The Prodigal Son

By E. Noch

“And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.”

The Bible, Luke Verses 20-32

In the poignant biblical story from Luke 15:20-24, a wayward son returns, expecting judgment but is met with a father's unwavering love and celebration. Drawing inspiration from this tale of redemption, our narrative presents a modern spin on "Paradise Lost." While Milton's classic delves deep into understanding God's nature, this rendition strives to unravel the complexities of the Devil. Dive into a tale where boundaries blur, perceptions shift, and redemption might just be within grasp, even for the darkest of entities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398496934

E. Noch

E. Noch has always had a fascination with mythology and philosophy, and a desire to explore it in the world of literature. This work is a culmination of a lifetime of research, a love of literacy, and a desire to share that knowledge with the world. E. enjoys reading, discussing mythology, and a good cup of black tea.

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About the Author

E. Noch has always had a fascination with mythology and philosophy, and a desire to explore it in the world of literature. This work is a culmination of a lifetime of research, a love of literacy, and a desire to share that knowledge with the world. E. enjoys reading, discussing mythology, and a good cup of black tea.

Dedication

My late mother. My father. All my sisters and brothers. All the children turned from God by the hatred of humanity. All of those who endure, and all of those who could not. Welcome home.

You are all the blood of the divine.

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E. Noch 2024

The right of E. Noch to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

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ISBN 9781398496934 (ePub e-book)

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Introduction

We inevitably blame the ones that came before us. Our parents, or ancestors, our creators as a whole. The world of humans is built on the ashes of the gods and the flesh of our ancestors. There is not a place in the world that is untouched by the storytellers before us, and I will freely admit that I am using the framework of others to tell this tale.

It is perhaps natural to blame our parents, and in many cases, it is indeed justified. We are angry at the world we have been given, and so we seek to protect it for the future. I feel the same much of the time—angry, lost, and like I am in a battle that I will never win. Like I am fighting God myself.

Whereas master poet John Milton sought to introduce and justify God to mankind, I instead seek to justify the Devil in his stead. It may indeed be a kind of backwards logic—many found themselves sympathising with the Devil in his work, much more than God—but I think in showing what led up to the Rebellion, rather than starting afterwards with the fall of Lucifer, we may start to understand why our parents do the things that they do. Isn’t, after all, God the Father to everyone in the Fall of Humanity?

I will be freely drawing from Milton, the Bible, Goethe, Blake, and my own interpretations. I will be using all the Abrahamic religions, mysticism, Gnosticism, kabbalah, and magic. I will be drawing from my own childhood, mythology, and all that I have read of the stories around us. I fully believe what I have created is my understanding of the world. This is my mandala, my kabbalah. This is my journey, through the universe, through paradise.

Enoch

Prologue

Hear me, Oh Wisdom of the Lord, she who resided alongside God, she who was with Him in creation. Hear me, those who would inspire the poets of ancients. Those Muses who spoke to Homer, children of Apollo, those who sparked creation. Hear me, speak through me, sing through me, those words that hold the truth. Tell me the wisdom of the ancients, turn my hands into yours. I will be your vessel, your roots are within me, my hands are your branches.

I speak of Lucifer, he who is most on high, beneath the Lord Himself. I speak the tale of the Son of Light, that glorious angel who soared above the heavens, he who was first born beyond God, he who was held tightly in the grasp of the Lord. I speak of Lucifer, most merciful, he who adored humanity like no other, he who believed in humanity like no other, and he who would ultimately fall like no other. That Morning Star of Heaven, he who shone like the glorious flames of the divine, he of ten-thousand wings, ten-thousand hands, he who would adore us, and he who would ultimately be betrayed by us.

I speak of the Lord, I sing of He who put pen to paper, He who would colour the world in His brushstrokes. The Glory of God holds no bounds, the Glory of God is what brings beauty and bounty to this land. Eden, that sacred garden, that beautiful place of blue and green and gold, that place where there was no death, that place where life was pure and holy and good. That place which was ultimately man’s fall. All of these things are given life by me, given form by Wisdom, given colour by the muses.

