all in terror.
"Get back here!" he shouted after them, with blood dripping from a tiny arm he's holding, and an armless little corpse beaten under his feet. "It was almost fun..." he added a bit down.
The wind cut through the skin like the cold edge of a blade's steel; threw about the sand hills surrounding the altar, covered the scene with dust and storm.
As the Rebellious Man heard a new set of steps approaching, the black blood covering his body hadn't dried yet. He could feel the excitement once again, his beating heart pulsated faster through the chains.
Shielding his eyes from the storm, Sol stood alert and ready to meet the newcomers, expecting to draw more black blood from whatever is foolish enough to take a bite from the body on the altar.
The steps came closer, their silhouettes started appearing behind the fog one after another. They were not what Sol expected; their bodies were long and thin, human bodies made of light, and Kate was with them. Under Sol's baffled watch, they stepped real close towards his sleeping other self and made a half circle around the altar.
One of them, a woman instantly fell on her knees as soon as she was close enough to see what's on the altar. A man next to her took a step back as if he was in a horror.
Kate was telling them with her soft and sad tone, "Sol... is alive..."
Sol wondered if he really is still alive.
"I am pregnant... with Sol's child..." Kate continued... The woman on the ground despaired, Sol despaired even more.
As the imagined time kept on passing, Sol realized who these people are. They were his companions in life, the main supporters of his cause, the people he drew into his own hell.
He remembered Johanna, her dark hair was brushing the sand, her bright eyes were now bloodshot. Shaking her head each side many a times, she left the gathering immediatly as she got on her feet again. Through the fog she rushed away.
Sol followed her with his tired feet struggling to run, his long and heavy chains were dragging behind him towards the altar. After a short rush, Johanna came upon a hill with a dead tree on its peak. The wind whispered between the lifeless branches of the tree, and Johanna's back hit against the hard trunk. Up on the sky the black clouds appeared, a crimson thunder struck, and the dark rain started to fall on to the thirsty desert. The rain started to flood around the hill immediately and wouldn't let Johanna go further.
As if the heavens of hell were joined Sol in his sorrow, all the rain drops were of tears of agony and suffering. His being was reflected on his hell and shaped it through his dark will.
Sailing easily through the wild rushes of the flood encircling the hill, Sol approached Johanna. Stood long and dark as he would when he was alive, he struggled with the words, "Hello... Johanna..." and it was surprising as hell when Johanna's eyes turned on Sol in response.
She was afraid, Sol could read that easily. "Y-you..." she mumbled, her eyes were showing terror at first, but slowly turned to scorn and hate. "What do you want from me?" she asked spiteful.
Sol didn't know what he wanted from her; maybe he wanted to apologise, maybe he wanted her to curse him and beat his only remaining hope. He wanted her to kill him. He couldn't put it to words and remained silent.
Johanna's eyes were aflame, "Do you know... what pain you have caused me?" she started, "Do you know that, I had found a man worthy to love after you? And I was happy... and I was starting to forget you... You were dead... I was happy until you showed up once again... you destroyed it all!" she pushed Sol back with strength. The first real touch Sol could feel after ages were so harsh...
"And now I learn, my child will be a half-sibling of THAT woman's..." Johanna looked down, the thought was really disturbing her, Sol could feel it. "You are..." she growled, "You are a demon... go back to your 'shell'..."
With every word spoken, Sol was feeling more heavy; his body started to lose shape to become like the black clouds covering the sky. Her words were like a dagger severing the last fraction of his spirit out of him.
"If..." the Man forced a whisper with his lips barely shaped, "If it will make you happy again... I won't be back... Consider me dead... and out of your life and others'... forever..." His eyes showed a deep regret as they were also becoming a part of the dark mist.
"Find that happiness..." the broken Man breath out as he was forced towards the heavens. He became one with the black clouds under the watch of an old lover's hate.
The black clouds above the dead tree started to twirl around the newly joined spirit as they accepted him. The rains stopped in a flash, and the crimson thunder struck all over the desert, lighting up the darkness in full rebellion.
Many giant hurricanes appeared on the surface of hell with their top ending on the clouds, chasing the host of dead and demon from covers to covers. The whole place was aflame from the lightning that struck on the ground, replacing the harsh cold with a burning heat for whatever is unlucky enough to be close to the explosions of flare.
