Its Five Wings

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short scene setting story about that end of the world feeling.

Submitted: May 04, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 04, 2013




The creature loomed some distance away. It had arrived quietly. Appearing in our world on one knee. It rose to both feet. A tall, dark, dreary figure with five wings spread outward, two to each side, and a final one protruding over its head in a cobra like hood. It stood gauntly, proud, assured, but just as one could take in its upright form, it let out a powerful screech. A guttural caw from what sounded like the very depths of some ancient necropolis.

The song it screamed resonated in the strangest manner, like a song in reverse, or written in some long forgotten math that forsook man's history of song. It was as hearing an echo before hearing the original cry that caused it. The song reverberated through the land, painting a terrible thought against the walls of citizen's minds. That thought was of earth, of our world, but an odd rearrangement of it. In this world, food tasted of ash, trees seemed to be withering away for thousands of years, looking like the ominous stone sculptures of long forgotten civilizations. The landscape was twisted and cracked into a mockery of what it once was.

This was now a dead world. The five winged one called for our destruction, and immediately the universe bent to its heed. As if the smallest particles were now his to command and contort. To be caught in its effects gave a sickening, all consuming feeling that before this moment, nothing had ever been different. This world had always been dead it seemed. Though the lush green earth was only minutes gone from the universe, it was eons lost in the mind. The notion of a green earth felt like some distant memory shared among long distant ancestors. A strange dream that stood in the base of ones mind, but was unrecoverable, and long faded.

The very structure of our minds had become warped. Twisted by this beast into knowing only the universe it called upon. These deep reds and ashen grays that were all we could see through dull eyes. Our minds were feeling the beast rip through the very fabric of our world, reaching back through time and space to tear out some most precise instrument from the foundation of our universe.

It was the destruction of hope from our world.


The beast had come upon some age old trick. Some powerful knowledge created by its most ancient sorcerers. This creature's song assured the fast, and irreparable cessation of hope from its evolutionary path across the universe. The demon seemed to reach back across eons, and stretched its dark talons over the cosmos, assuring mutual destruction along every moment in history. Even at the precession of the universes infancy, the stars littered across our universe had never exploded, littering the darkened universe with the ingredients for life. Instead they scattered and swirled in chaos. Planets had formed only to forever decay in slow, silent failure.

It seemed that the very elements bent to the whim of this terrible melody. It began to feel as if nothing was yourself. That on some level you were only a flat drawing pressed against reality. An overbearing mood of being in shadows, in hiding, looking on as another shadow performed an indescribable, haunted ritual. Paint, spread thin across the backdrop of a theater play. A husk, dried and hollow. The people of this land felt that they were nothing and everything, and everything was nothing.

This thought pushed forward, as the mind itself felt flattened, ironed and pressed like a fine shirt. So fine and thin that a thought would take minutes, even hours to fire across the surface of the brain. The ability for thought was now gone. Lost in a static shuffle akin to noise and movement. The brain was still holding something though. Not a thought, but some distinct mood. A feeling. Though thoughts were dispersed and unrecognizable, this feeling held firm. This deeply rooted idea that seemed to feel endless lifetimes old. An age and distance incomprehensible to even the demon himself. The feeling that the very creation of this universe of ours, that it had been imbued to grow. To group and cluster, interact, and explode. It was this shaky cosmic feeling of hope that had coalesced forever, here and on distant worlds. This undying constant in the universe to continue colliding and creating until there could be no more.

The beast was still cawing its dark song. Though suddenly, the voice seemed of this world now. Not only that, but it sounded scratched and dry. It was as unceasing as ever, but it had lost some dark tone, and with it a powerful strength. Gone were the notes of immediacy, replaced with a broken cry of desperation.

The demon was still shouting its song, and as one gazed upon him, the fear and dread was still there. Yet, the world around him seemed firm and comforting. It felt bright and warm like a clear morning sunrise. The world had returned, the world had remained, and the world had always been. This creature could not succeed.

Everything was alive again, all around the land, and even around this demon. It seemed that the demon and his beastly song had failed to rip apart the history of this world. It appeared that to this demon and his might and his wit, even some hope, at some indistinct corner and age, was as bad as all hope everywhere. This attack was constructed to demolish all hope. Not only of this time, but all time, along every edge of the universe, and even at its very inception. That is where he failed, the song could not call itself fully enough into the creation of our universe to leave even the slightest impression of that dead world on it.

Just as the memory of our hope had been some distant faded dream to us in that cold dark dry land, now too did that dead landscape feel like a distant repressed pain. A base fear lodged deep within the instincts of every creature. That fear, if described by the demon, would be the mood of the world at the moment that hope was finally snuffed from this land.

As this whirlwind of knowledge, both returned, and lost, swirled in the brains of onlookers, the demon remained. He was choking out his final words now, near to falling to his hands and knees. This was the beginning of another startling phenomenon.

The demon began to slowly shift and morph from its five winged, stone-like body, and into a frailer, almost human like visage. Its many wings started to wither away. The fifth wing, now wrapped over the beasts head like a hood, decayed away completely. At this instance a brilliant radiance and heat burst forth from the demon. He was now on his knees, clutching the ground and concentrating in powerful silence. A second wave of heat seemed to shine forth from him now. Stronger, yet cooler than before. An enticing, almost sweet feeling pulsating against everyone and everything within view. The demon spread its broken four wings anew, and in silence, a feather slowly grew along the boned ridge of one wing. Just as suddenly, feathers burst forth all along the remaining wings, quickly covering them in a soft white radiance. The demon, finally breaking his silence, roared a thunderous boom and slammed his fist upon the ground, letting out a ground shaking rumble that rippled for some great distance through the earth in all directions.

Instantly another grand warmth washed over the land. This time it was magnitudes stronger. The powerful, intoxicating feeling felt like it stretched for miles, and rose skyward ceaselessly. It felt like the best weather of every season of every year of one's life in a single instance. Accompanying this moment was a brilliant flash of light.

Two more of these winged beings stepped from behind the light which emanated feet away from the demon. Though they had just appeared, it felt as if they had always been there. As if they had simply gone unnoticed amongst all these immense transpirings. These two winged humans created an incredible air around them. It was like respect made palpable. What type of respect though, it was hard to quantify. It was parts reverence, but also a strange mixture of fear, love, and mystery. These two intensely shining creatures approached the demon, who now looked every bit as the other two. They knelt down before him humbly, facing him eye to eye. The moment was serene. It seemed to happen instantaneously, yet every word they spoke rang out in one's mind endlessly like church bells. The conversation between them appeared calm, simple, almost jovial.

After this intense meeting, the two winged men stood upright once again. One reached his hand out to the demon, who was still bent to the floor in what seemed to be his definition of pain. At the site of this, the demon rose of his own volition. He stretched his wings proudly behind him. The feathers of which had begun to molt from his frame. Then, a dreary energy draining flash enveloped the world in a strange darkness, which just as quickly dissipated into the air.

With that, all was quiet. The other winged men had disappeared as well, and gone with them was that magnificent aura that enshrouded all who lay witness. Silence once again, though not that agonizing void of sound that had defined the destruction, but rather a wavering hum of winds and chirps that defined the countryside. All was once again normal. All was itself, and so much more.

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