The Cloud-Capped Towers - III

by ~veritaslux

III – Awakening

Darkness. Oh, the darkness. The darkness engulfed him, whatever he was, like blackened water drowning its victim. And then there was light. Bright white light that punctured the iron grip of the darkness like a spear piercing flesh. And oh, how bright it was. He revelled momentarily in the light before the darkness, the black, endless darkness swallowed the white up. Forever. And ever.

*          *         *

Vision. It came as a shock to him, the creature that dwelled in the darkness. He could see through the black. But what good was that? He could only see more darkness, more of the abyss that had suddenly spat him out. The darkness refused to end. But he could see. That much he knew.

*          *         *

Feeling. He was surrounded, by something definite and formed. But when he looked around with his purple eyes, he saw nothing that was solid. Only the black that had haunted him and so terrified him. The eternal black that so refused to go away. But he could feel. That much he knew.

*          *         *

Sound. He could hear the darkness, he could hear its pitiful moan and haunting tune that sang to his newly formed ears. He looked around and outstretched his fingers, or were they fingers? But he couldn’t see the source, he couldn’t touch it. The darkness was playing games with him now. But he could hear. That much he knew.

*          *         *

Taste. He opened his newly formed mouth, and tentatively put forward his slightly forked tongue. He could taste the tang of the darkness, the overwhelming metallic insipidity of pure black, the force which was imprisoning him so torturously. He could see his dark imprisonment; he could feel its boundaries and could hear its lament. And he could taste its evil. What it was, he couldn’t ponder. But he could taste. That much he knew.

*          *         *

Scent. He drew inwards with his nostrils, and could smell the darkness. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. It smelt of nothing. It smelt simply of evil, the evil that had kept him bound inside his eternal prison of darkness. He couldn’t think as to why. But he could smell. That much he knew.

*          *         *

Emotion. Thought. Intelligence. His head was filled with emotion, he could hear himself speak, he was like a child, a child who was so afraid of the darkness, but he couldn’t help that; it was primal inside him, every thought he had was crossed with one of fear and petrifying wonder. And then came the calm. His mind stopped fearing and worrying. He rationalised, and all that he felt was anger. Pure, red anger that filled him completely, and made his insides ache with it. Why he was angry, he did not realise. But he was. That much he knew.

*          *         *

And then he remembered. He remembered the face, that face so wise and knowing, that face so old that hid so much behind the sparkling blue eyes and the perfect features, that face that lauded so much over his people. Then he remembered the fury, the utter fury that that face had shown towards him, the fury that had inspired it and its body to use those wings and destroy his soul. And then his own anger returned. His own incomprehensible fury at that face, oh that face!

*          *         *

Words. Words that turned into actions. The actions that ultimately channelled his hate into something, something useful. His arms punched through the darkness, the dark chains that bound him. His wings, now blackened by the darkness, expanded suddenly, breaking the walls of his living cell. He broke through everything , shattering every remaining bit of the impenetrable blackness that had once held him. He had been exiled, and now they would pay. That much he knew.

*          *         *

Freedom. He stood up to full height and stretched his wings. The anger had been stopped momentarily while breaking to liberty, but it had returned in floods. He leapt into the sky and flew, flew in a great, swooping circle, rejoicing at his new ability to do what he liked. Finally he remembered the final piece of information. And then he spoke.
“I,” he said hoarsely, speaking for the first time since he could remember. “I am Seldrenr, and I am the downfall of the angels. That I promise myself.”

He touched down, the anger inside him rejoicing at his promise. The citadel would fall. It must.