The Sleep of Man
The first man, shaped from dust and divine breath, lived in innocence.
But something was still missing in him — something that reflected the completeness of the Most High.
Then, on an afternoon when the Ether was tinged with gold, the Most High leaned over the man and breathed a deep sleep upon him.
While all creation watched in reverence, God, with His own hands, opened the side of the sleeping man.
From the most intimate part of him, from the intertwined flesh and spirit, the Most High withdrew a spark.
Not from the clay, as before.
Not from the dust.
But from the living being.
And He shaped it.
The Emergence of Woman
Before the ecstatic eyes of the angels, God formed the Woman.
Not merely similar to the man — but transcendent in grace, in beauty, in freedom.
She was lighter than the dawn.
More terrible than an army in battle array.
More mysterious than the abyss itself.
Her gaze carried the spark of creation, and her voice, when she spoke for the first time, made the heavens themselves bow in jubilation:
— "My Lord..."
And God smiled.
The Silent Envy
Samael observed everything.
He felt the light of the Woman pierce his already fragile defenses.
He felt God's love pour over her — a love he had never received in that way.
"More than to us," he thought, with bitterness.
"More than to me."
And within his chest, something that was once only pain turned into a blaze.
He did not dare raise his voice against the Most High.
He did not dare touch the work.
But the burning of envy grew — silent, poisonous, inevitable.
There, before the creation of the Woman, Samael began to die as an angel and be born as the Enemy.
And God Knew
The Most High, who sees the most hidden of hearts, beheld Samael.
And did not stop him.
Because love — to be pure — cannot be forced.
And freedom — to be true — must be tested.
Thus, the Woman was given to the man.
Eden flourished.
And in the silence, the entire heaven awaited...
...the first betrayal.
The Silent Revolt
In the high celestial halls, Samael stood before the Throne.
The Father, with a gentle voice, had commanded:
— "Love them more than you love me."
But Samael could not.
Not out of rebellion.
Not out of malice.
He simply could not.
He was made of pure light.
Of irreproachable perfection.
How could he love a fragile creature, molded from clay, more than the origin of all glory?
And when he saw that God not only asked... but already loved humans more than him, the first Son — the wound opened.
And from the depths of that wound, Pride was born.
Not a common pride.
Pure Pride — the kind that sprouts when perfection refuses to accept that it is replaceable.
The Chosen Fall
Samael was not expelled.
He was not cursed.
He chose to descend.
— If you are just, Father, — he whispered in the empty chambers of the firmament — then I will see with my own eyes your creation.
And so, still covered in light, Samael descended to Earth.
Not as a rebel.
Not as a condemned.
But as the Beloved Son trying to prove that the Father had made a mistake.
The Seven Sins
It was when he walked among men that Samael became corrupted.
Unbeknownst to him, his pride pushed him into the abysses: He felt...
Envy — When he saw God's gaze upon humanity, shining with a love that had never been given to him.
Lust — When he saw the Woman for the first time, walking among flowers that not even the Heavens knew. She was pure, untouched. He desired to touch her, to possess her, not to love her — but to break her.
Greed — Samael wanted her for himself alone. A possession. A trophy stolen from God's love.
Gluttony — The thirst to consume what did not belong to him. To devour creation, not out of need — but out of emptiness.
Wrath — Upon realizing that the Father's love did not diminish, even as corruption grew.
Sloth — When he abandoned the duty to protect, refusing to guide men as ordered.
Pride — When, at last, he declared in the depths of his soul: "I am more worthy of the Father's love than they are."
And thus, the first Hell was born: Not in the depths of the Earth. But within Samael himself.
The most beautiful of sons became the first to be lost.
And God? God wept.
But did not stop him.
Because true love never holds back.
The First to Betray
The first to betray was not man.
It was the Perfect Angel.
Even if all condemned him, Samael knew: deep down, he was right.
The Father did not weep out of sadness, as the Angels said. His gaze was a broken mirror — Disappointment and Pride, intertwined like roots of the same tree. Disappointment that he had chosen the worst path, and pride that he had chosen a path and taken the first step without His hand to guide him; for the first time, he behaved more like a son than a soldier, so yes, He was proud.
Samael, at last, descended.
Eden opened before him like an untouched garden. There, he found the Father's most beautiful creation: the Woman.
