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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/317194
Rated: 13+ · Novel · Supernatural · #317194
The preview of the epic novel "Biography of a God"
As a young man, I was so filled with hate. It was the kind of hate that withered the soul. Repressed hate. I remember my youth more clearly now than I ever had before. The flawless images showed me events I had forgotten before now. Like the time my father beat me while my mother cried. I had always been angry with my father since then, but I could never remember why until now. I remember the countless events of cruelty that I experienced as a boy for petty differences between the other children and myself. Events that, though on their own forgivable, had scarred my growing mind then and turned me into a meek young man. Like the time I was stabbed in the parking lot outside my high school by thugs wanting my money. When I refused to fight back, they decided to stab me again in the leg and left me for dead. I recovered and the bullies were charged, but I developed a limp, which I endured until now. Or the time Maria, the girl I loved, rejected me in front of everyone, embarrassing me so much that I actually struck her out of anger. I still hate myself for that. If only I had felt like I fit in, maybe these events would have never happened. Those wicked children are not so worthy of forgiveness now, are they?

Despite the emotional scarring, I tried to fit in as best I could. I repressed my feelings and tried to seem nice and avoid trouble, but trouble found me regardless. The particular events are irrelevant, but the point is that I repressed everything I felt until the mental breaking point. Since those times things were easier socially, except for those isolated events, but a darkness still hung over me.

In high school, I dressed in black and hung out in the shadows because the light hurt my eyes more than other children. It was like the contrast was much too high in my world. I realize why that was now. My elusiveness and dark strangeness made me a few enemies, but fewer friends. I was lonely, but the few friends I had kept loyal company when I needed it. Well, make that one friend. Justin was the only other person who I felt I had anything in common with. He was my only true friend and I swore I’d pay back his kindness one day.

My loneliness gave me a lot of time to think. I quickly learned how to be completely objective and how to look inside myself. I discovered that the darkness I had over my life was not as natural as I thought it was and I vowed to learn what it was. At the time, books were also my friends. I read horror, science fiction, and spirituality books. I tried to find the source of my darkness and hate in the occult and learned as much as I could about witchcraft and Satanism. None of those books had what I was looking for, although my introspection had revealed more on my own. I learned that my darkness was some kind of a calling in life; that I could never get rid of it, so I must use it somehow.

Near the end of high school, when I was eighteen, I was inside my usual occult bookstore, browsing for something new to read. I was wearing long black pants, a t-shirt and another heavier shirt over that. It was cool that night, but the store was warm and dark and incense smoke made the air hazy and musty. The owner, sitting behind the cash, looked older and more decrepit than I had ever seen him. He said something, but I was too stoned to say anything. I didn’t care though; I didn’t care about much of anything. My mind was a haze of smoked drugs and images of violence danced obscenely behind my eyes. After nearly fifteen minutes, I hadn’t found anything I hadn’t read and was getting irritated and bored. Then I noticed, out of the corner of my eyes, a peculiar darkness in the furthest corner of the store. I walked towards it in curiosity and as I got closer I saw that the darkness was over a particular old book, although most books here are quite old. I blinked and the darkness was gone, an illusion of my pot hazed mind. The spine didn’t have a title typed on it, so I slid the book out from its place on the shelf.

It’s leathery cover felt warm and smooth, as if it had been handled recently. The pages also looked thick, like parchment, but parchment hasn’t been commonly used for centuries, so I dismissed the idea. There was also a lock on the book, but I couldn’t find a key hole or a latch to open it. I tugged on the lock, but it didn’t come off, but it did loosen slightly. A few grains of sand spilled from the bottom. ‘This book must be ancient,’ I thought. The way it was bound and locked meant it must have something important inside, or at least interesting.

I held onto the book and looked around the store at some other volumes. Nothing seemed new or interesting to me. I suddenly had the sensation that the book moved in my hand. A single jerk. For some reason, I had the idea that the book was impatient to leave. That was silly of course; it’s just a book. But since I had nothing else to read and I had some money to spare, not to mention that I was getting hungry from smoking the pot, I just decided to pay for it.

At the counter, I asked the old storeowner about the book. “Sure, Adam,” he answered, smiling at me, his best customer, “I got it just a week ago from a partner in Egypt. Says he bought it from a museum in Cairo. Looks pretty old don’t it?” I asked him if he’d opened it and he replied that he couldn’t, so he just put it on the shelf. He laughed dryly and said that the contents would be a surprise for whoever bought it. I remembered that this store had a “no refunds” policy, especially for me, but I had been satisfied with the book I’d gotten here before. I told him that I’d take it and asked the price. “For you, Adam,” he said, laughing again, his wrinkly old face disgusting me more than before, “fifty dollars”. From his description of how he attained the book, I assumed that it had really been stolen from that museum, so fifty was well worth it. Not to mention the purchase itself was a gamble, so it could be worth anywhere between nothing at all to well over fifty.

