A Dying God (Book 2)

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Ariel- Secrets

Waking again is as difficult as it was prior. I am annoyed they put me to sleep every time I am riled. I wish I had access to the sun. How many hours have passed? How many days have I been awake? It is humorous. Time has not mattered to me for the last eight thousand years and yet now, every second is a moment lost. Every minute is precious and every hour is a blessing. I cannot waste it sleeping. I must improve and remove myself from this horrible situation.

Sitting up, there is already someone waiting at the door with a food cart beside them. The Fallen, a Hikmah, kneels down properly with his fists pressed flat to the stone. “Erelim Elder Ariel, my name is Mark. I hope I can be of better service.”

I rise, slowly, my head swarming with stimulates of the sordid suppository. “We shall see.”

He dresses in Greek clothing and thus I am interested in the implication. I am far too old for a child’s flesh, I hope they do not mean to sway me in such a direction. He is well-built and pretty to look upon but such a sight is not my taste. I had a Soul Mate who was of Greek origin; the Ruling would know such a thing. They should also know I was faithful and took no other to my bed. To taunt me with such meat would be a disgraceful notion and yet one the Ruling capable of.

Bringing me another bout of food tells me I was asleep for at least a few hours, if not more so. Can I assume that half a day has passed? “How many hours since I woke?”

He glances to the mirror. I wonder what he can see that I cannot. “An entire sun rotation. Or twenty-four hours-”

“I know time, sir.” I growl austerely. Rage fastens in my heart and I wish to smash this cart to the wall. I have wasted a day. They place me in a forced sleep and I cannot stop their methods. If I reveal that I know what they do, then I lose the upper hand. The more I learn without their knowledge the better off I’ll be.

I move before the cart and force myself to digest the bitter substance. Despite being maddened, I’m famished and the meal is quite appeasing.

Mark rolls in a big flat block on a different metal cart. A glass screen lies on its face, flat and elongated. From my acute eyesight, I can deduce the florescent component on the inside, much like the one hanging above me but as the one on the ceiling flows with mercury vapor extracting visible light, this one is dead and does nothing.

“Explain to me. What is this?”

He smirks. “This is called a Plasma TV, your grace. You’ve missed much I’m afraid; a rather imperative component known as electricity.” He’s humored by my lack of information. I’m thrilled that my years of catatonic slumber entertain him. He clears his throat, perhaps understanding the reflection in my gaze. His smile falls flat as he pushes the cord into a hole in the wall. “Electricity basically is a flow of an electronic charge through either, wires or radio waves. The light hanging above you, is caused by electricity. It is not from the sun or from fire. It is a chemical reaction set in motion by an electric charge upsetting its subatomic particles.”

I move my gaze to the thing beside me and Mark rapidly comes over to me putting his hand upon it. “This is called an electrocardiogram. Yes, it operates by electricity. But your body is transmitting electrodes to the pads and this is documenting them. A generic term for this would be a machine.”

“Machine?”

“Most things operated by technology are considered machines.”

“Technology. This word is familiar.”

He points to the TV. “I brought this. Remembering your past will inhibit your progress, Mistress, but this we thought to bring you up to speed on what you’ve missed.” Mark presses a button on the side of the Plasma and in an instant the florescent bulbs spring to life.

Cells divulge and color sporadically intermixes into millions of different combinations, dots existing at microscopic levels that it is almost impossible to comprehend. I cannot fathom the degree of scientific exploration it took to gain this product and yet, it seems Mark understands its concept quite easily. It is degrading. I have missed an evolution within humankind and now, I am inapt and demoted. A youngling is more connected to them then I am. It is reprehensible.

“Do you enjoy this?” I slap my fork down, unwilling to eat.

His eyes fasten upon me, halting his movements with the screen. “Enjoy what, your grace?”

“Do not play coy. I am an Erelim. I conquered the Earth realm before your Light existed. Metatron is my Uncle. I named Lucius my cousin. I built Heaven, every new level that came into existence, I foresaw the plans and my ideas were put into account. There is nothing in this world that I am ignorant of.” He drops his eyes from my own. Pity swells in his features. It galls me. “My knowledge is boundless and I am no pupil in need of a tutor.”

“Your grace. You need assistance. It is not a weakness to accept it. I admire you, Erelim Ariel. You are everything I thought you would be. You may send me away as well, but for every person you send out, the longer it will take for you to heal.”

I pick up my fork, a subtle indication that he may continue if he manages to keep his smugness to a minimum.

The plasma is an odd thing. On a level that is nearly disturbing, it plays voices and shows humans inside its square visage. It was quite amazing at first but that rubbed off when I realized the farce of its livelihood. I cannot tell humans from Angels or Angels from Fallen. Their Souls do not spring forth from its face. Is such a thing not a sin? Mark reminds me that it does require Light to produce these ‘movies’. He tells me these are reenactments. It is fake yet it seems too real. I need to concentrate on what the narrator is speaking of, he chastises. I attempt to let the situation go but always in the back of my mind, I wonder what black magic is watching over these humans as they fight war and die. Only God should have such perception.

The fourteen hundreds pass by. I know it takes hours but I am enthralled. Most of the information stems from China, France, and such. I want to know of the rest of the world. I want to know about my world.

Mark has sat down long ago and carelessly watching, barely paying any attention. He rests his arms over his knees. He sits as a child. He is a young man and has kept too many of his ways despite being Hikmah. It is odd to see.

“What of the clans? What of mine?”

The third movie has thus ended and credits roll up the screen. He plays with a remote, flicking it off. His eyes are to the mirror before he responds. “I think it’s enough for today, don’t you?”

I shake my head, my blond locks quivering as a waterfall. “My Second, Charu, she took over, yes?” He has pity again and I hate it. Mark snatches my meal cart heading out, ignoring me. “Answer me. I order you.” I tremble and I feel my body weakening. They are putting me to sleep. My body slips back against the bed, awkwardly positioned but I careless, staring at the closing door. “Please.” I whimper. “Tell me.”

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