Lay Down All Hope | PART I: Chapter One
Lay Down All Hope
By:revenant_scribe
PART I: | Chapter I: As a Dead Man Falling (Down I Fell)
Rating: Mature
PART I
Chapter One | As a Dead Man Falling (Down I Fell)
The grass was thick and tall; lashing at him as he moved liked whips, each rearing stalk another battle. It was better than the woods, the dense press of trees giving way to the endless field -- brittle cracked earth and the grass that still grew, tall as any man, shutting out the view of any horizon, obscuring any point of navigation. He pressed his way forward, bowed his head and thought sweet things worth every moment of struggle. He thought about reaching his destination, about the absurdity of struggling through the thick grass at all. “I forget that you have not made this journey before, Castiel,” Barakiel said.
“Not that many of us have,” Asmodel murmured, her voice soft in the odd stillness of the field through which they moved.
Castiel looked about him, tried to see anything beyond the grass that did not rustle with their movement, the grayness of the low looming sky leeching the color from the surrounds. “We should at least fly to the entrance. It was my understanding that haste was of the utmost importance.”
Asmodel laughed, a short sound filled with neither amusement nor tinged with bitterness, just a sharp sound to break the silence. “But we have been in Hell for some time now.” Castiel had thought he would feel different, would at least sense the ungodliness of the land through which he walked. He felt no different, but now that he knew of where he walked he noticed that he was a fool not to have known. There were no birds, no flowers, none of God’s sweet creations. No trace of the sun behind the clouds, or any hint of crisp greenness in the grass; only a smooth sweep of gray overhead, as if the very color had bled from the land. “We are in the outer lands,” Asmodel explained. “Not quite at the Gate; not in Hell proper.”
“If one can consider Hell to be proper,” Nisroc said. Asmodel laughed again, the sound like chimes ringing out in the grey. Like life bursting through, jarring in that strange dead place, so that Castiel felt that he had been forcefully struck.
Ahead, Malchidiel stopped and turned on them, his expression fierce. “Keep your voices low. If it had been our wish to be noticed so soon on our mission we would have saved time and flown the distance.”
“There are no demons in the dead lands.” But Barakiel spoke in a hush.
It seemed there was nothing in Hell at all except trees and grass. Though he was unable to place precisely when they had entered Hell, they had not come across another soul, let alone a demon, since they had set out on their task. Castiel frowned. “The dead lands?”
“Hell is a spiral, Little Brother. Down and down as the sinners become ever more malicious and calculated and all the more grievous to our Lord; an ever-sloping land. And at the center beats the heart of the One Who Fell. A link. The furthest place to stand from God and the closest to the path of redemption, between Hell and the purgatory of earth.”
Castiel had heard that Hell was in every way the inversion of Heaven. As above, so below, and below that was just the inverse. If Hell was below even the Middling world then, “Why not take the faster route?”
“And spring-up beneath Lucifer’s feet?” Barakiel said, his tone showing what he thought of the question.
Malchidiel turned to Castiel and explained, “We do not know where we may find what we seek, no reason to journey down into the depths unless it is necessary to do so. If we can spare a battle, we will do so.”
“It seems a long way to go for a sinner.” Castiel looked to Geriel whose cold countenance displayed neither irritation at the endless struggle with the grass, nor trepidation at the thought of what they marched toward. Unlike Castiel, Geriel spent a fair amount of time among the humans, though unlike Asmodel and Nisroc he rarely took a human form. He had said once that he was a guide, a support for the mortals on their paths, which was his purpose. To take a human form was unnecessary since he did not believe in paving the way, that if time had taught him anything it was that through struggle, the sweetest victories were won.
“Harsh judgment,” Elemiah said. “Do you forget that whom we seek is a righteous soul among the fallen?”
“There are no righteous souls in Hell,” Geriel said. “Or have you forgotten why our Father created it? This is what free will has purchased.”
“Do not speak rashly of our Father’s greatest gift.”
“It is a truth, not a judgment. Out of love God made a gift of freedom to man, and out of love he made this house for them. There would not be much choice if, at the end of all things, you stood all in one place. Freedom to choose God means freedom to choose the opposite. There was no Hell before there was free will - there was no need of it.”
“The one we seek did not choose this.”
“But of course he did,” Geriel said. “A deal is a deal. The fact remains that he chose to summon a demon and offer his soul. Before that time, he was on a different road.”
“He made a sacrifice.”
“But also a choice.”
Castiel huffed quietly at his brothers. “You bicker like children. If this is indeed a place of the will, it is the will bent against God. The one we seek is righteous; his choice was not against God but against loss. God is still in his heart.”