I paid the man and left the store with the book tightly under my arm. I wasn’t far from home and my parents were gone that night, so I did not have to sneak in and pretend I didn’t smell like pot.

About fifteen minutes later, I was in my room. The door was locked and my window was covered. I looked around to make sure nothing had been touched since I left. My walls were a deep blue and my ceiling was black. Posters and paintings covered the walls. Well, one real painting. It was of black skeletal-looking battleships on a red and black background. The others were posters of paintings by H.R. Giger and Wayne Barlowe, two of my favorite artists. Another wall had posters of girls, just for the hell of it. A portion of that female section was for photos of girls I knew. Some of the pictures were taken with permission, others… without. But it was unimportant. What is important is that the majority of the photos were of Maria, the woman I love. She was of Asian decent, long black hair, fair skin, beautiful brown eyes, and a deadly smile. I loved her and I had promised myself that I would have her one day. My wooden desk, upon which lay my computer, a lamp, and various occult clutter.

I put the book down on top of the stuff littering my desk. I turned the lamp on and turned off the ceiling light. I bent over the book to see how it was opened. I decided to try to the latch again. I pulled the leather latch and, without any effort on my part, it just fell off. I wondered if it had just fallen apart because of old-age, but in the bookstore, I hadn’t been able to open it and neither did the owner of the store. Odd that it should fall off now. I pushed away the confusion in my mind; it was irrelevant how or why it opened. All that matters is that it did.

I opened the book carefully. I gasped in awe at the craftsmanship. The book was clearly ancient but other than the yellowed discoloration, probably from smoke, I noted, the parchment was creamy, smooth and flawless. I traced my finger down the length of that first page. It was so perfect as to be considered perfect. How could a book this old last so long? That was irrelevant though. If the contents of the book were worthless, then it doesn’t matter how good the paper is.

I turned to the first page and shuddered as if a cold breeze had touched me. The script on the page was written with a dark red ink in characters that I did not recognize. It wasn’t Latin or Arabic, or even the language of the Dead Sea Scrolls. I couldn’t be sure what it was, but just the sight of the complex swirls and lines made me shiver. I’d never felt his way looking at a book before. I was sure it must have been the air conditioning. As I looked closer at the letters, I did detect some resemblance in some of the characters to Hebrew, but only barely. The letters still made no sense and the ones that seemed to make sense did not translate, however remotely, into recognizable words. I turned a few more pages and each time the words felt cold on my eyes. I could literally feel a coldness pass over my eyes as I read the words. I touched the paper to check if what I felt was really there. Sure enough, the ink felt cool, but the parchment felt warm. Even though I couldn’t read it, I knew this book was a greater find than I could have imagined.

As I flipped through the book, I came upon many diagrams depicting objects, which I assumed were for rituals, and ritual circles that I recognized vaguely as having great power. They were fascinating I wished to try these ceremonies, but if I couldn’t read the text, any ritual I performed would be incomplete. When I reached the last half of the book, I found a portrait of the most hideous beast I’d ever seen. It’s body was like that of a human, but distorted in inhuman ways. It had triple jointed limbs, a rib cage that caved in near the top, but stuck out through the skin horribly near at the bottom. Its belly was shrunken and organs to disgusting to describe could be seen. The monster’s genitalia, if it could be called that, were visible and were a cruel combination of both human male and female. I think I even saw some sort of a uterus pouch hanging off its thigh. Its legs were bent at appalling angles before connecting with sore-covered and clawed feet. Also, the thing’s hands were like a child’s, shrunken and chubby, but with dagger-like protrusions exiting from the knuckles. And the beast’s face! I could not begin to describe the face; it was so lifelike and absolutely horrible that it would be impossible to describe here.

At the time, I could ignore, even forget the appalling images depicted in that book, since I was excited at the prospect of what the book represented; a dark mystery that I swore to uncover.

When I had finished looking through that black book, I was still no closer to reading it than when I’d opened it. I just figured that I’d do some research on the symbols. I could only imagine what secrets the book contained and what dark stories it had to tell. It was most exciting time of my life. I find it funny now that that was the last time I was alive to feel that excitement.


A month later, it was October and it was coming closer to the autumn equinox. I checked my calendar and saw that the equinox also fell on a full moon and Jupiter and Mars would be in alignment, a very rare event. I remember that I used to quote astrology, like “Mars is in the house of Aquarius” or some fool statement, and even saying that two planets were in alignment was usually a silly thing to say. But on that Halloween, those planets were truly in alignment with Earth. It was more scientific than make-believe. Sure, I believed in some occult ideas and in mysterious forces, but now that I know what is true and what isn’t, it doesn’t seem so childish to know that I was right all along. It was a gravitational lens effect between the planets and the moon. On that day, Earth would be bathed in the most deep space energy than any other day for another three centuries. And since the fall equinox is also an important day of the year for evil things, I guessed that that day would be the best possible day to attempt an experiment with that clearly unholy book.

