//There is a legend, as old as time, that began with birth of the oldest star.
In a time when there were things of then men and beasts in the world. It was a time of angels. Beautiful beings with white wings that brought them close to the ceiling of the skies. Angels, that dwelled in Heaven. Angels, that were said to be the purest of all, for the heart rules everything.

In a time before devils and demons, when God loved his angels.
When the angels were closet to God.//

The eyes of an angel are unbalanced, mistmatched and forever tainted. With one hand tilting the scales of life and death, stained crimson; the other countering the scales, pure ivory. This position, half in Death and half in Life was a rather uncomfortable place to hold; esepcially at the moment. The First War had ended with the casting down of Lucifel, once the brightest in all the Heavens. The Second War, however, had just begun.

//Since my time, there has always been God and the Devil. Two opposing forces forever locked in self-inflicted wounds. Angels float between the two sides, even ones as great as Gaberiel, Michael and Rafael eventually drift. I am the Median; Yorin.
As the Median I have one gift, the Birth of Angels. All angels come from me, from Michael to Belial, they were all spawned from my dreams. The Lorelei came from my dreams, the three deadly angels of Wave and Sea. Lucifel came from my dreams, as did God. I am Yorin, the before, the after and the inbetween.
So I Dream. I Dream of the Four ArchAngels of Doom, the Doom of God and the Taking of the Devil.
I Dream the Hope of Man.
I Dream the Fire of Heaven.
I Dream the Dark.
I Dream the Light.//

The blood sang in his ears, eyes mirroring the scene before him. Angels fighting among themselves. Wings and feaths strewn about like debris after a hurricane; and the bodies, like dolls tossed around. Then there was him, one of the Four. A sly smile crossed ArchAngel Ryael's face His pale hands were wrapped around the hilt of an impossiably learge broadsword, the blade poised above the neck of another angel. Murmers, like rain, fell on his deaf ears, pleads and apologies.
"Get up," Ryael snapped, feeling the harsh tone of copper fire settle into his voice. He despised the weak, as he despised God. His victim mumbled some thanks, repetative monontonous ramblings about mercy.
"You see the blood? Do you smell the sulfur? Tell God that ArchAngel Ryael rebels," Ryael commanded, swinging the blade with the lazy action of one accustomed to such weight. The metal bit into the angel's flesh where wings met skin. A blood stained wing fell to the ground as his victim screamed. The keening rise and fall tone of an angel who had lost its wings. And Ryael laughed.

//There were Four; Four ArchAngels of Destruction. The first to rebel was Ryael, in a hurricane of fire and death he scoured the plains of Heaven. I Dreamed of him, with taunting pale blue eyes and a heart of ice... or more appropriately, fire. Frozen fire though, for the madness ran in his veins as surely as it did in mine for Dreaming of him. A Bringer of Doom; the Doom of Angels.//

The wind sighed, releasing the wings of the Second Angel. A child's grin crossed the youth's face, for all angels took the guise of what they assumed suited them best. The garb of the angel belied his cherub-like face and easy smile; a loop of barbed wire hung from his neck, and he wore mostly black. The barbed wire had been a gift from the First Angel; Ryael.
"You plead to the sky to open up with Heaven's Tears?" Inamiel whispered, his innocent grin twisting into something completely different. A fey look, like that of an untamed animal, only more dangerous. A bird flew by, wings pumping the air, trying to gain lift to fly. The angel reached out, and snagged the animal behind the head, feeling the feathers brush his skin.
"Soon...." Delicate hands pulled at one of the wings, feeling the muscles and flesh strain beneath the skin and feathers. The fleeting moment of when the bone snaps, sickening music played over the crackle of fire and death. Inamiel turned his face to the sky, and laughed. He laughed with tears streaming down his face.

//The Second was Inamiel. The Cherub with a heart that was shattered and put back together the wrong way. I Dreamed of him whilst remembering the pain and torture that God has putten us through. I Dreamed of him, because he is insanity, and cruelty, and the small voice in your heart that urges you not to at the same time it pushes you forward.//

The Third was interlocked in the Fourth. Almost forbidden passion that overwhelmed both bodies in the moment of need, and the moment of helplessness. Jibriel with the smoothness of water and the liquidty of his movements not quick matching his partners clumsier but more emotional movements. Shiel, was not like Jibriel, of any other angel for that matter. Shiel was an earthly angel, who was the Hope of everything and nothing for he thought naught of himself. Jibriel was the despair and hopelessness that every mortal carries in their soul. Jibriel the void and Shiel the filler.

//The Third was Jibriel, who in his own desire and loneliness consumed the Fourth, binding them by their sin. The Fourth was Shiel, the hope forever intertwined with the despair. I Dreamed of the Third, for my own despair had latched itself to my heart and drove me to my lengthes. I Dreamed of the Fourth soon after, for hope and despair are always hand in hand.//