The Golem Conspiracy - Prologue

To one side, he could see it far in the distance. The gigantic ashen-white tree with its roots stretching over the landscape, anchored deep into the ground that sat beneath the glittering desert, every grain of sand lit by the beautiful cosmos above in the azure blue sky. Held aloft in its tendril-like, unflinching branches were massive celestial bodies, entire worlds teeming with life. To him, this tree was home. More than just that, it was also a living relic.

On the other side, as he turned back to face it, his broken body shook in fear. The endless horizon of golden dunes was dotted with many shadows as flying over them were swarms upon swarms of his kin approaching. Draped in tattered and unprivileged garments, their scarred and crooked wings carried them over the sands. His wings were no better, once graceful, feathered appendages were each turned into a shredded and mangled grotesquery. All he could do to move was use the fingers of his clawed hands to drag himself along; even his legs were rendered useless by acts of shameless cruelty.

Crawling over the large dune, he came across the campsite, a tent surrounded by boxes, bags and baskets of provisions. It was there he found another sister of his, this one kneeling and writing upon a scroll of charcoal-black paper with a white waxy stick, completely engrossed in her task. He tried to speak with what little strength he had left. “…Maradel!” he eventually managed to call out to his sister before his arm gave way and he tumbled down the dune toward the campsite.

Maradel snapped out of her trance and turned to her brother’s voice, seeing him fall helplessly down the hill before crashing into a pile of baskets, the provisions within scattered across the sandy ground. “Yarel!” she called out, putting away the scroll in her back pocket as she dashed over to him. “Brother!” she was frightened for him. “What happened!?”

All Yarel could do that second was groan in pain. He had very little strength to muster after what he had endured.

“Was it a rogue tribe?” Maradel guessed as she helped her brother from the ground up to his knees. “It can’t have been a Shaydim infestation here of all places.” She kept listing possibilities. “It’s Samael, it has to be…”

“It’s the Massiark,” Yarel interrupted.

Maradel's eyes widened with horror. Never had she anticipated to hear such a claim in her lifetime. “But how?” She was in denial. “Helel should be locked away in Gehenna. It was written in the scriptures, the General made certain!”

“I know what I saw,” Yarel insisted. “He and the Kodeshim Cult,” he brought his trembling arm up to gesture behind him, behind the dune he fell from. “See...” he gasped for air, before trying to speak again, “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Maradel shook her head in disbelief. “You need help. Brother Kavel’s group should be nearby,” she pulls Yarel up to his feet. “He should be able to...”

Before she could finish her sentence, every part of Yarel’s being was enveloped by a garish golden light. Maradel took a step back in fright. The glow radiated an unbearable energy, scalding and sickening. Maradel could feel this horrible sensation through the air, but Yarel, worst of all, was screaming with agony, unimaginably worse than any pain he had ever suffered before. This continued as the gaudy glow around him flared like a raging fire, and all Maradel could do was look on helplessly as her brother suffered, howling for desperate release of his torture as his body contorted, melted and finally turn to dust scattering in the wind. As Maradel fell to her knees, traumatised by the sight of Yarel’s demise, his tortured scream still somehow echoed throughout the land after his body was reduced to nothing.

A shadow cast over her from atop the dune. She looked up to find another towering above her, pointing at where Yarel once stood with metal wand, formed of two prongs spun around each other in a helix. He was clothed only with silky garments from the waist down, mostly black but with golden trims, the same wealthy colour as the sash around the hips. His arms and neck were wrapped in bandages, a cross-shaped scar sat dead centre of his chest, the protrusions on his head shaping to appear like a grandiose crown or halo around his gorgeously flowing mane of silvery-white hair. Most distinctive of all were the pair of wings from his back, so large that each one’s feathers seemed to split into three separate wings, appearing like he had six in total; a beautiful sight, yet horrible too as Maradel saw that Yarel spoke the truth. “Helel,” she uttered. “The Massiark?”

Helel calmly put his wand away, hanging it off the sash around his waist, and approached his terrified sister, slowly and sternly, yet proudly and patronising. He cared not for the terror he had struck in Maradel’s heart, let alone showed the slightest remorse for the cruel fate he bestowed upon Yarel. He stood before her, so tall was he that the kneeling Maradel’s head was only as high as halfway up his shin. “Stand, Sister,” he commanded, speaking with a deep and smooth voice. But even addressing his kin, there wasn’t any hint of concern in his tone, no attempt to appeal to familiarity.

Maradel dared not defy the Massiark, lest she too face the same fate Yarel did. Jittering with dread, she rose from the ground. Her head now only as high as Helel’s knee. Bravely, she stood upright with her arms behind her back.

“Maradel, was it?” Helel asked.

Nervously, Maradel nodded. “Th-that's right, Supreme Brother,” she answered, referring to him in his favoured term to be addressed as.

The giant dropped to a knee, bringing his white eyes to meet with hers. “Tell me. What brings you here? What is your duty? What do the Eden-Malakim have you do?”

“My...” Maradel’s throat closed as the nerves got to her. She had to put effort into bringing words out again. “My duty is to scout the Endless Sands for lost relics, identify places of interest and survey the activities of any potential rogue bands of Malakim.”

“Last I heard, the Yirinim were disbanded,” recalled Helel, “or in hiding. So you must hail from the Ishim Order then?” he deduced. “I very much doubt the other five remaining Orders would send forth their own for such labour.”

