The Fallen

By Dale Jennings

The earth has always continued on. However, the mystery of the fall of man and heaven itself has been a mystery as the earth rebuilds nearly a thousand years since men decided to scorch the earth with hatred and fire. Now, ancient orders are combing the earth to find the skeletons and fossils which tell the story of the fall. But someone else has returned to the place where men fought each other and angels fought demons. The truth? No one knows on earth but someone will begin to seek the answer and avert the Final War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359095063

Book preview

The Fallen

The Fallen

Contents

Prologue: The Watchers

The Remnant

Things Fall Apart

Falling Over and Over

The Plot Thickens

The Journey

The More You Know

A Vision

Not Like Jonah

The Game Is Afoot

Thanks

Prologue Genesis

The Rapture.  The Tribulation.  The Bowls of Wrath.  The Antichrist.  The False Prophet.  Armageddon. The Dragon.   Imprisonment.  Release. A thousand years have passed.  He has been freed at a time where history has fallen backwards to a dark age.  No computers.  No technology.  The skies are still filled with nuclear holocaust.

Fast forward more than 900 years and the time of the New Earth models that of the Mid 20th century yet starkly different.  There are no world wars.  No super powers.  For nearly a millennium man has been at relative bliss with his brothers and sisters.  Technology is just beginning to take shape and there are only a handful of equipment easers--formerly known as computers--on the planet. 

One billion unsuspecting souls and a battle of epic spiritual and physical dimensions.  What is Lucifer’s destiny?  To wreak havoc on the earth.  He has learned that he is no match for this battle and the minions who helped him are all bathing in a sea of eternal heat.  Yet he has been given a reprise to shake the foundation of Almighty truth. 

A simple plan.  To release the knowledge of the book that John was told to seal until the end.  The Hidden Revelation.  The secret of this ancient text one of only a handful of pieces of the Ancient of Ancients to survive the dearth and destruction of the Antichrist, may awake the sleeping Fallen; those mighty angels who fled as the dragon was tossed from Heaven and landed in a dismal corner of the world.  Those who chose no sides but left for self-discovery.  Free will.  They were destined to sleep a day (a thousand years) and awake for a day (a thousand years) for all eternity.  Still powerful and needed by the dragon.

He cannot awake them nor summon them.  They have to be awakened by the ancient rites that died when the New Temple was built in the holy land by the hands of the Remnant, the Levite descendents who were entrusted with guarding the ancient texts.  A true prophet can stir them, according to the Hidden Revelation.  But the prophecies have been silent since the rapture.  There have been no miraculous signs and wonders on earth.  Who is the Unknown Prophet?

     In the middle rests the lives of a handful of mortals and three generations to hold back the dam of evil with the power of the Holy Spirit.  Yet none of them have any suspicion as to how the course of their lives are unraveling.  Nor who is on the Lord’s side.

The new age has brought something exciting and eternally dangerous with it.  But Yahweh is still on the thrown and there is a Remnant that guards the gate.  They are mortal and this angel of light who toppled the world is cunning and increasing in knowledge. And has returned hungrier than he left. Who will be able to stand?

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The breeze creates a pulse of romantic moist streams of rhythm against centuries old brick and steel, blackened by the heat of a ten thousand degree fire, which descended like a silent eagle onto the lake of the second earth.  The thickets of black and gray mud clump and slowly drop into other ancient puddles undisturbed for a millennium.   Until tonight.

     No living creatures have walked this path since the fall of the dragon.  The stint of the sulfuric air is thick still centuries later with toxic fumes suffocating all living organisms within 500 miles of its path.  Yet somehow, an ominous figure’s dim shadow slithers through the miles of debris and ash to reach into the pile.  A powerful hand withdraws a parchment sealed in steel and lead.  It would take the might of at least fifty men to remove it from its place, but this visitor is not a casual one.  He knows this place well.

     Megiddo, he mutters to himself inaudible above the deluge of nature tears.

