My mother once told me that the intentions of an evil man can be stopped by those with a pure heart. At such a young age, I believed most everything she told me, and this phrase of hers I did believe. Our simple house at the edge of a lakeside kept her and I happy, as well as my two brothers. We lived together, fishing off of the dock, staring at the sky at night, and romping about in the wilderness. All those years, I trusted her and what she said, with every shred of my heart. I was the youngest, the most innocent and gullible of the bunch. Those were the best years of my existence. Growing up in Heaven isn’t an odd ordeal. People live and die, nothing can stop the natural cycle of life. Dying in the normal realms means coming back to the Heavens, and dying here means rejoining the Earthen plains and becoming a new person. A man only lives twice. Or so we thought… Now, every man and woman born on Earth will live a normal, mortal life. But, we Heaven children are angels. Immortality is imbued in our blood. We cannot go to Earth, but that is not needed when we have unlimited imagination and possibilities in the Heavens. Every single idea, thought, epiphany instantly becomes a reality where I grew up. Everything was perfect, because our parents were perfect, our brothers, perfect, our children perfect. And so, we had never the idea of evil, of bloodlust, of greed. The Devil wasn’t a word, a meaning, or a definition. My brothers and I were not normal, Earthen children, as I’ve explained. However… neither was our mother. I’ve always considered this a topic for controversy among the Earthen Realms. They quarrel and fight even in the Heavens as to what the truth is. As I see it, if God is parents, creator, father, why are his children defined differently from one another? I’m not referring to racial business, as that isn’t what I came here to tell you. I’m referring to the fact that everyone is a descendant of God. To explain why I brought this up, it’s because my mother was He Himself. Coming under the veil of a woman, he nurtured us into adulthood and let us roam free. He failed to reveal who he was, but then, nobody asked. Living in seclusion and isolation prevented us from gaining any otherworldly influences, so myself, Strod, and Axron were brought up to the fullest of our emotions and desires. This is where it all began to fall apart. As there is up, so there is down. I have not mentioned Hell to you yet, the cursed place and bearer of fire. God can only go so far when it comes to defining His children’s lineage. As was revealed through our rearing, I was the lightbringer, Axron the gatekeeper, and Strod… Strod was the demon. From birth, he would start pivotal fights among us, plotting to get us into trouble and win favor from God. As we saw her, mother would try to soothe him, calm his anger and malicious nature by playing games with him, keeping his final goal just out of reach, trying to tell him he would never reach it. As is the case of Heavenly proportions, “fighting fire with fire will only make the fire burn stronger” . At the final age of 22, when all of us would split off from our mother and separate into the Heavens to rear our own children and live normally, Strod erupted. Mother had chosen not to let him leave the house yet. The fire inside of him poured out of his eyes, spewing into a pillar of flame miles high. The air burnt to a crisp, singed black by the heat of his anger. Our house was melted into ashes, the dirt beneath turned black, the lake nearby dried to a solemn dirt valley. With the power of his anger, Strod melted through the ground, falling into the dark, deep abyss. As the light-bringer and young at my age, I cast myself into the depths, hoping to save him and bring him back to the Heavens. Foolish, I regret to say. Never the less, I wasn’t the only one jumping in to save someone. Axron had followed, plummeting into the black, his shield brought to his chest, lest he hit something on the way down, most likely my body. I misunderstand myself sometimes, as of right now. The plunge I have just escaped, my life flashing before my eyes. I stand here, before my cursed brother, my other sibling sailing far above. I am in the Devil’s lair.