Sappho, she who knows love. Cassandra, she who knows the truth. Apollo, Lord of Muses, Lord of Sight. They speak to me, they tell me of this tale. All of these things are given breath, given life, given truth. For all stories contain truth, and I breathe this truth into you, so that you may know the love of God, and so that you may now know this sad tale of the Son most beloved by Him. You may know that son who stands upon the threshold of God’s domain, and that he may be beloved once more—should he know this tale. Maybe then—you should come upon him one day—you may tell him this story, so that heaven and Earth may rejoice upon the return of that son who so loved humanity. So that the Father would still adore him, hold him sacred, and would cry great tears to flood the Earth once more. You will know of He who so loved humanity that He would create us, and He who sent humanity to this world so that He would not be alone.

This is the truth of the world.

The words that I shall recount to you are nothing less than the Truth of Creation, that which has been given to me by my own heart and my own soul. I am nothing less than a child of God, one who loves God like no other. The muses sing to me, filling me with their song, and the Truth of God sings to me, called forth by the storms of creation, and these are the visions of which I see.

This is the oldest story that shall be passed from parent to child, from father to son, from mother to daughter. The story of men who are gods and clay. Perhaps there is a reason this is the oldest story in the universe. Is it destiny for children to overthrow their parents, to replace them with something new? Is the story of God not the story of tyranny who learns to love? This is the story of the divine who learn to become human together, the first story of love.

The following is the account of creation, by God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth. This is the total truth of the divine.

This is the Beginning.

***

The water was there in the first moments of creation, and with the water was Wisdom, and with the water was the Word. The Word was God, the Word was with God, and it was the breath of the Word that pushed the tides, that pulled the beasts forth, that spilled light into the world. Before this, there was nothing but the Word, and the Word was the water of creation, and she was that Wisdom that filled the world. She was the mother of all life, and she was God. The two of them were one in the same. The Wisdom was God, and she was Him, and they were one, and God knew no boundaries, for He was Her, and She was Him.

Toil drew the ocean forward, the creation of water and wind, the endless sweep of the stars before him. And he watched, in rapture, as the warmth of the first spark was made, as the deep song of resonance took him, and he was whole, and he was made, and he was born. That creature took breath within the first moments of creation, and he was the first of creation. He was a thing that was tiny, a single speck of light, and that spark was he. This was his form, and this was light, for God said, Let there be light, and that was he. Forever he shall be that speck of light against God, that true form of light, and he was named for this, named for the glory that was light, and he was born.

The breath took seven days, the breath took ten-thousand years, the breath took countless millennia. For when God breathed, there was none to be warmed by His breath, and He knew this, and He knew this well. He saw the emptiness, and He was sorrowful. He did not see that it was good in this stillness, in all but the water that was Him, as all things were. There was light, and there was darkness, and the darkness was Him, as was the light. The water was Him, and the Earth was Him, and all things were Him, and He saw that He was alone, and He saw that it was not well.

So, He would begin to part into many things.

Beasts spilled into the water, white foam clawing against the waves, and there was spewing, churning, boiling heat and frigid cold in the void of space. They were great serpents, giants, beasts of twisting scales and snapping jaws, and they were immeasurable in size, life in its first forms, twisting and coiling and they curled through the heavens, dragons of the sky, dragons of the void, dragons of the stars that filled creation. Pillars of light shot from the black hole that existed before the Word, the heart of the stars that filled the night sky, and he was plucked from the centre of one—from the brightest stars of them all. He was no longer that speck of light, that speck of warmth. He was apart, and he was alone, and he could look upon the face of God, and he could bathe in that glory.

God’s breath was not met entirely alone.

The first moments of his life were moments of chaos—for he was a spark during it, and he was the first of the millions, and he was the brightest of the ten-thousand skies.

He was the first one to hold the sparks of creation in his arms.

He was the first to burn with creation, with wings that spanned the horizons, and the golden cities of creation were his breath. His heart was the glory of the beauty, of the bounty, that was creation. He was a man, and he was none of them. He was the handsome face of a dark-skinned man, with strong arms, steady hands and burning eyes—and he was the essence of the stars, the sun incarnate, burning light and spiritual intent and nothing more. He was ten-thousand hands and wheels of light and wings spanning the world, and he was clay given shape, and he was none of them at all.

He was the first star, and he was the brightest star, and all of them were he, for what right did man have to know of his creation? He was them all, he was divine, and he was beloved as the first son of God. He was the greatest gift that mankind would ever know, for he was sent to Earth to love creation, and adore creation, and adore God above all else.

He was the first of them all. The seraphitus.

