Lucifer: Soldiers, Serpents & Sin Book 1 - A Clash of Lightning and Thunder: Secrets of The Realm, #1

By DAVID M TAYLOR II

During his first 1,000 years of life in The Realm, Lucifer becomes an authentic superstar. All of his fellow brethren adore him and the passionate way he leads worship. His best friend Michael has been cheering him on since literally lifting him out of his Creation Cocoon.
And then it happens.
An unexpected rift between Lucifer and Michael inaugurates Lucifer onto the path of rebellion. While smiling at his best friend every day, Lucifer begins to amass custom designed weapons and map out the weak points in The Realm. He uses his honey-coated tongue to persuade some of the brethren to join his Loyalist army, even as other brethren sense that all is not right.
As the pressure mounts towards the impending clash of lightning and thunder, Lucifer prepares to unleash something the brethren have never seen. His rebellion will change every single creature in The Realm...forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HODT BOOKS
• Release date: Feb 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9780988821675

Book preview

Dedication

I dedicate this book to all warriors who have,

in any capacity,

served on the field of battle.

Know of a surety that the battle started a long time ago.

Acknowledgements

I want to acknowledge the Lord Jesus Christ and His divine grace,

for believing in me until I believed in myself.

I want to acknowledge my late paternal grandmother,

Bessie L. Taylor. You are with me in my heart and soul

every single day of my life.

I want to acknowledge my author/prophetess sister,

Wanda D. Gibert. I love you, sis. We’re still those

two crazy kids running down the hallway in

our pajamas eating cinnamon toast.

I want to acknowledge my children, Isuni Taylor and David Taylor III.

You two are the best kids a man could ask for. If you lined up all the

children of the world, and told me that I could be the father

of whomever I wanted, I would still pick the two of you.

Your father loves you.

I want to acknowledge my friends/staff/support system for being with me for years.

Randy, Stacey, Marsha, Melissa. I have not, nor will I ever,

forget your kindness and support.

I want to acknowledge the editors, publishers, and social media staff

for helping me make this book a reality and share it

with the world.

Table of Contents

i. Dedication

ii. Acknowledgements

iii. Table of Contents

iv. Preface

v. Map

0. Chapter 0 – What and Where is When?

1. Chapter 1 – Can Brothers Die?

2. Chapter 2 – Check Your Inbox

3. Chapter 3 – Shallow Waters

4. Chapter 4 – Renew Your Application

5. Chapter 5 – It Don’t Mean A Thing

6. Chapter 6 – It’s My Birthday

7. Chapter 7 – Down the Upstroke

8. Chapter 8 – The Sky is Burning

9. Chapter 9 – Bettah Have My Money

10. Chapter 10 – Oh, It’s On Now

11. Chapter 11 – Curds & Whey

12. Chapter 12 – I’m Ready for My Closeup

13. Chapter 13 – A Different Kind of Party

14. Chapter 14 – Principium Finem

15. Chapter 15 – Epic. Log.

Glossary

Preface

I’d like to preface this book by saying I wish people would read more.

Reading is so powerful; it broadens the mind, fuels the imagination, and expands the vocabulary. Reading has absolutely no downside. I learned to read at the age of four by reading comic books, the Bible, and the newspaper. Still love all three to this day.

This book started as an idea about Satan falling from Heaven based on Luke 10:18. I wondered what that experience must have been like, to go from a beautiful, blessed state where you had no flaws, to becoming a twisted, gnarly, corrupt thing with no chance for redemption. And all the while being convinced, for all the world, that what you were doing was the right thing to do.

I’d also love to see how many astute readers read between the lines. There’s an awful lot being said in here, and there’s an awful lot being said that’s not being said.

Put your combat boots on before you dive in. It’s about to get deep up in here.

Chapter 0 – What and Where is When?

Nihil

The Grove was burning . The air around him tasted like soot and he could feel countless embers lighting on his skin. There were coconut and apple trees ablaze in every direction, and entire crops of wheat, corn and barley were ruined. The closest body of water was The Holy River. It loomed in the background as a place of refuge as the number of troops incurring plasma burns continued to mount. The Ophanim started panicking because all of their eyes were stinging from the black smoke and they were paralyzed. The shrieks of millions of angry brethren started to shred his ears. Even at that distance he could glimpse The Leaves and smell their chestnut scent, but now his direct line to them was blocked. His lips were cracked from dehydration. As he turned to look up, he was sloshing around ankle-deep in puddles of acrid purple blood. What he saw when he looked up meant there was more bloodshed to come.

