Oroboros: Prologue

In that moment, he had betrayed the will of the Maker; felt the mark of exile deep within his soul. He had shamed his tribe and separated himself from his brothers. He had been cast down and driven into the painting of Life, which was in itself, Art. The Maker had chosen his fate before any of his brethren had graced existence and would do so again...in the Beginning.

Now lost in the Void, the madness of humanity raging in his mind, he cried out, mourning and knowing it had happened before. The dark swells of venomous thought clouded him as he raged into Eternity, falling, weeping, giggling as a child.

For much of his descent, he dreamed. His concious mind struggled to grasp the notion of free flowing thought and will that could not unify itself into one mainstream conciousness. Individuality troubled him with lonliness and mourning. He released a song of such beauty; haunting and alone, his music sweetly wavered and hovered, filled with colours and melancholy. He left what he had seen behind forever and his new condition rendered him agony; unrest only of mind for his body felt nothing.

The music which radiated from him spilled out into the Void only to find no listner; no one to empathize with of the condemnation while he wept. Isolated minds wandering, interacting, but never understanding a true oneness. Nameless and timeless, he shifted onward through the Void, trapped in his mind as it drew him into its grasp. He could only conjure things with Dark and Light Creation; indivisible in their own Nature. That is to say, as unto wielding, things not Of the Light, for the Light had offered a system he had rejected. It was a completely new sensation to be free from the emissions of thought the Divine Channeler provided for him and his many brethren.

Shadows reached out to touch this Infant Divine and recoiled to allow passage through into the flesh. The painting, now a reality, or not so much a painting but a living work of Art that began to manifest in itself all around him...here...everywhere. His, the child's mind, created and accepted the prison in which it dwelled. But as a child he had become limited in function. Matter was more difficult to move and transform here; energies more difficult to purge. He would forevermore challenge his Maker's will. However, with the passage of time within his mind, bound with all minds flesh, he grew confused and evil; filled with hatred and revulsion for the flesh. In turn, the child drew on his power to reach out to the minds of these children of the Maker and turn them on eachother in efforts to destroy them and restore He, Him, before Yahweh and his brethren.

It had been so long since he had known divinity and his mind drew away from the events that led to his present state of awareness.

Physical reality tore through this space into new dimensions of thought and flesh...there was another. He was here now. But whom? Another of his kin; a dark angel with whom he could congregate in this prison womb? Another mind to embrace,
thoughts to communicate? Energies outside and around danced and crashed in at him as waves of heat and light. Where was this presence which seemed just out of reach? Gone, but not lost.

Now there was nothingness, darkness, coldness. He was utterly alone. A mind without form, lost in the Maker's work which he had helped to create and maintain. He had known the Maker as one.
The necessity to deny himself, YHWH, had left him here. Unimagineable time and space that defied sanity. His own dark dominion and the prison womb he had created with his own will of hatred and wrath. Here, he would remain filled with rage and trapped, until the end of time.