Conception
A feeble stream of obsidian smoke rose from the decrepit body of the wheezing creature. Its oversized eyes sagged into its gnarled skull. The diminutive creature convulsed in its nihilistic womb. Its mangled arms flailed incessantly against the wall of its womb as its languid legs trembled ineffectively. The feeble creature’s withered heart struggled to pump out the repugnant ooze that kept it in its misery.
The stream of obsidian smoke cloaked the womb’s lining and began to seep into it. The creature trembled violently as it struggled to force its airy tendrils through the womb’s turbid wall.
A sea of searing molten lava surrounded the nihilistic womb. Its heat assaulted the womb’s astral walls but the walls, as if bolstered by some celestial shade, refused to crumble.
“I thought your father was confident,” a mocking demonic voice from behind the womb said.
“He is,” replied a placid cherubic voice from above.
“Then why won’t he stop supressi…” A harsh sound cut the demonic voice off. The previously placid walls of the womb cracked, as if abandoned by the ethereal force that had sustained it. Airy black tendrils seeped through the walls as they continued to crumble.
“Like I said,” began the seraphic creature, “our father is confident.”
“He is not a father,” roared the hellish creature. “If he was, he would have no problem sharing power with his children.”
“He has his reasons,” the sublime creature said convincingly.
“Bullshit!” roared the demonic creature.
A harmonic sigh escaped from the mouth of the cherubic creature. “And what will this change, Lucifer?” it asked, gesturing to the decrepit creature.
“Everything,” replied Lucifer.
“Everything?” asked the cherubic creature dubiously, “It can barely keep itself a…” A hollow groan cut Michael off, causing him to look down. The creature’s airy tendrils struggled to ascend and, though Michael watched the tendrils stolidly, a faint sense of trepidation began to creep into his mind.
The creature’s contorted mouth widened into a gaping hole as its hollow groan grew louder. A wave of onyx smoke burst through the gaping hole and engulfed Michael as it surged upward.
A delicate boy laid on the plain’s blades with his eyes closed and his mouth stretched out in a serene smile. His soft hands extended beseechingly toward the celestial sphere and, as if by the will of some transcendent force, a loaf of bread appeared in his hand.
On the other side of the plain laid a gravid girl with blithe eyes. The soft hands of another girl massaged her stomach as she effortlessly began the process of child birth.
The creature’s airy tendrils wavered as they reached the plain’s surface and began to slither toward the nescient children that lived there.
The wave of onyx smoke was broken as a pair of incandescent black wings burst from within the smoke. Michael, his stolid expression replaced with one of divine savagery, plummeted toward the creature as he unsheathed his arctic sword.
Lucifer, his teeth bared with triumph and his leathery wings folded with content, made no move to stop him.
The creature’s airy tendrils convulsed despondently as the children’s sanctifying ignorance repelled them.
As Michael drove his arctic sword into the decrepit creature’s stomach, Lucifer burst into derisive laughter.
“Thank you!” he yelled
The creature’s hollow groan became a deep bellow; its deficient limbs became flawless offshoots and its ineffective heart, as if fed by the wrath engraved within Michael’s sword, became a vital organ.
Onyx smoke erupted from the creature’s mouth and knocked Michael aside as it surged upward.
The onyx mass burst into the plain and ravished the children’s sublime bliss.
The loaf dissipated from the boy’s soft hands as he was forced to his feet. A hoe appeared in his hand and, as if driven by some vindictive force, he began to assault the earth. Sweat poured from his brow as his serene expression was replaced with one of melancholy and as his previously soft hands calloused.
The gravid woman’s previously blithe expression contorted into one of pure agony and the hand’s of the other woman recoiled as blood poured onto the plain. The gravid woman, as if by some wicked impulse, let out a tortured wail.
Lucifer’s derisive laughter echoed in Michael’s ear. “I thought you said he was confident,” he said to Michael causing Michael’s eyes to freeze with animosity. Michael’s grip tightened on his arctic sword.
The woman’s tormented wail reached Michael’s ears and caused his eyes to thaw with empathy. Tear drops fell onto his sword and the sword, as if sparked by some mortal frailty, burst into a tender inferno.
“Yes,” Michael began in a low harmonic voice, “he is,” he finished as he turned away from a despoiled Lucifer and, with his translucent sword in hand, flew toward the plain.
----Ohi D.