Was the Cocoon showing him this? Was this a dream?

Or a prophecy?

He didn’t know. And then it was time to be born.

TIMELESSNESS

Far northeast corner of The City

Inside the Creation Complex, Room 12

Creation Cocoon #6

Pain shot through his back as he stirred his wings with that initial flutter; wings make a funny porcelain crinkling sound the first time you move them.

The inner jelly of the Creation Cocoon was beginning to melt around him, and he smelled himself. Or rather, he smelled the very typical creation smells of burnt candle wicks, oranges and pauperie. He felt the cocoon’s glowing BirthSilk strings dripping down his shoulders, as he slowly stirred out of the fetal position and moved into kneeling. His tongue felt like chalk as the sweltering heat of emergence continued to caress every millimeter of his taut pink skin. He would later wonder if there wasn’t some kind of strange, fleshly painting process going on. He couldn’t tell if the creation jelly was melting off of him or into him. Every Cherub’s beginning in the pearl encased Cocoon was sacred unto The Throne, yet he knew inside of himself, before he could even feel all six of his incandescent hearts beating...that somehow he was something special.

His dream was still somewhere inside of him. He wasn’t sure where. Yet.

Thoughts can move faster than words, so his brain was full of ideas his tongue couldn’t quite articulate. His throat reeds sounded very tinny as he breathed. His biggest concern was the fact that he was stone blind. He didn’t know yet that the last things to fully form are the eyes, and no matter how many pairs one had, it seemed that so much of The Realm was blurry and out of focus after emerging. The eye sockets may as well have been filled with tangerine jam for all the good they were in those first few days. At least, that’s what all the brethren said to him later. His experience was no exception, but he wondered why that was so.

Did he hear a call while he was emerging? Was he being personally addressed? He couldn’t quite tell. The frequent and confusing audio static was either in the cocoon or in his head. Birth ears are not your friends, they’d tell him later. He felt what seemed to be three pairs of gentle hands around him, but couldn’t make out whose they were. These mysterious hands were embedding something in his still-forming guts, something metallic...and he couldn’t wait to be able to see well enough to discover what it was. He felt soft somehow, almost lumpy, like manna dough; not the greatest feeling. Creation Day experiences were nebulous at best.

His very first cohesive thought after emergence? I’m a mushy metal mess, he said to himself. I love it. Give me more.

It must have been eighteen full days or so in timelessness before he could see worth anything. He realized upon waking from what had been a series of naps, deep slumber, and whiteout sleep, that his sides still felt really strange. But maybe that’s normal too, he thought. He looked down towards his abdomen and discovered pipes! And tabrets! His lower rib cage seemed to be made of reeds, similar to the ones that made up his larynx. This was awesome. This meant he was a Sound Generator and not just a Responder. That also meant, according to the Data Stream that was fed to him during his cocoon cycles, that he was most likely going to be a part of worship in The Realm. Like worship for real. It was such an honor for any of the brethren to be involved in worship at any level, because it meant being closer to The Throne on regular occasions.

Though that would involve a certain level of danger.

It also indicated that he was a naturally created leader, and the perks of that were beyond imagination. At least, according to the Data Stream that is. He was still newborn to The Realm, and aside from hearing the assorted and jumbled whispers of the brethren (because he had no proper name yet), the Data Stream was all he had to go on. That didn’t stop his skin from going all goosebumpy with anticipation.

And then he sat up too quickly, clonked his head on the pod ceiling and passed out.

For the next three weeks, his creation place was his home. The northeast corner that contained the most flat and level ground in The City was where he was. That’s where the massive circular Creation Complex was, and it housed the Creation Cocoons and Recovery Beds. One huge continuous grey quartz wall with yellow streaks and golden spikes on the walltop encased the Complex. Every twelve meters on that wall, there was a Class I Cherubim armed with a FireSword standing guard. The Cherubim’s eyes were open around the clock, both the eyes in his head and the eyes on his wings. Nobody gave the Class I Cherubim any attitude except the Seraphim, but they gave everybody attitude.

The all marble front gate would only open to let a newborn out, or let his personal guide in. At the time of his creation there was a total of fifty-six rooms, all coated with alabaster and silver. The three kinds of rooms in the Complex were laboratories, Creation Chambers or Recovery Beds. Most of the brethren didn’t like the cylindrical shape of the Creation Chambers, but they had learned to deal with it.

