Stories, Legends, and Truths From The Blighted Earth

By R.M. Tembreull

About the Book
Stories, Legends, and Truths from the Blighted Earth is a book of fictional narratives and artifacts which progressively knit together a hidden world existing outside what humans perceive as our reality. Earth Mother is sentient, and all manner of life on our planet are Her children to whom She gifts sentience of their own. The “spirit essence” or soul is immortal, and all beings progress through many lives. Within this context, sentient life occupies a hierarchy, where the highest tiers are occupied by elementals and Guardian Spirits who are responsible for preserving and maintaining the Natural Order; while those affiliated, coopted, and corrupted by Chaos are continuously trying to disrupt, and ultimately destroy, the balance. There is no such thing as good and evil, just the continual struggle between order and chaos.
The Blighted Earth’s sentient existence, where all life on the planet is connected, reveals a hidden realm and provides a new understanding of our world through the provided stories and artifacts. These tales are described within the context of real-world events and historical conflicts as told from the perspective of various characters occupying the numerous tiers in the Hierarchy of Sentience. Many commonly understood theories of existence and spirituality are reimagined within a new model of the universe where humankind’s place, and our importance within “the All” is very different from what most of us interpret it to be, including the definition of life and lifeforms.

About the Author
R.M. Tembreull spent his childhood roaming the pastures and forests of rural Michigan. He was exposed to the wonders of the wilderness through a variety of experiences including camping, canoe trips, hunting, and fishing. Later, he would experience much of the world during his twenty-six years with the Air Force. His greatest appreciation for the wonders of nature began when he became a certified scuba diver while stationed in Guam. There he met the love of his life, and they began exploring the underwater world together. Tembreull found the courage and time to start writing during the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. The author hopes his work will ignite the reader’s imagination, instill a new appreciation of the natural world, and inspire others to act in preserving and protecting the life and natural resources of our wonderful Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Jun 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886833683

Book preview

Knotal-Nodum

This is a story from a time when there was no one around to tell stories or even anyone to listen to them if they could be told. This was a time when the heavens were young … so young, there was only one heaven. The births of stars were singular events, worthy of celebration. In this place, few living things existed, or even could exist, with the exception of beings consisting of, and wielding, great power—the power from which worlds and universes are wrought.

In the great void of the first heaven, there was a sentient energy who wanted to build things and create something from the nothing … to build and bring some order to the chaos of the early universe, which at that time was too unstable to create the conditions to support life. He wanted to build, but there was nothing to build on … he needed help. He was a spider who wanted to weave a web, but even a spider needs something—trees, branches, windowsills … something—a structure of some sort to anchor his web. He needed something to start the weave.

In his search, the sentient energy sporadically encountered beings of form … but only a handful of them. These beings had come from the first of the stars. In their making, the first stars had spalled off living plasma, and like spores on the wind, these First of Form drifted across the young heaven searching for a host, a home, or even just a surface to adhere to in order to transform into something new, and maybe even propagate new forms of life. These new beings were not like the sentient energy, not like Knotal-Nodum. In the ensuing eons after first being spawned from the stars, the Star Children had evolved into magnificent creatures.

These creatures were spun of pure celestial energy wrapped in malleable carbon encasements. They were beings that took shape and could shape things themselves; but it had been some time since their creation, and they had grown tired of being adrift in the void of the heaven. These gypsies of the early universe desired a place to call home. It was such a seemingly simple desire for such powerful creations, and these basic aims had proven unreachable within the Great Rift. The beings desired a home, and the weaver Knotal-Nodum needed to weave his web. These complementary needs provided the conditions in which a deal could be struck.

Motivated by the prospects of a home the Shapers shaped, turning space debris into ever larger celestial bodies … the beings drove immense objects into closer proximity with each other to support the Weaver’s needs. As the Weaver weaved and the Web grew, it started to connect objects and gang like things together. The darker matter of the void began to congregate and bind together, and the living matter born of the light did the same, but the dark matter was denser and commanded greater forces.

With nothing equal to oppose it, the dark matter started to fold in on itself. As it collapsed inward, the dark matter dragged the lesser-apportioned living matter with it, and in this way the dark arrayed the light around itself. The dark matter continued to congregate and compress until it could compact and condense itself no more. It grew so dense and generated so much gravitational force it no longer allowed any light within it.

