Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Cleave: To adhere, or to separate (10/09/25)
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TITLE: Splitting Heaven | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
10/14/25 -
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Lucifer, beautiful beyond measure, his voice a prism of sound, his form a reflection of divine artistry, strutted in perfection beyond compare. He was the Morning Star, the bearer of light. Michael admired him, even calling him 'friend.' In perfect union, they led the heavenly choirs with unending praise. But the song changed.
A faint dissonance cleaved the perfect union in such a small way. A note stretched too long beyond the masses, a harmony bent toward self, attention drawn away from the Triune One. Michael noted Lucifer raising his hands toward the throne. Nothing betrayed him outwardly. His flawless tone portrays respect, yet his eyes linger on the brilliance around the Almighty. Admiration curdled into hunger.
The first whisper was almost too faint to hear. “Why must worship always rise?” Michael strained to understand. It was a quick off-handed remark to hosts gathering for the Festival of Radiance. The whispers expanded like ripples from a rock dropped into a pond. “We bear light as He does. Should not light answer light?”
Michael frowned, his fire sword dimming. “We reflect his glory,” he said. “We are not the source.”
Lucifer smiled. “Perhaps the mirror should stand with the one it reflects.”
The crack in the fissure of eternity ran through paradise, cleaving light itself. The heavens shifted. Murmurs rumbled like distant thunder-whispers carried on a celestial wind. Lucifer glanced toward the silent cherubim who stepped back. Other angels stepped closer, drawn by his confidence. His whispers rippled into hearts - whispers of freedom, destiny, and alternate thrones.
The light trembled in the Great Hall. Arches of living crystal pulsed with divine breath. The scent of storm mingled with incense. Lucifer stepped before the throne, wings spread wide, eyes afire. “I stand above all the assembly. I will set my throne on high and become like the Most High.”
Seraphim covered their faces as the gasps rippled through eternity. The grief from The One on The Throne surged like a tsunami, immeasurable, sorrow-filled, absolute.
“Lucifer,” Michael whispered. “Brother, stop!”
“Don’t call me brother, servant.”
A light, brighter than all suns combined, rolled through, accompanied by the thundering voice of the Almighty-deep, resonant, shuddering in its intensity. “Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty. Your wisdom is corrupted by your splendor. You were perfect until iniquity was found in you.”
Heaven shuddered and war rocketed into celestial realms with a flash of wings and fire. Michael gathered the faithful, swords drawn, shields forged from worship. Across the horizons and span of the starfield, a third of heaven’s messenger rallied to Lucifer’s side, their radiance rippling into shadow. Lightning ripped in arcs of blinding glory as blades clashed against blades.
Michael’s sword burned with the authority of The One. He crashed through legions once loyal to his song, light and dark clashing and echoing across creation—forces cleaving dark from light. Faithfulness and rebellion collided, truth and deceit divided, light and darkness cleaved.
Lucifer stood at the edge of the Crystal sea, wings torn but pride unbroken. “Still you serve,” the Prince of Darkness hissed. “Still you kneel.”
Michael raised his sword. “Still, I know who made me. I cleave to The One who sustains me.”
The two collided-pure light against dark light, fury against faith. The sea boiled while the stars flickered. The cosmos quivered as if being torn apart. But then the Word Himself thundered. “Enough!”
A faceless wind swept through heaven, seizing Lucifer and those who followed him. Their wings curled like ashes as they were hurled away.
Michael watched. Sorrow, heavy in his chest, as pure light flickered and vanished from the vanquished, their brilliance darkened. The veil of heaven cleaved open, a chasm yawned like judgment, and the enemy forces fell.
Through the clouds of creation, they descended through fire and ruin-their cries, now echoes, swallowed in the void. Silence settled as the heavens steadied, but something had changed.
Michael sheathed his sword and bowed low. The throne of The one still blazed, but grief tinged the glory-a sorrow deeper than words. Michael, as captain of angel armies, lifted his face toward eternal light and whispered, “Your will be done, forever.”
The message did not need words. Even light, twisted inward, becomes darkness.
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