Sometimes between assignments brethren of all classes would visit the Complex. They’d congregate just outside the walls to share whispers. Many of the brethren also wanted small diamonds to add to their collections, and they could easily find them around the Creation Complex grounds. The cocoons inside the Creation Chambers were encased in pearl, and after they’d been used one of the byproducts from their expended Genesis Energy was small, nearly flawless diamonds. Ironically said diamonds were daily thrown out by the Cherubim attending the newborns. These discarded jewels then somehow found their way out of the trash bins and into the hands of certain brethren. Some of the more decorated brethren laughed at these diamond runs because they were unearned gems. Or so it was whispered.

Though the Creation Cocoons were arranged inside the individual chambers in groups of three, with no more than twelve to a cylindrical room, one or two cocoons at most were in use at any given time. The Throne liked to bring living things into existence in a circular environment of safety, giving each newborn their due attention.

And his day to leave all of that was fast approaching like a thunderclap.

Far northeast corner of The City

Inside the Creation Complex

Recovery Room #4

It was no fun vomiting for three hours upon waking up. And that funlessness happened to the newborn every single day of the last week. Cherubim tended to smell like Refiner’s soap after their creation, but that was not his experience. For the first part of his life he smelled like dreck, and the attending Cherubim in the complex wasn’t particularly overjoyed about mountains of stomach excrement messing up the white bed sheets. Later on the newborn found out that his tabrets had still been growing. That growth meant that after his marathon puke sessions, more rough sleep would ensue, and his recovery bed wasn’t quite as soft and flexible as his Creation Cocoon. The newborn awoke this particular day however, to quite a surprise.

That surprise being, Michael Arch Wizdor, standing over him, wings folded, extending a finely chiseled hand.

He sluggishly curled up to the front of his recovery bed and held up his left forearm to cover his eyes. For some reason, Michael’s presence made his vision go bad again. His throat reeds had finally developed enough for him to speak clearly.

Who...who are you, brother?

A resonant baritone voice carried the answer. My name is Michael. And I’m here to escort you to the Gem Caverns.

Michael smiled and stretched up to his full four-meter height, pulling the newborn upright in his bed with an impossibly strong arm. Michael’s dark brown hair rested against his tan face. His pure bronze armor looked more like a second skin on him, as if he was born wearing it. Which he probably was, but no one knew for sure, because Michael never talked about his own Creation Day. Ever.

Gem...Gem Caverns? said the nervous newborn. I...I don’t remember hearing about them from the Data Stream during Cocoon. I...wait...

It’s alright. You’re still adjusting. Prolonged disorientation is a very normal After Creation effect. Or after new wine effect.

What? said the newborn.

Kidding. By the way the lower harmonics of your voice are phenomenal, I don’t think I’ve heard anything like them. Still, I’ve got to get you to the Gem Caverns while you’re still moldable. It seems The Throne is bestowing quite a few birthstones upon you. That’s unusual, and yet usual, said a grinning Michael.

Like any Arch Wizdor, his design was absolutely unique, and one of Michael’s features was that he only had two wings. They were a shimmery bright emerald green, encrusted with jewels of the same name as their color. But they were so powerful they could take him a third of the way across The City with just one sweep; no one else had wings with that kind of power. It made him respected throughout The Realm.

The newborn had no idea who he was talking to. Or what was coming next.

Going straight south from the Creation Complex and into the upper south central region would take one into the Aurora Mountains, and nestled inside of them were the Gem Caverns, a place in The Realm like no other. Organic gems were grown inside the caverns, in a series of interconnected underground tunnels that ran approximately twenty-nine kilometers long and fourteen kilometers wide. They all started out as crystal seeds, planted by whatever Cheriss were assigned to the caverns for that season. The tunnels were so deep underground that no rainwater would ever reach them. Raphael, the Chief Healer and Keeper of The Leaves, did not want any irrigation systems set up anywhere close to those Leaves. So as inefficient as it was, the Cheriss had to manually bring vats of water from the Holy River and pour it down each individual tunnel, often for hours at a time.

The gem core was formed following intense molten frost activity from the neighboring mountains. Magnesium and iron-rich solutions precipitated the gems on to a syenite porphyry footwall. Then the gem bed was covered by further volcanic frost deposits, quartz porphyry, and sedimentary rocks. This process would continue for close to nineteen weeks, and then the individual gem roots would begin to form. Two weeks after that, gem buds would sprout and could be seen all over the tunnels. The gems would then crystallize and begin to take whatever molecular pattern and color that their original seeds dictated. Once mature, these gems would be harvested and put to many uses in The Realm. They would top off scepters, adorn crowns, cover the sides of thrones, and get fastened into armor.

