Snippet #2798501

A great trumpet sounded in Purgatory. It was like thunder that shook the world from the highest heaven to the lowest pit. Blinding white light shone out of the east like the coming dawn and rose with the crescendo of the trumpet blast. Then the sound fell into a dull roar like the steady hum of a dragon’s breath - or the grinding of a giant’s teeth - as a fissure opened in the earth. Smoke, fire, and the wailing of the damned seeped from the hole to the west.

Two beings emerged into Purgatory. The first, descending from the east, landed upon the grey wastes with a flap of great feathered wings. He was garbed in robes that billowed in an unseen wind and armor that glistened with divine radiance. A cowl shrouded his face, but his piercing gaze burned through every soul before him.

”It is time…” he spoke, his voice bearing the weight of a mountain and the grace of a lyre.

The second creature rose from the pit, gnarled claws scraping sinister slices into the dead earth. Eyes, terrible eyes, filled with hate and cunning and burning like the raging heart of a dying star, narrowed upon the unfortunate souls before him. It wore little beyond a loincloth, leaving its scarred and chiseled chest to bear.

”... To chose.” He finished, his words grating like gnashing granite.

”I am Mikha’el the Guardian, chief archangel of the malakim.” The being of light, Mikha’el, said.

”And I am Morthos, Scourge of a Thousand Skies, Field Commander of the Dark Legion.” Spoke the pit fiend, Morthos.

”For those who seek rest and eternal slumber until the next Cycle, gather beneath my wings. I shall take you into Paradise.”

“And those who seek power beyond death, to scrape and claw their way to greatness, kneel at my feet. I will take you into the Nine Circles where you may still earn a chance to return to the mortal world.”

A man emerged from the crowd and walked towards Morthos. He wore dark robes, nearly black, that contrasted with a bleach-white and hairless face. Baelin Alshadow turned to face the crowd of lost souls.

“Come, brothers and sisters!” Baelin called out with a great voice. “Do you wish to fester in a so-called paradise constructed by such a lofty being who never lifted a finger to stop your own demise?! Let us partake of the cup of hellfire and submerge ourselves in the all consuming darkness. Isn’t it not known that all the universe originated from eternal darkness? I will return to my birthplace and claim the power that is rightfully mine.”

The pale man in dark robes knelt before the devil and sank into his shadow.

Dante Alighieri scowled at the man and whispered a prayer for his soul. He looked up to the dead sky above him. A great cataclysm, a change in the status quo of Hell, had occurred. The former crusader had watched as the legions of demons and devils marched out of Dis, heading to the lower circles, but he scarcely imagined that it would lead to this…

The current, now former, Lucifer had been ousted, and the Circle of Violence claimed by the Lord of Heresy. It was ironic, really, and he should have foreseen these events. Alas, now all he could do was rein in the other princes as much as he could.

“Traverse the circles at your own peril.” Dante said to the crowd as he walked passed the pit fiend. “Consort and bargain with demons if you desire, but know that a snake charmer is always bitten in the end. If you survive to reach Dis, then find me there.”

Al’myaz Malgun looked between the angel and devil. His sickles hung loosely in his grip. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. By the Great Serpent, he was still living, dammit! Still, perhaps this was his chance…

He walked towards Mikha’el, head hung low, and dropped his sickles in the dust. “Is there room in Paradise for one such as I?”

”Go and rest, young muhari. Your mournful heart has cleansed your hands of blood.”

The desert assassin stepped into the soft glow beneath the angel’s wings. Al’myaz let out a sigh, laid upon the ground, and fell asleep.