Her name was Liorah.
A sweet and eternal name, like the first note of the first song.
Liorah saw Samael — and did not fear.
She smiled.
She spoke his name.
And in the instant their voices touched, something new was born: desire.
Seducing her was all too easy.
Liorah was intrigued by the Celestial with eyes full of curiosity, and Samael, with his smooth words and promises of mysteries, enveloped her.
Before the first man could claim her as his, Samael took her for himself.
Not as a mortal. Not as a mere lover.
He took her with the touch of perfection itself.
And because it was him — because he was the Firstborn of Light — Liorah did not become corrupted.
She remained pure... but a seed was planted in her heart and in creation: betrayal.
Worse still: Liorah began to love Samael more than her intended. How could a mere man compete against one who had been shaped by the Most High Himself?
Samael's Pride triumphed.
But he was not finished yet.
He planted a tree.
In the center of Eden, he raised with his own hands the Tree of Knowledge.
He was the Guardian of Mysteries.
He was Knowledge.
And by planting that tree, he sealed a fate that not even the Most High could undo.
The betrayal was complete.
Not only between husband and wife. But between creation and Creator.
And Samael, deep within, knew: Even if he was the favored son, even if he was loved above all, what he had done was unforgivable.
But it would never cease to be true.
Liorah Returned
Her bare feet touched the soft grass of Eden, and the winds whispered words she no longer understood.
Her husband awaited her.
He smiled as he always did — without haste, without suspicion, as if time in Paradise were a perfect circle.
They talked, as they had always done since the beginning, with simple words,
with promises of eternity.
But deep in Liorah's gaze, in the space between each gesture, she awaited another.
She awaited his return.
She awaited Samael.
But Samael never returned.
And she, who did not know how to explain, still felt a connection with her husband — an invisible cord, tenuous but resilient.
Even if her love for Samael was greater, even if his absence was an irreparable hole in her chest, her husband still made a difference.
He was... presence.
He was... warmth.
He did not fill the void. But he illuminated the edges of the abyss.
And then Liorah understood:
She remained pure — for the one who had taken her was perfection itself — but innocence... that had died.
She would never again be the one who smiled without fear.
She would never again look at the world without the shadow of Knowledge behind her eyes.
And Eden, still perfect around them,
began to wither — not outwardly, but in the heart.
A seed was growing. A choice was forming. And at the top of the garden, the Tree of Knowledge flourished, its fruits heavy, shimmering like eyes too awake to sleep.
Liorah did not know, but Destiny had already moved.
And nothing, not even God's love, could undo what Samael had begun.
Samael Ascended
Even knowing he had erred — even having tasted the bitter flavor of guilt — the desire to speak with his Father burned stronger than pride.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the Most High, who had always been kindness, would forgive him, as He had forgiven the Firstborn.
He was, after all, the Firstborn. The favorite.
But when he arrived at the gates of Heaven,
they were closed.
For the first time, the home that had always welcomed him denied him entry.
Samael did not ask for permission. He did not beg. He used force.
With a single touch, the gates yielded, and the sacred walls trembled like curtains in the wind.
The angels came.
Hundreds. Thousands. Millions.
They tried to stop him,
but they were like paper dolls.
Samael pushed them aside without shedding a drop of blood,
without hatred, only necessity.
He wanted to see the Father.
But the further he advanced, the more resistance he encountered.
Until, at last, the Thirteen Archangels appeared.
Beings that, to any other, would be the very limit of power.
They believed they could stop him.
They believed that, since they had never seen Samael raise his hand in anger, he was weak. And as if that weren't enough, they were greater in number.
They were wrong.
Samael crushed them.
Each blow was like thunder tearing through the heavens. Each archangel that fell was a star extinguished in the firmament.
And still, he did not kill.
He only advanced.
Until, before the Throne Room, he found Mikha'El.
His twin brother.
His equal.
The one who knew the weight of creation as intimately as he did.
The battle that followed was something the heavens would never forget.
Lightning burst across the horizon. The constellations trembled.
Mikha'El — the very incarnation of War and Victory — had finally found an opponent he could not defeat.
Samael fought not with hatred, but with pain. Each strike was an unanswered question.
Each defense, a stifled cry of "why?"
And even so, he did not fall.
Even against Mikha'El, he did not fall.
