Ash-Shaytān's eyes slowly opened.
All he saw was rock and dirt, groaning while his fingers rapidly moved around. Regaining feeling.
"Where...am I?" He whispered out.
He pushed off the warm, damp, hard ground and up to his knees. He looked down at dark and wet stone, carved and shaped into a massive monument. He looked around him, surrounded by more and more stone.
"What is this?" Ash-Shaytān asked.
He looked towards the edge of the monument, staring at the back of Grand Angel.
Grand Angel was sitting cross legged, staring out into the horizon with his back up and straight. He took very long and deep breaths in and out. His body was clearly relaxed, yet stiff and only moving where he made it move.
Full control over his body, able to do whatever he wished to do without issue or resistance.
Ash-Shaytān slowly made his way towards his Father.
His body was covered in scars, which could have easily been forced away and left him with clean skin. But they stayed, a tapestry of torment that Ash-Shaytān kept on his body. A way to remember everything.
"Father?" Ash-Shaytān asked.
Grand Angel did not acknowledge him, making Ash-Shaytān's body start to shake ever so slightly. His eyes became smaller and his mouth curled into a hate filled grin.
"Come sit my Son." Grand Angel said.
Ash-Shaytān's body immediately became relaxed. All of the anger and tension gone in a matter of a few words. He looked surprised, unsure of how to respond for a few seconds. Trying to gather and compose himself.
He finally made his way forward, slowly lowering down to sit next to his Father. He stared out onto the peaceful world.
Humanity had expanded even further.
Multiple massive cities expanding out. Millions of people living basic yet fulfilling lives.
"They're so...organized." Ash-Shaytān said.
"They have a need for hierarchy. A need for classes seperating them so they know their place. It is quite fun, seeing what they come up with next. They try to figure out the answers to everything, and in doing so they create stories about how the world was created. They have stories about us. The creators of their world and them. They started off pretty close, except now it is thousands and thousands of years of stories being passed down verbally, with every generation misremembering or adding to it. So it will be quite curious to see how it expands even more." Grand Angel said.
Ash-Shaytān nodded, rubbing the back of his head and his neck.
"Did you..." Ash-Shaytān started.
"Yes." Grand Angel replied.
Ash-Shaytān groaned, slowly squatting down to sit and stretch his body full of pain and aching.
"Why...why do I feel so weak?" Ash-Shaytān asked.
"Being away from the Pantheon will make you feel weaker and weaker. You will be brought closer and closer to becoming mortal. Much like myself, and your siblings." Grand Angel said.
Ash-Shaytān scratched the top of his head, turning to look up at the clean and clear sky.
"That...honestly doesn't sound so bad." He replied.
Grand Angel slowly squatted down, sitting cross legged next to Ash-Shaytān.
"The curse of power is something I had for millennia. I was only going to pass it down to a child who I believed would be able to handle the burden. Of course, it wasn't the way that I was hoping for. But now I am here, and you fought to claim it for yourself. You earned it, but the power began to corrupt you as well. I am not disappointed in you. But now, there is no one out there to protect the Universe in case anything happens." Grand Angel said.
YOU ARE READING
Grand Angel
FantasiA being created by the blood of a dying God, later becoming the one who sets everything in motion. The one who really puts the entire Anomaly Saga into motion.