“Yes.” She restrained her grimace as she recalled what Helel did to her brother. “Yarel too, he and I have long been cooperating for the same tasks.”

“And just how long have you two pursued in this endeavour?”

“It’s been almost,” she tried to recall, her nerves still wracking her into near disability to speak, “I'd say, two hundred years.”

“I'm certain they expected you alone to find a hundred relics in that time,” Helel said, sure of his assumption. “Am I right?”

“That’s right, Supreme Brother.”

“And just how many have you found?” he challenged.

“…Four,” Maradel admitted in disgrace.

“As I expected,” Helel said, proud of his correct assumption. He leant down further, bringing his face closer. “Do you want to know why that may be?” Maradel didn’t answer, but Helel didn’t bother waiting for her to try. “Because there’s nothing to find,” he stated. “There’s nothing to learn. Be it the command of your Order's captain, the teachings of the Seraphim Order or even the accounts from the General himself. You have been lied to, Sister. You were told tales of the Great Rebellion, yes? How Mikael struck down the villainous Massiark and saved the Eden-Malakim.” His face scowled as he spoke the next sentence, “Saved the Gentiles.”

“We seldom dare use that word anymore,” said Maradel, though her voice still shook with dread. “The General-”

“Oh?” Helel interrupted, his gaze became one of murderous intent. “Are you really telling me of all Malakim that the Unity Crusade was to no avail? Did I bring our warring tribes of old into compliance simply for a farce? Did I save us from the frenzied hunger of Renanin so that you and Yarel could just play treasure-hunter in the Endless Sands?”

She didn’t respond then, though Helel probably didn’t expect her to. ‘The General wasn’t lying, I see,’ she thought to herself, ‘he said you always loved to have your speeches.’

“We are Malakim, Sister. We are Father’s will made manifest. We deserve so much more. Mikael wanted you to take pity on the Gentiles, just as he so foolishly did for the Mortalkind of Adama. But look at us. If we can subjugate even Renanin, why should we restrain ourselves? Why should we refuse to exercise that power and claim all of Father’s creation for ourselves? Eden, Adama, even Avvadon, and the many others we have yet to see, all under our thrall. We may have lost the temples raised by our subjects long ago, but they can be rebuilt. Our glory is to be beholden by all. That is Father’s will. Who is anyone to deny that?”

As he spoke, Maradel wondered how to respond, picking her words carefully. “I...” she tried to speak. “I think you may be right, Supreme Brother. You speak such wise words.” She remained as composed as she could, keeping her hands behind her back. “Perhaps I could be granted place in the Kodeshim Order? If it pleases you?”

Helel looked her dead in the eye as she smiled at him, hoping to endear him. “Oh, Sister,” he said right before darting his arm around her back, grabbing a hold of hers. “As appealing as it sounds, I know flattery when I hear it.” He picked her up, crushing her arm in his grasp. As she struggled to writhe free, gasping and shouting for her life, Helel found what he suspected. Behind her back, Maradel was writing upon the scroll again, a message that in their language read...

The Massiark returns! In Father’s name, fight to the last!

“This was your ploy to keep me distracted then?” he asked.

“It’s twin parchment,” said the defiant Maradel, “the other Orders know now!”

His grip tightened more, crushing her arm to the point that it began to break into sparks of light as she screamed through gritted teeth. “It matters not,” said Helel as he forcefully threw her down into the ground. “Even with all their hymns and prayers, they haven’t a hope to escape our wrath.” He reached to the side of his waist to retrieve his wand once more. “And neither do you.” With his wings spread out, Helel levitated up into the air. “You're quite the trickster,” he commented to Maradel. “It is such a shame that I must lose you.” He pointed the wand down at her.

“You say that like you ever cared,” said Maradel. “Yet we were nothing but tools to you. For all your bluster about fighting in the name of ‘Malakim Superiority’, not once did you ever believe in us as your neighbours, let alone your kin!” Resistant as she was, the fear for what she knew was to come remained, growing stronger by the second.

With a spiteful glare from his eyes, the Massiark’s grip tightened on the wand's handle. The golden glow forming before the tip coalesced into a beam of light bearing down on the helpless Maradel as she met the same torturous and destructive end Yarel did. “If you will not strive for such an ideal,” he said as Maradel’s screams roared across the land, “you are unworthy of our grace.”

The swarms soon glided over the campsite, heading toward the colossal tree far in the distance. One sister soared down to the dune below Helel as Maradel’s remains of dust were carried in the wind, as were her cries of pain and torment echoing still. “Supreme Brother,” she said. “We've found it.”

“I'd be quite disappointed if you didn’t, Ramiel,” said Helel, sounding little tone of gratefulness. “I expect them to be brought under our control soon.”

“Sister Kesemel has made safe passage to the remains of their vessel, and she’ll be quick to begin her work.”

“I’m sure she will.”

 “If I may be blunt,” Ramiel said, “given they’re in the immediate path before us, just what do you plan to do to the Adamites?”

Helel looked to the horizon, deep in grim thought. He could forsee many things to come, both dire and hopefull, for himself and others. “To give them what they want,” he answered. “What they need.” He then heard the loud shrieking cries of a monstrous beast high above, stirring memories of old, all a storm of wonder and horror. “What we all need.”