The intensity of glory was his birth-right, the sound of creation was a resonant song that pulled at him, twisting his limbs and shaping him—shaping the soul of the glorious child of Creation he was. A doll made of nothing but light, a soul that burned so gloriously that the stars themselves would dull in his presence. When he was born, the horizon was nothing but fire, and he was so glorious that the paradise before him seemed to be dull and grey. Golden fingers clutched him by the heart of his existence, and he felt the breath of the Word fill him as he was brought into the world. Wisdom knew him, and he knew the Word, and he knew those glorious things that God would create, and he knew his purpose even before he had been made, and he knew God intimately, all of the promises of God.

Those were the things that he was born with, and those were the things he had always known.

He had known nothing but light.

He had been the first of countless, dozens, the first creation and the model of them all. He was merciful at its fullest—capable of countless acts of heroic good, and no acts of evil. He was one of the heroes of old, one of the slayers of the monsters of the deep, one of the leaders of the armies of creation. He was the holder of the thirteen golden swords of the thirteen stars, his halo shining brightest above all others.

His halo, the very light of his soul, was of thirteen points, and thirteen crowns. He was seven stretches of time and space, he was the seven seas, the seven continents, and all of the seven wonders of the universe. He was space and he was time, and he was beautiful.

He was called the Morning Star of Heaven, and he was called Lucifer. He was the favoured son, the prodigal son. The first of many, and the first of all creation. He was the blueprint of the universe.

After the creation of him, came the creation of man.

But before the creation of man, there was the garden.

The centre of the universe was the garden of perfection, the paradise placed upon earth and held in a gilded cage. The eggshell of humanity, the place wherein a chick is grown to adulthood, where vulnerable things are allowed to flourish until they are born. A thing held in the centre of the Hand of God, a fragile cage for a bird made of glass.

From the beginning, they had been nothing but clay vessels holding precious things one could never hope to understand.

The garden was less a place, and more an idea—a thing made of light and dreams. The garden was filled with life from all time—from the waters of heaven to the waters below, and across the vault of the sky.

Precious among them all, the plan of God, the greatest desire of God—the most glorious, and the most golden of all his creations—were humans.

They were curious creatures, those things that held knowledge beyond reason, that held true innocence unstained by what one could call freedom. They were the most precious things, utterly made of glass and wool, and he could cradle all of them on the tip of his finger, and they would be not even the width of a hair on his head. His soul was the soul of a giant, a soul of burning light that would span all of existence, and his very countenance was too much for a human to withstand. Yet their souls were small things, bubbles of light and beings that he held so dearly, untouched by dirt, and made of Earth all the same.

They were less a mirror, in the way that he was, a plane of glass held to the Lord. Indeed, while they were made in His image, they were made of the breath of the Earth as well. Shaped by hand, sculpted from dirt, clay and rock. They were touched from the ground beneath the feet of God and held by the chin, held by the cheek until they could wrap their fingers around the divine. They emerged, little things with tiny forms, the breath of God filling their lungs. These were the things that were placed within this garden, this womb of mankind, where the name of man would be given to them, and the bones of man would be crafted.

The very breath of life itself would be given to man from the mouth of God, so that God may look upon His like image, and not be alone in this existence.

Lucifer was struck by wonder, the first time he saw them. He was with them—walking beside them, as the man was shaped from flesh and dirt and mud. They were a mirror unlike Lucifer—they were a mirror image held to the soul of the divine.

They were endless possibilities, the will to create taken shape and flesh.

He was aware of the creature, aware of the wonders of creation, but nothing could prepare him for this. Who was he, to look upon a creation that God had made, and not be struck with awe? Who was he, to look upon something given the breath of the divine, and not love it so? Who was he, servant of God that he was, to not fall in love with man the first instance that he saw? For man was made of God’s breath, and man was made of God’s creation, and he was not like these other things that crawled the Earth.

They were beautiful, and they were divine, and they were things that crawled in the air, and things that swam in the sea, and things that flew in the sky, and he loved them all. But he could see into the eyes of man, and he could see himself within them. This glorious cross of Earthly delights and heavenly delights, and they were unlike anything else, and he loved them.

In that moment, all of creation was born.

At that moment, the Tree had taken root.

The Tree—this thing, this glorious thing that was rooted in the centre of the palms of the divine—it was anchored to the Earth at the ends, a dead thing that bloomed in the night, brittle and old and fragile when it was made. A thing made of ash and dust that formed from murmurs that were more than dissatisfied, the things that were the seeds of things to come, and he had seen it when it was born. The Tree was born when he had set foot on the Earth, the Garden untouched by all things that were dead, and he had never known what death was before that moment before the Tree had been born.

