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Life was fairly simple in the beginning: or rather, before it. The jobs were pretty much as easy as they could be, there wasn’t much to worry about when the entire point of your existence is to be the perfect being. Besides creation and protection, they were free to do as they pleased: for the most part.
Some who had more knowledge of whatever was happening with Earth and the ineffable plan had warned others of the potential consequences of their freedom. But it couldn’t be that bad, right? They were angels, they were fundamentally programmed to serve and take orders from The Almighty. They couldn’t have been possibly allowed to even stray away from the one that had created them.
That assumption was wrong.
It was a few questions. One question too many that had gotten him in the situation he was in now. A war in heaven against the only beings he’d ever known, as well as with the only beings he’d ever known. Banded together yet all at the same time ultimately divided. Is this what The Almighty had really wanted? All the hurt and despair? Was he always doomed to fail? Was it futile ? A childish attempt to get away from the path that was already laid out for them?
Before he knew it he was violently pushed down, falling through the clouds that quickly dissipated into the ashy black of the sky.
It was all so vivid, the smell of burning feathers and skin, the unbearable searing pains that came in waves, those same pains that got more severe as he continued falling downwards, and the others who were going through the same thing. They looked like shooting stars, balls of white light crashing down to the depths below; only growing brighter the further down. Sparks of light sputtered outward along with the impact. He’d tried to cover his face and such the best he could, squeezing his eyes shut as he did as if it would magically stop this from happening. His wings curled around himself, taking most of the blow from the falling itself while he crashed to the ground.
With a loud, crumbling hit, he made contact with the rocky Earth below, sending a huge wave of excruciating hurt throughout his body. He had landed flat on his back in a shallow pool of boiling tar, knocking the wind straight out of his lungs. All that he could really do was let in short gasps of air that burned through every intake. He lay there for a long while, it could’ve been minutes, hours, days? It all melded together in a giant heap of foggy agony.
Eventually, he barely managed the will to get himself to stand. He could barely even see, his vision was so blurry he might as well have been blinded. He stumbled out of the pool, though he fell back to the ground shortly after leaving it, his entire body weighed him down. It hurt to feel the ground below, to move, to feel the tattered wings on his back–ones that were now burned black and dripped with tar–dragged pathetically behind him as he attempted to crawl further. It wasn’t any use. It’s not like he could just run away from this, this was inescapable. His fate was sealed, it was already decided for him.
It was too late to turn back now.