• Prologue
    Before Time Began

    There stood a figure in black leaning on the train wall, grasping tightly to the standing bar as if it were his last connection to this world. Tall, masked, mysterious, he defined trouble waiting to happen.

    Yet this stranger intrigued her deeply. She peered onto him and looked away, embarrassed, once he realized she was doing so. Her blood rushed quickly to her now reddening cheeks, and continued as he saw her curiosity. He headed out the squeaking slide door of the train, with her close behind. Every muscle in her frail body and her right mind told her not to follow. Yet wanting to know more about this interesting man compelled her otherwise.

    Desperately trying to keep up with this swift form, she lost sight of him cutting a corner into the station. She raced down the hall, as not to lose him and resulted in a collision with him around the wet brick corner. He held her back, arms outstretched, blocking the hallway. She was frightened, and then realized he was not trying to trap her, for she could easily turn around and run, but was protecting her from the darkness further into the hallway.

    A deafening shriek came from the shadow, and then a large burst of white fire rushed toward the pair. The figure of her admiration grabbed her and fell to the ground. As she lay, his arms wrapped protectively around her, he asked, “Are you alright?” and she nodded in response.

    Her once flush face became pale, for through the dark of the hallway a devilish creature emerged and another shriek came from its mouth, along with a sickening odor. The man pushed on the ground and gracefully sprang to his feet and pulling out an oddly shaped golden gun. A long barrel, somewhat squared off at the tip, extended to the length of her hand. The trigger was shaped like a cross. Cryptic words were etched all along the grip. The gun’s intricate design held her attention much less than its wielder.

    His long worn cloak hood had fallen to his back and she could admire his glowing face. He had clear Roman features and black hair that flung with his movement flowingly, his pale skin shined in the flames that came from the monster’s fly trap. Toned arms and graceful movements made her wonder how the rest of him looked, but before she could give it another thought he had grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, while firing his majestic gun back at the hellish monster.

    He found a deep crevice in the wall and pushed against her body, while searching through his cloak. He found what he was looking for and flung it out, landing right on the beast’s back and exploded on impact. This was all she could glimpse behind him before he pushed her in further. A painful squeal pierced her ears and horrid smell of burning flesh piqued her nose; then silence.

    Verse 1
    The Beginning

    Adrian awoke in a cold sweat, her alarm clock’s buzz ringing in her ears. She stared at the amber glow of her now silenced clock. It read 5:32. Only two hours of sleep again, though fatigue always disappeared with that dream. She forgot the horror of her imagination and slipped out of bed, the cool shower water finishing what the alarm clock had started.

    She hastily pulled on her favorite pair of Gap jeans and a black sweater that draped flatteringly off her well-toned shoulders. She grabbed her backpack off a kitchen chair. As she rushed toward the front door she stopped briefly in front of a full view mirror. Her jet black hair tumbled gracefully to the middle of her back and striking blue eyes were complimented by her porcelain skin. She was a model-type-girl to the many teen magazines she had read when she was a younger teenager, yet she occasionally wondered why she was the leper of Chilton High.

    Adrian pushed the thought to the back of her mind and forgot it. She walked cautiously onto the bus. One jock was smirking, leaning slightly to his neighbor and whispering something, obviously a degrading phrase toward Adrian. As she headed to the back of the bus she spotted Dae, though his full name, Daemon, was given to him as torture via his mother, who is Adrian’s best and most likely, only friend. She plopped into the creaking, genuine pleather bus seat and smiled at Dae, “What’s up?”

    “Nothing really, just trying desperately to remember what my homework was last night so I can make that jock do it for me, but I’m not so sure he’s willing,” he said jokingly.

    “Well, you want me to go over there and beat it out of him?” She liked these light conversations they had with each other.

    “So how’s the book going?” he asked honestly.

    “Slow.” She answered with a sigh, “A lot of times I get my ideas from my dreams, but recently I’ve only had one recurring dream.”

    “Is it the one with the hobo demon hunter?” He said in a spooky voice, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

    She laughed and shook her head.

    The bus stopped and the students filed off. Adrian waved goodbye to Dae and headed to class.

    A stout man stood in front of the classroom door, Mr. Remington is what the drones of the class called him, but Adrian referred to him as ‘The Blob.’ A receding hairline and an oddly shaped beard decorated his head and face, hiding the millions of year’s worth of wrinkles.

    “Good morning Miss Christianson,” he greeted Adrian in a distasteful tone, yet never losing his ‘delightful edge’, as he liked to call it.