Barakiel watched him for a long moment before he turned his focus back to the path they were wending through the field. “You are naïve, Castiel. Hell does not lend itself to clinging to faith.”
“What better place to cling to it than here?”
“Hell is the very absence of God, or do you not understand?” Barakiel wondered. “Even if our Father burned brightly in his heart, it would fade in this place.”
“Shh,” Malchidiel cautioned. Like an insidious whisper, a noise hung heavy on the air, so faint it was only a tentative prickle against his senses, but Castiel braced himself as they proceeded. The thick grass began to diminish, until it receded in totality, replaced by sharp cliff that revealed a chasm, like a great mouth in the middle of the field, open and waiting. It was a near-perfect circle, sharp rocks like teeth all around the edge, and below, a chasm so deep it almost roared. To the left of where they stood a sloping worn step cut into the rock face. They stood at the top of the jutting stair, an army of angels on their descent into Hell, and Castiel wondered why he could not see even the faintest shape in the distance. There was the smooth, worn steps - rubbed raw as if by age and use, though no mortal foot had fallen there - and a dead tree that clung to the cliff side, the tips of its dried branches ghosting against the side of the wending stair. Yet beyond all of that was nothing, only a darkening gray and an enveloping rock face.
In single file they made their way down, no railing or safety on either side, just jutting stone and gnarled roots and always the sense of vertigo. The journey was slow, but that was the result, Castiel suspected, of the unsettling awareness each were undoubtedly feeling, of how visible they were in this grey place; their light even as they struggled to quell it, a beacon - a flowing stream of illumination against the stark rock where everything was a faded blend. As they walked, the steps began to crumble and Castiel wondered if it was because the worn rock was not created to support Celestials and the blessings of the Lord that they carried with them, or if it was merely from use; he thought that most things must be near-collapse in Hell. Malchidiel had urged caution from the start, their intent was to keep their intentions as secret as possible until it was entirely unavoidable, and that was the only reason why they traveled on foot. With the landscape vacant as it was, it was a simple thing to forget about caution, or question the need for it, but it was a difficult balance between caution and haste - both of which were essential to the task they had been assigned.
They seemed to march for hours down the steps, until Nisroc spread her wings and dropped gracefully down the cliff side to land at the bottom where Malchidiel - who led their march - was only just setting foot. “This is not how I imagined Hell,” she said, as others on the step followed her example and spread their wings. Castiel watched them fly but stayed his course, he was near to the bottom and felt no hurry to descend deeper into the depths. The base of the cliff was nothing but cracked clay and a barren horizon, marked by mounded hills as parched as the rest of the landscape. The ground was hot, though there was no sun to warm it, only the pinch of grey sky visible above, held-out by the tall cliff.
“Where are the lost souls?” But as Nathaniel spoke the noise that had merely been a prickle of a sense at the top of the cliff rose in pitch until before them in the distance a great crowd of bodies appeared on the horizon, the front runners carrying a banner so large it took four souls to support it, behind, the others ran -- each shouting and yipping, noises like animals rather than the remnants of humans that they were. They wore no clothing, the men looked as the women did, their hair cut to a uniform length and their bodies worn-through so that there was no distinguishing the difference between one soul and another without close observation.
“We must continue,” Malchidiel said, and only then did Castiel realize that they had all ceased their forward progress to watch the procession. “Do not speak to anyone, even if they call to you. Do not touch the Wretched. We are here for one soul only.”
Castiel had no wish to touch the runners. As they neared the path that the procession had worn into the cracked clay he noticed how the souls had blistered and bloody feet, how their yips and yells sounded as cracked and rough as the earth they ran on, worn down from use. He could not take his eyes from them, but he had no wish to reach out to them. “Hell is a place of suffering befitting of the sin,” Asmodel whispered to him, her pace slowing to match his own.
“What sin is this, that they run under a banner and do not stop for rest?”
“As I have said, we are in the dead lands, not Hell proper. These are the souls of those who chose to stand for nothing, who avoided choice. They do not drive that blank banner, it drives them, and behind it they must race until the end of days.” The procession had passed them, their backs turned to the angels. “We have no need to fear that they will alert the demons, they will not deviate from their course. Demons do not waste time in the land of the dead; the darker the soul, the deeper into the depths they go. Even as they are made, the demons sink closer to the heart of their Lord. But these souls will never turn. Will never be different from what you see here.” A figure stumbled and tripped the soul beside him, only to be shoved and jabbed and beaten back by those packed close around him. “Have faith, Brother, and brace yourself. There are darker sights to see in the depths.”
