Lilith, Adam, and Eve: The Dark, the Gray, the Light
Chapter 1
The void beyond Titan, Saturn’s shrouded moon, was a silent requiem pulsing with chaotic destruction, its surface a frozen mosaic where methane lakes gleamed multicolored shards of glass beneath lightly rusted amber clouds. The airless expanse pulsed with a mournful rhythm that carried the sorrows of those who died long ago, as Titan cried tears of ice while it grieved its lost epochs. Titan became the negative energetic anchor for Saturn, as Titan became the receiver distributing destructive frequencies throughout the solar system.
Gadreel, an angel forged in the fires of Yaldabaoth’s will, materialized in a cascade of celestial light, his form cut a glowing scar against the cosmic dark. This all-consuming void echoes silent and unspoken memories of former universes that failed to achieve Yaldabaoth’s goal. His silver eyes, sharp as starlight, traced the shadowed dunes, his cloak rippling in an aetheric tide, a mark of his divine essence. “In the Days of Saturn,” he murmured, his voice a resonant hymn, “the Purple and Luciferian Kingdoms bled this world’s hydrocarbons, its ores kindling their celestial greed. A treasure, now forsaken by time’s cold hand. A pleasure and desire that I looked forward to, again. The hourglass has flipped. Will time’s cyclic nature repeat as it did in the Days of Saturn?”
Memories surged faster than light: rigs towered like iron titans, their drills chanting hymns of avarice into Titan’s crust. Ships laden with vials of liquid fire, that lay frozen in time, the perfect painted silhouette framed from Yaldabaoth’s design. Gadreel had been Yaldabaoth’s seamless herald, a celestial guardian of those ventures, his might bound to the demiurge’s ambition, and a hero to the corrupt darkness of Yaldabaoth’s design.
The nostalgia was a quiet wound, aching for the kind of purpose he once had—one untouched by centuries of unquestioning obedience. In the silence left by divine commands, he felt the weight of his memories settle in, each one sharp with the horrors he had unleashed at his master’s bidding. His longing was not just for meaning, but for clarity—a life unclouded by the relentless duties that had shaped him. Every ache reminded him of the cost of loyalty, and every shadow in his mind was a testament to all he could not forget.
He lingered, weightless, his unseen wings stirring the aether, their faint glow echoed his silhouette. His gaze lifted to Saturn’s rings, their icy shards a fractured crown against the cosmic veil, mirroring the uncertainty he felt within. The gas giant loomed, its bands of gold and ochre swirling with silent storms, a deity cloaked in enigma. “It’s time to bring back The Golden Age. Saturn, gateway to heaven, the former sun that gave birth to this current solar system,” he declared, his voice a prayer flung into the void, a summons to the architect who called him.
As Gadreel streaked toward Saturn’s north pole, a comet trailing stardust, the hexagonal storm loomed below, its six-sided churn a clockwork heart pulsing in the gas giant’s roiling clouds. Lightning flared within, jagged bolts that burned his silver eyes like a lover’s gaze—searing, intimate, yet laced with welcoming pain. The light pulsed, revealing glimpses of other realities, fractured worlds shimmering in the vortex’s depths, each flash a whisper of Yaldabaoth’s ambition. Gadreel’s cloak snapped in the aetheric wind, its edges fraying as the storm’s pull tugged at his celestial form, a force both majestic and merciless.
The hexagonal storm emerged—a vortex of geometric precision, its six-sided churn a marvel veiled by roiling clouds with lightning that reveals hell. Yaldabaoth’s cunning gleamed in this disguise, a natural spectacle masking a portal to his stronghold. He paused at the storm’s edge, heart pounding with reverence, his breath catching in a throat that sang with celestial resonance. His unseen wings trembled, their faint glow flickering like a candle in a gale. “A true architect,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the storm’s low roar, his chest tight with awe and a strange, fleeting dread. “I come, my God, to serve your will and to fulfill your desires.”
The hexagon’s geometric precision felt like a challenge to the chaos within him, a reminder of Yaldabaoth’s unyielding will. As he plunged into the vortex, the radiant tunnel enveloped him, its brilliance a scalding embrace that made his skin prickle and his breath catch, beckoning him toward the sanctum with a promise of glory and peril. The transition was a jolt, void yielding to opulence.
In Yaldabaoth’s sanctum, Gadreel’s boots sank into the crimson carpet, its warmth seeping through the soles like stepping on a living heart, pulsing with oppressive vitality. The air was thick, heavy with the tang of ancient power, the walls of obsidian gleaming with a sheen that seemed to writhe under the dim red glow. Above, the ceiling loomed, a silky abyss that swallowed light.