That experiment would attempt to translate that book into something readable. Of course, that equinox would also be the best time to attempt a ritual, but I had no choice. How could I attempt anything in the book if I couldn’t read the damn thing? Well, I hoped I could find another way to read it before then, but I still prepared my experiment. The details of the experiment don’t need to be explained, since that experiment proved inconsequential.

On the night of equinox, I had prepared my experiment and had just started to implement it. The book was open in the circle I’d made on the floor and candles illuminated in the room. I’d barely said the first few words when I saw the change in the book. It had a fuzzy aura of darkness around it. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, not really sure if I really saw it. But there was certain darkness about it. I sat down by the book, sure my experiment had worked, even though I hadn’t said much, let alone completed it. As I looked closer, I saw that I could read the words in it. And I didn’t just read it like I read another language, with a running translation in my head to English, I did read it with the fluency of English. It was if I had always been able to read, write and speak this language. I couldn’t even put the words into English if I’d wanted to. They barely even made human sounds in my mind. I doubted I could speak them if I tried.

I was right, however, in my guess that this language was ancient. It was older than human life, I was sure of it. I could tell just by listening to the sounds the words made in my mind. Some words were guttural, low frequency sounds that resonated of animal instinctual rage. There were roars, growls, strange compilations of bestial sounds, and, worst of all, a nearly euphoric resonance inside my mind. I felt a deep connection with the words and the sounds, as if they were a part of my innermost psyche. Other words, especially words that had positive connotation, sounded less harsh than the rest of the language. It is difficult to explain in words, but they were the most pleasant sounds I’d ever heard, if only inside my mind. Just pronouncing the word that most closely resembles the English word “love” felt absolutely wonderful and made me think of Maria in the most perfect light. It was like being on some sort of emotional drug. And these were just sounds! Granted, they were in my head, since I couldn’t get my tongue around most of them, but my theory at the time was that this language was the basic language of humankind, like a programming language. Each word struck a chord inside my mind, both intellectually and emotional. It was an emotional roller-coaster to read that book.

In fact, when I regained my senses, half my mind had come up with that theory while the rest was “experiencing” that book, I found that I had read the whole thing, though weather I understood it had yet to be proven. I did understand the connotation the book had by the way I felt. It was an undeniable hate and anger that filled my heart and mind, like I’d never felt before. I wasn’t quite sure what I was angry at, but I knew that if anyone walked in my room, they would have been brutally attacked. That book truly did inspire every negative emotion inside me. I was barely able to contain myself and protect my sanity from its effects. I forced myself to calm down and just read the book and understand its message.

The book’s name was one of unspeakable horror, but to give it a name with an understandable connotation, I call upon the works of H.P. Lovecraft and I will call that book the “Necronomicon”. For all I knew, this book could have inspired that author to create the myth of the tome. It truly was a book of unimaginable evil and death. As I read further into the Necronomicon, I discovered that the book’s binding was made from living human flesh and the ink was distilled from human blood. Even as I touched the book, I felt that it was alive, though in a sick parody of Godly life. Beyond the composition of the Necronomicon, it contained no history of its creation.

Most of the book did contain many rituals of power. There were demonic summoning spells, future divination rituals, and descriptions of spiritual seances. It was all very fascinating stuff to read. I almost believed I could perform those unholy ceremonies and get results. I had tried other experimental rites, but they had all been unsuccessful. Then I realized that here was a book that was truly alive in my hands and possibly a mind of its own, since I somehow gained the knowledge to read it, and descriptions and instructions for the most complex and detailed spells I’d ever seen. Granted, the Necronomicon itself almost terrified me to the bone with the chilling emotions just reading it instilled in me, but I was sure that this was the only book that could truly give me any kind of power. The kind of power that would let me gain revenge on this miserable planet that had tortured me throughout my life.


The last chapter of the Necronomicon was at first a mystery to me. The words it used had both holy and evil connotations at once and event the syntax of each sentence lacked moral or ethical ideas attached to them, unlike most of the book. After reading so much of the book, I’d gotten used to understanding the meaning of a word by how it made me feel, but this chapter lacked any emotion at all except complete neutrality. The words only had literal meanings and thus it was difficult to understand what the spell would do. Even the end result of the spell was so mind-blowing that my mind could scarcely comprehend its full impact. I was sure I’d read it wrong or got the wrong impression of the words. When the truth of the spell sunk in, was sure that the spell was meant to transform, or rather, transcend, the caster into a god. Not just a deity or a being of some notorious power, but God Himself. The ability to replace, or rather, overthrow, the current ruler of the universe would be granted to the caster. Just the concept of becoming God, as written in that ancient language, was enough to put me in a trance for a few minutes as my mind tried to comprehend it.