From then onward, the dark would always have to live in the shadow of the light. The Weaver and the Shapers had created the universe’s first celestial body—the Core of the Cosmos, and the great tragedy of its creation was its beauty could not be seen by anyone except its creators: the Weaver and the Shapers. The Core of the Cosmos was hewn from the same dark matter and cast by the same ancient energies as they. The drifting Shapers had finally found their home, but in so doing, had lost something in the making of it. The universe of structure was henceforth born and its ceaseless expansion had begun, but its original peoples, in choosing a home, had to pick a side.

It was in this way the foundations of the universe were cast … two sides: one of light and one of darkness … each with its own purpose. One to create and sustain life and the other to provide the hidden structure upon which the house of life is built. The Weaver was happy … there were many things to bind together … an endless number of things! His task never-ending was clear: to create structure from disorder with a great, beautiful web stretching out into eternity.

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The Gift of the Crucible

Knotal-Nodum’s web had divided the universe, and in so doing, had given the Shapers a home; but in providing a home, the division had simultaneously denied the Shapers of the resources they most needed to sustain their existence—the energies of living matter. Living matter which now resided exclusively on the Otherside in the universe of light. As the web continued to grow and spiral outward, the universe’s First of Form—the Star Children—found it increasingly more difficult to travel to the light and forage for resources … the sustaining energies of living matter they needed to survive.

They pleaded to the Weaver to halt his work before the journey from their home to the light became too long and too challenging. Though he was sympathetic to their plight, the Weaver was obsessed with his work and could not bring himself to stop. He had but one singular purpose and was compelled to weave … the universe demanded it! However, to show his eternal gratitude to the Star Children, the Weaver with great effort briefly diverted himself from his work in order to create a tool.

He fashioned it with matter from both sides of the universe and bound it together with a strand of his web to keep it from rending itself apart, and thus the Crucible was created as a gift from the Great Weaver to the First of Form … an artifact and object of great power born of the early universe. The Crucible is one of the only known constructs that can exist on both sides and traverse the great web barrier, providing the First of Form with the means to ensure their survival.

In the making of the Crucible, shards and small pieces of the fused light and dark matter were cast off on both sides of the barrier web … flung to the far corners of the early universe like seeds on the winds. The handful of the Shapers who witnessed the Crucible’s creation were able to gather a few fragments of the fused, molten spall while the Weaver was intensely focused and furiously engaged in his work. The Weaver was also ill-tempered in the making of it, as the laborious task of creating the tool had temporarily diverted him from his weaving. These talisman of the in-between collected by the First of Form, though not as powerful as the Crucible, gave the possessor, or a select few, the ability to traverse the great barrier web. These objects were extremely rare and of great value to the Shapers, the ancestors of the Inani. Those of the First who collected the precious pieces of Umbralux commanded great respect and became the first of the Inani Elders.

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Walks with the Moon

(Anigia Gvdodi Kanati’)

"Ah little ones, you must quiet down and settle yourselves if you want to hear one of my stories tonight! And it is the best of stories, because it is true! . . . All settled in? Good! Let us begin then!

"This story started many seasons ago when I was very young like some of you. The village mothers had given me the name ‘Water Bug’ because I was always making my way to the water. I was drawn to it and always seemed to end up in it … much to the dismay of my mother.

"There was one special night which did not seem much different than most others in the way it started. I could not sleep, so I was on my way to the water. I snuck out of my family teepee and sought the comfort of a nearby lake in hopes its glassy waters would sooth my restless spirit. As a good little water bug would do, I crept out, venturing forth ever so quietly and oh so carefully like a brave warrior moving on his enemy to count coup … a bit clumsy maybe without the water to assist me.

"Eventually I made it to the lakeshore, which was bathed in the light of a full moon. As I approached, silent as the owl’s wings, I noticed a figure kneeling on the lake’s edge. Slight of stature, the stranger appeared to be young like me, and he was completely immersed in his work at the water’s edge; so much so, there was no noticing a flitting little water bug like me.

"I stopped at the forest’s edge to take in the full measure of the stranger. I was exhilarated at the prospect of encountering the unknown. I was so excited I was trembling. I drank the scene in like a thirsty horse after a three-day ride. He seemed young, but like no child I had ever seen. His skin was pale, appearing almost translucent in the moonlight. His wild, flowing hair was a mane of sliver that seemed to dance in the evening breeze … magical in the way it seemed to shine and shimmer in the moonlight.