    Adrian grinned at the old man and retreated to her desk in the far reaches of the room. She pulled her backpack onto the small wooded table connected to her chair and placed her laptop behind it. Again she was at a loss for words and her fingers hovered over the keys. Her mind was blank; all she could think of was the many cream cheese pastries dancing in her head. She usually didn’t skip breakfast, but earlier this morning, strangely, she wasn’t hungry.

    The class began, as did the never ending rants of the Blob. But to Adrian’s surprise his monotone voice stopped and she looked up from her laptop. A casual looking boy walked in and handed the Blob a tardy slip and placed himself in the closest empty seat, and that seat just happened to be next to Adrian. He was dressed in a loose black shirt tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans; he had a gracefully curved face framed by tousled black hair. She was suddenly struck by familiarity, Meleas? This boy showed a striking resemblance to the main character in her book, a lost and confused fallen angel trying to find his memory and exterminating hell demons along the way.

    Adrian went back to her laptop uninterested in having a conversation with this ‘Deja vu’ boy. She glanced once more to study his features, nothing out of the ordinary, no wings sprouting from his back or a celestial crystal in his forehead, nothing at all that gave him away as a fallen angel. Then something caught Adrian’s eye, a pendant, but not just any pendant, it was the exact pendant that Meleas wore, a sterling silver Celtic cross intertwined by a wyvern with a single sapphire as its eye. She stared at it in disbelief and wonder, yet her mind told her he had probably found the necklace in her older sister’s jewelry store.

    Adrian had let her older sister read the first chapter of her rough draft and it had Meleas’ description in it and her sister said she wanted to make his pendant in her store. Adrian’s rationality sometimes got the best of her, but she was comforted that this theory was possible.

    This boy seemed cold, or maybe even timid, for he didn’t speak to anyone, not even the teacher. This was strange because a lot of students either were terrified with the first look of the Blob and became submissive in his glare, or are complete teacher’s pet. Adrian fortunately escaped these categories and created her own, the students, correction, student who challenges the Blob willingly.

    “He’s such a bore isn’t he?”

    Adrian jumped slightly at his words, and then she realized she had been staring at him the whole hour. She nodded, smiling slightly.

    “On some days he’ll actually squeak if you listen really hard,” Adrian replied sarcastically.

    He laughed, his voice was smooth almost soothing. He wasn’t a puberty stricken teenage boy that was constantly yipping after every other word, but didn’t have a gruff, manly voice.

    “I’m Nicholas.”

    “Adrian.”

    “What a pretty name; it suits you.” He smiles.

    Adrian blushes and smiles back, “So how did you end up in this hell hole?”

    Nicholas’ jovial expressions diminished, then he looked at Adrian with a surreal smile, “You needn’t burden yourself with those answers.”

    Adrian was puzzled; her awkward questions were fleeted away by the hourly bell.

    “Hope to see you soon, Adrian.” he waved and left the room.

    Adrian walked to the school courtyard and rested by her favorite cherry tree, its flowers were blooming, a gentle white and pink mixture with light green leaves. Adrian placed her hand on the trunk and slunk down, folding her arms and closed her eyes.

    “You seem comfortable.”

    Adrian shot up, startled by the sudden voice.

    “Oh, Dae, it’s just you,” Adrian sighed, half-asleep.

    Dae seated himself next to Adrian, crossing his legs and putting his hands on his head. Adrian admired how he was so carefree and kind. In this lighting he seemed almost childishly free, not to mention the cherry petals now landing on his head added to the careless factor. Then Adrian realized, the sun was setting, how long had she slept? She quickly apologized to Dae and grabbed her bag.

    How could she have slept the entire day? Sure she had dozed off so many days in her life during lunch, but she never stayed asleep for so long! She rushed to the now deserted parking lot of the school. She glanced into the teacher’s lounge window. No one. Her mother was going to kill her, and then there was going to be an obvious call from the school secretary, saying she had ‘skipped school’. Adrian was definitely doomed to Tartarus for her ‘crimes against a mother’s wishes’.

    Adrian took a shortcut, through the woods close to her house and over the Jameson’s fence. She opened the front door to find her zombie little brother drooling in front of the TV.

    “You’re late,” he stated matter-of-factly.

    “Jason, I don’t have time to bribe, just don’t tell mom and we’ll talk late,” Adrian pleaded.

