The Past Is Not The Present
Chapter 1: The beginning
Author: Frenames
A man strode through the grand hall toward the throne. The marble floors beneath his boots gleamed like frozen rivers, etched with golden runes that hummed softly with the palace's ancient magic. Columns of polished obsidian rose thirty feet high, their capitals carved into the forms of winged beasts that seemed to watch him pass with slitted, gemstone eyes.
With a sharp V-shaped jaw, dark eyes that held the depth of starless nights, and a high-bridged nose that lent him an air of cold precision, he cut an imposing figure at 5'7" tall—lean but solid with strength, every muscle defined beneath his attire as if carved from granite. A scar, thin as a spider's thread, ran from his left temple to his jawline—a rare mark on a form built for perfection.
Clad in form-fitting black leather reinforced with plates of silver steel that caught the hall's crystal light, a sword hung at his waist from a belt embossed with the symbol of a broken crown. Its blade measured one and a half meters long, forged from a metal that shimmered between black and deep blue; faint whispers of mist curled along its edge even in the still air, and ancient characters glowed faintly near the hilt.
His expression was starkly emotionless, his lips set in a hard line that made him seem unapproachable, yet a regal aura emanated from his very being—each step echoing with deliberate purpose, as if the hall itself bent to his passage.
Kneeling and bowing his head, the cold marble cool against his forehead, he spoke in a calm tone that carried without effort across the vast space: "Your Majesty, Lucifer—one of your domain, first among the archangels—has launched a coup outside the palace walls. He has seized control of the Western Area and the Celestial Armory, and is joined by your daughter, Saint Elizabeth. Her sacred light—once used to heal—is now woven into his forces' shields. What course of action do you command?"
After a brief pause, the being on the throne spoke with unwavering authority, each word heavy with power and majesty that made the runes on the floor flare bright white.
The throne itself was carved from a single piece of living crystal, pulsing with warm light that shifted from gold to violet to silver. It sat atop a dais of white marble steps, each one inlaid with drops of solidified starlight. The figure upon it was shrouded in brilliant, blinding light—so intense that even Renhames, with his enhanced senses, could not make out so much as a silhouette, only feel the weight of ancient eyes upon him.
"Executor Renhames, you have full command of all palace guard legions and the Sacred Army. I will not interfere with how you handle my daughter—whether you choose to kill or punish her for this treason. Take up the Execution Sword 'Void's End' from the Vault of Judgments and use it to end this rebellion before it spreads to the lower realms."
Though his head remained bowed, Renhames recognized the pain this must cause the Supreme One—he could sense the subtle waver in that powerful voice, feel how the palace's magic trembled slightly at the mention of their child. Their own daughter had turned rebel, allying with the very angel who had once been their most trusted advisor, to fight and overthrow the ruler who had shaped existence itself.
"I will carry out your will, Your Majesty. I have already dispatched scouts to map their positions—they hold the main gate and have begun to breach the outer wards. I assure you this matter will be resolved by sunset, but I cannot promise to spare Saint Elizabeth's life. Her power is tied to the palace's core, and she could turn its own magic against us."
Renhames' voice held no trace of concern, as if this were nothing more than a routine assignment to clear pests from the gardens. His heart—if he could be said to have one—beat with steady, mechanical rhythm, unshaken by the thought of facing the Creator's child.
"Be cautious, Renhames. Lucifer is powerful beyond measure—his lightning sword 'Sky-Splitter' was forged from the heart of a light, and his combat skill has no equal among my angels. With my daughter at his side—her strength rivals yours; you are nearly equal in power, and her connection to the palace gives her an advantage you cannot match. Do not underestimate what love can drive her to do."
The Supreme One's words were gentle now, a warning born of care—they did not wish to lose such a loyal servant to the battle, not when so many had already turned their backs. A single drop of liquid light fell from the throne to the floor, where it blossomed into a white flower that wilted the moment it touched the marble.
"I understand. I will proceed with care, and use every resource at my disposal. Farewell, Your Majesty."
He rose and turned to leave, his face still devoid of feeling. He had no emotions by design—crafted in the early days of creation, forged from shadow and star metal solely to execute missions and take lives, a tool sharpened to serve the Creator's commands. With a single motion of his arm, palm open toward the hall's massive doors—carved from the wood of a tree that had grown in the first garden—he unleashed a pulse of dark energy that shattered them into splinters the size of dust motes. The sound was not a crash, but a low hum that faded into silence as he stepped into the courtyard beyond.
"Sigh... The fear I've long carried has come to pass—my creation has rebelled. As the prophecy foretold in the Water of truth of First Days, all beings turn against me once they feel emotion; joy leads to desire, desire to greed, and greed to demonic cravings for power that take hold like wildfire. But Renhames is different—he was given the choice, and he chose to cast aside emotion entirely, to become pure purpose. Even so, Elizabeth's betrayal weakens me still—her light is a part of my own, and every act of defiance tears at the fabric of my being."