Of course, I wanted to attempt it. No matter what other powers this book granted, be it an army of demons or be it telepathic abilities, they were insignificant to the kind of power than omnipotence offered. Infinitely insignificant, in fact. The idea of being all-powerful was impossible enough to comprehend as a human, but I knew that I must have it. But one question nagged my mind: if this spell could turn a man into a god, what happened to those people who tried it? I mean, considering the evil nature of the Necronomicon and assuming that the spell worked, why don’t we have an evil god ruling over us all? And since we apparently don’t, what happened to those who attempted the spell? Even worse, what if the spell was a trick? How could the writer of the Necronomicon know a god spell and not be God himself? Those were the most important questions, but I could immediately discount a few of them. I can only assume that those who have tried failed or that I am the only one to have read the book. If others have tried this spell, they were probably more experienced than I at spell casting (I had never had a spell work before, but then, I’d never had a living book before), so I could only wonder what went wrong. If, however, I am the only human to have ever read the book, then I may have a chance at getting the spell to work. And, of course, the writer of the book probably wasn’t human at all, but some worse being. I still had no idea why I was chosen to understand the contents of the Necronomicon, but I could only assume it to be an omen of my success or of a fatal failure. I also entertained the chance that it was a hoax, but soon decided that though a few of the effects of the book could be faked, the ability to transfer information telepathically, thereby enabling me to read the book, must be real. Although I could have been hypnotized, but I decided that was very unlikely. Either way, I was going to attempt this spell.

Since the outcome of the spell would either be success or death, I decided I had nothing to lose unless I changed my mind and gave up on the whole thing. But giving up this opportunity was not an option. I would become a god or die trying. It wasn’t a mad quest for power or a simple search for danger that drove me to attempt this spell. It was the desire to know everything, or at least, I was bored out of my mind with my life. The last reason was probably truer at the time. At that point, I’d found the way out of my miserable life. I knew that if I was right I’d live forever as a god, thereby eliminating any pain and responsibility, if I was wrong I’d die, thereby relieving myself of the suffering of life, but if I turned around and gave up, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life hating myself for giving up. So in the end, I had to make the leap for greatness because there would be no better time to make the ultimate change in my life.

I studied the spell as closely as I could. I memorized all the words and the actions required until I could recite them forward or backward. I could not make any mistakes because there was no margin for error. In fact, any error could cost my life. After several days of study, I was ready to begin. I was absolutely sure I would perform the spell perfectly. I was so confidant that I convinced myself that if the spell didn’t work, it would not be because I had made an error.

The first requirement was that I find and prepare a site. The ideal location was a place where a recent event of severe violence, or incredible charity. Since, piety is so much more difficult to find, I chose the clearing in the Baker Park woods, where three girls had been raped and murdered four months before. There was no dress requirement; I wore my black jeans and a black sweatshirt, since it would be cool tonight. When I arrived there that night, the sky was perfectly clear and the air was cool. The moon was nearly full, but waning, though the book said time was not a factor, so there was plenty of light to see by. The grass was dark green and moist. The trees on the edge of the small clearing whispered in the night wind. It was an eerie evening, but entirely suitable for my purposes.


I swung off my backpack and poured out the contents. The first item that I required was the rug. I unrolled the circular rug onto the grass where, as I’d discovered from searching police photos, the victims had been murdered. The rug was an ancient Arabic design. I bought it from my occult dealer for a hefty price. I had it blessed at the local mosque. There’s no need to discuss how I managed to get a blessing, but I did. I then placed eight bees wax and lamb’s blood candles on the edge of the rug. As I lit them one by one, the flames blazed up. That was a sure indication that I’d chosen an appropriate site. The smell of old blood rose to my nostrils. It was an intoxicating smell, but I had to remain focused.

I stepped onto the rug very carefully with all my equipment, including the Necronomicon, so I didn’t disturb the candles. I kneeled and placed the book on my knees. When I touched the book it felt hot, though not enough to burn my fingers yet. There were also two other items that I placed in front of me. There was an ivory-handled dagger, the ivory originated from the horn of a white-rhino and was carved into a gruesome shape that fit my hand perfectly, and a tiny vial of dark-green liquid. The moment I opened it, every sound vanished. I could not hear the breeze passing through the trees, nor the crickets in the grass. I could not even hear the sputtering of the candles or the expansion and contraction of my lungs. Even my heart and the blood rushing through my ears were silent. All I could hear were my own thoughts. My thoughts told me that the spell must now begin.

It was not a very complex spell; it was only very long, physically demanding, and extremely dangerous. The only words were a chant that I was required to repeat for the next three hours of the spell. I cannot repeat those words were for they would be nearly impossible to translate into the written word. I had practiced the sound for days prior to that night and was capable of producing it perfectly for over four hours. I began the precisely timed chant. I was still deaf, though weather it was natural or not, I did not know, so I could not tell audibly how I was doing. Now there was truly no room for error.