     He hungrily rips open the capsule releasing a pungent steam of air into the night.

     ’…And when the thousand years are ended, Satan will be released from his captivity.’   He reads.   In the human sense perhaps, he repeats them over and over to fully integrate them into his psyche.  His ears have heard no voices save his own and a continuous mountainous rise of adoration in the heavens throughout his torment.  Yet his plan is certain and his timetable is set.  He has one day to wreak havoc on man.  One heavenly day.  One thousand earthly years.

     So, my brother.  It has come to this.

     He turns startled by the power of the voice.  Michael.

     I have come to see you again. To…

      To ask me to reconsider my journey, Michael?  You know better than I that our paths have crossed again and again with you and Gabrielle singing that old familiar tune.  You should know me by now.

     You were the first of our kind.  You were one with the Father and you chose a path away from Him.  You corrupted the first earth and the second.  Must you corrupt again?

     I intend to fill the pit with as many of these abominable weaklings as possible.  He may love them, he motions to the sky with his finger, but I do not care for them.  I detest their weak, silly in-celestial frames and how their vagabond praise fills the houses which I created.

     For His glory, not your own.  Cease the battle.  Repent and turn back the prophecies.  There are so many of us who pray for your heart.

     The prayer of the righteous do not avail much, brother.  I have no heart.  It fell when I fell from Heaven.  Look at you.  You are one of the most powerful among those who remained. Yet you are nowhere near your former glory.  The idea of being relegated to a trumpet player on-call?   I can restore it to you.  I can make your name mighty again.  Men will worship you again as the god of war that you truly are.  They will build fountains and bring women and men to you for sacrifice.  You know how powerful we are when we control those weaklings.  When we control their souls.

   Hold!  You speak blasphemies that I cannot allow.  Under the name of the Sovereign One I command you to quiet your spirit.  Within a blink the earth trembles with the exclamation of Michael as a vociferous thunderclap unfolds on the horizon. 

     "It isn’t enough that we are forever separated, now you tell me that you, the great Michael, can stand it while the filth of these things bask in the glory of glories? 

     I can feel your internal battle.  He cannot wipe away tears.  Only me.  These lips, brother, have breathed every note ever played on this barren bubble.  And your great arm has waved every Great War.  We don’t need Him.  He needs us!  Join the fight.

     You know that the mortal, John was told much more but was told to seal the book.  You know He cannot lie.  His Word binds Him.  Why do you think He commanded John to have it sealed?"

     Because such things are too marvelous for man.

     No….No….Because He would again be faced with Eden.  He can’t lose the earth again because of His Word.  Even He is snared by It.  Come on.  If the Ancient comes down to earth in the form of a man and they don’t believe Him, what do you think the rest of the world would think of the hidden revelations?

     Michael looks into the cosmic eyes of the angel of light who had corrupted the world.   There is no hope.  Never was.  Millennia ago a battle took place and a three-stranded angelic chord was broken.  One third of the angelic forces joined the ‘dragon’ in an epic struggle.  Epic because the Almighty had not lifted an omniscient hand.  Michael, the Father’s messenger, Gabrielle, the Holy Spirit’s Deliverer of hope, and Lucifer.  Once the Son’s trusted advocate and bringer of glory.  God’s three in one distinct identities fused and in tandem.  The angelic host also one superfluous purpose now polluted by a usurper.  One still grasping with his own pending doom.

     The Father loves you, brother.  Why don’t you turn…?

     Are you now become Shaul or Yochanan, Michael,  he snaps back.  "If the Son Himself can not convert me what makes you think someone my junior has the ability? 

     Alas, time is wasting and I have much work to do.  We will meet again brother.  This time, however the Hidden Revelation may bring much more than this."

     Satan is gone.  Michael stands and watches as the angelic essence evaporates into the dark sunrise amid its haze and mist.  Should this age of humans be told of the hidden revelations, of what must ensue for the dragon’s one thousand year release, the very balance of the world could fall.  Yet the blood of the Lamb reigns supreme.

