Lilith, Adam, and Eve: The Dark, The Gray, The Light Sample Chapter 1

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The void beyond Titan, Saturn’s shrouded moon, was a silent requiem, its surface a frozen mosaic where methane lakes gleamed shards of glass beneath amber clouds. The airless expanse pulsed with a mournful rhythm, as the moon cried tears of ice while it grieved its lost epochs. Gadreel, an angel forged in the fires of Yaldabaoth’s will, materialized in a cascade of celestial light, his form sketched a radiant silhouette 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 within his helm, “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 towering like iron titans, their drills chanting hymns of avarice into Titan’s crust; ships laden with vials of liquid fire, each a vow of dominion. Gadreel had been Yaldabaoth’s herald, a celestial guardian of those ventures, his might bound to the demiurge’s ambition. The nostalgia was a quiet wound, aching for a purpose unmarred by eons of service, a clarity dimmed by divine commands. He lingered, weightless, his unseen wings stirring the aether, their faint glow a whisper of his angelic power. His gaze lifted to Saturn’s rings, their icy shards a fractured crown against the cosmic veil. 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,” he declared, his voice a prayer flung into the void, a summons to the architect who called him.

With a surge of divine will, Gadreel streaked toward Saturn’s north pole, appearing as a comet cleaving the dark, his wings’ subtle radiance trailing like stardust. 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. Gadreel paused, reverence tightening his chest, his breath catching in a throat that sang with celestial resonance. “A true architect,” he whispered, awe threading his tone, his heart alight with the promise beyond. “I come, my God, to serve your will.”

He plunged into the hexagon, clouds parting like a velvet shroud to reveal a tunnel of radiant light, spiraling down its brilliance searing yet beckoning. The transition was a jolt, void yielding to opulence, and Gadreel landed in Yaldabaoth’s sanctum, his boots sinking into crimson carpeting that sprawled like a sea of spilled blood. Above, the ceiling was an abyss of velvety black, devouring light, its depth a silent watcher. The chamber glowed with a dark red hue, born of the clash between floor and ceiling, shadows writhing like specters across obsidian walls. 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. 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 a vigilance born of nanobots coursing within, an inner fire fueling his presence. Adam, raw and human, 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 frequency and fertility.

Nearby, Sophia glided with ethereal poise, her dark hair cascading like a midnight river with sparkles of light that gleam and glimmer, her gaze clouded with a distant unease, as if sensing a shadow yet to fall. Unified by Enlil’s hand and Enki’s desire, she was whole, her radiance a beacon in Eden’s light, yet fragile—a pawn in Yaldabaoth’s design to drive Adam toward the universe’s edge. Gadreel’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, glee sparking in his celestial heart. “Incredible,” he said, his voice a conspirator’s whisper, laced with the thrill of chaos. “Enki, Adam, and Sophia, radiant but fragile. What delights await when I sow the seeds to break your 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 echoed, a sharp, gleeful sound that ricocheted off the walls, a herald’s vow to unravel Eden’s peace.

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. Its endurance humbles me, my God.” His words were a careful dance, probing the demiurge’s mercurial heart.

Yaldabaoth’s smirk was a blade, sharp and fleeting. “Endurance?” he spat, his voice darkening. “This hollow shell binds me, Gadreel, a cage remade too often in this ceaseless hunt for the Convergence.” He paced, robes trailing like a comet’s wake, his gaze distant, as if peering into his ambition’s void. “I am severed from the true light, choked by this artificial plane, a prisoner of my own creation. I’d burn it all to challenge the Creator, to claim my place as existence’s sole architect. The Convergence, that gateway at the universe’s edge, will be my triumph to remake all that is. Sophia’s fracture will shatter Adam’s heart, compelling him to seek the gateway for my glory.” His voice softened, a dangerous whisper, the cosmos leaning in to listen and etch a new memory.

Gadreel’s pulse quickened, eagerness a fire in his celestial heart, his wings stirring faintly beneath his cloak. “Let me be the spark to fracture her, my God,” he said, his voice fervent, his eyes gleaming with divine hunger, tempered by the thrill of chaos. “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. That might happen in due time. 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!”

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.”

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!”

Link to my first novel: https://a.co/d/7Pfz0b8

Link to the first chapter of Reborn: The Days of Earth on YouTube: https://youtu.be/vdmVV2ufrME?si=LnO57iyiIChBejcM