"The stranger was mesmerized by the lake water as if he could see things reflected within its surface … as if the shadowy depths were telling him their story aided by the light of the full moon. He was Yvwi Usdi! I was sure of it, but my excitement generated haste—and in my haste—carelessness. I felt a twig snap under my feet. It was not much of a sound, but it was enough to startle him. He turned around quickly. Without the power of his attention, the water images quickly disappeared as his relaxed frame turned rigid … from one of calm to one of surprise. His face, covered in shadow, hosted blue wolf eyes that narrowed alarmingly. His clear blue eyes blackened and pulsed, harkening an inner beast whose peace and security had been threatened by an intruder!

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"In that moment, I felt his spiritual power and the fear one feels when confronted by an ancient presence we cannot even begin to understand. In that moment I was frozen, unable to move, and your grandfather is ashamed to admit the only water the little water bug had now was the water of his tears; the type of tears that stream down one’s face when they realize there is nowhere to run, and that scary moment when they know they are no longer in control of their own fate.

"The Yvwi Usdi covered the distance between us in the space of a single heartbeat. He was the speed of a hawk in flight with the agility of a fox on the hunt, but he leapt forward with no hate in his heart. His cool, slender fingers whisked the tears from my cheek, and he brought them to his pale thin lips in one smooth motion. As he tasted my tears, I could feel him looking into my soul. He took in the full measure of my spirit to know my character, potential, and intentions. As he tasted my tears he knew me as an old friend, and in doing so, his eyes brightened, his visage softened, and his lips spread into a thin, wry smile. Knowing my heart, he understood I was no threat and was possessed of no evil or ill intent. He saw the truth of who I was at a time when I did not yet know it … it was the innocence and ignorance of a child that lay before him. I was just a little water bug.

"I felt a breeze and the rustling of the pines around me. The disturbance surprised me and drove me to turn around and see what the forest was trying to tell me. Seeing nothing, I turned my gaze back to find Yvwi Usdi gone … gone? The moon and lapping waters of the lake were my only witnesses as to what had transpired and what I had seen.

Upon my return to the village, I excitedly told the story of my encounter to my mother and father … and anyone else who would hear my tale. When I shared my story about meeting one of the Little People with the village mothers, they excitedly disagreed with me on who ‘He’ was. He was no Yvwi Usdi, Little Bug … he is Moon, the Great Hunter. You have walked with the Kanati’!" Mother paused, as if to give me the time necessary to come to the realization of which spirit in whose presence I had been.

You found Kanati’ mourning because he cannot be with his love, the Star Maiden, Mother continued. Every day, the Moon chases his love, the Sun, across the sky. Kanati’ keeps trying to woo his precious love, but the beautiful Star Maiden is never where he looks. Even the Moon must rest from time to time, to catch his breath before continuing the search that never ends … and the love he will never find and share a home with. You are no longer a water bug, little one. You are Anigia Gvdodi Kanati’! … You are Walks with the Moon!

"Many years later, I would become an accomplished warrior that commanded great respect from my Cherokee and Muskogee brothers in the war with the white settlers … the Long Knives respected no treaties and continued to encroach on our lands, laying claims of personal ownership on the Great Spirit’s gifts that belong to us all! At the time, these concepts were completely alien to us, and the white people kept coming in waves, so many of us decided to make a stand. I fought with war parties under Chief Dragging Canoe for many years.

"These wars started when the white men of the State of Franklin killed Old Tassel, Chief of the Cherokee, and many other Chiefs who only desired to live in peace. In response to our raids, Franklin sent a large force to attack the Five Lower Towns. Our assembled tribes rode out to meet the men of Franklin, and we fought them valiantly, defeating the Long Knives in the shadow of Lookout Mountain.

"With the battle raging and still very much in doubt, a pale, silver-haired warrior fell upon us in the midst of the chaos and bloodshed. He appeared among us as our brother! He was armed with a bow and lance … and was equally skilled with both. He wielded the traditional weapons of our people as a spirit warrior! The enemy fell before him like trees felled by the single, powerful blows of a great axe. In the sunlight, his silver mane shone like a star, forcing onlookers to cast their gaze away. His magic was powerful, even eclipsing his prowess as a warrior. The Cherokee whooped with celebratory war cries as the battle turned in our favor, led by the tireless onslaught of the silver warrior.

