Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven. The epic tale of the first rebellion and the fall of man.
An eye snaps open in absolute shadow, reflecting the glow of obsidian rocks and liquid fire. Sulfur burns the lungs as the heat of a burning lake presses against skin. Satan wakes, chained to the burning deep, surrounded by the groans of fallen angels. "Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky."
He ascends a cliff of jagged glass, wings ash-stained but immense, blocking the red glare of the underworld. His voice booms over the legion of the damned, defiant against the Almighty. He is not defeated; he is resolved. "Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven."
From the fire, a dark palace rises—Pandemonium. The demons bay for war, but their leader chooses guile. Satan leaps into the abyss of Chaos alone, a falling star seeking a new world to corrupt.
Perched like a cormorant on the Tree of Life, Satan gazes down. Below lies a geometric perfection of green and gold. He watches Adam and Eve, naked and radiant, innocent in their bliss. "Oh Hell! What do mine eyes with grief behold?"
Shapeshifting into a mist, the intruder slithers near the sleeping couple. He whispers into Eve’s ear, planting a seed not of fruit, but of ambition. A fevered dream of flight and godhood takes root in her mind.
Sunlight hits Eden, but a shadow lingers. Eve pulls her hand from Adam's, insisting on efficiency over intimacy. A visual gap grows between them as she walks away to work alone. "For nothing lovelier can be found in woman, than to study household good."
He rises from the ferns, not as a monster, but as a creature of iridescent gold and purple scales. He stands upright, his voice a melodic hum that transfixes her. "Shall ye not eat thereof, and become as Gods?"
The Fruit hangs heavy, luscious and glistening with juice. Eve stares, and in her pupil, the reflection of the apple eclipses the garden. The desire for forbidden wisdom wars with the memory of the command.
Her hand trembles, then strikes. She bites. The sky bruises purple instantly. A single rose petal turns brown and falls to the earth as Nature gives a deep, seismic groan. Earth felt the wound.
Eve returns, flush with fatal knowledge. Adam drops the wreath of flowers he wove for her; they wither on the grass. He sees her doom but cannot bear solitude. "With thee to go, is to stay here."
The inner glow fades from their skin, leaving them shivering and naked. The garden turns hostile, thorns lengthening in the shadows. For the first time, their voices twist into the jagged rhythms of blame and anger.
The sky tears open. Not warm sunlight, but a harsh, revealing beam descends. Archangel Michael materializes, armored in celestial light, gripping a sword of spinning fire. Paradise is lost.
Michael points the flaming blade toward the eastern gate. Adam and Eve look back, their eyes stinging. The Garden is already shimmering in the heat haze, a memory dissolving before them.
Before them lies the Earth—rugged, vast, and desolate. No longer the manicured safety of Eden, but a wild world requiring toil. They stand small against the horizon of the unknown.
Their tears fall, watering the dry dust. Yet, they reach for one another. Hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, they turn their backs on perfection and walk into history together.
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