Fall of the Angels

By John King and Roxana Nor

On the 5th day of Creation, some "thing" in Heaven is so awful,

the Angels decide they would rather

• Language: English
• Publisher: John King
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218108038

John King

John King is cofounder and senior partner of CultureSync. He has trained and coached more than 25,000 people over the last 20 years.

Book preview

12 Seconds Short of Eternity

Book One: Fall of the Angels

12 Seconds Short of Eternity

Book One: Fall of the Angels

Jon King and Roxana Nor

Fall of the Angels

Copyright © 2021 by Jon King and Roxana Nor

Content Editor: Alisha West

Copy Editor: Becca Masch

Editor-in-Chief: Kristi King-Morgan

Formatting: Amanda Clarke

Cover Design: Jon King

Assistant Editor: Maddy Drake

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 9798462362149

ISBN: 9798218108038 (e-book)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

THE HERMIT

DEATH

JUDGMENT

TEMPERANCE

THE EMPRESS

THE EMPEROR

THE TOWER

WHEEL OF FORTUNE

THE LOVERS

THE SUN

THE HANGED MAN

STRENGTH

THE HIEROPHANT

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

For those that dare to be themselves in a world of conformity, Salute! For our friends, family and all of the clubs, beaches, theaters, trivia hosts, and coffee shops who tolerated our need to impose our dreams in your lives and businesses, Thank You. Much Love and Hugs.

‘The whisper, so violent the paint on the wall darkens, splitting into cracks as it flees his words.’

THE HERMIT

Fifth Day of Creation.

Lucifer’s House.

Death steals forward, charging the stale air.

A hard stop, her head pitches and feral ears pin back. She bows her spine, hind muscles nock, and front legs draw tight, ready to loose. A seasoned arrow of penance.

Ever so slightly, Lucifer stirs in his sleep, revealing an opening.

The blacks of her eyes swell. She noses between the jostled sheets. A cold kiss lines up for his soft flesh.

Sunlight flows through the windowsill, leaking between Lucifer’s eyelids. Relenting, his body changes position. Stretching awake, he stiffens his arms and legs. His hands and feet move in little circles, each finger and toe spread wide, curling, and straightening.

Fangs exposed, Nibbles strikes. Front claws clamp tight, curved nails hook his skin, and her teeth pierce. Razor sharp back claws rake her quarry, again, again, again.

Lucifer shrieks. He heaves aside the top sheet.

NIBBLES! Stop that! Lucifer waves his arm, shooing the cat that attacks his foot.

The chonky feline looks at its owner, a pinkie toe still in her mouth. Dismissive, she releases Lucifer and vaults away to the other side of the bed. Her eyes shine, the kill a success. Turning, she saunters across the mattress.

Puss, puss, puss. Lucifer taps the pillow next to him.

Nibbles ambles over to plop down next to Lucifer. She makes air biscuits by flexing her paws against his shoulder, lightly pricking his nightshirt with the translucent tips of her claws.

Lucifer lays in bed a few more moments. Each caress of his fingers leaves fresh trails in Nibbles’ white fur. His gaze is elsewhere as he cuddles his chubby kitty. In what appears to be calm air, he watches little flecks of dust that swirl in the sunbeams, flittering about as if alive.

A firm pat on Nibbles’ head signals the end of the ‘lubbin rubbin’ and Lucifer sits up. Massaging his empty stomach, he tries to silence its grumbling. Carnaval and the others will soon be here, together they will meet up with Gabriel and his family at the river.

I am not gonna make it to the picnic. I gotta eat something, Lucifer says to Nibbles.

Pulling the nightshirt up and off, he then slides on a pair of canvas-colored britches, knotting them in place with a sewn in cord as a belt. Lastly, he dons a light green tunic before shuffling off to the kitchen.

Lucifer grabs a small bowl from an upper cabinet, fills it with leftover chicken meat, and sets the Nibbler’s breakfast on the floor. For himself, something fruitier.

Towards the back of a large platter, a solitary pear stands in its last great act of defiance. The sole survivor of midnight snacks, lunches, and munches, it now falls in a breakfast raid. Lucifer takes a deep bite and his face screws up into a wrinkly, squint-eyed grimace. The second bite is less tart.

Working his way around the island cabinets, he steps into a pair of soft leather boots that end at the knees. An urge builds with each movement and he hurries out the back door, rushing to the bushes that encircle his yard.

