by Donovan Neal
The Third Heaven
The Rise of Fallen Stars
By
Donovan M. Neal
© 2012 Donovan M. Neal
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ISBN 978-0-9894805-1-2
Cover Design by Roger Despi
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Dedication
I want to dedicate this book to all the dreamers, to those who have an idea and work to see it to completion. For better is the end of a thing, than its beginning. May your imagination, ever lead you to new realms.
2 Cor. 12:2
I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth ;) such an one caught up to the third heaven.
Ecclesiastes 1:9, 10
The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. Is there anything whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already of old time, which was before us.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One: In the beginning
Chapter Two: Finishing Touches
Chapter Three: I am the potter, you are the clay
Chapter Four: New Additions
Chapter Five: Murmur, not among yourselves
Chapter Six: Choose whom this day ye shall serve
Chapter Seven: Nothing Covered
Chapter Eight: War in Heaven
Chapter Nine: No other God before me
Chapter Ten: The Sins that Follow After
Epilogue
Glossary
Thank You
About the Author
Acknowledgements
To the Lord Jesus Christ, who for some reason loves me.
To my Pastor, Charles Hawthorne, who has nurtured my preexisting love of the Bible.
To my children - Candace, Christopher, and Alexander - you can do great things!
To the authors, comic book artists and writers, game developers and filmmakers who have come before and unknowingly have breathed on the embers of my imagination.
To all my beta readers and friends who gave me critique, and encouragement.
To (N) who cheered me on when I had nothing and said, “Wow!” after reading the prologue of my book.
To my cover designer Roger Despi for doing such an awesome job on giving me a standout cover.
To Adele Brinkley for her editing and for finding out where I live, sneaking into my house, and stealing all of the commas, semicolons, hyphens, and "as" off my keyboard to make my work even better.
Preface
When the desire to write this book was birthed. It was to provide a form of wholesome Christian entertainment and to answer several questions. How could Lucifer who dwelt in the very presence of God elect to rebel against his creator? What could have gone so wrong that a third of Heaven would turn their backs on God?
The answer to this query is the fictional piece before you now. To my beloved Christian reader— this work is not scripture. I do not profess divine inspiration, nor would I ever attempt to place this work alongside the word of God. The story is a fictional exploration of the fall of Lucifer, and by taking part in this fictional account you as a reader and I as the author are in no way implying that we must have theological agreement. The work does presume certain doctrinal beliefs (the existence of the Trinity for example) but this novel is not meant to be a point-by-point exposition of biblical truth. Nor an exact attempt to create a chronologically correct depiction of creation and the events depicted in the Bible. It’s an exploratory look into a biblical event and imagines, “what if?”
Mythology is purposely utilized in some portion of in the book. The rational here is that ancient or modern mythological creatures and gods have their basis in some level of “fact” or are the result of the actions of fallen angels.
When possible, I have tried to be consistent with the teaching of scripture and with what church fathers have said concerning Angelology. Overall, I have taken the liberty to use my sanctified imagination to tell a story that might not only spur further interest in the Word of God, but also create an entertaining tale.
In the end I desired to tell a story full of wonder, and to tell it in such a manner; as I might want such a story told to me.
Toni Morrison has stated, “If there’s a book you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” I am attempting here to do just that.
I hope this work is enjoyable to you and spawns your further desire to possibly learn more about God, the Bible and maybe even to follow Jesus Christ.
God Bless.
Donovan M. Neal
Prologue
I will always remember the screams, the untold billions of screams.
The cries of the damned reverberated off the canyon walls. The sound of their wails stretched over miles with each moaning breath mingled into a cacophony of pitiful, tortuous laments. I beheld in fascinated horror as billions upon emaciated billions of humans and Elohim languished in agony. Their rotted and burning flesh stank as the winds made the hellish perfume waft across the skies, causing the air to reek with putrefaction. Blistering heat sizzled from the white-hot lake of molten rock and fire. Fire that licked and bit at each captive's smoldering flesh, flesh forever burned but never consumed. Therefore, they screamed the residents of this canyon did –– it was a sickening sound.
Is this how Moses felt? I wondered. To behold a thing that burns but is not consumed?
They see me.
“Please make it stop,” said one.
“I am sorry, oh God! Please God listen! Jesus do you hear me,” said another.
“Aaarrrgghhhh!”
“I hate your guts! Do you hear me angel of God? I hate you!”
The voices melded and flowed, morphing into a singular pitiful cry for relief and of anguish.