_____________________________________________________________
| End Chapter | >>|
masterpost
By:revenant_scribe
PART I: | Chapter I: As a Dead Man Falling (Down I Fell)
Rating: Mature
PART I
Chapter One | As a Dead Man Falling (Down I Fell)
The grass was thick and tall; lashing at him as he moved liked whips, each rearing stalk another battle. It was better than the woods, the dense press of trees giving way to the endless field -- brittle cracked earth and the grass that still grew, tall as any man, shutting out the view of any horizon, obscuring any point of navigation. He pressed his way forward, bowed his head and thought sweet things worth every moment of struggle. He thought about reaching his destination, about the absurdity of struggling through the thick grass at all. “I forget that you have not made this journey before, Castiel,” Barakiel said.
“Not that many of us have,” Asmodel murmured, her voice soft in the odd stillness of the field through which they moved.
Castiel looked about him, tried to see anything beyond the grass that did not rustle with their movement, the grayness of the low looming sky leeching the color from the surrounds. “We should at least fly to the entrance. It was my understanding that haste was of the utmost importance.”
Asmodel laughed, a short sound filled with neither amusement nor tinged with bitterness, just a sharp sound to break the silence. “But we have been in Hell for some time now.” Castiel had thought he would feel different, would at least sense the ungodliness of the land through which he walked. He felt no different, but now that he knew of where he walked he noticed that he was a fool not to have known. There were no birds, no flowers, none of God’s sweet creations. No trace of the sun behind the clouds, or any hint of crisp greenness in the grass; only a smooth sweep of gray overhead, as if the very color had bled from the land. “We are in the outer lands,” Asmodel explained. “Not quite at the Gate; not in Hell proper.”
“If one can consider Hell to be proper,” Nisroc said. Asmodel laughed again, the sound like chimes ringing out in the grey. Like life bursting through, jarring in that strange dead place, so that Castiel felt that he had been forcefully struck.
Ahead, Malchidiel stopped and turned on them, his expression fierce. “Keep your voices low. If it had been our wish to be noticed so soon on our mission we would have saved time and flown the distance.”
“There are no demons in the dead lands.” But Barakiel spoke in a hush.
It seemed there was nothing in Hell at all except trees and grass. Though he was unable to place precisely when they had entered Hell, they had not come across another soul, let alone a demon, since they had set out on their task. Castiel frowned. “The dead lands?”
“Hell is a spiral, Little Brother. Down and down as the sinners become ever more malicious and calculated and all the more grievous to our Lord; an ever-sloping land. And at the center beats the heart of the One Who Fell. A link. The furthest place to stand from God and the closest to the path of redemption, between Hell and the purgatory of earth.”
Castiel had heard that Hell was in every way the inversion of Heaven. As above, so below, and below that was just the inverse. If Hell was below even the Middling world then, “Why not take the faster route?”
“And spring-up beneath Lucifer’s feet?” Barakiel said, his tone showing what he thought of the question.
Malchidiel turned to Castiel and explained, “We do not know where we may find what we seek, no reason to journey down into the depths unless it is necessary to do so. If we can spare a battle, we will do so.”
“It seems a long way to go for a sinner.” Castiel looked to Geriel whose cold countenance displayed neither irritation at the endless struggle with the grass, nor trepidation at the thought of what they marched toward. Unlike Castiel, Geriel spent a fair amount of time among the humans, though unlike Asmodel and Nisroc he rarely took a human form. He had said once that he was a guide, a support for the mortals on their paths, which was his purpose. To take a human form was unnecessary since he did not believe in paving the way, that if time had taught him anything it was that through struggle, the sweetest victories were won.
“Harsh judgment,” Elemiah said. “Do you forget that whom we seek is a righteous soul among the fallen?”
“There are no righteous souls in Hell,” Geriel said. “Or have you forgotten why our Father created it? This is what free will has purchased.”
“Do not speak rashly of our Father’s greatest gift.”
“It is a truth, not a judgment. Out of love God made a gift of freedom to man, and out of love he made this house for them. There would not be much choice if, at the end of all things, you stood all in one place. Freedom to choose God means freedom to choose the opposite. There was no Hell before there was free will - there was no need of it.”
“The one we seek did not choose this.”
“But of course he did,” Geriel said. “A deal is a deal. The fact remains that he chose to summon a demon and offer his soul. Before that time, he was on a different road.”
“He made a sacrifice.”
“But also a choice.”
Castiel huffed quietly at his brothers. “You bicker like children. If this is indeed a place of the will, it is the will bent against God. The one we seek is righteous; his choice was not against God but against loss. God is still in his heart.”