After a few minutes, I remembered that my watch, which had been programmed to beep when the next phase was to begin, would be useless because I could not hear anything. I kept a close eye on my watch instead. When nearly fifteen minutes of chanting the unholy incantation had past, my legs were nearly numb, but it was time to begin the next phase. At the precise time, I picked up the dagger from the rug with my right hand. The blade was incredibly reflective and the required platinum finish nearly glowed in the moonlight. Without a moment’s delay in my chant or my reflexes, I flashed the dagger upon my body in three strokes. They were all very small cuts, barely even noticeable, but deep enough to pierce the vein. The first cut was on my neck; the right jugular. The second was on my left wrist, where the pulse is taken. The third was on the upper thigh on my left leg. All of the wounds perforated major arteries, so the bleeding would be impossible to stop, though I had no intention of doing so. After a moment, I noticed the blood blossom on my wrist and leg. The cut on my leg was the deepest, since the artery was deeper inside the flesh than the rest and I had to pierce my pants, so it bled the most. I felt a thin rivulet of my blood trickle down my neck. It would be a long time before I bled to death, but then, the ritual had only begun.

As the one hour mark approached, I only felt slightly weary from the slight loss of blood. The flow was still no more than a trickle, but after an hour the rugged area around me was dampened with it. I had taken several anti-coagulant herbs, as prescribed by the book, before the ceremony so that I would no clot. The wounds themselves itched a bit, and the distraction was becoming increasingly distressing. I estimated that my will-power would be stretched to the limit in order to maintain this level of concentration. I could still turn back, since my wounds were not fatal, but the decisive point as approaching fast.

At exactly the one hour mark, I carefully placed a few drops of vile green liquid onto the dagger’s edge. It was a mixture of nightshade and arsenic. It was, of course, extremely poisonous. I timed it precisely so that I would not spill any onto myself. I then wiped the dagger with a clean cloth. The dagger itself looked free of the poison, but I knew that there was enough residue on it to kill me by the time the ritual ended.

I then sliced each of my wounds open a bit farther with the poisoned dagger. After a few moments I could feel the nerves in my skin begin to burn from the toxins. At that point, I could not cease the spell. I was forced to see it through to its end. The chant was still uninterrupted, as far as I knew, so I still had a chance to succeed.

I then felt new streams pour slowly over my body, fueled by the increased flow of blood. I hoped I would have enough to last me to the end of the ceremony. I would surely have died if I’d passed out.

Another hour passed and my chanting was still being performed flawlessly, I hoped. The words felt in my throat exactly as I’d practiced, so I could only hope it sounded that way too. I felt a bit light-headed from the loss of a few liters of precious blood and my legs were totally numb. That numbness may have been caused by a lack of circulation or by the effect of the poison, I could not be sure which.

The trees seemed to sway slowly in the wind. I darkness around me and the deafness of my ears made me almost fear being caught. It was a beautiful night. I wish I could enjoy it… wait, what was I thinking? My mind was wandering. I must retain control. I was certain my chanting hadn’t faltered, but I was losing concentration. I closed my eyes a tried to ignore the dizziness that has crept into my mind. Time was growing short. My legs felt like ice and neck itched, but I must forget all that. I knew that if I slipped up, the poison would kill me instantly. The only things keeping me alive were the words and book.

At that moment, I used the last of my will and shut out all mental distraction. I believed in the words. I put every ounce of faith I had into the words and what they meant to me, which was the power to show Maria how much I loved her. But the completion of the spell was tantamount to love. I could not love if I was dead, of course.

I felt, absent-mindedly, that my strength was draining from me. The poison was shutting down my systems. The chant was little more than a whisper, but that was enough for the book; for the spell. I didn’t know which I was performing for. It was all such a blur.

I opened my eyes and looked at my watch. My vision was blurry, but I could see that there were only just a few minutes left. In a few seconds, I could begin the last phase of the spell.

Those second past without warning and I the nature of the spell changed dramatically. The chant became a scream of syllables, pronounced with the last of my effort, though I could not hear them. My hands, numb to the touch, but still obeying the commands of my poisoned brain, poured human adrenaline onto the blade. I could not be absolutely sure if I had chosen the correct vile. Like I said, I could not feel anything or see anything through my blurry eyes or my fuzzy mind. But I would have died if I had picked the wrong vile. My scream reached its crescendo; I could feel it grating on my vocal cords. At the last moment, I plunged the laced dagger into my chest. I felt the point crack and shatter against my ribs, but it still passed through into my heart. The adrenaline entered my blood, like fire. The drug found my brain and gave new strength to my failing heart, which was fatally pierced by the blade. It pumped a last few times, amazingly, around the dagger, before it finally stopped completely.

I was not dead, but moments from it. As my poisoned blood poured from the wound and adrenaline blazed like fire in my stilled veins, I uttered the last dark words of power. I had no strength left. My last action was to wrench the dagger from my chest, the pain actually waking me up slightly. I had only the barest of seconds left. I must hold onto consciousness. I fell backward and managed to plunge the blade into the tainted earth below me. I was unconscious.