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Prologue: The Watchers

In the human sense it is unbearably cold.  There are only a handful of animals capable of weaning out an existence in this cold arctic.  There are few fish.  Few polar bears or anything that remains from the second earth. 

     The icy white sheets of snow go for yards above the thick blanket of ice.  This place has not been disturbed for thousands of years since the great cosmic destruction which caused what the second ice age called the second earth when the vast paradise was frozen and darkness covered the face of the earth.

They  have lived here in obscurity for time too long to count yet their minds are sharp.  Many had ventured out throughout various places of the world, mingling with man, losing the balance of their glory and relegated to near mortals while these strong ones remained in hiding from man.  Occasionally there was a run-in with a handful of mortals, usually resulting in wild stories.  The Boogie Man, The Abominable Snowman.  Father Time.  Santa Claus.  Many countless explanations and myths about these creatures once powerful messengers and servers of the Most High God who were cast down in a titanic battle which pierced the first and second heavenly realms. 

     Some had six wings.  Some had two.  Others had none.  Some were a blue glory glow, others were white.  Some were yellow, others were silver.  There were a few hundred archangels, powerful beyond even their own knowledge, standing the size of a building.  While others stood the size of mortal men. 

     They were gender in features in form but not in sexuality.  They did not procreate to refresh their lineage.  They had seen how the others had taken to flight and went in to mortal women and lost most of their essence.  How their feats among men resulted in barbaric worship of gods of war, gods of the woods, witch covens, and even the legends of vampires and wolves and other beings of the night who, like them, were immortal yet imperfect. 

      Yet they were the Watchers.  Never interfering and always watching and waiting for a sign of redemption.  Another chance with the Almighty to come back into the fold.  For unknown centuries, though, their prayers could never rise further than the snowy ice caps of their white palace in the coldest reaches of earth.

     They had no need for food or drink.  They had tasted some earthly food, but were forbidden to partake of anything with blood and flesh.  Communication was in nana-second thoughts and motions that were still wonderful to behold if the human eye could see them.  They had trained their minds and celestial frames to hibernate in human time.  As a collective, without discussion, every thousand years they slept and reawake to begin again. 

     They had heard the cacophony of human existence and the wars and the famines but never involved themselves before.  But this time was different,  they guessed it was somewhere in the human’s second or third millennium after the ascension of Christ, that there was something great and terrible happening in the realm of man.  They still, however, could not involve themselves in it. 

     From time to time, they could hear the beat of the wings of the archangels going into spiritual battle with the fallen ones who fought with their former leader.  This battle was not only among humans, but, once again, angels themselves were involved.  They however could only hear, not even watch.  They could only remember the Fall.  He had not come to them since the fall.  He was the outcast, despised yet truly loved.  They all missed the quiet hum of his wings.  The powerful music of the heavens he had created.  The great fallen archangel of light.  The one who had spurred the myth of Isis and Osiris as he fought to prevent the advent of the coming of the Messiah for centuries.

     There were the thousands of cherubim and seraphim, the assassins.  The ones who had plotted to snatch the very life of their brothers by snatching the holy of holies from the Guardians.   To take the Books of Life, the very essence of All Knowledge.  The story of the creation of Heaven.  The story of the first angels, the ones who heard God say Let us make man in our own image…  A story that no one had read until the Angel of Light conspired and stole a glance into the prophecies of heaven. 

     Lucifer, the gifted one.  Golden in countenance.  Trusted.  Honored above all his kind.  The Adam of the race of angels.  The cupbearer of the glory of God.  The choir director of legions of angelic worshippers who sang Holy, Holy day and night without end for millennia before the darkness had been dispelled in this corner of the universe.  The only angel who had ever kissed the very face of God.  The Being who sacrificed his universal travels to the furthest reaches of the kingdom into millions of galaxies for a chance to sit at the foot of the Most High and listen to the tales of God’s heart.  Chambers of the heart of God which were