It’s very unlikely, but every principle needs another to complement its existence before forever comes too soon.

After god’s decision to create more worshipers to gain more power and value; the creation of “life” as we know it and the separation of good and evil comes into place.

He is a normal angel in god’s lair.

As vile as any ungodly creature, there lies an exceptional beast. With no sense of right or wrong. Hideous and ferocious. Ugly, bitter and absolute. Grand and flawless. No light can capture him or see him. Never known before or heard of. Extraordinaire.

He is created in paradise but was sent to hell upon god’s desire to fulfill his duty as a divine creation and attendant. His first memory is hell. He is god’s servant. He vaguely remembers heaven as if its his childhood.

This divine beast causes, affects, and disturbs many. Including himself.

In vermillion skin he sits inside, this shape-shifting-time-traveling entity is the ill’est of god’s creations.

His skin is made up of seventy-four layers and nine connective tissues of neutrinos. Flabby lobules bulge.

His sharp, ram-like horns have grown to their full size, or at least that’s what he feels.

the essence of his fiendish nature, as no being is as demonic as diabolic.

Like imprints, unearthly curses inscribed on his outer shell and cuticle. On his zygoma a lightning bolt scar, a reminder of who’s towering. His veritable physical structure is as wide and tremendous as Behemoth, glaring continuously with eternal flames.  

Assuming different forms of life is only a part of his creation. A trench of death and rotten is the aroma of grand. An all-seeing eye is all what he needs for sight, as beings like spirits have other senses to see.

He speaks in tongues where humans can’t understand because we’re simply unable to comprehend the sublime. This is simply neutral.

Nature leaves the sentient incapable of hearing the baroque auroras of supernatural beings as there are certain emotions normal beings are not able to feel and perceive.

Our senses are far less than spirits and higher entities. Nonetheless, His voice shakes the army of all anarchy.

He sneaks into heaven by going outside the gates of hell, to purgatory, and eventually to heaven dementing God’s neonate.

He carries the weight of the world with woven hate in his heart. He preys on the hopes and dreams of sinners.

There sits two servants on his shoulders, marking every deed he commits good or bad. Ironically, there is a higher existence. The shame. The pride. The slander. The nihilism. Silly witty beings in thrall by the sacrosanct. Fervor to the darkness and servants to the fall.

There is no future in Hell, only a consistent quantified present with no set outcomes. Not definite or determined. His existence can only mean one thing, a predicted curse derived by the constant inevitable struggle between humanity and the divine.

Heaven, hell and angels are kept, slowly hell swallows heaven and into itself to nothing, leaving not a thing behind, not even inferno or god’s lair. 

Make-believe is real. Your own reality is your own truth.

Image : Blake’s illustration of Milton’s Paradise Lost