Ephra slammed to the ground, the dust crumbling in his eyes. The moan of the lava beds around him churning and peaked. Strod stood before him, a terrifying grin on his face. His eyes bloodshot, tainted red, his hair with two protruding horns, his clothing scorched off to reveal a muscular red body. Strod strode forward, placing his heavy hand on Ephra’s shoulder, clenching it tightly. “Brother,” he said, speaking softly “Why have you followed the dragon into his cave? You know not what I am capable of in my true home.” “I need not the light of day to brighten the shadows, Strod. Release me, and we shall fly back up this wretched hole. I know not why you have just now fallen to your desires, but regardless, staying down here too long would kill you.” “You underestimate my love for burning, pain, suffering, carnage, destruction. Would you like to,” with this, Strod clenches tighter on Ephra’s shoulder “join me in my demonic play?” “Your play will hurt others. Why would you consider such a thing, when you have me to beat up on, brother? I am your outlet, fill me with as much darkness as you please, and I can remove it from you!” “A kind offer. I’ve been doing that all of my life, you realize, and none of it helped. You’re but a weak Light, a flickering candle in an abandoned saloon.” “I am light in Angelic form! There is no other brighter than me, in existence!” “I reckon so. But, you forgot who you are. Light is but a passage for darkness. I work around you, staying where you cannot reach. Ephra, my brother, every man has a back. I am behind it.” “Then come with me, and we can help each other, back to back! Brother to brother!” “Darkness will but outshadow the light. What do you hope to gain from joining me?” “I never said I would join you, I said we would work together!” “I never said I would work with you.” With this, Strod vanishes into black mist, laughing maliciously in Ephra’s ears. Ephra looks around him, remaining standing and strong. The mightiest of heroes fall to the stab of the traitor, however, as Strod’s black dagger plunges into Ephra’s back.
Collapsing to the ground, unable to breath as the darkness seeps through his veins, Ephra struggles for a few moments. Strod stands over him, caressing the knife, twisting it, turning it, violently mashing it into his lungs. Ephra watches as he starts to breath ash, sucking in the light, turning into a black hole. His heart swells, seeming to want to implode. Strod’s laughing peaks at a crescendo, before being broken by the solemn whistle and thud of another being. Axron comes up from kneeling position, sword in hand, shield on his shoulder. “Ah, Axron, you join us at last. I do suppose mother didn’t mind you coming, as she seemingly didn’t care about your doings anyways.” Ephra lies on the ground, too weak to move. Slinging his shield off of his back and into his hands, Axron raises his sword and lowers it at Strod’s neck. “I dislike both of you equally, but I protect you both as one. Remove the dagger from his back or feel a larger blade rooted in your torso.” “With pleasure.” Strod smiles, removing the dagger with a slight kick to Ephra’s stomach. Suddenly, he sprouts wings, lofting into the air and raising a massive cloud of dust. “The darkness is removed, Axron, but the way to the Light is not yet sealed! I wish you luck down here, in the depths of Eternity!” With this, Strod bolts back up the hole, soaring back into the Heavens, leaving his brothers to die in the lava kingdom.

Axron stood looking up into the abyss. His brother was gone, his younger nearly dead. Pushing his shield hard against Ephra’s chest, the heavenly metal absorbs the black inside of his throat, letting Ephra gasp for air where there was once none. The haul would be long, but Axron knew of a way to clamber up that hole. The day they would spend here in this black hellpit would be years in the Heavens; the time Strod had to wreak havoc would take its toll. Ephra struggles to his feet, having a hard time breathing in with the remnants of the ash in his lungs. “It’s a bit dark. Give a little light, would you?” Axron asks. Ephra moans a bit, and then holds his hand up towards the top of the hole. Glowing a brilliant white, a path is pierced through the fog leading back into the Heavens. Axron sighed to himself. Mother had been a fine teacher, but never had the time with him that she should have. Only Ephra and Strod got wings, as they were the purest of their emotions, but the middle child, the border between the two, did not receive this luxury. An indestructible shield, a blessed sword, and the might of 1000 men were nice, but climbing tunnels without a method of flight is… annoying, to say the least. “Ephra. Get up there while you can and see if you stop Strod. Do not try to speak to him; he is farther into the black than you’ve ever shone.” Ephra nodded, respecting his brothers wisdom, and shot up into the Heavens. Axron started the trek up.