And he was getting some embedded into his person. As well as a coat full of them.

"I...I’m still confused. Who...who am I?" the newborn asked.

I’m not supposed to tell you that yet; you haven’t earned it, responded Michael. But after we leave the Gem Caverns you’ll have a better idea of where that’s going, the naming thing.

Err...okay. The newborn felt like there was only one vote to cast.

He didn’t quite know what to make of this Michael.

There is much more of you yet to be formed. That process is quite complex, offered Michael.

Well...I know from the Data Stream that names are written on the Destiny Windows in the northwest mountains.

Engraved, corrected Michael.

Oh, said the newborn. Those names were accompanied by the up-to-the-minute deeds of each brother. The Throne recorded those deeds, and they were encoded and could only be read by the individual brother to whom they belonged. It was whispered that at certain times, a prophecy of that brother’s life would appear. He wondered about his future, because everything inside of him told him that it was to be glorious. Are we going there? Will I find my name there? he asked eagerly.

Michael didn’t answer his questions.

Uh...sir? pressed the newborn.

It’s time to go, said Michael.

The newborn watched Michael begin to stretch and flap those thunderborn wings, and the wind force alone felt like it was going to knock him over. Michael laughed as he helped him out of his malachite-encased bed. He was given an amethyst colored robe by the attending Cherubim and told that his full clothes would be coming later. He quickly pulled that robe on, and he and Michael slowly walked out of the slate grey recovery chamber. They continued down the west hall to the front gate, and Michael gave a nod and a smile to the Guard Cherubim. The Cherubim lowered his blazing sword and the quartz gate opened...and with one swoop of his mighty emerald wings, Michael pulled the newborn into the air. The vast expanse of sky above The City seemed to welcome them, whether the newborn was ready to be welcomed or not. And there was a smiling Michael, challenging him to get his own wings flapping.

And then Michael let go.

WHOA! What...what in the WORLD...? I can’t –

"Oh, but you can, said Michael. And you will."

I’m...I’m in a recovery robe, what about...I mean... he asked, squeamishly.

Michael said nothing and just stared at him.

"Sigh. My back’s not supposed to hurt, is it?" as the newborn struggled for balance.

Well now hurt is relative, my friend. And I don’t have any relatives. Keep flapping, quipped Michael.

They climbed so high so fast the newborn felt a wave of dizziness pummel his temples. Well, seems like we’re taking the ‘throw him into the air and let him fly’ approach, he thought. Maybe one day, he thought as he continued his awkward virgin flight, I could interface with The Throne itself, directly. Wouldn’t that be something.

His vivid pre-birth dream was still on his mind, but he didn’t mention it to Michael. His memories of that dream contained abominations he couldn’t even define. Yet.

The newborn snapped out of his reverie because he needed to focus; he was really tired. The almost cloudless sky around him was a serene turquoise blue. It felt like it was around 20 degrees Celsius to his still-new-to-the-world skin, but he knew that didn’t mean anything. His red pinions were still acclimating and felt mighty sore, but Michael wouldn’t let him stop.

Don’t look down. It’s a long way down. Even the birds carry parachutes at this height, teased Michael.

The newborn’s eyes got really big. You, sir...are clearly a master of the Art of Not Helping.

Michael threw his head back and guffawed. Don’t worry, we’ll light a candle once we get you back home. For, y’know, all the gas you’ll be passing.

The newborn’s pink face turned redder. Michael laughed like he was trying to remove a lung.

Flying was like swimming in air, except he had to let his wings carry the weight underneath them and not his arms. The crisp, low-velocity winds meant he didn’t have to fight as hard to stay airborne. His back muscles were being stretched in ways he didn’t anticipate, trying to aerodynamically balance his body weight against the upward push of his wing thrusts.

Ha HAH! squalled the newborn. Look out Realm! Crump the torpedoes! Bake some raspberry cake! I’m flyin’ here! WHOA! His exuberant cry had caused him to lose his balance, and he started flailing. Michael swooped right over to even him out, laughing his head off the whole time. But in spite of his aerial struggle, the newborn could feel it: the explosive joy of being alive radiated through his every cell. Every feather, every bone, every muscle in his wings was reaching, drinking oxygen, trying to adjust. All four of his plumed appendages seemed to be negotiating with the air around them for sustenance. Reading a Data Stream about flying was one thing, but being out there doing it for the first time was something else. He did the best that he could and Michael kept propping him up when he faltered. His thoughts again returned to becoming very special in the eyes of The Throne.