I saw lights as bright as the sun and darkness as deep was midnight. I was witnessing events the universe over, at that exact moment, of the most divine actions and the most evil debaucheries. I felt the released power of the spell wash over me, embrace me, and instill me with energy. It all happened in an infinitesimal moment. I knew I had died, but now I awoke.

I opened my eyes and looked around with new eyes. I sensed that my wounds were gone, if they were ever there. But that was but an afterthought. What I saw would have liquefied a normal person’s brain. I saw every imaginable energy form dance in front me. The sky, though dark because of visible light, was awash with radiation. Gamma rays, x-rays, ultra-violent, infrared, neutrinos, everything moved! Everything was alive with colors I cannot describe. The trees breathed in carbon dioxide and exhaled oxygen. The grass radiated the stuff. The world itself was visible. I could see through the entire body. I could see the crust, the mineral deposits below my feet, the molten core and everything beyond it and out the other side. I could feel the vibrations of the earth. Ah the sounds! The air tingled against me as sounds assailed my senses like a symphony. Birds, insects, everything around me vibrated. I could even feel the vibrations of pulsars in the sky and the luminosity of every other star. I could feel the rotation of every atom and of every black hole. If I were alive, it would be sensory overload, but I found I could take it all in and understand it all. It was all so beautiful.

At that moment, I noticed that I was not breathing. Every one of those sensory inputs suddenly ceased to register as I paid my full attention to myself. I found it odd at first that I could not sense my own breathing or my heart beating or my blood flowing, but then, of course, I was not alive anymore. I was energy! Pure focused energy. I no longer saw, heard, smelled, or touched anything. I experienced them on every level. As I became aware that I had shut everything else out, I found that I could control what I experienced. With my mind, I experienced the entire range of the frequencies. From the lowest to the highest universal disturbance, I saw them all separately, to give each its glory, and moved onto the next one, all within a moment of time. Naturally, the idea of the ‘lowest’ and the ‘highest’ is used only as a metaphor for the infinite range I was granted to experience.

I also found that I could change form at will. I looked at my hand and watched my finger turn into a blade of grass, then a spout of water, and then a single flame. I felt nothing but the flowing energy from the infinite well inside me. But that feeling was more powerful than anything I’d felt before in life. It was more pleasurable than any experience I’ve had. I had to share this power with the person I loved the most. In fact, when I thought of her, the feeling of love was even more intense than using my powers. More importantly, it was pure thought. There was no underlying meaning when I thought of Maria now. There was only love. There was no sexual tensions, no misgivings for past events, only love. It was magnificent.

I was about to displace myself to her this moment, but something pulled at my mind that made me stop. It was the book. When I looked at the dark book I saw a black cord strung from the top of the spine. It was not made of rope, but just a perfectly back line emitted by the book. I traced the cord back to my body, but I could not follow where the cord attached to me. It seemed to fade out as it approached me. I tried to make the cord come into focus, but I couldn’t. I was curious as to the nature of the cord, but I did not want to have the Necronomicon attached to me. In my reasoning, God’s are not supposed to be dependent unless they choose to be. My first instinct was the grab the cord with my hand, but that proved impossible. My hands just passed right through it if didn’t exist. I was probably the only one who could see it or on whom it had any effect. I then tried to break it with my mind, but I failed yet again. I did not seem to have any effect on it at all.

‘Forget this’, I thought with disdain, ‘I have better things to do than drag a book along with me’. I tried to displace myself again, but found that the book bound me on a short leash. Not only that, when I looked again, the book was the size of boulder and looked to weigh as much. If I were mortal, it would have been difficult to move on my own. This was infuriating, but there was little I could do about it.

It suddenly occurred to me that I might have inadvertently caused the book to change as a result of my previous thought. I imagined it as a small pocket-book, and I instantly saw the book shrink in size. I picked up the tiny Necronomicon, which fit in the palm of my hand. I slipped the dark book into my pants pocket and attempted to dislocate again, but the book dragged me back again. I was now nearly exploding with anger. How does this infuriating book keep doing this? Was I to be chained here to this spot like a dog? A sudden burst of energy inside me welled up and out of my body. I directed it at the spot I performed the ceremony. At the last moment, I remembered the dagger. It was extremely valuable and it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. I saved it at the last moment and it appeared in my palm. Everything else, the rug, the candles, my backpack, were disintegrated in the inferno. All that was left was a bit of blackened dirt in a shallow crater.

Now that I’d released my anger so effectively, I could being thinking rationally again. I was about to put the dagger away in my pocket, but remembered that the sheath had just been destroyed in the blast. Of course, I was now a god, so I just pressed the dagger into my body; broad side facing me. The shining blade sunk into my matrix and I held it inside myself, though not as part of my energy matrix, just suspended within it.

I realized the mistake I’d been making over and over. I kept trying to displace my matrix alone when I must include book too. Of course, I remembered, I must now include the dagger in the displacement matrix; otherwise it would be left behind. I smiled to myself at my quick reasoning of the solution, though I hoped that answers would come easier with time.