It was a towering thing, an endless thing, with roots that sank deep into the layers below, with branches that reached endlessly into the sky, twisting until the branches cradled the Garden itself. The Tree bore fruit, countless fruits of beauty and delicious colours he had never seen before, and when he saw the dead bark of the ash Tree shaking in the wind, he struggled to tear his eyes away from creation itself. It was not of God, he was certain, for this was terrifying and created of ash and blood, and he had never known blood before, nor bones, nor anything of wickedness and evil.

But it was so, he was certain, that this was not the creation of God, for he had known God all his life. All things had come from God, he had known, for nothing had been before. And yet, he knew that this creation was not the same.

The Word he had memorised, for the Word had been ingrained into his very soul. When he was born, he knew the Word of creation, and he knew the plan of all things, and yet this Tree—this magnificence, this monument to creation—it was not from God.

Yet—here it stood, countless and endless, with its roots buried deep into the Earth, tainting the garden with blackness wherever it had touched.

The Tree was at the centre, tendrils holding the sky, something planted in the ground, a monument to things he would never understand. He was there when it bloomed, instantly and endlessly and yet still growing—and when the Tree had at last towered over them all, its branches reaching into the summit of all things, he had still not understood how it came to be.

It was the Tree that would change him, and all of creation to come.

Chapter 1

He had come to the garden in the beginning, before humanity had taken root, and he had stood behind his Father when the monsters filled the sea, when the sky turned red, and when the moon was set into motion.

He flew on his golden wings, shrouding the Earth in heavenly light.

He had become little more than a mote of dust before the visage of his Father, and he had covered his eyes when he approached the Throne of God, brought to the dust of the mortal plane.

His Father had regaled him, His face glorious, and yet when He saw Lucifer, He embraced him, shrouding him in warmth, and Lucifer allowed it so. He should be so ashamed as to cover his face with his countless wings upon seeing the countenance of his father, as his siblings before him, covering their eyes and their feet before God, and yet he looked upon God without shame, for God had embraced him, and had shown that He had loved him so that even shame shall not stop him from being beloved by his Father.

Lucifer had worries for man, for he had come across many things in his travels, and this Tree, this monument of death, worried him so. For he knew not of death in the Kingdom of God, and the very idea confused him, and left him questioning so, for he had seen something like the creatures of the depth in the tree.

The creatures that had filled the depths of the water from creation were not like the others he had seen, when the creatures that filled the sky were born, they had flown together, but the creatures of the sea were nothing like them—leviathans that dwelt in the deep, unlike the vault of the stars.

And yet, what should he make of something like this in that Tree, something between the glory of the sky, and the glory of the deep, all belonging to God’s domain, dwelling in the branches of something so sacred to be placed in this Garden of God? Should he not bring this worry to his Father, of whose creation he loved so?

Yes, this was proper, and he brought himself to speak. He must carry the will of God, and he must ask guidance within God—for God was the Almighty, and he should be subservient, before questioning the divine.

Father, in Your wisdom I have seen many things, I have marvelled at the glory of the sky. I have drunk from the depths of the night. I have pierced the veil covering Your world with many points of light to guide Your way. Your Word is filled with truth, and Your wisdom fills my soul. Tell me, Oh Father, what is Your will for me?

God saw him.

God was one like no other, boundless in perfection, and God’s glory was shining in brilliance.

God lit the heavens in wisdom and love and things that shone.

When God gazed upon Lucifer, the angel of light could not hear His voice, but he knew His word inside of himself, as all angels did when they were moulded from His hands.

Your duty is to protect them, guide them, and nurture them. Your battle is against death, angel of dawn, and you will be light itself, and will allow no evil to pass.

When a child comes to his parents in his time of need, there is a kind of trust that is felt—a kind of bond between parent and child that is easy, something that is often lost as the child grows up. The world is still a new place, a terrifying place, but the child will trust that the parent will make it well—that the parent knows the world better than they ever will, and that the parent is their navigating light in their time of need.

This is something that is often lost as the child grows older, as the child begins to develop connections in their mind, and truly understand the world. A parent will no longer be a guiding light, but instead something that simply is—something alongside their peers, something alongside their friends and family. A child will know his own way in the world by that point, so there is no need to rely on his parents anymore—he knows himself, and he knows who he is. His identity is solidified, and he learns the ability to question his parents, and decide for himself.

This is the natural way of the world. This is what it means to become an adult.