    “Whatever,” Jason replied nonchalantly and returned to staring at the screen as if nothing had happened.

    Adrian dragged her feet opening her room door and switching on her three lamps. Her room was relatively small, a cork board was one of the walls, covered in old pictures of summer vacations and lonely dances and parties conspicuously tacked around her desk and treasured laptop. The others were painted red, and had a Japanese theme. Three wood shiki-e paintings were placed over her cherry wood dresser. Two bronze fans hug over her floor mattress, her deep red, down blanket crumpled in the middle of the bed. She had heavy white blinders that blocked out the sun entirely, though this didn’t help her dying bamboo in the corner next to her desk.

    Adrian tossed her backpack on the floor and bounced onto her bed. She stared at the many failed attempts of manuscripts on her desk and sighed. Her mind always wandered when she lay on her bed. What was she going to do about her writer’s block? How was she going to deal with sitting in class next to a cute guy that looked exactly like one of her characters? And the most pressing question on her mind at the moment was what was she going to do when her mother got home?

    Verse 2
    The Fallen’s Journey

    A man, so called Nicholas, wandered into Chilton’s Necropolis, pausing at a head stone labeled Diann Delmontague, May Her Soul Find Peace. That statement was all too true, though not the peace the humans were thinking of, she found it none the less. His mind wandered back to the now and wondered how he was going to deal with the newly inspired writer, Adrian. She was an exceptionally beautiful young woman, though her thoughts and ‘typing’ made her a danger not only to the Fallen community, but also to herself. More the danger was that she didn’t know that what she is writing is real and her so called Nicholas was, in reality, her main character, Meleas. That she was writing about him amused him more than anything, for he was definitely not a weak Fallen and he had won nearly all of his battles. Though many others were furious by her accusations of making them seem weaker then they were. Many Fallens are relieved Meleas was dealing with the author and didn’t give it another thought.

    Meleas passed through a simple crypt that morphed into a bar-night club, named Der Flügel von Fallen, immediately his ears start to pound from ongoing music, though no one could ever tell where it came from. The clubs white marble walls always gave a cold look, no lights lit the room, save for the continual blinking of a blue strobe light. Meleas placed himself at a carved maple stool and raised his index finger at the bartender. A second latter a clear, curved glass came sliding toward him. The clear liquid sloshed in the glass causing some to drizzle out onto Meleas’ hand. He quickly licked the beverage off and began to gulp down the sweet ambrosia.

    “Well, you seem depressed.”

    Meleas turned to a radiant middle-aged woman, her long, crimped, golden hair flowing from a lazily tied braid, eyes as yellow as her hair staring at him from the cool ivory skin glowing radiantly from her French features, hands on her hips.

    “Oh, what a pleasant surprise.” Meleas replied dryly and returned to his drink.

    “Come on, I thought you would be happy to see me.” The woman pouted.

    “Go away, Diann.” Meleas threatened through clenched teeth.

    Diann showed fake sorrow and gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Meleas pushed her off effortlessly and stood to leave.

    “Don’t be like that, love.” Diann pleaded and tried to kiss him, but he pulled away.

    “Leave. Now, Diann.” Meleas glared.

    Diann frowned and glared at Meleas. She turn around and darted to the club door and disappeared.

    “Good to see you haven’t lost your warmth, Meleas.” The bartender stated sarcastically, cleaning a glass with his apron.

    Meleas ignored him. He got up and headed out of the club, and began to wonder why he even went back to the graveyard. He wandered the streets aimlessly for hours, pondering what to do with his time here. He was bored and didn’t feel like dealing with Diann or Adrian.

    Meleas soon found himself at the local harbor. A pale mist sheltered the rocking boats and yachts; everything seemed almost surreal and silent. The sound of old, wet wood creaked under Meleas’ feet as he paced the dock. He sat at the edge, looking up at the darkened sky, breathing in the salt water air, and then exhaling. What he wouldn’t give to be back up there, a glorious angel of God, the messenger of justice and faith.

    Verse 3
    A Melody of Sadness

    Adrian hadn’t slept. Her and her mother had been fighting. Adrian’s mom brought up the “I-thought-you-were-responsible” card. Adrian stormed off from the front door, screaming as she left. “I wish you weren’t my mother!” She didn’t want to turn around to see her mother fading into the black of the night. She had been wandering the small forest behind her house all night. She was now sitting next to a small creek she had never seen, which probably meant she was in the middle of the freaking forest. The sun was beginning to come up. All of the fading green leaves glistened with its regular morning dew.

