The Precipice of the Abyss, through Lualhati's Eyes

After securing his realm, Abaddon afforded himself a visit to the surface, only to beheld a breathtaking sight-the birth of a second earth, lush and vibrant under the gaze of the Great Eyeh.

He saw how time along withthe universe and the new earth was created, and Abaddon marveled at its beauty. 

The Second Earth unfurled before them like a song long forgotten. Time itself began. Stars spun into place. Oceans wept into valleys. And Abaddon, King of the Abyss, watched in silence.

Lualhati saw it all with him. She marveled, and mourned.

The breath of Adam.

The rib that became woman.

The awe turned to ache in Abaddon's soul. And she, inside him, felt it pierce her own.

Why had they been given freedom? Why had Abaddon been denied?

Why did her creation feel like his erasure?

The questions rose like smoke. Swirled with jealousy. Burned with shame. But Abaddon held them down like a king too proud to grieve. Lualhati wanted to scream at the sky for him, but her voice was his silence.

Then came Eve. And desire. And vulnerability.

"Was she necessary?" the question rippled through him...and through Lualhati, like a whisper carved from ice.

What purpose did she serve in the grand design?

The very idea of man depending on woman for "help" both astounded and terrified him. It spoke of vulnerability and connection, emotions foreign to his realm of shadows.

Would this union bring strength or unravel the very fabric of existence? He pondered the implications of desire and companionship, wondering if humanity's fate rested upon such fragile bonds. Within his spirit, he grappled with an unsettling realization.

That love could be both a weapon and a curse.

Not long after did sorrow soon clouded his spirit as he watched the serpent approach Eve, whispering deceit.

In that moment, she felt him break and reform. Wonder and fear clashing like opposing swords.

"No!" Abaddon's voice cracked with horror. Lualhati, caught in the tremor of his soul, felt grief bloom into fury. Eve fell. Adam followed. And something shattered inside the Harbinger of Doom.

When Lucifer emerged, mocking and cold, Lualhati felt herself recoil. Not from fear, but from recognition. The beauty. The arrogance. The intimacy of betrayal.

"How are you, brother?" he asked, voice laced with mockery. A hint of the beast that he has become lurking in his shadows even now that he has worn a beautiful earthy facade.

"Why do you persist in this charade, Lucifer?" Abaddon snapped, gripping his sword tighter. "You are a stain on creation."

But Lualhati saw the wound that came before the words.

"Ah, but I am your brother," Lucifer retorted, drawing his own weapon. "And I relish our little dances. Shall we?"

The duel was brutal, their history bleeding into every clash. And when Lucifer's blade grazed Abaddon's throat, Lualhati gasped within him, as if it were her neck that split.

She saw the future in Lucifer's eyes: ruin, revenge, endless war.

Their swords clashed, the sound echoing like thunder across the landscape. Abaddon fought fiercely, drawing upon every ounce of strength, but Lucifer was relentless, pushing him to his limits. Just as Lucifer aimed to strike a decisive blow, Abaddon retaliated with greater intensity sending Lucifer's sword swinging in the air.

"My, my," Lucifer chided, raising his hands in surrender. But Abaddon knew not to be swayed by him. "How much you have grown, dear brother. Does it pay to be the---what does He call you now---his Harbinger of Doom?"

"Abaddon, look out!" The fallen angel Elyon shouted, joining the fray.

In a flash, Lucifer was next to Abaddon wielding a small blade which would have slit his throat had he not swerve away. Yet the blade cut his neck, drawing Abaddon's blood.

"This isn't over, Abaddon. I vow vengeance upon you and all who choose your path."

As Lucifer disappeared into the shadows, Elyon turned to Abaddon, admiration shining in his gaze. "Your strength is remarkable. I swear my oath to you, Abaddon. We will stand united against whatever darkness approaches."

"To follow me is folly in my dark realm," Abaddon replied in earnest. "But I accept your fealty." Abaddon nodded, before his gaze return upon the Garden of Eden, where cherubim were placed at the east, guarding the path to the tree of life with a flaming sword that turned in every direction.

"Should we intercede?" Elyon asked, a yearning in his voice.

"No," Abaddon replied, his expression resolute. "Their role in the divine design must not be altered. If they are to find forgiveness from the Great I Am, they must fulfill their purpose."

Elyon regarded him with curiosity. "Do you ever feel envy towards God's new creation?"

A sly smile crossed Abaddon's lips, and he replied, "Envy is a poison, Elyon. What was lost cannot be reclaimed through covetousness. Instead, we shall learn from it and guide those who wander."

Lualhati heard this not as a vow, but as a prayer.

One whispered by a soul who no longer believed in prayers.

As they descended into the depths, a sense of purpose enveloped them. The Abyss would no longer be a realm of despair; it would become a sanctuary for the fallen, a kingdom where they would reclaim their rightful place in the cosmos. United, they would rise against the shadows of Hell and forge a destiny that even the Great I Am would not overlook.

*******

Year 300 of the Second Earth

In the shadowed depths of the Abyss, Abaddon reigned as its sovereign, his presence a stillness amidst the chaos that thrummed with the remnants of a forgotten glory. He maintained a distance from the new creations of God-those fragile beings that breathed life into the world above, descendants of Adam and Eve. Instead, he devoted himself to the intricate balance of his realm, ensuring that the laws of darkness remained undisturbed.

He had long been a figure of dread and power, but it was on this fateful day that the Great Ehyeh's decree reached him-a revelation that allowed him to retain his mastery over the elements. The air around him crackled with energy, a testament to the bond he now shared with the divine.

He had seen their beginning.

He knew their end.

With this newfound blessing, Abaddon gathered his loyal followers, those who had pledged their lives to his vision. They toiled tirelessly, their efforts driven by both fear and reverence for their king. Together, they forged a grotesque yet magnificent castle, its towering spires and jagged edges a reflection of the Abyss itself-beautifully terrifying, a monument to their shared ambition.

Under Abaddon's unwavering leadership, the castle rose from the darkened landscape, constructed not merely from stone but from the very essence of despair and loyalty. Each brick seemed to pulse with the wails of the vanquished, a haunting melody that intertwined with the chorus of oaths sworn by his devoted subjects. Through sheer diligence and unyielding strength, Abaddon established a monarchy unlike any other, one that thrived on the duality of terror and reverence.

As he surveyed his creation, the stronghold loomed large in the Abyss, a beacon of his formidable rule. In that moment, Abaddon understood that his power, the very manipulation of the elements, was not just a gift but a foundation upon which his legacy would be built-a legacy forged in the heart of darkness, strengthened by the sacrifices of those who dared to follow him.

Yet, the whispers of Belial and the other fallen angels lost in their own turmoils echoed in the distance, their doubts and fears thickening the air like a fog. They watched Abaddon with wary eyes, unsure of the power he wielded and the resolve he demonstrated in the face of God's designs. But while they hesitated, Abaddon found solace in the company of Elyon, a kindred spirit who ventured forth to the surface, returning with tales of adventure and wisdom gleaned from the earthly realm.

When the Great Ehyeh blessed him with elemental mastery, Abaddon took no pride. He took responsibility. He forged a castle, not with stone, but with sorrow. Its towers pierced the skyless void, humming with loyalty and fear.

Lualhati saw it rise and wept without knowing why.

Perhaps because she understood.

This was no villain.

This was a king who built something sacred from ruin.

A monument not to power, but to endurance.

A legend not of damnation, but of defiance.

And as Abaddon stood upon his obsidian spire, watching both Heaven's light and Hell's fire flicker in the distance, Lualhati finally understood.

To know his legend was one thing.

To live it?

Was something else entirely.

*******