First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

25. Legion

        A FLASH OF VIBRANT red hair, blurred through tired eyes, swollen and barely conscious. Everything hurt, not a muscle, organ nor nerve had been left untouched on his frail and tortured flesh. Matted blonde locks clung to protruding check bones with the blood of the Immortal fallen. How long he had hung there, Samael could not possible know, as time was as irrelevant as his pleas for mercy; not in Hell—not in his sinister company.

    Movement had not stirred him all that much, as breaks were to be savoured, and there had not been many. Something had happened recently, that much he was certain. It had felt like months since he was taken from the attic at Saratoga Springs, and any moment's rest was merely to heal, only for the process to begin again. More than anything Samael just wanted to sleep; a human requirement in the land of the living, but where he hung there was no divinity. Here, he was one of them, a normal person with no power whatsoever.

    It was a strange irony when he had the time to reflect, when he wasn't having his innards torn to shreds on the regular by mindless beasts, his writs bound to the horned brace mounted at his frail feet. He had wished for such a thing throughout his never-ending cycle, to be human—to be normal. The burden of knowledge had been his greatest enemy, a victim of his own success. Just as the Christ had asked that His burden be taken from him, Samael's entire existence had echoed a similar theme. Dreams frequented the days of old, of a time before the great fall—of the days of the Great War in the Heavens.

    To what great temptation had he yielded?

        What sinful atrocity had he committed to deserve countless eons of shouldering the world's responsibility?

            How many times must his heart grow cold; hope merely a fleeting mistress with no time to linger?

    Ever the outsider looking in, there could be no deadly sin greater than envy. He would watch the humans like an indifferent shepherd as empires and civilizations rose and crumbled time and again. They were gifted free will, and with such limited time they would squander every moment it seemed. Freedom was an unwanted gift to these creatures, time of so little value that they fill it with pointless endeavors, carnal want and tangibles that would only be left behind when they pass. They had turned life into a joke—made a priceless gift null and frivolous like a spoiled child, ungrateful for they are given.

    But to be one of them—to taste the sweet beauty of limited time, like a fine cuisine made to  savour in the moment but never last; such a dream could never be more than that . . . a dream. Samael was given unlimited time, but with it came the curse of a great linger that seemed to define his existence.

    Oh, how wished he could forget.

    He had heard the Living Demonic—the walking damned, boast of their immortality time and again, how they mocked the very thought of rebirth and reincarnation. The loss of memory with each life cycle had always been a laughable concept to those who dwell in the shadow, proof that the Creator's love for His children is cursed with ignorance, they would say. Samael simply knew better. So many mistakes—so much heartbreak and such devastating sorrow, each loss a deep wound in a battered and scarred psyche that would be gifted no mend, and if made tangible would look much worse for wear than his current physical state. What he wouldn't give to forget and start anew. What would he not trade for just a single day of ignorant bliss—to watch the sun rise over behind his mountains and not see their faces flash through his memory, knowing they were burning and suffering of their own will.

    He remembered the fallen fools more than anything, countless faces once cherished and loved well, but stubborn well beyond his help—those who would not listen to reason. How he begged for them to just stop and think before it was too late, and each time the flames would take them, his heart would drop a degree colder, harden just a little more.