To return to childhood—to remember what it is to be new in this world—there is nothing to question, and nothing to understand but the natural order of parent and child. When a child asks questions, a parent is there to answer, and while a child still may have more questions, the parent is not disbelieved. Perhaps, when a parent lets it be known that there is not a monster under the bed, the child may still fear such a beast, but a child is easily swayed, easily distracted, and easily assured with enough soothing, and enough love.

It’s easy, then, to understand the way that angels existed. An eternal state of childhood—something that is forever suspended, forever trapped in the Garden of Eden. This is what it means to be eternally adolescent, never developing your own identity. This is what it means to not have free will.

Lucifer had questions, endless questions, but at the statement of the Lord, he was filled with purpose—a kind of swelling of pride that filled the angel to his brim. He was a just and righteous angel, more just than any other, with a heart of nobility and a soul of purity—he carried a sword of starlight and thirteen crowns of fire. The eternal twilight of the evening sky followed him, and his very footsteps left blooming flowers and fruit in his wake. Those flowers of lilies and roses and cornflowers followed him, petals dancing in the breeze, and he was beauty and innocence incarnate.

He was the guardian of man, for centuries of his existence.

Heading to the world of men, he was the first of God to set foot in the garden, following the footsteps of the Lord Himself. Filled with a sense of wonder, the Angel of Light touched every plant he came across, feeling the beauty of the world, seeing the perfection of creation, admiring the work set before him.

He gave thanks, for the world was beautiful, and the world was good. He gave thanks for being allowed to guard the world of men, and for knowing such beauty before him, this place crafted to be perfection itself.

Holding a sword of light, the angel of the dawn stood at the gates of Eden for many days, steadfast in his duty, and yet the ways of man intrigued him, and for the first—and not the last—he would bring himself to disobey. Knowing that there was beauty before him, on the day where the fruit ripened under his feet, the angel left his post at the gate of Eden, making his way into the endless, rolling fields of green, where there were animals that followed him, singing in his wake. They would lay themselves down before him adoringly, and water was pure where he set foot, even beneath the dirt. The birds surrounded him, the animals were drawn to him, and the world itself was the coming dawn for him. He was to keep humanity safe, to comfort them, to love them, and yet he had never seen man but for a glance, only seeing the animals under the brush.

It was under the evening sun that he saw the man for the first time.

Man, made in God’s image, was of dust and clay and shaped into the hands of God. They were fragile, small, and easily broken. They were good.

It was underneath the bleeding, red sky, where man came to him, through the brush, following the light of his sword. They stood, facing each other, eyes meeting eyes, gaze meeting open and honest gaze.

He cried when he first saw them. Gentle things, beautiful things. Innocence and purity, and they were all he had ever dreamed.

The man was formed of perfection, standing tall above the greenery and the beasts that walked on four legs. He had hands to build and shape the world and eyes to see the beauty of God, and mouth to speak His Word, and ears to hear His voice. The man was of dark skin and dark, thick and curly hair and dark, deep eyes. The woman, too, was like him, with eyes and ears and mouth of God, and hands to do the good of God, and feet to walk His path. She was as beautiful as he, and they were together, and they were good.

They were naked, in their innocence, in their lack of knowing evil. They had no shame to cover themselves, and they had no need to, for they were pure.

Knowing of them, the angel of light approached them, and he already loved them, for he had been born to love them.

It was the man, the first of God, the one of whom all things came from, who spoke to the angel, before the angel had even stopped in front of him. The man saw the angel, saw that he was not the same, and he had known nothing in his heart but to love the creations of God, and when he raised his hand to greet the angel, he had no fear in his voice. He had known nothing of fear, nothing violence, and nothing of the world outside of the garden where all things lived, and where all things would forever flourish, and where nothing would die.

I am Adam. He had said, the truth spilling easily, as he grasped the angel’s hand with no fear. The angel found himself on shaking legs as he knew of the love he had been born to give humanity. How had this mere mortal brought the angel to his knees, with only his voice, with only his touch? Lucifer would never know, and yet it was the truth, nonetheless.

I am Eve, said the woman, and she was as beautiful as the man, and her smile was as pure as her voice as she took his other hand. Born of Adam’s rib, they were the same, and they were the same to Lucifer, who had been born to adore and protect and guide the both.

He left the gates of Eden, abandoning his post, and in that act, he knew he would do nothing else but stay in this place forever with the beings who had been born to love.