Oh, gotta pee, gotta pee! Too much moonshine and not enough food last night, Lucifer says to himself, then buries his teeth partway into the pear, leaving it to hang in his mouth. Both hands work the drawstring at his waist.

A slight crackle sound catches Lucifer’s ears, and he realizes his britches have stopped moving. The cotton fibers have been transformed to solid quartz stone and will not budge. Lucifer struggles as his bladder threatens to release at any second.

Arrrrrrrcaaaaaaadeeeppphh!

Lucifer’s shout is muffled by the fruit wedged in his mouth.

Waddling like a penguin, he rocks side to side, then forward and back.

Desperation sets in as he tries to somehow slide the stone pants off before nature takes its course.

With each movement the legs of the crystalline pants crack. The sound is crisp, like dried leaves under foot, yet he cannot get them to budge.

The teetering has thrown him off balance. He wobbles further and further each time. Finally, Lucifer stops swaying, paused just as he was about to topple all the way over.

Lucifer’s nostrils flare wide as he snorts a deep exhale.

It’s not a lot of air, but just enough.

Arms flailing, he grabs wildly at the bushes, ripping the leaves from branches but it does not stop his fall.

THUD!

Lucifer hits the ground, flat on his back.

HUUHH. The air is forced from his lungs with the impact, making the pear that was half eaten pop from his mouth, flying like the cork out of a champagne bottle.

Laughing at the sight of the Prince of Heaven, Arcade walks from behind the hedges. He leans over, touching the stone clothing and another crackle sounds. Lucifer’s pants change back to normal.

Leaping to his feet, Lucifer runs behind the nearest bush. After a few moments, he walks back while retying his britches.

Well played, Arcade, well played, Lucifer nodding. I don’t suppose your sister was behind the bush with you?

Arcade is nearly doubled over with laughter; eyes filled with tears as he gulps air. Unable to speak through the chortles and guffaws, he settles upon a shake of his head, no.

Just as well; she laughs at me enough as it is. Just my luck to have a partner with your sense of humor. By the way, up until a few minutes ago, I never realized how hard it is to concentrate when you need to pee. I just couldn’t focus long enough to use my abilities, you little jerk. Lucifer punches Arcade in the shoulder on the way back to the house.

Lucifer continues to tease the younger archangel as they enter the kitchen. You know, if I had a face like yours, I would hide behind bushes too.

Ha, ha. Not a bad joke…for you, that is. Arcade hops, turning his body in midair to land seated upon a countertop, then draws one knee to his chest.

Something to drink? Lucifer asks as he pours himself a glass of water from a pitcher.

The water stops flowing into the glass. It flows up. A steady stream rises above Lucifer’s head, pooling into a puddle that hangs in midair. Spreading flat, it evens out the thickness and shape of a large dinner plate. Then, as if someone were swiping a finger through it, two holes open for eyes and a curved line for a smile.

Oh no! Carnaval, don’t! Lucifer turns to run. The smiley face splashes down upon him.

Drenched, the water sticks his hair to his face and neck, and he blows droplets with pouting lips while Carnaval steps from her hiding spot in his pantry cabinet. Dang it, Ava! You are as bad as your brother! I just put this shirt on. Ugh.

Sister and brother lean against each other, laughing so hard that Arcade loses his balance, tumbling from his perch on the cabinet. His fall from the countertop adds to their raucous spirits.

Tunic soaked, and with droplets of water cascading from his hair, the corners of Lucifer’s mouth curl up. Grabbing a dry shirt off a hook near the back door, he is changing as Michael walks into the kitchen from the living room.

Michael stops in the passageway. Wow, good morning. I must say, it is refreshing to see someone else as the butt of the joke.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and grabs a hand towel off the countertop. He grumbles as his fingers work the cloth across his head while facing the practical jokers.

Arcade’s face may be innocent but his brown eyes twinkle with mischief. Set deep between dimples, his thin lips have a never-ending smile. The leader of the guard at the Great Hall, which is the grand entrance of the White Room wherein the Lord resides, Arcade’s skin is a deep bronze from daily exposure to the Supreme Being’s radiant glow. His tan stretches taunt across thick muscles. Wispy, pinkish blonde hair exaggerates his tan even more.

In contrast to her brother, Carnaval is over six foot high, a full two inches taller than Arcade. Her hazel eyes, wide and round with flecks of vibrant gold, stand out against her fawn hued skin dotted with freckles. Topping off her striking form is long, straight hair with more of a rose colored tone than her fraternal twin. Arcade and Carnaval are the only true brother and sister created by the hand of God.

