Work Text:
Itherael was kneeling in front of the Crystal Arch. The light of the massive monument was pouring down on him in an everlasting ebb.
With his wings tightly curled behind himself, the angel bowed in reverence whilst he prayed silent.
“Spine of Anu, you everlasting beacon of light and splendor. Wash my impurity away as I bow before you. You, who are the vigor and the strength of the first warrior of Light guide me to the path of Fate so I can unveil the truth, wash me in light and purify my being so I can comprehend your eternal endless wisdom. I, who am born of you, Eternal Warrior beg for you to show me the true ending of the Eternal Conflict.” Bowing until his forehead touched the immaculate marble floor, the Archangel whispered his prayer in a breath. He rose up and opened his arms and wings in front of the arch, then he bowed again in solemn piety. “Great Anu, guide me through the path of fate and shield me with your light and strength. Creator of Light show me the truth of the end, so I can prepare our warriors for the battle.”
***
Itherael went to the realms where Malthael had his domain of wisdom. Now it was but a solemn hall where silence whistled through the vast corridors. The Pools of Wisdom were luster, their accurate reflection mirrored back the lights of the forever burning skies.
Itherael bowed in front of the pools and drank from them.
Wisdom was needed in order to safely peer through the entangled visions of fate. Fate was a restless power which trembled and twisted forever to change. Fate was forever flowing, like the wind, whilst wisdom was static, like a mountain; but they could not exist without each other. Because wisdom was the creation of fate, and fate was the mentor of wisdom.
For the fractured pieces that opened before Itherael were not a stone etched true, but rather a piece of a bigger frame. Those visions were a warning, a lesson, an encouragement, a sign or a mistral apparition.
Fate was forever molded, forever chiseled by the present, and Iterael sought to understand what will come to pass so he could shape the present to lead to the best future.
In a solitary march he circled around the realms of wisdom, they were hollow, no sound could be heard, no hum, no flap of wing, no whisper. It remained frozen, untouched, like it was in the times when it’s master was there. A shiver ran through the Archangel of fate as he observed how a haggardness fell over the realms of wisdom, but it fell without leaving marks of destruction over the place, it looked just like a wasteland. For a moment, Itherael had a shattering realization that Malthael would never come to walk through those halls, nor those halls would be filled with the grace of wisdom ever again.
“So hollow, Malthael where are you brother?” Itherael spoke it and shivered when he could hear his own echo through the halls.
It was still a domain of the Heavens, but the halls of wisdom held now an eerie creep behind their still silence.
**
Once inside the Libraries of Fate, Itherael locked all the doors behind himself.
Bowing before a levitating beam of light seated on a golden pedestal the Archangel made his daily prayer to the light before he begin his descend in the realms of fate.
The Archangel curled his wings around himself, with slow steps he moved closer to an azure stream of water which fell down like a cascade.
The wings of the Archangel loosened and their light dimmed. His body levitated released from the tension of doubt and worry.
Leaving himself be grabbed by his innate power, the angel closed his white wings around himself like a shield, which sealed him away from the world. With his focus he called upon the fate to open before him like the pages of a book.
A numb sensation tingled in his body, the archangel relaxed and the tendrils of light curled around him like the cords of hope.
The light of his own being blinded him, then the world of the Heavens cased to be, swollen by the swirling visions of a distant future marked by uncertainty.
It was dark, so dark and so somber. The air was loaded by an invisible weight it had a fragrant smell of sickly sweet.
Itherael woke up in a vision he had never seen before, it was too silent, too quiet, too dark. His wings swirled around, undulating in a slow rhythm. The path was dug deep within rock, it was cold, it was humid.
‘ Is this some layers in Hells? Who’s domain is this? ‘
Itherael wondered, he sensed no demonic presence, just a feint trace of a mild being with a dormant corruption which marred it’s essence. The Archangel of Fate stopped, his eyes darted upon the soaked rock walls which were slightly lit by his wings, he observed the place looked far too clean to be inhabited by a demon.
Levitating slowly above the moist rocks, the archangel took the path in front of himself, wandering on a straight way that never changed it’s course.
Marked within the rock walls were signs which were stretched over rows. Those chiseled signs were similar to the runes of the angel in shape, but their colluding together made no sense for the Archangel who struggled to understand their message.
A slight resonance made his wings tremble and he remained in his place listening. A stiff deep voice gave out a hum. The sound rolled lazy through the air, it was carried by the sickly sweet vapors of intoxicating aroma. The being sighed and a voice then cracked the solemn silence of atmospheric esoteric eerie. Itherael felt it was an intact resonance, it moved like a whole note through the air. The angel curled his wings behind himself and there was darkness again, he heard the being breath loudly after each sentence, it was like a labor for him, the world curled long from beneath his lips.
“Those who chose to turn their face away from reality, pay the price of ignorance.
Vanity and absence of virtues are the end of the light.
For the Lord of Terror sits aloof forever waiting for the right time to strike.
And when he speaks all seas turn red from the blood, all creatures small and big obey the command.
And they rise abiding to his words.
In his force he and his legion took the holy city underfoot for sixty six days.” The Archangel of Fate looked at the one who spoke, but there was no one. Yet those words surrounded him like a brigade of angel with their swords ready to slash.
“But there is a way out of the misery of the end. There is always a way.“ Itherael understood later that the being was speaking to himself, for there was no one in this catacomb but him and this being.
“I give strengths and powers to those born from flesh and blood with beating hearts, and they the chosen will roam the world empowered so no demon or death can claim their souls and bodies, no pestilence to wear them down haggard.“
Itherael looked at the circle of glowing orange candles seated on the rock stone floor but he saw no one inside the magic circle. The only clue of a living presence was a long thin shadow stretched still on the cave wall which was open like a wound. The archangel looked up and saw him, a fair skinned nephalem clad in black robes levitating above the circle. His hands were stretched before himself, holding cupped a skull through which he looked with his sunken black eyes as dark as this pit.
“You have heard the way of fate, now go back.”
The Archangel of Fate woke up trembling inside the stream of holy water. He chocked and rushed out, his wings stretch, he grabbed his scroll of Fate to record this happening. Yet, a lump in his being stopped him from marking this event in the records of fate. It was something, something unbelievable in this.
‘ A mere nephalem, a mere sinful spawn to posses such grand power to turn the tides of fate in his advantage. No. Nephalem have been subdued to those pathetic mortals by Inarius, nothing can make them strong. This was but a dream, an apparition of Belial. Light protect me from the spells of lies which those demons send on me to make me break under their will! ‘ Itherael’s hands trembled and the scroll shaked violently. ‘ Light protect me! ‘ The Archangel whispered.