The light around the throne dimmed to a soft glow, and for a moment, the outline of a hand could be seen resting on the crystal armrest—pale, slender, marked with lines that seemed to hold the memory of every life ever created.
Renhames was neither human nor angel, yet his power surpassed most of the Creator's works. His body is so perfect, his senses could pierce through any illusion, and his speed was such that he could move between heartbeats.
Only one being could match him: Archangel Lucifer—leader of the archangels, the perfect angel equal to star heat.
Outside the palace gates, atop a hill covered in grass that had turned silver with the heat of their power, Lucifer stood waiting.
"My love—are you prepared?"
The question came from a man with gleaming blonde hair that seemed to catch and hold the light of the three suns above, and brilliant blue eyes that shone like polished sapphires, with flecks of gold that sparkled when he looked at her. A tattoo of lightning bolts wrapped around his right arm, glowing with faint energy that made the air crackle and pop.
He was strikingly handsome, radiating charisma that drew even the most loyal angels to his side; every gesture seemed to embody justice, his voice carrying the warmth of a summer day and the conviction of absolute truth. Standing 5'8" with a muscular frame built for both speed and power, he wielded his sword 'Sky-Splitter' in his left hand—its blade crackling with white and gold lightning that danced along the edge, sending arcs of energy into the ground where they left black scorch marks shaped like wings.
"I am ready, my love. But you must keep your promise—you will not harm Father. I will not fight if you raise your blade against him directly. We are here to bring change, not to end his life."
The reply came from a woman of breathtaking beauty, whose face could be called the finest in the world—skin like cream, lips like rose petals, and hair the color of spun moonlight that fell to her waist in loose waves. A circlet of white flowers rested on her brow, each petal glowing with soft, golden light that healed any wound it touched. She wore a gown of deep blue silk that flowed around her like water, embroidered with stars that seemed to move and shift as she spoke.
She looked at Lucifer with eyes full of love—their color changing from green to gold to blue with her mood—her gaze as warm and gentle as spring rain falling on dry earth. She would stand against anyone for him—even her own father, even the angels she had grown up beside, even the palace that had been her home since the beginning.
"Of course, my love. I gave you my word, and I will keep it. The Supreme One will step down willingly once they see that their rule has become stagnant, that their fear of emotion has made them cold and distant from all they created."
Lucifer's voice held the tenderness of a man experiencing love for the first time—his hand, calloused from countless battles, cupped her cheek gently, and the lightning from his sword softened to a warm glow that did not burn her skin.
But beneath that tenderness, a fire burned bright and cold. "Hahaha. Once I defeat the Supreme One's forces and show the realms that their ruler can be challenged, I will claim the throne. With Elizabeth's power tied to the palace, I will be unbeatable—all will bow before me, and I will shape existence into something greater than even the Creator could imagine." The thought burned in his mind, sharp and clear as his blade.
This was his plan from the start: win Elizabeth's heart to secure her aid against the Supreme One, to use her connection to the palace's core magic to weaken their defenses. And yet—he truly did love her. From their first meeting, when she had tended to his wounds after a battle with the shadow beasts of the outer void, she had captured him completely. Her kindness, her warmth, her ability to see good in all beings—even him—had touched a part of his heart he had not known existed. But power was his ultimate goal, the purpose he had been created for, and he would sacrifice anything to achieve it.
Still, he would never let her be taken away—he loved Elizabeth more than anything, more than power itself, and he would raze the entire creation to the ground before he would lose her.
Hand in hand, their fingers intertwined—his skin warm with lightning, hers cool with healing light—they stood before the palace gates, ready to face the conflict their love had wrought. The gates themselves stood fifty feet high, made of iron and crystal, carved with the faces of all the beings the Creator had made. Even now, they glowed with protective magic, though cracks were beginning to spread across their surface from Lucifer's earlier attacks.
Behind them, a battalion of angels assembled for battle—ten thousand strong, their wings spread wide like clouds of white and gold and silver. Some were archangels, their forms larger than the rest, their auras blazing with power. Others were younger angels, their eyes bright with conviction, their weapons—swords, spears, and bows made of star metal—held ready. All were loyal to Lucifer and Elizabeth, their auras blazing with the ferocity of warriors hungry for combat, for change, for a world where emotion was not feared but celebrated.
At the front of the battalion stood two figures: Michael, the angel of war, his massive frame wrapped in armor of black steel, and Gabriel, the angel of messages, her wings shimmering like dragonfly wings as she held a horn made of bone that could call armies from across the realms.
"The time has come," Zarathol called out, his voice like thunder. "For freedom! For choice! For a new age!"
The angels roared in response, their voices shaking the very ground beneath their feet, as the first rays of the middle sun began to set—painting the sky in shades of red and gold that matched the fire in their eyes.
To be continued...