The same hand of God had also created Lucifer. As a matter of fact, Lucifer was the very first angel created. He is also the closest to physically resembling the Lord. Erect in bearing and moderately muscular, Lucifer’s broad shoulders stand at the head height of most angels. His form itself is not the only thing demanding attention when he enters a room. His determined chin and heavy brows draw one impulsively to look into his father’s eyes. Tyrian purple to canary yellow and every vivid color in between, his eyes change with his emotions. This fact betrays the fake anger he is displaying from the soaking. His eyes remain a happy blue while he towels down his long dark hair.

Lucifer hangs the wet towel upon a hook as Michael struggles to look past the twins, into the pantry. His meticulously groomed appearance is an effort to make up for him being on the shorter side of the group.

Lou, you need to visit the Souk. I don’t see anything worth eating. Michael asks, What are you bringing? I brought wine.

Hey, I’m bringing wine too, Arcade chimes in as he pulls two bottles from a pouch slung over his shoulder. I enjoy a glass of wine every day, strictly for its medicinal benefits. He waves a bottle. The other glasses are for my witty comebacks and flawless dance moves.

Lucifer pulls out a round wicker basket from a shelf and unceremoniously sets it upon the countertop.

I got dessert from Asha’s bakery. So, it looks like we are bringing wine and pies. Not exactly a feast that was well planned, but I guess it will have to do. Hopefully, Raphael will bring some real food, but I doubt it. He shakes his head. I talked to him last night. He will meet up with us at the river ’cause he is going to the Great Plains this morning in search of plants to make medicines. I can’t imagine him toting a basket full of food with him while he is exploring.

Excuse me, please, Carnaval brushes past Michael on her way to the living room.

Did she just leave? Lucifer asks to shrugged responses.

Carnaval returns to the kitchen with a large basket full of cheeses, meats, and breads.

Here. Carnaval hands the basket to the closest angel, Michael. I brought it; you get to carry it.

Michael’s arm dips with the heavy weight, and he shifts his grip upon the handle. Whoa, ok, I got this. If everybody is ready, let’s get going. I don’t want to miss anything. Yama is bringing this thing she made. It’s a type of glass she calls a mirror. When I was at the Souk, I heard angels talking about it. It sounds very cool. This mirror thing lets you see yourself as others see you.

Mike, are you certain that’s a good thing? Do you want to be as disappointed as we are when we see you? Arcade chides.

Walking past the jester, Michael cocks back his free arm with his hand balled into a fist, taking aim at Arcade’s shoulder.

With a turn of his body, Arcade jumps in the air.

HA! You’re too slow, brother!

Arcade lands upon Nibbles’ tail. The fat furball yowls, curling around his calf, biting, and clawing. Arcade yelps, trying to pry Nibbles off his leg while Michael laughs out loud.

Michael is still laughing as he leads the group out of the house.

*****

The Great Plains

Raphael’s hands slide up, then side to side. Each motion is a delicate discovery to coax out the dips, puckers, and minute nuances of the rock. The rehearsed tenderness yields a cruel embrace. Lean biceps coil, and his fingertips cup over a ripple in the egg shaped Karlu boulder.

Hundreds of this type of stone lay scattered among the tall grasses here in the Great Plains of Syèl and clambering across them is not an easy task. Raphael lifts his body up, just enough to roll the rest of the way onto the rock, and he stops on his side.

The wind is wound tightly in these parts. Every breeze holds the threat of its potential power, lording its shifting sensations between joy or dread with each gust. As if the deceptive bursts of wind were not enough to keep Raphael on his toes, now he must contend with another problem.

Attempting to rise, he struggles to free the bulging leather pouch that normally dangles from his shoulder. The bottom of the bag is caught within a wide crack and it holds him in a semi crouched position. Tilting further over, placing one hand upon the stone for balance, he uses the other hand to work free his bag full of the morning’s gatherings.

Stupid rock. For the love of God, let go of my bag! Raphael blurts out. The pouch replies with a scraping noise and pops free. Raphael loses his balance, nearly toppling from the boulder.

Squatting down, he opens his bag. Skillful fingers move brown clay jars with leather stretched across their tops. No damage has occurred; every specimen is intact.

Raphael exhales as he digs through the pockets of his cloak. Seizing upon a pouch filled with dried deer meat, he removes a long slice of the hardened venison. Gripping the jerky in his teeth, with a sideways tug, he rips off a bite sized section. In a low, side to side, circular motion, his mouth softens the leathery breakfast. The chewing action makes a loud smacking noise that is exaggerated by the silence of the seemingly lifeless lands.