I watched as some fought to climb atop others in a futile struggle to escape the horrifying affliction. It was a fruitless skirmish from which none could expect release.
I suppose that it could be possible to flee. I saw neither bars nor chains to hold these souls captive. Straining and squinting, my angelic eyes viewed no doors that would prevent escape. Selfish preservation run amok, pain, and hopelessness prevented them. As one soul approached optimism and the border of freedom, another wretch dragged it back within the bowels of smoke and flames. The grotesque scene of twisted, writhing bodies, moved as the tide in this sea of fire and brimstone.
I observed them dance, the denizens of this canyon. Dance a relentless waltz of hope deferred. For there was no respite to soothe one's pain, no aid to come to one’
s side. None could leave, and salvation had forgotten this place.
The Lake of Fire consumed each incarcerated soul held captive by the insatiable passions of lust and self: a twofold punishment forever administered on these prisoners for all time. A memorial by El, forever to be remembered by us all.
The lake was an eternal smoldering monument of our war: a token of El’s wrath upon all those who had held back the truth in unrighteousness. My eyes were older than much of creation, and as they darted over the vastness of this everlasting torture, I remembered when I first saw the flames of the Kiln run amuck.
Yet even now, I found that I looked for him: my beloved, my brother, my friend, and my enemy — he whom my soul delighted.
I stood at the precipice of this jagged maw in the Earth’s crust of heat, smoke, and fire. I strained that I might see the Adversary. It has always been an easy thing for a creature such as I to find my own kind, and with Lucifer even more so –– quite easy actually. Knowing my brother, I needed only to look towards the heart of this mass grave of the spiritually dead.
Our eyes met.
He was still a creature of pride, and even here, even after all this time, Lucifer sought to be the center of all things. He smirked as he looked at me, but I am not deceived. I know that joy does not dwell in this place. The human Dante was prescient when he penned, ‘Hope had abandoned all those that entered here,’ here in the Lake of Fire, even Hell herself could not flee.
Lucifer’s face I knew with intimate familiarity. The smirk on his lips masked an unspoken yet seething hatred from the inner knowing that he was “superior” to all in creation, elevated to stand in the very presence of God, yet cast down as rubble to be stared and looked upon, a creature to be pitied.
Oh how art thou fallen O Lucifer son of the morning. How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations.
It was this knowing, which I knew forever would gnaw at him…the reason for his smirk. Our gaze was short as smoke enveloped him, yet through the veneer, yes, I saw it–– a tear.
Then he was gone; veiled in smolder and fire; and pummeled by the legions he once sought to rule. Forever crushed underfoot by those he deemed chattel — forever humiliated.
Never in all my days did I believe my eyes would behold such a sight.
I turned away as I could behold such suffering for only so long. Even one such as I had limits.
I am relieved that the war is over.
The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign forever and ever.
But at what price?
This victory was not without loss, not without pain.
“Have you come to mock me Michael?”
Lucifer’s voice could not be mimicked or masked. There was one being in creation that sounded thus. Only he could speak so that even from the Lake of Fire my attention could be garnered.
I am hesitant to reply. I do not wish to look upon this —murderer.
We will not speak again after today. I know this, therefore I turned to face him for the last time.
“What manner of conversation would I engage with the King of Lies?”
As I looked upon his face and body now disfigured, I steeled myself. There was a time when I shed tears for my brother, but that was millennia ago. Too much blood had been spilled between us, too many wounds. Mercy no longer beat within my breast for him, yet even now, I could not help but ruminate on more pleasant times. I drifted into reflection, and daydreamed back to the beginning of it all––still questioning––still wondering.
How did it come to this?
Chapter One
In the beginning…
Day Five
The sun’s heat broiled and beat upon Michael’s pale skin. The mountain cliffs radiated the thick humidity as he wiped the perspiration from his face. The haze moved to escape the swelter in a vain attempt to flee. Long turquoise streaks of sweat beaded upon his forehead and streaked his muscular jaw line to cover his face in lines of blue sweat. He shook his head to keep the perspiration from getting into his eyes, and his golden hair sprayed a mist of as he tried to cool himself. His white robes were soaked, and his golden bands steamed and burned his forearms as the heat baked him and his men. The group had labored all day to fit the new Cadmime beams to the sides of the cliff in order to expand Heaven’s foundation.