    Adrian loved the woods. It was always comforting to her. Always silent, yet still listening. She could vent and ask questions to the trees, but they never answered, they always just stood in the majesty of their canopy. Once and a while she would see a chipmunk scurry to the nearest hole. She always took it as a yes to all of her questions.

    “I should get home,” she stated to the leaves. After all she did still have school.

    Her mom had left for work when she got home. Jason was still asleep. After taking her shower and such, she headed to the bus and found Dae.

    “Hey.” An obvious deep concern shown on his face, he never could hide anything.

    “Hey, Adrian said in response.

    “You ok?”

    “Yeah, why?”

    “Well, your mom called my mom last night. She was really scared.”

    Adrian shrugged it off. She really didn’t feel like explaining things today. Lack-of-sleep wasn’t helping either. The remaining bus ride was silent, between Adrian and Dae anyway.

    The Blob greeted Adrian with his ever so thick sarcasm and Adrian retreated to her desk. The Blob was then blabbering on about the French and Indian War. Adrian didn’t really pay attention. Then the class’ attention, turned and The Blob stopped talking, Meleas- no, Nicholas had walked through the door. Would she ever shake the familiarity of him?

    He sat down next to her once again. Blasting music came from a pair of headphones shoved into his ears. He turned and smiled. Adrian did the same. Suddenly she didn’t feel so depressed. She didn’t feel so angry. Some how she just knew everything was going to be ok. He then takes one of the headphones out, the melody lingered through the room. The Blob didn’t seem to notice. She took it and put it in her ear. It was a soft song, the tune was almost sad.

    Une femme s'assied dans sa fenêtre.
    Pourquoi pleure-t-elle?
    Elle est triste.
    Pourquoi est-elle triste?
    Elle a perdu un amant.
    Qui est son amant?
    Vous êtes.
    Je suis?
    Oui.

    Pourquoi rit-elle?
    Son amant est retourné.
    Qui est son amant?
    Je suis.
    Vous êtes?
    Oui.

    Où la femme est?
    Elle est morte.
    Pourquoi est-elle morte?
    Son amant l'a tuée.
    Qui est son amant?
    Dieu est.
    Dieu est?
    Oui, vous ne pouvez pas voir ses ailes?

    Adrian was taken in by this sorrowful song and she gave the headphone back to Nicholas. “It’s so sad.”

    “You could understand it?”

    “No, but it was sad. What’s it about?”

    Nicholas stared at her for a moment. A long silence she didn’t want to end. As if the walls of the school were melting away and it was just the two of them sitting together. As if waiting for the other to ask- Adrian’s thoughts were cut off, what the hell was going on!? Why was she acting all mushy around Nicholas!?

    Then he spoke. “It’s about a woman whose lover left her. Then she turned to god and went to him.”

    “You mean died?” This was a bit disappointing. She never was religious.

    “If you want to be politically correct, yes, she died.” He was so matter of fact about it; it sent a slight shiver down Adrian’s spine.

    “Unfortunately the singer doesn’t know much French so she killed the grammar and pronunciation.” Geez, bipolar much?

    “Yeah-“

    “Miss Christianson, if you have something to say about how the Native Americans felt about the French and the British, please, say so.” Busted. Typical Blob, saying something at the worst possible time.

    “No, sir.” Adrian responded. A few of the students looked back, probably thinking, “Since when doesn’t she argue?!”

    The truth was, Adrian didn’t feel like getting into anything with anyone today, even The Blob.

    Verse 4
    The Curse of the Fallen

    It had been a long day, excruciatingly long, especially with Adrian. Meleas didn’t know what he was going to do. Adrian had been captured without him even knowing it. Had there been another fallen? Or was it a hellhound? Was Lucifer after the information that Adrian had been telling in her suspected fictional stories? If that was the case, Michael was going to have a hard time in the Celestial Court.

    The night was cold, the moon full, and an opportune time for Hell’s demons to emerge. That was the problem at hand and Meleas mentally slapped himself for trailing his thoughts. Meleas had his worn black cloak on, his cloud nine pistol in hand. Mammon was probably out also. What a night this was going to be.