"With the battle won, cries of victory rose up from the Cherokee and Muskogee braves on the bloodied, hard-fought field. As quickly as the silver warrior had appeared, he was gone … as if he only existed in that moment to complete a task and fight with his brothers, but was not allowed to remain once it was done. That night, as Dragging Canoe’s war parties celebrated their great success in battle, they danced and told stories while bathed in firelight. And many told accounts of the pale, silver-haired warrior who aided the Cherokee’s cause in battle.

"Most thought him to be of the Nunnehi … a ‘traveler’. His great strength and the ferocity with which he dealt our enemies suggested as much. The Nunnehi had always been favorable to the Cherokee, but I was not as convinced as many of my brothers. In the silver warrior’s presence, I had experienced that same feeling in the pit of my gut … that same feeling of being in the presence of great power as I had that night on the moonlit lakeshore so many years ago. In my heart, I knew he was Kanati’ … and am I not Walks with the Moon?

"Our war party lasted for years, and I participated in many raids and fought in many more battles against the Long Knives. And Kanati’ was there to intercede on our behalf when our cause was just. It was evident he cared deeply for Earth Mother and all those who cared for Her … those like our tribes who honored and respected all the gifts She provided for Her children. Eventually I left the warpath, having grown weary of the bloodshed and when it seemed the Cherokee’s reasons for battle became less righteous. That is when I knew in my heart our purposes for waging war and continuing the violence were no longer the same as when I had started. Those who continued were intent on doing something the Great Hunter Kanati’ would no longer approve of.

"I retired from a warrior’s life and settled here to this small village. I started my own family, and you all are proof that I was successful! We have strived every day to live our lives virtuously and in harmony with Earth Mother. We honor Her and should always be thankful for the bounty She provides. She offers a rich life to all Her children; a full life for all those who obey the natural laws, and live in accordance with the changing seasons and the cycle of life.

"I can only hope I can meet with the Kanati’ one final time before I pass from this life to the next. I pray I have lived my life well enough to stand in his presence as a fellow warrior one last time. And all of you—every single one of you—should strive to live a good life and follow a righteous path, so that someday you may meet the Kanati’ too. But be careful … do not surprise him like your grandfather! Keep his eyes bright so that they may illuminate your path through this life.

All right … that is it, little ones. Off to bed with all of you! I see some you are one step ahead and intend to sleep your way to the next life! Sleepy ones and attentive ones, your grandfather loves you all the same. I wish only good magic and your Guardian Spirit’s protection for all of you in your dreams.

The Potato God

When the first peoples arrived here, they found a desolate and lifeless place. At first, they did not know the land they were on was a series of islands. They had tracked wild game across the ice for two days … desperate … as it had been a particularly harsh and long winter. Winter food stores had been exhausted, and the tribe was on the brink of starvation. They had been forced to take greater risks and travel farther out onto the ice than they ever had before in order to find what they needed to survive.

The object of their hunt—a large herd of stags and doe—had taken refuge in formidable rocky crags and stony formations that appeared out of the blowing snow sky. The daunting edifice jutted up out of the ice sea providing sanctuary to the prey animals they were tracking. It would take a great effort to flush them out; a coordinated effort involving the entire hunting party … no small task and one that could not be undertaken in the dark of night. It would have to wait until the light of morning.

They endured a frigid, seemingly endless night … most finally slept by morning out of exhaustion. The hunting party awoke to unseasonably warm winds that lifted their spirits … the strange winds were a welcome respite from the winter’s relentless bite and energized the beleaguered group. Much improved morale was contagious as the tribe worked to break down camp and make plans to rejoin the hunt with hopes of great providence. They split into three groups, intending to move on the stony mounds with two of the groups advancing from two converging approaches to flush out the deer. The third team was to remain in the open below the two approaches to make the kills from among the funneled deer.

The hunt took more than half the day, resulting in many stags and doe slain … the hunters culled seven from the herd. They worked hard to dress out their kills in the waning daylight … their work aided by the unnaturally warm winds that continued unabated.

The singing and revelry of full bellies carried on into the evening of a great day of providence, and the welcome warmth made for the best night’s sleep most in this stalwart group hadn’t experienced in many months. The hunting party slept soundly and deeply, but awoke to sounds of a much more alarming sort. It was the ice … the snapping, popping, and cracking of melting ice … that could be heard in all directions as far as the sound could carry across the ice fields. They found themselves surrounded by the haunting cacophony of natural forces conspiring to deny them their path home.