Then, for the first time,
the Most High rose.
His voice cut through infinity:
— Enough!
Heaven trembled.
Time stopped.
Samael lowered his weapons.
He tried to argue, to explain, to be heard.
But before any word could leave his mouth, a door opened.
A blazing, grotesque rift, spewing suffering and fire — the door to Hell.
Samael knew.
He knew what it meant.
And, for the first time, he did not fight.
He did not protest.
He merely looked at the Father — and for the first time felt hatred.
Not for men.
Not for Mikha'El.
But for the Most High Himself.
For the love that had been denied.
For the choice that had never been his.
For the silent betrayal of a Father who had preferred the new to the firstborn.
Samael fell. Not by force. But by choice.
And thus, the Lord of Hell was born.
The World Beneath His Feet
The world beneath his feet was not made of earth, but of solidified despair.
The sky was not blue, but a black void that suffocated the soul.
When Samael crossed the door, Hell did not exist.
It was but an empty space, a raw abyss, formless, waiting for a lord.
His feet touched the ground for the first time,
and where he stepped,
the ground molded to his presence.
Twisted mountains rose in his path, rivers of fire sprang beneath his footsteps, and the wind carried his name like a lament.
Samael did not cry. He did not scream. He did not look back.
Heaven had denied him.
The Father had abandoned him.
But here, here would be his throne.
— If they denied me love, I will plant truth. If they denied me heaven, I will build a kingdom where freedom reigns. — he murmured, his voice echoing in the bowels of the void.
There, for the first time, pride was not sin.
It was the foundation.
From his thoughts arose the first towers — black as eternity. From his sorrow was born the first fortress. From his betrayed love, the first armies were born — creatures made from the memory of pain and forgotten glory.
He would not be merely the Lord of Hell. He would be the truth that Heaven denied.
And when, at last, he sat upon his throne of obsidian and fire, not as a servant,
but as a king, he uttered the words that would seal the fate of the worlds:
— "There shall be no peace where there is deceit."
— "There shall be no submission where there is will."
— "Let war come, if war is the price of truth."
And the flames of Hell ignited,
not to consume,
but to illuminate the rebellion.
The first crown was placed upon his head, not by angelic hands, not by subjects, but by the very force of what he had become.
Samael, the First and Last King of Hell.
The Abandoned Son. The Free Son.
The Silence of the Abyss
In the silence of the abyss he shaped, Samael felt a presence.
He was not alone.
From the caverns where light had never touched, from the depths where time did not move, creatures awoke.
They were ancient. They were primordial.
Before even the creation of the Heavens, before the first song of the angels, they existed — beasts and consciousnesses shaped from that which not even the Most High named.
Demons.
Inferior in glory, but not in will. Some as powerful as the Archangels, forgotten in the shadows of what was.
They came to Samael, not out of fear, not out of submission, but by instinct — they recognized in him something that not even time could erase: Majesty.
Samael, with a gaze of iron and a voice of thunder, did not enslave them.
He organized them.
Named them. Gave them function, purpose.
Raised legions from the ashes of nonexistence.
And around his black throne, an army arose that no Heaven would dare despise.
— You were forgotten, just as I was. But here, under my banner, you will be remembered. No longer shadows. No longer shame. — he proclaimed, his voice breaking the chains of the void.
The Eden Began to Rot
While he shaped his army, Samael felt it. Not just with his eyes, not just with his spirit — but with his entire being: Eden began to rot.
The fruit planted in the midst of the Garden, the Tree of Knowledge, cast its roots into the soul of Creation.
The woman, now called Liorah, carried within her the whisper of rebellion.
The man, until then pure, began to doubt. Began to desire.
And Samael knew.
It was only a matter of time.
When they erred, when they disobeyed, the Father would do to them what He had done to him: cast them out.
And when that happened, they would find Hell ready, the Throne prepared, and he would receive them.
Not with open arms, not with mercy, but with the cruel truth:
— If not even I, the most perfect, was spared, what hope will you have?
But not everything would go as Samael planned.
For where he saw inevitability, the Most High wove mysteries beyond comprehension.
And the fall of men, when it finally occurred, would not bring only new subjects to Hell...
It would also bring something that not even Samael, the First, the Foreseen, the Proud, could control.
Something that would change the destiny of Heaven, Earth, and the Abyss forever.