Warrior of Light

  mrsquishr

  Interlude: So Fell the Heavenly Host

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  Lucien spent the days following the ritual in contemplation, thinking of both the past and the future. He had used his old name as an alias on impulse but, now that he had time to think about it, he was content with the choice.

  Names had power, those with history even more, and that of the Morning Star carried some serious metaphysical weight behind it. Back during the war, around the same age he was currently actually, he was one of several children with potential who had been chosen. The current Dark Lord had been quickly consolidating power, and those in charge feared what he could accomplish. Already stories of town being wiped off the map in a single night were spreading, and the army was woefully unprepared if war was to break out.

  A program was created to find children with potential and forge them into weapons to wield against the Dark. Lucien was noticed quickly, his experience allowing him to far outstrip his peers, and so was taken from his family. He was the first, though many would follow, and so was granted a new name to reflect his status.

  All the children in the program were given new names, following the same theme of his own. The techniques that they would be trained with, and the advanced program they followed, would shape them into something reflecting these new identities; something that would strike fear in their enemies and awe into those they protected.

  As with all secret government conspiracies, things did not go according to plan. Almost immediately, half of their number succumbed to the Light as it burned through them for the first time, becoming their own funeral pyres. Things would not improve as the program continued, and their number continuously dwindled until there were only nine left at the end.

  As the first of the Host Helel would lead them on their crusades, his six-winged form lighting the way forward in countless battles against the Dark. As the war continued, whispers would travel of the angels that descended from on high to smite the demons. The government did not suppress these rumors, instead encouraging them and raising their small group to legendary status. A mythos had formed around them, and for a time they were invincible, blowing through any obstacles placed in their path. As all things must end though, so too did this golden age.

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  The first of their number to fall was Gabriel, second of their Host and beloved of their people, captured by the enemy forces and consumed by the Dark Lord himself; his demise fueling a grand ritual that drained the life from millions. With their aura of invincibility shattered, others quickly followed in his footsteps.

  Michael would fall next, split from the group, and overwhelmed by an unending tide of monsters. He would not be captured like his brother, choosing instead to shatter his core, and his death shook the earth. The fireball was visible from the capitol, and the deaths of so many minions would cause a temporary lull in the war as the Dark Lord regrouped.

  They took advantage of the relaxation of hostilities to undergo more and more dramatic procedures, emerging from their chambers bloated with power, and leaking the Light unceasingly as their bodies fell apart around them. Two more of their number were unable to control this newfound power so soon, choosing to use themselves as living nukes in strikes on the Dark Lord’s center of power; and so, fell Uriel and Azrael in a glorious blaze of Light.

  Three was all that remained of their Host, and they were not enough to hold back the tide of the Dark forces. One by one, cities fell to the Dark and those allied with it, growing ever closer to the bastion of the Light. Eventually, even this fell, consumed to fuel the Dark Lord’s ascension to godhood.

  He would be interrupted when completing this final step, a final desperate push by the remaining forces that had rallied around Helel and his angels pushing towards the ritual chamber and disrupting his concentration at a vital stage. The backlash of the failed ritual would consume the Dark Lord, turning him into an almost mindless avatar of Dark that consumed all around him.

  Two more of the host would fall in this push, delaying the mighty generals of the Dark long enough for Helel to destroy part of the ritual circle. Though preventing the full ascension of the Dark Lord to godhood, he had already gained almost limitless power from the millions consumed by his armies, and his now mindless desire to consume would begin to tear the city apart around them.

  Power unending would continue to funnel into the body of the Dark Lord, drawing from all those occupying the area. This included most of the remaining loyalists, as well as the single remaining angel, and Helel knew that it was the end. He would not go quietly, mirroring the choices of his fallen brothers, and detonated his core.

  He was always the most powerful of the Host, able to handle channeling the largest amount of Light, and when released it annihilated the remaining forces of the Dark, glassing a large portion of the continent.

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  Lucien shook himself from his memories, once again laying in the backyard face up. Small tears were beading in the corners of his eyes, and he could feel the ghostly remnants of shattered glass behind his ribs.

  He missed them dearly, those 8 brothers and sisters, for they had delved into the depths of hell together and bonded deeply; and on some quiet nights, with the Light humming in his veins, he thought that he could almost hear familiar whisper from somewhere close but so very far away.

  Wallowing in his sorrow would not get him any further though, and he pushed those thoughts from his mind for the moment. Wiping his tears, he stood and walked towards the house where he could hear the happy voices of his parents in the living room. Though maybe not what he had expected, this new life of his wasn’t completely without its merits.