“In the beginning there was nothing and then there was light.” This world was dead. Nothing left, all life extracted and concentrated into… “We had faith, we believed, oh God we believed. But you took it, left us to die, left us in this darkness.” A monster. They had despaired, losing their faith, losing their trust. Turning to any hope, any chance, they ended up turning so far… They turned down the wrong path. “Were you expecting us to die, to give in? No, we made ourselves stronger, we asked for help and it came, HE brought it, the light we needed. He brought it and we nourished in its purity. The Morning Star provided and we gave thanks.” The sickening light radiated on the world and it twitched in its death throes, earthquakes toppling the rotting structures of civilisations, of families, of homes. Nothing left to die, well nothing left worth saving at least. The damned light gave form to shapes and shadows and served to show the only two beings left on the Olna Sphere. One a quiet figure, sitting hunched with his head in his hands, the other, an abomination. It was a sack, made of skin and seemingly with no start or end. Covered in eyes, each filled with accusations and hate, it towered over the quiet figure. The voice came from deep within its bowels and seemed to change with every word, almost as if a different person were crying out their anguish, their hate. Or maybe different souls. “You made us, but HE saved us.” They whined. “When our sun died he gave us new light. New purpose.” The eyes all fixed on the small figure. “To become something great, something bigger than individuals. To become something that can topple Gods.” The silent figure sat impassively, no reaction. To look at him would be akin to looking at a mountain or the sky, stoic, unmovable. And older than both. “Well?” The keening of the voices rose. “Will you not answer us? Will you not tell us why?” A response came, not from the figure, but from the heavens. The Voice of God sang its trumpets and the World quivered in fear. The eyes of the sack turned upwards just as The Light of God fired down its wrath and cracked open the crust of the land. The door to the Pit was open. The figure moved. It stood and gently caressed the sack toppling it into the Pit.

Metatron stood back from the console. Wiping the sweat away from his brow he turned to an angel behind him. “Get him back up here now”.
“Immediately Metatron.” The angel snapped to attention, “Just one thing.”
“What?”
The angel looked about awkwardly, “Uriel is asking what is to be done with the planet?”
Metatron looked down on the decayed world and sighed.
“Tell her to wipe it.”

Uriel watched another World die from the bridge of her ship, The Light of God, and wondered how many more? There were once so many Spheres of Life, each one satisfied to just be. Now, well now that amount could be counted in one mortal’s lifetime. How many more lives will fall into the Pit? Uriel let the two wings covering her face fall a fraction and watched an emptiness, a hole in the skin of the universe, move silently away from the planet’s ashen remains. She recognised it immediately. “Bastard.” She spat. Making sure her wings were covering her face again, she whirled on the angels that maintained her ship. “Get me Metatron.” She whispered dangerously. “We must speak. Now!” The crew had learned a long time ago the price of their service. Complete obedience. “At once my Lady.” They chorused. The vision of the planet melted away to be replaced by the face of a young man. Young in contrast to the ancient splendour of Uriel; aeons old in respect to the rest of his kind. “Uriel.” Metatron acknowledged. “Finished revelling in your cleansing fire? You know HE never meant for you to become so… “Do not presume to know HIS mind Enoch.” Uriel roared, golden fire playing along the length of her six wings. “I do what my brethren would not, I sweep away the crumbled remains of the unworthy while they try to find redemption in these fallen heretics. I am HIS Light, you are nothing more than a favoured pet, human…” “I am HIS voice.” Metatron cut in acidly. “And you are the only one who challenges me in this. Does my heritage really scare you that much? Humanity always was a dangerous race and even though it has been a long time since I counted myself as one of them,” Metatron smiled menacingly, “you can take the man out of Eden, but…” Uriel quivered in anger behind her wings, but bit back her retort. This was not the time. “Enoch, I need to talk to HIM.” The smile left Metatron’s face to be replaced by sadness. “He is resting Uriel, he is not what he once was.” Metatron looked down at his exposed feet, the man refused to cover them much to Uriel’s distaste, and went quiet. “What’s this Enoch?” Uriel smiled maliciously. “Has HE lost HIS voice?” “Enough Uriel.” Metatron shouted. “This is not the time for your eternal posturing, to try and get in HIS good graces. You disrespect HIM as much as me when you call me Enoch. He made me Metatron, he shrived me of my former life and blessed me with a higher existence. Who are you to question that?” Uriel relented. “Always good with words eh Metatron? Who needs cleansing fire when you can bore a person to death?” Uriel waved Metatron’s retort away. “I need to speak to HIM Metatron, I saw The Order of Thrones.” Metatron’s eyes narrowed. “Asmodeus was here? Without us detecting him?” All six of Uriel’s wings shrugged. “His ship was, whether he was on it is something else entirely.” Uriel paused. “It was using a dimensional distorter.” “Great.” Metatron sighed. “An invisible demon ship.” “Not invisible, just able to hide outside of HIS reality. You can still find them by seeing what has been taken.” “I would not be able to find them Uriel, but HE should have.” Uriel started. “I am confused, did HE not sense them? HE should have put Asmodeus in the Pit as well. Why did he not?” Metatron looked uncomfortable on the screen. “Uriel, when was the last time you saw HIM?” “At the Corinch Cataclysm.” Uriel replied immediately. “Hmmmm, that would be forty three thousand and fifty one planet wipes ago.” Metatron said a little uncertainly. “As I said before, HE is not what he once was.” Uriel had had enough. “I demand an audience Metatron, HE must hear me. I wish to hunt down The Order of Thrones and throw Asmodeus back into the Pit.” Metatron nodded on the screen and was replaced by a figure sitting in a chair. The face was disguised by shadows, but Uriel knew the presence of her creator when she saw him. Spreading her wings wide she presented herself to him as only one could to the being responsible for their existence. The crew averted their eyes. “Lord,” Uriel cried, “Asmodeus is responsible for what happened here; we must avenge the faithful of this world and cast him down. Please give me your blessing.” The figure moved forward and Uriel cried in shock. The figure nodded his blessing and then the screen replaced the figure with Metatron. “Uriel, you are not covered.” Metatron leered. Now that was very human. For the first time Uriel was flustered, covering her face and feet with her wings she tried to gather herself. But it was such a shock. “Metatron, what has happened to HIM?” Uriel whispered. Metatron suddenly didn’t look so young anymore. He looked shaken. “HE has aged Uriel.” “But HE can’t do that.” “Apparently HE can. I think…” Metatron sighed, “I think HE is losing faith.” “Faith in what?” Metatron looked at the collection of maps scattered over his desk, at all the dark spots where Worlds used to thrive before turning from hope to despair. At all the times love had turned to hate and people had turned from angels to demons. “Faith in what?” Uriel demanded. “Faith in us.”

Damn word limit, tbc...