Michael looked down at the whirlpool of hurricane winds, dangling high above their howling wails. Each gust ascended the canyon walls as the tempest below rotated in cyclonic fury swirling around the black eye of the Abyss. The Abyss — the bottomless pit where all reality ended. A heavenly body so dense that not even light escaped its grasp. It was a natural phenomenon of such destructive might even angels dared not venture near. Yet here Michael and his kind did the work to build Heaven. His race of Kortai alone answered El’s call to work so close to the Abyss. Within the bottomless pit, there was no space, no heaven, no time. It was a gaping mouth of a null void. There was no escape if one fell in. El had deemed it so that any who ventured to fall would fall forever.
Gusts buffeted him, slamming him against the rock face. The downdrafts stood ever ready to drag him into the waiting mouth of the bottomless pit. Despite its howls, Michael enjoyed the coolness of the breeze the winds generated against his skin.
Michael cocked his head in an attempt to stretch his neck, and scrunched his lateral muscles, each tendon aching from the harness strapped tightly against his back. He tugged at his belt straps to loosen his gear. The straps pinched his skin forcing him to adjust them constantly from nipping his 10 wings. Work this close to the Maelstrom was dangerous, but he had carefully clamped and tied his harness. He tugged on it again just to be sure.
It was secure. The wind battered and shoved him against the craggy rock of the canyon’s wall.
I am going to be so sore today, he thought.
Lucifer also was hoisted and attached to the cliff wall and hammered a brace into place. “I believe this to be the last one, brother. Is your beam secure?” His voice resonated with melody and the alto of his inquiry chimed in Michael's ears.
Even in the exhaustive heat, the tabrets and pipes in Lucifer’s body gave off a pleasant tune; each dimpled pore of his skin opened and closed with every syllable from his operatic voice.
Michael pushed off against the cliff and rappelled sideways, hurtling through the air while the whirlwind raged below him. His feet landed on the crag, and he leaned over to inspect his brother’s work.
“The strut will hold. Well done, and I think it is time for a break.”
“Agreed,” said Lucifer. “Michael, when you said you could use my help you neglected to mention that it would take all day.”
Michael laughed. “You are so busy I rarely get to spend time with you. Besides — work using your own hands and not relying on your servants could do you some good.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and then smiled.
“Next time you desire to spend time with me try to think of something less dangerous.”
Michael laughed. “Oh come now would you have me believe that you would prefer being in the palace composing sonnets, and miss all this?”
Michael opened his hand to present the spectacle of nature that surrounded them.
Lucifer eyed the stretched landscape of the canyon. The splendor of the chasms walls awed even him. He noted that they all stood as mites on the underside of the mountain that was Heaven. Lucifer turned his eyes to look below and surveyed the Abyss beneath them. The winds of the Maelstrom churned in its claw-like attempts to sweep them away. Stars, uncountable as grains of sand, splayed themselves like crystal across the canopy of Heaven's golden and black sky, each a visible reminder of the barrier that separated the realms. Lucifer had to admit it was indeed an impressive view.
Michael yelled over the whine that came from the Maelstrom so that his brother could hear. “Alas, I do confess that I enjoy the sound of your voice. Your melody is soothing, and wh
o else could I trust to extend the cliff face — these lazy friends of mine?”
Michael thumbed in the direction of his smiling three comrades while they hammered spikes into place.
They laughed in retort, “Hey! We are right here!”
Lucifer chuckled.
“It would seem that our work here is complete,” said Michael, “Everyone take a rest. I shall attend shortly.”
Michael watched in satisfaction as tendrils of new ground sprang from the sides of Heaven as living rock grew to embrace the Cadmime extension.
Good, Heaven will have more room for the changes El hast commanded.
The ground began to groan. The earth swelled, buckled, and stretched to overtake the beam planted in the canyon's side. Michael and his men smiled from the familiar sound of the land expanding.
Michael loved building, to see the results of the fruit of his labor. The Lord had given him the plans to the city, and he had overseen every aspect of its growth.
El would be pleased, he thought.
Michael prepared himself to release the buckle that latched him to the side of the mountain. The winds of the Abyss were but yards below him, and he could hear the howl of the hurricane that separated the heavens. A dimensional barrier crossed only by Ladder or special dispensation from El. The winds rotated in cyclonic fashion as a whirlwind: a Maelstrom that encircled the Abyss, a realm of bottomlessness and the flux from which the second and third heavens met. El had said that dissolution was the natural Ladder to enter into the realm. A peeling away of one's mortal coil would send one careening from the reality of the First to the Third Heaven, the Kingdom of God, a realm superimposed over all other layers of reality.
Michael knew that expanding the ground was dangerous work, for the Abyss pulled at two realms and sought to consume within itself anything that lay on its outskirts. Michael was careful not to stray too close to the event horizon.