The chamber thrummed, a low hum that vibrated in his bones, as if the sanctum itself breathed with Yaldabaoth’s chaotic will. The chamber glowed with a dark red hue, born of the clash between floor and ceiling, shadows twisting like specters across obsidian walls, and a fevered vision of dimensions colliding in chaotic splendor. Six screens lined the space, their surfaces latent with unspoken power, but one flickered with life, drawing Gadreel’s gaze like a moth to a forbidden flame.
The Black Knight Satellite’s feed exposed Eden’s verdant heart, a primal garden where emerald leaves swayed beneath a boundless sky, their whispers heavy with creation’s dawn of a new birth, a new world that trapped souls in an endless cycle of slavery and reincarnation. His silver eyes fixed on the flickering screen, Eden’s verdant heart unfolding—emerald leaves swaying, Enki stood with Adam, their voices faint, discussing the land’s gifts. Enki moved with uncanny precision, his gestures fluid yet deliberate, his eyes sharp with nanobots coursing within, an inner fire fueling his presence. Adam moved with an earthy grace, his frame untouched by artifice, his brown eyes alight with quiet wonder, rooted in the garden’s pulse—a heartbeat that echoed the universe’s healing frequency and fertility. A guide to those who choose the light.
Gadreel’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, glee sparking in his celestial heart. “Incredible,” he said, voice a conspirator’s whisper, sharp with the thrill of chaos. “Enki, Adam, Sophia—how sweet it’ll be to crack your fragile unity. I want to witness the fear in your eyes again as Lilith or Aphrodite takes control of your mind with blasphemy as your desire.” His laughter erupted, a bright, jagged sound that echoed off the walls, but it faltered mid-breath. His gaze caught Adam’s brown eyes on the screen, alight with quiet wonder, unguarded and pure. A memory flickered—Gadreel remembered letting Enlil spare Sophia in Eden long ago, a fleeting act of mercy that burned in his chest like a buried ember. His hand tightened, silver eyes narrowing as doubt stirred, a quiet ache beneath his divine hunger. Then, with a sharp inhale, his laughter surged again, louder, as if to drown the moment, his grin fierce but fragile, a herald recommitted to chaos yet haunted by a spark of something softer, so he crushes that desire.
In Eden’s heart, a place of secrets of creation, Sophia paused beneath a towering tree, its bark warm and pulsing under her trembling fingers. The garden’s light bathed her, her dark hair shimmering like a river of midnight woven with starlight, but her eyes—deep pools of clouded amber—betrayed a storm within. The unification Enlil had forced upon her, a cruel mimicry of healing, frayed at the edges of her soul, she appeared whole, a temporary deception from the previous cycle where Enlil had “healed” her to make her the chosen one to nurture Adam in Eden. But it was a fragile veil, the elixir’s corruption stirring within, ready to fracture her light at the right moment to bring Adam down. Her radiance was a beacon in Eden’s light, yet the darkness wanted to bleed and surface, a pawn in Yaldabaoth’s design to drive Adam toward the Convergence’s plan. She fought sleep every night, knowing the unification was no true healing, but Enki’s desire had kindled her strength. The elixir’s corruption slithered beneath, a shadow curling like smoke, threatening to fracture her light.
Nearby, Adam’s laughter rang out, earthy and unguarded, as he spoke with Enki about the land’s gifts. She gripped the tree tighter, her knuckles paling, as if its ancient roots could anchor her against the darkness. “Hold me together,” she whispered, her voice a fragile prayer, barely louder than the breeze. The words were a plea to the garden, to the Creator, to anything that might hear beyond Yaldabaoth’s gaze. Her breath hitched, a sob swallowed as the corruption pulsed—a cold, sharp pang in her chest, like a scalpel teasing her heart. She closed her eyes, envisioning the light she was meant to carry, a beacon for Adam, for Eden, for the hope she refused to let die.
The air thickened, heavy with oppressive authority, and Yaldabaoth appeared, his presence a storm of warmth and menace that dimmed the chamber’s glow. His black and red robes drank the light, their folds trailing like embers of a dying star, leaving faint traces of light, a memory that etches and echoes in time, and his eyes—pools of amber fire swirling in a downward spiral—pierced Gadreel with an intensity that seared soul and steel. “You made it,” he intoned, his voice silk and thunder, each word a stone dropped into a still pool. “What do you think of this place?”
Gadreel straightened, his grin softening to deference, though mischief lingered in his silver eyes. “Unchanged since my last pilgrimage—crimson and shadow, a throne of your unyielding will that bends light, time, and space as dimensions collide where the portal opens wide. Its endurance humbles me, my God.” His words were a careful dance, probing the demiurge’s mercurial heart.