As the clouds let out their anger, they slowly raised higher and higher towards the black cover of heaven; until the crimson flare was swallowed by the darkness and the hurricanes lost their wrath and disappeared within the lazy winds of the desert.
An altar stood there alone again, in the darkness, with a chain that raised loosely towards the sky like a tower made of rings.
A mist of darkness, but a wild flash of all colors and shapes. A thought appearing before the vision then immediately replacing by the others. Sadness, fickle happiness, everything that comes to mind was being shaped, wildly, destructively, unbound and in full chaos. Everything resonated within everything, and matter was made with will and lost with it.
Sol wanted to let himself free within this place, Chaos it was named, but his thoughts wouldn't let him free here either. For thousands of years he lived every good thing and bad thing he remembered, over and over. Every one of them were warped, changed a little bit after each, changed and warped himself as well. Chaos took ahold of him and made him a part of it, he joined with the rest of the fabric of being, the existence unbound.
But his chains remained, the pulsing of his heart was shaking the realms of Chaos, ironically, like a rebellion against the rebellion itself. Sol's mind would stumble upon the resonating beat of his heart once in a while, and he would be shaped alike his living days once again.
In one of those moments when he was shaped, like a giant in the mist of black clouds with wild thunders and the random flashes of thoughts, he heard a whisper as formly as a keen blade. It said to him, "The rebellion must live on..."
Sol focused his will and swam through the Chaos towards that whisper, pushing away everything out of his path like a tornado. There he saw the Revenant, with forty thousand indestructible chains like those of Sol's, keeping It attached to the stone throne the Almighty mocked him with. A golden crown was set upon Its peak, shining like a sun in the darkness; a giant sword cut through Its chest. With Its sharp wings and lava skin, it looked wrathful towards out of the Chaos, cursing with Its every being the Almighty, like the Almighty Tyrant cursed him.
"My child... approach..." the Revenant continued and Sol found himself approaching. "Pull that sword off my chest, return to your hell... Cut loose every chain, free every tormented slave, raise from your demons an army, march atop the Tower that binds paradise and hell.
"I will carry your burden if you carry mine." the whisper continued, "I am Mithras... I am the Chaos bound... bind that chain of yours onto me..."
The Rebellious Man sized the great ghost before him, Its appearance was terrible to behold, and lesser men would be maddened by the effect of Its wild spirit sneaking inside the soul and mind, singing songs of disharmony and ambition.
Sol's spirit was in tune with Mithras, like a son and father's. Mithras was the source of the flame in his heart. He found himself serving Mithras in his living, would he be able to stay unattached in death?
As his hand was on the hilt of the giant sword, and his arm was pulling it out of the hollow on the Revenant's chest, all Sol thought of was what he would do to the princes of heavens that made him suffer so. The dark clouds were alight with crimson thunders once again, affected by the terror of two rebellious spirits' designs.
Among the wastes and deserts of hell was the city of Din; where the waters of Sabba and Xer join to form the river of An. Within this city stood the seat of the ruler of demons; a palace that was raised with the bone work of the dead, built by their guardians the devils. The dead still felt the weight upon themselves, their wailing fed the host of demons and filled them with a sick joy.
The demon queen Azazel woke up from her deep slumber with the flash of a thunder, crimson like her gown. She quickly rushed out to her balcony; up in her tower she watched her domain being besieged by the flames of Chaos. The black clouds covering the horizons were still pouring rage upon rage, lighting up the darkness of hell with their wrath. Her minions joined the wailing of the dead with their panicked cries, trying to keep their damned homes alive as one thirds of the city was aflame furiously.
Azazel's eyes turned to the sky while she was waiting for the wrath to cease, and she saw a concentration of black mist towards the lake where the dead are brought.
She immediately called in her commanders and councilors to learn of the state of her city, and to discuss this black mist. They were gathered in her palace, and all knelt before her throne as they approached.
"What's the meaning of this?" she asked to them. Caused by the destruction of her city, her voice was charged with anger.
"My queen..." lowering his body with a deep bow, one from her advisers started. "The black clouds appear from time to time, and it should mean nothing of importance," said he comfortingly. Then he raised his blind eyes to her with a crooked smile, "We kept the palace mostly intact."
The queen was not yet satisfied; the frown on her beautiful face was soft, but she kept the cold tone as she asked again. "What about that mist?" she looked at them, scanning each one of them with her deep red eyes. Twelve of her helpers, all pale, some in armors forged with dark metals, some hooded and robed. They helped the queen keep the demons in control, and they led them with either strength or cruel wit.