Barakiel watched him for a long moment before he turned his focus back to the path they were wending through the field. “You are naïve, Castiel. Hell does not lend itself to clinging to faith.”
“What better place to cling to it than here?”
“Hell is the very absence of God, or do you not understand?” Barakiel wondered. “Even if our Father burned brightly in his heart, it would fade in this place.”
“Shh,” Malchidiel cautioned. Like an insidious whisper, a noise hung heavy on the air, so faint it was only a tentative prickle against his senses, but Castiel braced himself as they proceeded. The thick grass began to diminish, until it receded in totality, replaced by sharp cliff that revealed a chasm, like a great mouth in the middle of the field, open and waiting. It was a near-perfect circle, sharp rocks like teeth all around the edge, and below, a chasm so deep it almost roared. To the left of where they stood a sloping worn step cut into the rock face. They stood at the top of the jutting stair, an army of angels on their descent into Hell, and Castiel wondered why he could not see even the faintest shape in the distance. There was the smooth, worn steps - rubbed raw as if by age and use, though no mortal foot had fallen there - and a dead tree that clung to the cliff side, the tips of its dried branches ghosting against the side of the wending stair. Yet beyond all of that was nothing, only a darkening gray and an enveloping rock face.
In single file they made their way down, no railing or safety on either side, just jutting stone and gnarled roots and always the sense of vertigo. The journey was slow, but that was the result, Castiel suspected, of the unsettling awareness each were undoubtedly feeling, of how visible they were in this grey place; their light even as they struggled to quell it, a beacon - a flowing stream of illumination against the stark rock where everything was a faded blend. As they walked, the steps began to crumble and Castiel wondered if it was because the worn rock was not created to support Celestials and the blessings of the Lord that they carried with them, or if it was merely from use; he thought that most things must be near-collapse in Hell. Malchidiel had urged caution from the start, their intent was to keep their intentions as secret as possible until it was entirely unavoidable, and that was the only reason why they traveled on foot. With the landscape vacant as it was, it was a simple thing to forget about caution, or question the need for it, but it was a difficult balance between caution and haste - both of which were essential to the task they had been assigned.
They seemed to march for hours down the steps, until Nisroc spread her wings and dropped gracefully down the cliff side to land at the bottom where Malchidiel - who led their march - was only just setting foot. “This is not how I imagined Hell,” she said, as others on the step followed her example and spread their wings. Castiel watched them fly but stayed his course, he was near to the bottom and felt no hurry to descend deeper into the depths. The base of the cliff was nothing but cracked clay and a barren horizon, marked by mounded hills as parched as the rest of the landscape. The ground was hot, though there was no sun to warm it, only the pinch of grey sky visible above, held-out by the tall cliff.
“Where are the lost souls?” But as Nathaniel spoke the noise that had merely been a prickle of a sense at the top of the cliff rose in pitch until before them in the distance a great crowd of bodies appeared on the horizon, the front runners carrying a banner so large it took four souls to support it, behind, the others ran -- each shouting and yipping, noises like animals rather than the remnants of humans that they were. They wore no clothing, the men looked as the women did, their hair cut to a uniform length and their bodies worn-through so that there was no distinguishing the difference between one soul and another without close observation.
“We must continue,” Malchidiel said, and only then did Castiel realize that they had all ceased their forward progress to watch the procession. “Do not speak to anyone, even if they call to you. Do not touch the Wretched. We are here for one soul only.”
Castiel had no wish to touch the runners. As they neared the path that the procession had worn into the cracked clay he noticed how the souls had blistered and bloody feet, how their yips and yells sounded as cracked and rough as the earth they ran on, worn down from use. He could not take his eyes from them, but he had no wish to reach out to them. “Hell is a place of suffering befitting of the sin,” Asmodel whispered to him, her pace slowing to match his own.
“What sin is this, that they run under a banner and do not stop for rest?”
“As I have said, we are in the dead lands, not Hell proper. These are the souls of those who chose to stand for nothing, who avoided choice. They do not drive that blank banner, it drives them, and behind it they must race until the end of days.” The procession had passed them, their backs turned to the angels. “We have no need to fear that they will alert the demons, they will not deviate from their course. Demons do not waste time in the land of the dead; the darker the soul, the deeper into the depths they go. Even as they are made, the demons sink closer to the heart of their Lord. But these souls will never turn. Will never be different from what you see here.” A figure stumbled and tripped the soul beside him, only to be shoved and jabbed and beaten back by those packed close around him. “Have faith, Brother, and brace yourself. There are darker sights to see in the depths.”
_____________________________________________________________
| End Chapter | >>|
masterpost