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Chronicles of the

Children of Destiny



‘Saruviel of Infinity’



by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

http://noahidebooks.angelfire.com

© 2009



15,250 HY

13,150 ROI



As he sat there, the light in his room gradually diminishing as
another day was ending, Saruviel the Seraphim of the Realm of
Infinity, 7th born of the Seraphim Onaphim of Infinity came to
himself.  The cold of the winters day shivered in his bones and
wrapping the cloak around himself he thought on recent events.  Recent
drastic events.



It was only 50 years ago in which Michael, his Seraphim brother, had
spoken to him foreboding words.  ‘The end of darkness is death,
Saruviel.  Choose wisely, I urge you.’  Of course he knew what his
brother meant, he knew instantly.  He had voted the way he had, in the
end, wanting freedom.  That spoke to his heart.  It spoke to his heart
completely and utterly.  But the price for that choice had now been
paid, and it was a heavy price indeed.



The cold of the winters day seemed to eat away not only at his flesh,
but his confidence, his faith.  He stared up at the bookcase, full of
all the various doctrines and teachings Sandalphon and Samael had
composed and looking at them, now, he was bitter.  Suddenly, in a
spirit of rage, he got to his feet and tore down the bookcase, sending
the works flying.  He would burn them, yes.  Yes, he would destroy the
fowl heresy he had finally succumbed to.  Perhaps that – that would be
a sign to the eternal one who had judged him so harshly that he had,
in truth, repented.  He looked at the fireplace, and went to gather
matches from the kitchen.  Gathering up the works, ripping them up as
he went along, he spoke to nobody in particular present, but to those
not that far from his abode, in other places there in the heart of the
realm of Infinity.  ‘You are a curse to me Sandalphon.  You are a
curse to me, Samael.  And on that great day of Judgement our eternal
father speaks of may he have pity on your souls.’  And tearing the
works up, throwing them into the fireplace, he lit a match and after
pouring on kerosene, threw the match onto the pile.  The paper erupted
into flames, consuming the works with as much passion as those works
had consumed the life of Saruviel of Infinity.  As the works burned,
so to, it seemed to him, did the darkness in his soul slowly ebb away,
once again letting life, new life, enter his being.  It was almost as
if father was restoring him now, and he felt something of the spirit
of his younger years once again re-emerge, giving him that feeling of
quiet happiness he had not known for so long now.  And then a word
from the infinite one spoke to his mind – ‘Atonement’.



Later that week he had made instrumental choices and performed actions
which would now be undeniable to those he once felt were his true
redeemers.  He had pillaged the assembly hall of Samael’s party in
Nadrazon, down below, putting to flame all the heretical, soul
destroying works he had once succumbed to.  Of course, they had caught
him, and he had not denied his crime, but Logos had used the powers
remaining to him and granted him grace, silently pleased at his
younger brother’s repentance.  Logos had then taken him aside, queried
his rationale, and then Saruviel spoke of the pit of Sheol – the pit
he had been condemned to for those few hours when he had stood in the
throneroom of God, boasting against his authority.  Logos had taken
the news surprisingly well, but urged him to now keep the peace.
‘Transgressor’s will learn their faults in time, dear brother.  But
remember our fathers mercy is everlasting.  Remember that.’  And that
had consoled Saruviel of Infinity somewhat.



Yet sitting there again, in the seventh tower of the circle of
Infinity, looking at the ashes in the fireplace, he thought on Samael
and Sandalphon and the fate that, perhaps, one day – one distant and
dim day in the future, awaited them as their punishment in the
neverending death of Sheol.  And, his vengeance complete, he began to
weep.





THE END

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