    Meleas found an alley that the damned creatures so often like to emerge from. The trash had a reek that was indescribable to any mortal. Then there it was; the hell’s gate. Hell isn’t all fire and brimstone like Dante’s Inferno pictures. In reality it is a cold, deserted wasteland. Like a dried out tundra. But under the cracked crust lies monsters of nightmare and gore. So boorish and disgusting that even the Hellhounds won’t go near them. The Trieste, a red and black demon of shadow, they breath fire and the odor is unbearable to any human being. They enjoy tormenting the soul and hearing the snap of bone as the soul screams in agony, a terrifying screech that even Meleas would flinch at.

    The cold aura lingered on Meleas, sending a slight shiver down his spine. Then with a bloody snap a Trieste found its footing. The blast of rotting flesh, burning and death filled the air thick around Meleas. Then a streak of white flame came hurtling toward Meleas. He ducked and rolled, his golden gun already pointed at the monster. The creature growled, like a dog playing with its midday meal. Meleas lunged and held onto one of its horns. The Trieste flung its head back and forth, vigorously attempting to shake the fallen.

    Meleas reached for his belt and clipped off a small glowing orb, the swirl of crystalline water shown on the Trieste’s eye and it screamed, screamed in the agony of the holy object. Then Meleas smashed the orb on the Trieste’s back. Holy water glistened as it trickled down, with it the sent of scorched skin.

    The hell born demon then gnawed at its neck, catching Meleas’ arm, pulling him forward and swinging him from its mouth like a tyrannosaurus would its prey. Meleas aimed and shot, one, two, three times directly at the brain. The Trieste soon swayed and fell, then diminished into a smoldering ash.

    “You can’t buy your way into heaven, Meleas.” A silk voice called from the shadows.

    “I don’t feel like dealing with you right now, Diann.” Meleas said irritably.

    “Then deal with that damn writer!” Her usual childish disposition was broken and the fallen that Meleas had come to know finally showed itself. She stood in her ever favored black colonial gown with white pinstripes. A pair of ladylike boots clopped as she walked toward him. Her shimmering golden hair was tied into a loose bun, a few curl framing her pale, but gracious face.

    “She’s not harming anyone.”

    “She’s practically giving information to Lucifer. If Mammon gets any word on where she is, he’ll take her and drain her mind of all the information she knows.” Her hardened face softened and she leaned into Meleas, holding his shoulder, “My love-“

    “Not anymore, Diann.”

    She frowned, “Have you taken a liking to this human?”

    Meleas froze, has he?

    Meleas turned, shrugging Diann from his shoulder. He left the alley and a length of black feathers spread from his back. “Stay out of it Diann.” With that he lifted into the cool night air in a silent wisp.

    “It will be your fault, Meleas! It’ll be your fault!”

    Meleas knew what she was taking about. If he left Adrian alive and well; Mammon would capture her and take any information about the Celestial Court that he could. If that happened then Heaven’s downfall would finally come.

    Verse 5
    A New Angel

    Light shown through the fluttering of the cream colored sheers, bringing a subtle joy into the calm atmosphere; a large marble room with extravagant windows, trimmed with golden frames, lined the walls. The ceiling had a mural decorated with sunset clouds and images of saints and angels; with God, the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ holding hands rimming a crystal chandelier placed in the center of the room. A single piece of furniture sat silhouetted under the chandelier, a glossed, black grand piano. The graceful white and black keys sat lonely in the silence, the chords longed to be heard. A lovely sound they remembered, the calming, crying and loving from the artist and the admirers, they wished to be loved once more. Then, as if their prayers were heard, a light and quiet G sharp echoed through the cold white marble. Then a graceful melody followed.

    “Senorita Diann,” a built man with buzz-cut blonde hair contrasting with light cocoa skin walked into the room, his face showing a bit of disarray and paranoia.

    The delicate figure that sat at the polished grand piano turned her wavy golden hair dusting the wind with a sent of honey, “Yes, Edmond?” her voice was soft, almost a warm whisper, although her vibrant yellow eyes showed a distant coldness as she stared through Edmond with a look that could kill.

    He hesitated and gathered his thoughts, “Sir Michael wants to see you,” he paused and a small line of sweat fell from his brow, “immediately.” he nervously fidgeted with a small stack of papers that he had entered the room with, looking from Diann to the floor and back to Diann.

    She sighed heavily and sluggishly lifted herself from the piano stool, “Tell him I will come when I please.”

    Edmond bowed, his shoulders shaking profusely. He rose and left the room without saying another word.

    Diann, an elegant flower that was encased in a cold ice, gracefully went to the door. Her steps were so light, she could have been floating. Then with a disappointing sigh and one last glance, she left the room.

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