Raphael gazes out across the vast prairie. The size of this prairie is everything, and it can deceive one into believing there is no blue above because you can see nothing but green below. Such vastness can be overwhelming, but he likes it.

During creation, the boulder Raphael is standing upon was lifted by the hardening of magma through pockets of water and layered bedrock within Syèl’s crust. This action broke off edges, rounding the rocks and making finger holds rare. Slipping on their surface occurs often, so a fissure in the limestone is most welcome.

Fractures are sought not only for finger grips during climbing, but also for their hidden treasure. Shielded from the remorseless will of the wind and shaded within the cracks, the fungus and lichens grow.

Recently, the Pishon river overflowed its banks in a massive flood which left a nasty congestion that still spreads among the angels. Boiling the blue grey moss that grows within these boulders makes a tea which will suppress the cough and thin the mucus of his patients. Raphael witnesses daily that life can be harsh. When life is at its best, it passes before it should. When it is at its worst, it lingers beyond toleration. This fuels his desire to heal, so others can enjoy life.

Unfortunately, his labor of love has become a labor of too much time, and the dawn yields to the morning. Raphael must return home and see to his patients before he joins Lucifer and everyone at the picnic.

Such a shame this land sits unappreciated. Raphael’s eyes itch as he stands and turns into the wind.

The air is dry, leeching out moisture where it may.

This is a hint of the summer season looming upon the plains.

Upepo Airj Riseu, Raphael says. Find refuge in the shadow of wings.

From slits in his sage colored cloak, a massive set of wings sprouts. They spread outward from between his shoulders. He flexes and curls the grayish green plumage back against his body, then fans them wide. The sunlight glows through the translucent membrane that covers muscles and hollow bones. He sighs as the sun’s rays heat them.

Keeping the hair out of your eyes when flying is a constant struggle, but a knot does wonders. Taking a strip of leather from his pants pocket, Raphael gathers his hair into a single group, high upon his head. He ties a slip knot around the locks, leaving a dark, black tail to dangle below the shoulders. The hair is pulled so tightly that his violet eyes, which normally angle downward, are stretched up and nearly shut, making the low cheekbones more pronounced on his oval face.

Raphael spies two lizards on a nearby boulder, sunlight plays off their wide speckled backs. Usually territorial, the brown reptiles have put aside their violent impulses, entering a cold-blooded armistice. There will be plenty of time this afternoon for a fight to decide the king of this rock.

Raphael bets with himself. A pan of cake says that the one on the left moves first. He flaps one of his wings towards the sunbathing reptiles.

The lizard on the left raises its bulbous head, oversized toes move with a quickness as it scurries away from the angel.

Booyah! I cannot wait to play cards at Mel’s tonight. I can feel it; this is my lucky day! Raphael exclaims.

Folding and tucking his wings against his back, Raphael bends at the knees, crouching at the waist. His thin frame coiled, he straightens upright while leaping.

Raphael’s wings open wide to catch the wind for initial lift. Every feather is spread as he makes slow, gliding circles. The rising warm air takes him higher and higher, thermal soaring.

Flapping for a standing takeoff is possible, but it requires more energy and concentration, as does moving the wings while flying. That is why gliding, when viable, is the preferred flight of choice by the angels.

All use of the Divine, whether it be summoning an item, using a power, or manipulating an object, requires energy and a focused effort that is equivalent to its use. The toll upon the body is the same as physical labor or exercise, requiring rest, hydration, and nutrition.

Raphael catches an updraft of warm air, and gives several strong flaps to build speed, with his trailing feathers curling up at their edges. The action sends him up, into a huge loop. At the very top of the curve, he runs out of speed. He faces the sky with the land below, there is a split second of weightlessness, as if anything is possible.

The tickling sensation charges his adrenaline as gravity kicks in, speeding him recklessly back to the ground. At the last instant he pulls out of the dive, the small feathers across the top of his wings raise from wingtip to wingtip, slowing him back to a gentle glide above the very place where he started.

Whether by chance or subconsciously, his eyes are drawn to the land under him. The grass shows a stunning silhouette of his wings, yet it is the other shadow behind his, that seems out of place.

Not only is this shade larger than the boulders casting it, but the shape is different. As Raphael watches, it changes, grows, lengthens.

A section of this mystery shade, the size of a tree trunk, spreads toward the edge of Raphael’s silhouette.

As this shadow touches his shadow, Raphael’s body jolts to a complete halt.