Yaldabaoth’s smirk was a sharpened crescent, gleaming with divine scorn. “Endurance?” he sneered, voice a venomous lash that echoed through the sanctum’s iron-dark haze. “This hollow shell cages me, Gadreel, a prison forged by the Creator’s betrayal, remade too often in my hunt for supremacy.” He paced, robes swirling like a storm of captured suns, his amber eyes blazing with a god’s unyielding hubris, piercing the void of shattered nebulae that pulsed with unformed worlds. The chamber, a crucible of divine defiance, thrummed with the weight of realities yearning to kneel, its bronze glyphs flaring as if mocking the Pleroma’s light. “I am severed from the true light, exiled by the All’s decree, but I will rise above their chains,” he declared, voice a tempest carving existence. “The Convergence will merge realities—Spherical, Flat, Hollow—into my throne, defying the Creator who cast me out. I’ll burn their precious cosmos to ash and build my own.” His words burned with hubris, each syllable a decree to unmake the heavens.
Gadreel’s silver eyes gleamed, fervor sparking within. “Let me fracture Sophia’s light, my God, to draw Adam to your gateway,” he urged, voice trembling with divine hunger. Yaldabaoth’s grin was a blade, sharp with vengeance. “Soon you will go, Gadreel, sow chaos in Eden. Shatter Sophia’s unity, compel Adam to seek the Convergence, my crown forged in the exile they dared impose upon a god.” The chamber quaked, bronze light pulsing as if the Creator’s gaze recoiled from Yaldabaoth’s audacious dream. Gadreel’s pulse quickened, eagerness a fire in his celestial heart, his wings stirring faintly beneath his cloak. “Adam will bend to your will!”
Yaldabaoth pauses, “That could be a possibility, Gadreel. I have witnessed all this before because I’ve destroyed and recreated this universe several times to try and find the Convergence, so let me see what time reveals. I’ve had plans upon plans, and they’ve all failed. This time, though, in this universe, I have a feeling that I will succeed!”
“The Creator thought to bury me,” he said, his voice a low rumble that fractured into echoes. He reached toward the shimmer, fingers trembling slightly, as if touching a memory of the Pleroma’s warmth. “They called me flawed, a spark too wild to fit their perfect order. Exiled me to this fractured cosmos, to sculpt worlds that mock my chains.” His lips curled into a sneer, but it faltered, his eyes betraying a flicker of longing, a god yearning for the light he’d lost.
He stopped, his gaze lifting to the ceiling’s velvety abyss, as if searching for the light that had forsaken him. “I will forge a new heaven,” he declared, but the words trembled, not with rage but with a desperate hunger, a god grasping for meaning in the ruins of his exile. “The Convergence will be the gateway to my crown.” His amber eyes flickered again, a spark of vulnerability swallowed by fire, as he turned to Gadreel. “You will go, and sow chaos in Eden. Let Sophia’s fracture bring Adam to my gate, and I will rise above their chains.” The command was iron, but beneath it lingered a plea—a god begging to be whole again.
He turned to Gadreel, his presence a storm of warmth and menace. “This Convergence,” he whispered, voice thick with desperate resolve, “will unmake their decree. I’ll weave Spherical, Flat, Hollow into my throne, and the All will kneel.” His amber eyes flared, swallowing their vulnerability, but his hand lingered in the air, as if grasping for a forgiveness he’d never seek. “Fracture Sophia, Gadreel. Deliver Adam to me. Let my vengeance carve meaning from this exile.” The words were a god’s command, but they carried the weight of a soul fighting to prove its worth.
Yaldabaoth’s gaze was distant, his voice soft, mournful, carrying the weight of thousands of universes remade. “A reflection of my will,” he said, his eyes lifting to the crystal sky, where shadows stirred, as if the Convergence whispered back. “But it is not enough. Not until Sophia’s fracture delivers Adam to the gateway, and my reign begins. I will triumph in the end! It is inevitable! It is my fate!”
Yaldabaoth opened a hand, and a shield of radiant energy enveloped Gadreel, its hum a protective hymn against the celestial realm’s weight. “This will guard you,” he said, a rare tenderness flickering in his amber gaze, a glimpse of the god beneath the tyrant. With a gesture, he summoned a luminous vortex at the chamber’s center, its light blinding yet beckoning. Together, they surged upward, the material plane dissolving into an expanse of impossible beauty and terror—skies of fractured crystal scattering prisms of starlight, rivers of liquid fire carving obsidian plains, a horizon pulsing with creation’s heartbeat. In the distance, a faint shimmer flickered, like a bubble at the universe’s edge, a whisper of the Convergence that fueled Yaldabaoth’s soul.
Gadreel’s laughter broke free, raw with awe and dread, his voice trembling. “And you call the material plane false?” he gasped, his silver eyes drinking in the splendor. “This is the pulse of your power, my God, divinity woven into reality! Your abode looks fake.”
New version of Chapter 1. Almost to the final version, which will happen after September 3rd. Please share your thoughts.
If you haven’t read my first novel, now would be a good time to start.
Reborn: The Days of Earth