I was about to dislocate with the final preparations made when I was interrupted yet again.

“Stop right there!” My mind immediately told me that it was a police officer. I’d never been in trouble with the law before, but I disliked being bothered at a time like this. I assumed that he’d heard the explosion I’d caused and come to investigate. My back was to the cop, so he could not see the dagger appear in my right hand.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around!” the cop yelled. His voice marked him as a man of medium build and of a fairly youthful age. I smiled a grim smile and dropped my hands to my side so that the dagger was clearly visible. I positioned the dagger so that it reflected the moonlight of the blade into the cop’s eyes.

I knew he’d seen it as soon as I heard the click of the cop’s gun being cocked. The guy had guts. He had some notion of how dangerous I was, but he only touched the surface. I had more power than any gun.

“Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head. Do it now!” he yelled. I turned to face him. My presumptions were right about him. He was young; under thirty. Officer McKenzie, as I saw on his badge, which was about twenty-five meters away, wore a standard black police uniform and his gun was pointed directly at my, with his eyes lining up the shot. His face was determined and I sensed that he had never shot anyone before. He watched his eyes flicker between my face and my dagger. He still awaited my compliance to his orders. Of course, I answer to no one now; no law or force of nature could stop me from passing through my first obstacle.

“What if I don’t want to drop it?” I asked him calmly.

“I swear I’ll shoot you if you don’t drop the knife.”

I glanced down at the blade then back at the cop. “This old thing? It couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“I mean it kid, drop it. I don’t want to have to shoot you.” I sensed that he was sure about that last statement. He sincerely did not want to shoot me.

“I believe you, officer, that you don’t want to kill me, but you see, you’re going to have to.” I took a step forward; toward the cop. McKenzie braced himself to fire, but held back for another moment.

“Stop kid! Drop the weapon so we can both go home.”

I took another step. Behind me, the smoking crater I made earlier was visible to the cop, who glanced at it for a moment. I took that moment’s distraction to raise my dagger in an offensive pose and jump towards him. Officer McKenzie saw me raise my arm and turned his gun slightly to fire. I saw him pull the trigger and I heard the explosion of the gunpowder. To my surprise, I saw the bullet leave the barrel and sail towards my chest just as I entered the air. When the metal slug reached me, I twisted my matrix and caught the bullet between my thumb and forefinger. I then threw the bullet back at the cop with equal force as a gun.

Just as the bullet neared its target, a blazing silver shield appeared in front of the cop and deflected the bullet. I still could have killed the man, except that I was so surprised by this turn of events. I forced my matrix back onto the ground and saw that the shield had been thrown. The glowing silver metal landed on the grass just beyond the police officer, who was as still as a statue. I was now aware that time had nearly stopped.

Of course, my first priority was to determine the source of that man’s salvation. To my left I saw something I thought I’d never see. An Angel now stood before me. It was extremely bright, though radiation has now effect on me. I saw his pure white wings, the ornate silvery plate armor and a face that was gender neutral, but still perfection. He had long white hair, golden skin, and blazing white eyes. The emotion on his face was one of pity. I assumed that the Angel’s pity was meant for me and that made me despise him because he knew nothing about me. He held a transparent crystal sword that was many times sharper than my own man-made dagger and the Angel’s blade shone with its own pure light. I sensed that what I saw was for my own benefit, for he assumed I saw with mortal and limited eyes. I imagined that I’d seen him before my transformation he would have appeared as a blinding white light. Unfortunately, I was not strong enough to see beyond the veil of illusion he wore over himself.

Of course, there was the obvious first question, “Who are you?”

“I am the Angel Stephacles. I’ve come to stop you from completing your dark ritual, but as I can see, I am already too late.”

“Much too late,” I observed, but my curiosity betrayed me, “Why were you late? You had every opportunity to kill me.”

“I would have and I tried,” Stephacles said, in a deep, echoing voice that sounded like we were in a cathedral instead of an outdoor clearing. Clearly this aspect of the angel was part of God’s arrogance and self-worship. Of course, sound did not propagate properly in this time frame, so it was more of a connection of minds than actual speech. “But that blasphemous book would not let you die. Do you even have any idea what it is?”

Of course, I didn’t, although now my curiosity was again piqued, but I was not going to let this self-righteous Angel know of my ignorance. “Of course I do. And I know exactly what I’ve done.”

“Do you, Adam? Let me ask you this: why would you have killed that innocent man?”

“Because he was in my way, of course. And because the world is not ready to behold me yet, so I cannot have fools running around proclaiming the new god before I’m ready.”

Stephacles laughed in his echoing voice. It seemed a grim laugh; mocking even. “Would you have thought to kill him or anyone before this night?”