Momentum flings the pouch of medicines off him. Raphael watches his precious bag of medicines strike the ground, tumbling and rolling to a stop at the base of a boulder.

Something is wrapped about Raphael’s legs, holding him firm in the sky. His wings are in the way, blocking a view behind him of the snare. Flapping furiously, he tries to break free but remains solidly in place.

Moja Gyener Mimy, Raphael chants. Every blade of grass has an angel that strikes it.

The grass surrounding Raphael leans toward him as he siphons off the plant’s chemical energy. As the last of the power from the grass is absorbed, Raphael then draws kinetic energy out of the air flow. The wind slows its pace. Goose bumps appear on his skin, as the hair on his arms rises.

The archangel cannot ignore the energy flowing through him. Warm and thick, it surges through his veins, making his body ache. Sweat beads upon his face as if from a high fever and he struggles not to vomit as the nausea grows. Raphael envisions the energy storing inside him, every tiny particle of power, separating from him. He imagines this release erupting from his legs, slamming into the trap.

It becomes so.

Brilliant light is followed by an ear-splitting discharge of kinetic energy. The trap holding Raphael blows open.

Raphael shoots forward to lurch away from the snare. He tries to turn about, so his wings no longer obscure his vision, to figure out how best he can respond.

As quickly as he has gained freedom, the trap snaps shut again. Only now the pressure crushes mercilessly, threatening to break his bones. From the ankles to the thighs, his legs are squeezed together.

Raphael’s mind swims as he tries to focus. He needs to absorb more power. He seeks any energy around him, but the pain from his legs sears into his brain like a white hot iron, overwhelming any attempt at escape.

Without warning, Raphael’s body is jerked backwards.

The momentum of the action causes his brain to smash into the front of his skull, and a concussion forms. His wings curl around the front of his body as he is thrown through the air. Raphael slams against the very boulders he just left, flattening the remaining speckle backed lizard.

As his body impacts the granite, a noise rises through muscles, bones, organs, and tissue before erupting out of him. The sound drags with it a bloodcurdling scream of pain.

Raphael lays among the cracked and shattered stones. He is surprised to have maintained consciousness long enough to have heard such a savage noise from the impact. He coughs and blood sprays from his mouth.

Raphael wipes away the wet. With empty eyes he looks at the red smear upon his palm.

There is no pain, no suffering, nothing at all.

Wow. Damn. I could use a nap.

The breath slows in Raphael’s chest, his wings vanish, and his head slumps against the boulder.

*****

Lucifer’s House

Leaving Lucifer’s house, the quartet walks along the main cobblestone path. The walkways were created by Samael, and one of Lucifer’s favorite things is to watch the stones rise out of the ground. Samael can sense a rock’s presence, then his mind moves it wherever he wants. Lucifer especially enjoys the smell as the rocks break through the surface. The thick, grainy, dirt fragrance is like when the first drops of rain fall in one of Carnaval’s gardens.

Quickening his pace, Lucifer reaches forward to catch Carnaval’s hand as she swings it backwards. He laughs as she startles. She smiles after recognizing her companion’s touch. Lucifer lets go of her hand and settles directly behind her.

Ava, you missed everything last night, Lucifer says while his legs match Carnaval’s, stride for stride. I wish you would’ve come to Adremelechk’s. It was a lot of fun, and there were a lot of angels there.

I heard. Arcade told me all about it. From what I understand, you are the one that missed out on everything last night. Her tone is a tiny pinprick, needling the jovial air from Lucifer’s words. Except the floor. You didn’t miss the floor when you passed out.

Not slowing her gait and waiting for the last second, Carnaval dips under a low hanging branch. The tree limb slaps the closely following Lucifer smack dab in his face. Lucifer rubs his forehead as Carnaval glances over her shoulder.

Ow. My poor honey bear. That sounded like it hurt. Carnaval sticks her tongue out at him.

That was a lot of wine and moonshine last night, even for you, Lou. What were you thinking? You realize you played a drinking game against an angel who can change the ingredients in stuff. He probably turned his drink into water.

It’s Mel, babe. I don’t think he cheated, but you are right. I won’t ever make that mistake again. Lucifer kicks at a rock like a scolded child and misses, his foot swinging up awkwardly.

Lucifer adds softly out of the side of his mouth. I almost outdrank him.

Dipping his head, he looks over to Carnaval. She heard his muttering, and her unamused face makes Lucifer grin sheepishly.

The group strolls past the homes of the angels. There is no