Then he rebuked himself. That’s an awful lot of ambition for a newborn there, buster.

LATER IN TIMELESSNESS

The City

Spires. That was the most distinguishing feature of The City.

That and its limitless potential for growth. Although the fact that the air in The City generally smelled like sparkling red wine didn’t hurt its appeal any either.

The City’s main purpose was to house the brethren, or rather, those that wanted to or could live in The City, that is. It was built on an immense foundation of grey hued Living Slate, meaning that it could expand and shift itself when necessary to accommodate more or less brethren and buildings as needed. If more brethren wanted to move in, The City would slowly stretch tectonically over a nine-hour period and produce both fresh apartment buildings and the land they stood on for the newly entering brethren. The last measurement taken of The City had it clocking in at 60,999 square kilometers, but that number of course would soon be changing. Because if, for any reason, any of its spectacular apartment complexes remained vacant for more than thirty days, the Slate would shift again and shrink The City, removing the unused real estate. The Throne didn’t believe in wasting space in either direction.

The most ironic thing about The City was that the buildings seemed to be the point and the streets seemed to be an afterthought. There was an intricate pattern of streets and side roads interwoven throughout, but very rarely was there any direct ground path to any significant area. Meaning, if you wanted to get anywhere you had to fly.

Gabriel, of course, navigated The City with such ease that he often left jaws hanging open.

The overall architecture and décor was shaped with a preference towards copper, silver, and chrome with wild gold undertones. Sinhalite spires topped almost all of the structures found inside The City, with the buildings themselves being made of Carnelian. All of the buildings with living spaces were exquisitely shaped rectangles, with uncountable numbers of apartment dwellings peppered throughout their myriad floors. Windows were plentiful, some made of gold, some of aluminum, and some made of clear steel. Most buildings were three to five thousand meters wide, although there were a few exceptions. The lowest building height started at twelve hundred meters, and some of the edifices reached up to slightly over six thousand meters tall.

There were whispers that one day, buildings that topped out at more than nine thousand vertical meters were going to be constructed, but so far they were just whispers. Not every class of brethren could fly, and not every one that could fly flew well, so visiting a friend that lived at the top of any of the taller buildings meant an annoyingly long elevator ride if you couldn’t fly up there under your own power. Said ride would also give the one taking it such a breathtaking, panoramic view of The City and all its contrapuntal colors and eternal sounds until it was worth it.

The newborn, however, wouldn’t be introduced to Gabriel today, nor see any of that renowned City beauty. He’d have to spend the day on the pot due to raging diarrhea.

Near Northwest Quadrant of The City

Building Epsilon

The Newborn’s apartment, #555

He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of counting in twelve-hour cycles.

He also didn’t know if numbering the days of his life had even officially begun yet. So he wasn’t sure how long it’d been since Michael had pulled him off of that recovery bed. And these last several weeks had been a blur of activity.

Actually, more like...just a blur. His sight went bad again and the marathon vomit experiences returned. He didn’t know if that was normal or not. What he did know was that he’d been alive for a while and he was still no closer to getting any answers as to why. Chewing plum-and-cherry manna and then having your stomach hand it back to you two hours later had not increased in entertainment value. He’d remembered some information that was fed to him in cocoon about inscriptions. He made a mental note to ask his mentor about them.

Swooping in from the east, Michael landed on the ledge outside the newborn’s window. Good morning, my friend, said Michael.

Where...where are we going today? asked the newborn.

Michael stepped through the window. There’s some key structures you need to see, answered Michael.

In The City? Or elsewhere? He was excited for sure, though it was a nervous excitement. I know that The City is alive, or at least its foundations are. Does that mean it can walk?

Michael just smiled and said nothing.

Seems like to me...although, it’s still kind of hazy... The newborn closed his eyes to focus on his Data Stream memories. It seems that The City is rather large. And full of big bronze gears. I seem to remember seeing little electric things with lots of gold wheels that are way down on ground level. And...and there’s dodecahedronal buildings and chrome colored offices with no floor. And I had visions of things on the City’s outskirts...something called the Sun Squadron Complex. That place was full of brethren that look like little junior versions of you!

Heh, chuckled Michael. "The City’s just a big inkblot test. What