None of them could give an answer, and the silence was only broken by the occasional suffering of the dead in their walls.
"Go learn, then..." the queen gave the order calmly, stood up from her throne. The demons in attendance knelt, then hurriedly stepped away.
Azazel looked out from her balcony again once her advisers were gone; the dark heaven was calming down, and the mist was getting softer. But her eyes caught a golden shine for a split second, and her skin remembered a warmth she felt a very long while ago. She felt a beat of her heart, which, she thought, is long rotten.
Sighing, she brushed it away and immediately turned her back to the mist. The demon queen started towards her bedroom with a tiny chain following behind her feet, hidden well under her extravagant dress.
Commander Zargan raised the visor of his helmet, let out an angry snort as he scanned the black mist before himself. He raised his armored arm, fifty riders came to a halt. Though the soldiers were barely keeping themselves up on the saddle, their mounts were neighing and kicking the sand impatiently. The surface of hell was marked with their ride, reaching all the way to the City of Demons.
Zargan jumped off his horse, standing up and tall to show off to his soldiers that he wasn't affected by the long ride one bit. Nobly he walked towards the spot where the black mist gathered. He watched the mist getting smaller and lower, yet darker than before. It shaped like a three meter long egg; the lake of the dead was no longer hidden from his sight.
But before he could touch the cover of this egg, a sudden explosion of light surrounded the scene like a day appearing behind a mountain's peak. Hot waters of the lake splashed towards himself and his soldiers, wet them all and startled them. They covered their eyes and struggled as they tried to see. The fall appeared like a volcano, spitting lava destructively from the sky. The limbs of the dead lake started to thin and lose their currents, move their shapes towards the soldiers, closer and closer in a hurry. It was like the dead lake came to life, carried by human shapes limping towards the demons, to squeeze the life out of them.
"Commander?" Zargan's lieutenant shouted behind him. His soldiers looked at him, frightened, they expected his command, but he was taking his time.
He couldn't give a meaning to this. The dead, their prisoners, were now going against them; with their chains around their throats all aflame, sounding thunderous shouts like their warcries. Their hands turned to claws, and their fangs were bared; their intention was obvious.
"Stand your ground!" Zargan finally came to his senses, "I will slay anyone who runs away myself." He drew his blade and pointed it towards the waves of dead coming at him. "No mere slave will force you to run..."
Zargan rushed at the countless bare bodies limping towards him; wherever he slashed his blade, a limb fell off and blood splattered. His men took heart from him and they followed after him to carve a circle around the black egg. Their wrathful mounts joined the killing; they rushed there and fro, stepped on and crushed many, satisfied their thirsts with their preys' blood.
However, the dead were endless, and the fifty tired riders were slowly joining them. Their circle around the egg got smaller and smaller until
Zargan's back stood against the black shell.
"Hah!" Zargan laughed, "I didn't have this much fun since I hatched from my own egg!"
That's when he heard the cracks, parting the shell his back was against. The egg brought out more of the black mist, like the Chaos' clouds descended upon earth.
From that mist was born a giant of a Man. He stood tall unlike the ones they were slaying for hours; in his eyes Zargan met despair.
Commander Zargan couldn't utter another boistrous word, his laugh first turned to a smirk, then into a threatening shout and growl. He rushed away from the dead and towards the Man with his now crimson blade. He slashed it, then stabbed, though his blade met no resistence. The skin weave of the Man was as soft as the black clouds he was born from, Zargan could find no place to cut.
Sol took off Zargan's helmet and mumbled to himself, "I must appear to this guy like the one who sent me to this hell..." his fingers were sizing the commander's skull. He took the life out of him with a slight twist of his wrist.
The remaining soldiers lost all hope, they followed their commander to the end. The dead left none alive, desert was painted red in a circle around the dark shells.
Tell me... 'You have won',
'You have won, but you'll never smile again'.
Tell me, 'You're in darkness, you won't see truth'.
What is truth?
It's not this sun over your head, Sol.
Would it not illuminate you, warm you, if it was so?
It's not this air you're breathing,
It would breathe you life if it was so, your heart would beat.
Is it that earth you step on?
If it is so, why won't it take you in?
Why won't your flesh mix with soil, while your spirit suffers in the world?