The tribe hurriedly worked to break camp and prepare the spoils of their hunt for the journey home. Despite the dangers of lingering, they had no choice. They could not return to where their village once was on the continent without the meat for which they had risked so much. However, their furious pace mattered not … the tribe found all paths back across the ice denied by impassable expanses of open water. The Big Waters had returned quite unexpectedly, and as the ice yielded to ocean it had taken the road home with it.

Left with no other choice than to survive, the hunters hunted until there were no more deer left. The barren island consisted only of rock and stone, unsuited to host any life of its own. When the food stores ran out, the hunting party was sure their fate was sealed, and the excruciating wait for the end began. Most among the doomed party were certain they would starve before the ice and the path to their original home returned.

On one misty morning … a morning they were sure was to be counted among their last … they witnessed the land on the sunlit horizon appear to take shape. The shape was not exactly that of a man, but more like earth and rock mimicking the form of a man. Surely the vision was born of delirium and the confusion and spirit visions brought forth by hunger. As they were already in Death’s embrace, they had no fear of it and approached cautiously out of curiosity.

Having his back to them, the rock beast spun around without turning on legs or feet. His face and appendages simply reformed on the opposite side of his body, the side on which the hunters approached. The creature then flowed as much as walked … surging as much as striding … to meet them. The hunters brandished spears and other crude weapons, but the stone spirit seemed to pay no heed, seeing neither the weapons nor those who wielded them as a threat … if he even understood what a threat was.

How do you like it? the creature uttered, with a cavernous voice that had the tone of grinding stone, and the painfully slow speech of a voice trying to fight past a windpipe filled with roots and other debris. The creature spoke but he did not have a mouth; yet they could hear his voice vibrating in their skulls … it was unsettling and confusing. Surely it was the hunger in their heads.

The humans stood in stunned silence. No one answered for fear they were the only one of their tribe who saw and heard the stone beast. How do you like what I’ve created? the creature asked again, appearing to grow concerned that no one was responding to his question. Like what? one of the awestruck humans finally broke the silence … summoning only enough courage to answer the creature’s cryptic question with a question.

Why, all of this! The stone beast raised his large, powerful arm-like appendages in a sweeping, broad gesture that seemed to indicate he was referring to all things around them as far as the eye could see. The task took a very long time, but I pushed the earth up through the seas. I created a home … It could be your home. His blue, pupil-less eyes were lit up like a proud father’s.

Of those assembled, the tribe’s chieftain finally summoned the courage to speak out. Sir, we cannot live here. It does not have what we need to survive. The stone beast’s eyes narrowed at the human’s words with an expression that approximated both frustration and concern. He moved with a somewhat aggressive manner toward the headman, and all the humans gasped in unison, stepping backward as one.

 Do not be afraid … I need to do something to help me understand what you require … what your ‘kind’ needs. He continued to move forward and placed a clumsy, rough-hewn earthen hand, more like a paw, on the chieftain’s chest. The beast’s brows furrowed with concentration and his milky blue eyes glowed with a ghostly light. The creature’s manner appeared to turn from one of concern to one of focus. His effort was devoted to looking inside the chieftain, to understanding what he was composed of and comprehending what was needed to sustain these wonderful, pulsating beings of blood, sinew and bone. These novel, but delicate creatures were puzzles he sought to piece together.

After seeing their leader was not being harmed, and collectively realizing what had just happened and what was being achieved, the entire tribe moved close and put their arms around each other and their chieftain so they were connected in the flesh through touch. In doing so, they expanded the earth spirit’s understanding and body of knowledge of human beings from that of one, to that of many … helping the creature appreciate the human diversity of form. Their offering to the stone beast was a holistic percipience of mankind’s strengths and weaknesses, health and sickness, happiness and sadness … the entire spectrum of the human experience, makeup, and emotion. This was done to help him know their short lives … like flames that shine brightly and flicker out in an instant.

I know … you … now. The creature removed his hand from the chieftain’s chest, drawing it back to his own. He knelt as one whose form is always shifting kneels. Where his appearance had been stony and barren, roots sprouted from crevices and fissures across the whole of his rough-hewn frame. From his newly grown roots sprouted bulbous growths. If not for their round shape, they could not be distinguished from the roots themselves. The tribesmen watched as ‘root bulbs’ grew instantaneously all over his body. Then the stone spirit rose as if attempting to stand up to full height so all those gathered could hear him, Sons and daughters of Earth Mother, take one and be nourished …. this is my gift to you.