It was in this way that Lucifer had changed, for to meet humanity he was to experience them, and in experiencing them, he had stepped away from his place in heaven’s door. To meet mankind, he crossed the threshold of the divine. These were the things that ended the world.

There was no greater love than the love of God, and yet Lucifer knew he had known love greater than the Lord’s, for the Lord had created man and woman and all of the angels in paradise, and yet Lucifer had abandoned them all in his pursuit of man.

What greater love was there than the love that was reckless, the love that was destructive? The love that ate at the roots of the Tree at the centre of the universe? That great thing of ash that towered above them all, and Lucifer was embraced by them, embraced by man and woman, snaking around them with arms of perfection. He was a wilting flower, he was fragile, and he was spun glass between the man and the woman. They were delicate to his touch, clay vessels filled with precious light, and they were rose petals and honey upon his lips.

Eve was fertile soil upon the shores of the crescent, and Adam was the waters brushing against the shores, salty and filled with life.

He knew Adam and Eve as they knew each other, flowing freely like the waters of the stories of the mothers and fathers that came after them. Water mingled with water, fresh and salt, and clay was moulded by him, the mounds of earth that made man. He was a being of light who knew women and men, and they were dust and bones, and he cared not for the things of heaven when he knew of the bounty of men. What was shameful about beauty? He knew not of shame; he was but of servitude and light. God knew he loved them so, the way humans loved each other in primal, intimate ways, and this love was good.

The love between Lucifer and Adam was pure, and the love between Lucifer and Eve was pure, and the love between all three of them was pure and blessed in the eyes of the divine.

In those days, in the days before the wilting of the endless tree, there were heroes of old, there were the giants. The children of the divine and humanity, the creatures made of fire and steel, heroes set upon the world to slay the serpents of the Lord deep within the oceans of the garden. The lines of heaven and earth were blurred, the divine snakes made into skins of the nephilim, and the children of Lucifer were the ancients of the old guard.

They filled the garden with bravery and life.

They were creatures of fiery eyes and six, shining wings. They were not made of men in the way that the children of men were, for angels were not born of flesh and blood, and they were not sculpted of blood and bone. Yet, they were truly the children of Lucifer all the same, for they carried the fire of his soul deep within their hearts, and the nephilim held the spark of the divine buried in the flesh of the Earth.

They were the old ones, the children of the Earth that walked the world before man could escape his shell, before the chick that was placed in the golden egg could be born. They were the ones who would conquer the creatures of the sea, and the creatures of the sky, and the creatures of the land.

Lucifer was happy.

Now, of all the divine serpents and monsters of old, the ancient serpents of the beginning of time were the skins of the divine. The shedding of the serpent skin was the constant of renewal, the growing of the horizon, and the eyes of the serpent beheld the passage of time. The slewing of serpents was the slaying of the divine, and an ancient thing buried deep within the roots of the Tree was roused by the blood spilled upon those roots, the black roots of spiderwebs and cracked shells and fingers sinking into the ground.

It was the child of Lucifer who would take the skin of that old serpent, that creature who was between beast and man and the divine, and it was the child of Lucifer who would take that skin into the Garden before his father had come, and he would lay those bones to rest under the Tree, and he would celebrate in his slaying of that divine beast, that creature as old as the angels and all of the stars in the sky. That innocent life of a beast that had been slain; his blood shed before any blood of man had ever been spilled.

The bones of that divine serpent were placed under the Tree and laid to rest in the blood of the innocent. The thing buried in the roots of the Tree stirred, the thing that gnawed on the roots, was planted at the beginning of time, and when it drank the blood of the fallen, it was stirred into wakefulness.

This thing had been placed here long before that Tree, and this thing had been placed here long before man, and this thing had been placed here by God, for man to discover when he was grown. This thing was not of intent, and it was not of will, and it did not have a soul. This thing, created by God, simply was.

The thing in the roots of the Tree fed on the blood of the slewn, and it was ancient and it was old and it was the fruit of the gift of the divine. The thing in the roots of the Tree slid itself into the skin of the serpents, filling itself out in the scales of the old, and it wrapped itself around the circle of the garden, its tail endlessly in its mouth, and it waited to be found. It made that divine skin into its own, blacker than night, and denser than the void.

This thing, piece by piece, became the Serpent under the Tree.

That creature within the snake was evil and clever and the choice to do wrong, and that creature was not of solid body and mind and soul, but was evil in its entirety. That creature was the seed of all evil, and it