Prologue: Part 2

I DO NOT HAVE AN EDITOR–There will be errors


Part 1: 

 

{Hell, the Realm of Abyss}

Red eyes, a conflagration of both hatred and ennui, glared heavenwards.

 The Realm of Hell was as endless as the raw, unfettered beauty of the morning sky. But instead of inspiring beauty and hope, the world below only brought agony and death.

 The word “Hell” came from one of the ancient god’s past conquests. A planet that hosted beings of light and magic, the inhabitants were kind to the ancient gods who touched down to their planet. The ancient gods observed the planet with lavender skies, red mountains, three suns, and the people whose bones were so hollow, with the gentlest of winds, they could fly.

 It was laughable how the gods devasted the planet. The locals did not have a word for suffering until they came. Hell. The Realm of Suffering. 

 With his immortal eyes, the being that is too ancient to be a god but there was no other word to describe the undying creature, Abyss effortlessly peaked through the layers and layers of the earth’s crust. 

        A snarl erupted from his chest. The ancient god, Abyss, fumed with a rage that shook the earth’s core as he looked upon the world that was opposite of his realm in Hell. 

        Mortals. Abyss spat at the ground. Such arrogant creatures that walk with a laughable swagger. Such arrogance was tolerated hundreds of years ago when the gods grew bored and gave the second race the key to destroying the Fey. Then, Abyss must grudgingly admit, he could tolerate the race whose lifespan was a mere blink compared to his unremitting existence. 

        These mortals were like ants; ugly ants that shit and die. They build their feeble houses then destroy them to make even feebler houses. Building and building on top of the bones of the deceased, believing that their beliefs and ideas are singular rather than recycled musings of the long-dead, Abyss snarled once more as he wondered why his daughter, the mother of their race, loved them. Admired them. Saved those she deemed worthy into her paradise in the heavens that she called Heaven–the word for “rapture” in the same long-dead language. 

        Shifting his whirling form of shadows and embers, Abyss recollected the day he and his brethren came to this tiny planet– little more than a rock compared to the millions of planets they conquered, with intentions to destroy it.

        Destroying was all they knew then. All they ever could be. But his children with Time–Lyceria, Zakar, and Bemarisse–stopped them. Begged them to reconsider. 

        Time had listened to them. Abyss and his brother, Rift, conceded as well. The others soon after.

        Abyss did not hate his children but he wished he could take back his decision to mate with Time.

        His children were not as powerful as him and his brethren but they were born before a sea of stars and whirling galaxies, rather than the loneliness, deepest of black pockets of the universe like his fellow ancients. And the children that followed them were ever more so.

        They were born dreamers. They were born with beauty before them rather than a yawning chasm of nothingness.

        It was not surprising that Lyceria, the eldest, who always mourned the planets her family destroyed, would decide to settle on a planet and allow it to thrive. Nurture it. Tend to it. She saw planets like a garden while the ancients considered them awaiting graveyards. 

        Centuries underneath the earth, the deepest of blacks and the wallows of the dead and the growls of the demons, was where Abyss made his home. The familiarity of the bleakness of it had grudgingly grown on him. 

        Down here, Abyss and his brother Rift were kings beneath the earth. Their kingdom, a necropolis echoing with entrenched misery and perpetual anguish. 

        The judge, jury, and executioner of the mortals and the rare Fey, they were brought down to this smallest pocket of Hell and tortured and executed for their crimes. Damned to be soulless, damned to taste their wet screams over and over again for eternity, Abyss allowed his daughter, Bemarisse, to take part in the torture as well. 

        It had amused him, for a time.

        But now, Abyss began to loathe his realm. He began to see it more as his prison.

        Glaring upwards once more, Abyss loathed how the mortals laugh and romp throughout the earth so freely, with no knowledge that their lives were forfeit.

        The mortal civilizations fall and rebuild, they fuck and ugly babies are born and then, they die. The cycle continues but one thing Abyss must admire was their ability to survive. Like cockroaches. It was ingrained in their blood and rip-able flesh to rebuild and thrive.

        Lyceria must have known that her family would do everything in their power to wipe them away so by giving them the ability, the tenacity to survive, was in their way, their superpower.

        Furious now, Abyss withdraws to find his brother. A new moon was approaching, Abyss snarled, remembering that his eldest daughter was at her weakest during these times. 

        Deciding to pay his respects to the mortals during this time of misfortune, the ancient god went to find his brother to start some trouble.

 


 

Part 3:

The brothers, Abyss and Rift, guard and rule the Underworld. Bemarisse, the Goddess of Death does reside here as well but there was a time where she lived on Death Island and made her creations–demons

 

 

 

 

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