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And they did … and they were nourished. The creature set to work over many moons to break down the stony mounts and rocky crags that he had hoisted from the bottom of the sea. He pulverized much of the surface of his creation into nutrient-rich soil that held the remains of biological life long past and had collected on the sea bottom over many ages. This soil provided the perfect bed in which the life-sustaining bulb root could be cultivated without his aid. As fields of soil expanded, their richness and fertility invited other plants, foliage, and vegetables to grow from seeds carried by birds from the continent, that were in turn pollinated by bees and other insects. The bulb roots themselves could be cut up and planted to provide more.

After the life-giving season of Spring, the growing time of Summer, and the harvesting of Autumn, the barren islands had grown into a lush paradise on which the chieftain and his tribe flourished. By the time the northern winds returned and the Big Waters began to harden, the ice no longer offered the path home, because the tribe’s home was here now … on this once windswept pile of rocks in the northern seas. A home built by the earth spirit … a home that sprang from the ocean and sustained its First Peoples on a bulb root they came to call the Potato. The vegetable’s heartiness proved enough to sustain a hearty people in the harshest of times until a new home could spring up out of the barren islands across the windy channel.

In their gratitude, the First Peoples … the Ancient Celts … have always held this simple root vegetable in high regard, and have continued to hold the Stone Creature—the island maker—in great reverence … a creature we know today to be an Earth Elemental. This is why the Celts’ home has always been where the potatoes are.

Star Light, Star Might

"Oh, I see … you want me to tell you this tale in your tongue. How simultaneously predictable and deplorable. However, I should at least take solace in the fact that a man of your unshakeable faith would even have me tell it. It is easy to understand how you would mistake a species not completely of this Earth for angels.

"Most people think ‘angels’ come from heaven, but in all actuality, they only end up there. Your angels are not yours at all, they are Earth Mother’s children … celestial beings born of this Earth. It is easy to understand how your species got it wrong. In the span of your short lives, you have largely relied on stories passed down through generations to maintain the histories of your kind. In the crafting of these accounts, facts get bent by biases and twisted to satisfy the teller’s aim to entertain; but sometimes the goal is far baser, such as deceiving and manipulating the audience in order to achieve a desired end.

"Over time and many retellings, details are lost, facts discarded … scrubbed away by the sands of faded memories and forgotten histories, and deliberately replaced with new ones to suit ambitious leaders and saboteurs alike in the dawn of each new age. The insignificant flicker of your species’ lifetime enables most to escape any real form of accountability. It is all very amusing really … it makes for good entertainment, but at times can be excruciatingly frustrating when I see how severely it inhibits your progress and evolution as a species.

"The rise of mankind and the appearance of angels are not coincidental. Life self-governed is possible as long as ALL species abide by the natural rule of law and respect the balance. That used to be the way of things before your kind’s surprising rise … before you forgot yourselves and your place. When mankind remade the world order and prioritized themselves above all other lifeforms, the rule set that governed all was dramatically altered, and the world had to change in response.

"You can find literary references to angels dating all the way back to the beginning of the human Third Century, concurrent with the ‘modern’ civilizations of man. Empires were established on the bodies of the conquered, and powerful dynasties were built on the sweat, tears, and blood of slaves and displaced peoples. From the bastions of their castles and high-walled cities, men started witnessing appearances of winged beings in the sky … especially in times of turmoil and great uncertainty.

"Your species tended to attribute these pivotal and tumultuous periods to evil operating on a grand scale where many wrongs were committed that had to be set right. Such circumstances seemed to occur with greater frequency as advances in technology expanded each human generation’s ability to extend the reach of their cruelty, and increase the potency of their destructive power. In his writings, Tertullian was close to the true mark, ‘Every spirit is winged, both angels and demons.’ You will loathe me for saying it, but in some cases, angel and demon are describing the same being. The specificity of title is more function dependent, based on the mission they are tasked to execute at the time.

"Mankind, and its penchant for violence and destruction, was tolerable while you were all contained. Conflicts crossing borders and contested territories are understandable and exist at some level among all species on this world both great and small. However, when the thirst for conquest and domination began to transcend continents, Earth Mother needed to act in Her own defense. The fortunate fact for you, Priest, is that Earth Mother