I’ve thought of killing many others before today. Mostly people who pissed me off, but I felt that humanity in general ought not to exist. Humanity was a corrupted race of idiots, that deserved what it had coming. It may have been that this was my plan all along, somewhere at the back of my mind, but I knew that Maria would love and respect the ruler of the universe. Who wouldn’t? But, again, I would not give this Angel the satisfaction of knowing the truth. In fact, I was bored of him. I have things to do. The least of which involve my love.

“No, but I have never felt like this before. Angel, I grow tired of talking with you. Kindly leave and inform your God that his replacement will soon be at His gates.”

“I can’t let you leave this place, Adam,” Stephacles said. He immediately assumed a combat stance, with his sword poised to strike. It seemed that he wanted me to make the first move. That would be his mistake.

My first thought was how to go about destroying an Angel in the first place. They were unlike normal mortals that could just be blasted with fire until they are incinerated. But what other ideas have I got? I could displace him very far away from here, but I know not a place to send him to that would be sufficiently far. I suppose I could try to just obliterate him by normal means. What was he going to do? Kill a god? He was a subordinate to begin with. What could he possibly have that could hurt me? I decided on a blast large enough to level the park, but focused and contained entirely around the angelic figure.

I focused the energy in a moment’s time and hurled it mentally at the white-winged man. Somehow, the Necronomicon, which I had thought was still inside my pocket, got sucked into the inferno. I attempted to retrieve it from certain destruction, but my mind could not get a secure grasp on it, so I was unable to pull it back.

In another moment, the Book touched the Angel and the flames became black and blue and engulfed the Angel in less than two-billionths of a second. Not even enough time for the begin a scream. All that was left was a hole in the ground seven feet deep and two feet wide with a thick lining of carbon, though I doubted that the carbon was left behind by the Angel. Of the Angel’s presence, I could sense none, but I did sense another. It was not the police officer, who was still frozen in place, since time was still nearly stopped.

There… from behind that tree. As I trained my mind on the creature, I returned time to normal and the thing began to run away from me. It must have seen me destroy the Angel. I reincorporated the Book and the dagger back into my matrix and pursued the creature. I caught up with it before it moved two paces.

It was a small, less then four feet tall, thing that resembled a cross between a man, a dog, and a frog. It had brown, damp skin that stank of filth, and what could have been hair was pressed against its head with unwholesome substances. It had wiry muscles, a snout like a dog, and walked on all fours like a man would if his arms were longer; a permanent crouch, walking on toes and palms. Its eyes were a luminescent yellow and its teeth were brown and quite sharp. Despite its size and frail-looking body, it moved faster than I would have thought, but not faster than I.

I grabbed it by the throat and lifted it up to glare into its grotesque face.

“What are you?” I asked in my normal voice. It kicked at me and clawed at my hands, it even spat a disgusting fluid at me, but to no avail. It could not touch me in the least. I asked it again, who and what it was. Again, I got no answer.

I sighed, a human reaction, and proceeded to scan the pathetic thing’s mind. The thing’s thoughts were chaotic and simple, but the information was there. Its name was Pellsnot and it was a lesser demon. Obviously it was from Hell itself. Its mission was to watch me and see if the Angel had succeeded in killing me. If not, it was to report back to its superiors in Hell.

Suddenly, the little bastard burst into flames and vanished before I could finish interrogating it fully. I had not been prepared for that sort of reaction. Of course, the source of that infernal flame was plainly obvious to me: Satan. He dared to plot against me and deny me what I want. Well, I had to start the dethroning of the gods somewhere, why not in the worst place imaginable: Hell. I wanted God to watch me destroy his eternal enemy like He’d never done and then become terrified when He realizes that He’s next on the list. And, frankly, the universe would be better off without a place like Hell.

Of course, how do I kill demons anyway? I suppose that most of them are as frail as humans, but some weren’t and their souls could still come back to haunt me, so to speak. Hell would never truly be gone unless I could disassemble the whole place, piece by piece.

As if reading my thoughts, the Necronomicon, acting of its own will, which I now learned that it must have, appeared before me eyes and began to stretch. The leather latch became a handle and the rest of the book stretch so that it was a foot shorter than I was and a foot leaner. It was now a huge tower shield. Well, it seemed huge to me. Considering that I was only five feet, nine inches tall, it was short in comparison to a real tower shield.
With that thought, I decided that I should improve my form. I suppose I will remain in a human form, since I am most comfortable with it. I made minor cosmetic improvements like make myself a foot taller, my shoulders broader, my physique more toned. My clothes, which I had not paid any particular notice, since they were a part of my matrix and served no practical purpose, faded and became a featureless black over my entire body. By the end of the change, I was a perfectly black man-shape, like an obsidian sculpture of the perfect human male. I took the Book-shield, which I noticed had altered its shape in scale with my own.

Now I just had to get there. Again, the Necronomicon responded to my unspoken request. I felt its influence wash over me and my vision warped and faded out. Suddenly, I was not in the clearing in the forest, I was in Hell.
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