Sticking his sword into the walls, climbing on top, using his shield as a platform, and then planting his sword deep into the sides was a slow task, but then, Axron had a literally infinite amount of time. After a few thousands years in the bowels of Hell, the top was in sight. With a single thud, Axron stepped into his old home. The sight… wasn’t as he had hoped. The sky was a crimson red with black clouds, the ground a nasty brown, tainted red with dried blood. Where the lake had been there was a collection of lava, with a black bridge leading across to a solemn fortress on the other side. Throwing his shield onto his back, Axron started the walk. The wind moaned with sorrow, biting at his armor and limbs. The sun itself was blacked out, glowing red and flaming.
Crossing the bridge, red fish with black scales jump in the lava, snapping viciously at each other’s tails. Finally coming to the door of the lair, massive in structure, Axron brings back out his shield. With a slight grumble, he pushes the door in with one shield bash, watching it swing open to a grand hall. A red carpet lays itself out, as two huge dinner tables line the sides of the hall. Demons sit at the tables, angels turned into hellish beings. Fighting over goblets and plates with meat and such on them, they quarrel at the tables and stare back as Axron walks down the carpet. It leads into another hall, of a much grander scale. This time, cages line the side of the construction, with glowing angels locked inside. A booming voice emanates from the far end. “Brother! You have spent far too long to get here! My bloodlust hasn’t been quenched for a millennia!” “I did not come here to fight you. I came here to retrieve Ephra.” “That poor fool? Look above you.” Axron closes his eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to look, but to protect someone is to know of their every position, every need. He looks up.
On the wall facing Strod, a wooden rack is placed. On it, as though a trophy, are two white wings, marvelously bright and beautiful. Each feather glows radiant, as though they had never been separated from the original owner. “He died protecting these fools you see in the cages now! They are the last of his kind to survive, brother. Look at them! Trapped, and helpless. The Dark overshadows all, when the light that leads is quenched! I haven’t waited a million years to chat with you, Axron.” Strod unsheathes a scythe nearly half his size. Noticing this, Axron slings his shield toward his chest. “I’ve been waiting to see you struggle in pain. Oh no, not physically. That’s a challenge that’ll have to wait. But, I want you to realize just how alone you really are. Mother, that pitiful fool, showing Ephra and I how to act, and you! Ahah! She never liked you. The middle child, without a real purpose but to brandish a few weapons. You are the only one of your kind, the only one that will ever exist! And now, you are the only one that isn’t me.” With this, Strod vanishes out of sight. Explosions of blood and gore emanate from the cages around Axron, the bodies of the last angels being ripped apart instantenously. Strod reappears at his chair, the scythe gleaming with the blood. “How does it feel, Axron? I am the only being to exist, besides yourself, who can operate on his own, I am the only one who is real! What can you possibly do!” Axron swings his sword and points it directly at Strod’s heart. “I can kill you.” With this, the souls of the angels around him condense into a glowing ball, embedding themselves in Axron’s shield. It glows with a brilliant white, as it morphs into something beyond Heavenly power. Slamming the fortress floor with the bashing end of the shield, the stone turns a bright gray, the red hues turning into a blue and gold trimmed luxury. The demons in the hall behind them turns into angels, feasting on grapes and fruit. Axron focuses on Strod, looking at him one last time. “I may not have the air on my side, nor the guidance of God. It is not the bloodied sword that makes a man a hero. It’s the shield that he protects his people with.” Throwing his sword to the side, Axron raises his shield, bracing it with both arms. With a ground-shaking roar, he thrusts forward, dashing into Strod’s chest with the power to shake the Earth from its roots. The sky clears, turning a bright blue, the sun shining a brilliant yellow. The dust settles; a massive hold is ripped in the back of the fortress, but the grass beyond it is green, the lake refilled, the fish blue-scaled and playful. Axron kneels for a moment, and strides back into the fortress. Picking up his sword, he takes a feather from the rack above the door. Laying it carefully on the shield, he presses it in until the feather is centered in the middle. The wings of Heaven carry the knight aloft, when in the day of Dark the Demon calls.


Yeah yeah yeah I know the story has some flaws. Whateva.