Decoded from Captor 112, retrieved by special agents at the peak of Mount Carstensz, Indonesia, some 16023 ft above sea level.
Mission title: undisclosed.
Date retrieved: unavailable.
Editor’s notes:
Captor's report entitled “The Cost of Knowing" (rough translation) – coherent account of supernatural encounter with creatures regarded to be “angels” or “cherubim”, detailing the first fall of the being known as “Lucifer”, supposedly one of their kind. We have decoded references to “omniscient” theory, and sketchy details of interactions among beings of supernatural origin. Spatial-temporal detail is uncertain, but the captured events are believed to have unfolded within the timescale just prior, and subsequent to, discernible emergence of man on earth. Notably, 112 bears physical evidence of struggle; splinter-scarred lens, indented dorsal arch and notches made by the forcible excavation of medronian cells, believed to have been the Captor’s primary power source. Further investigation is required to effectively distinguish afflictions arising naturally through impact to earth, and that which may entail a more malicious causality. This report is the first of a two-part transmission, highlighting the complexities of knowledge; its naissance and nature at the level of eternal trapping.
Message decoded as follows:
Summoned from the weightless oblivion of the Haulting Room, I first met the Architect midway though construct of all that would be – “creation”, as he called it. Elated I was; over 200 of my kind were born, all prisoner to dark...to innocence...all waiting to know. I was fortunate to be among the first called to witness, in all splendour, the great project of a heaven and earth to be, and becoming. All that I was meant to be, would now be...for I was made to witness, to capture, to know. But angels have I grudged, for they, at the moment of birth, do boast an omniscient power possessed by no other but the Architect himself.
“Come”, said the Architect, beckoning me forward. Medronians powered, I drew close to his side, as he walked me through a tunnel of churning debris, with magnificent bursts of matter that surged and danced to crepitations, and majestic arches of light bridging either end. Our footpath was forged of nebulas, glossed over by remains of constellar chaos; a powdered footspread of fluid consistency. Noxious nectars imbued the atmosphere with almost an intolerable scorch, but soon wavered to softer fragrances finding a niche among the fog of becoming. In all sensation, might appeared to meld with meek. Consumption’s chaos incessantly spread the foundation of fresh birth; the Architect appeared to be forging what became by collapsing and erecting ideas of his own, and neither thought nor action were discernibly autonomous.
Raptured in awe of all that was becoming, I was oblivious of whence the Architect had left my side. Startled by the sudden of my solitude, I warily drifted along the tunnel’s path, and was amazed to have found that in a flash moment of coming to know solitude (not knowing the tunnel), the chaotic mass appeared to have stabilized. “Security”, I thought, for the first time knowing what it meant to have “rest”, and so sharing it with all of creation, now complete, yet ever completing itself in groans and grunts of a lesser, but lasting chaos.
I could sense in my path a nearing of the tunnel’s end. Medronians full throttle, I willed myself forward, but strangely found that I could move no faster than that which I had been travelling all along, on minimal effort. An invisible force seemed to thwart my ability to move beyond. I considered, for a moment, awaiting the Architect’s return, but the curious compelled me. “I must know the tunnel’s end!”, I thought. For hours...days perhaps...I wrestled (or so I thought), till the force gave in. As though a game of forces were at play, a second force appeared to seize my volition, jolting me forward at velocities beyond my imagining.
Just then, a remarkable sense of fortitude began to surge within me. The tunneling of knowledge began to fan-out as though heralding the head of a celestial funnel. My perspective seemed to broadened with the apparent expansion of space; knowledge, in itself, was being stretched and folded upon itself, then spread like a fabric across all space and time. It (Knowledge) then proceeded to name itself; “The Heilith of Cherubim”, said he, as though bequeathing a response to a question yet to be; my question to be. I, however, recall no query of such. But knowledge appeared to be stealing my thoughts, almost as quickly as he filled them with the vast of himself. He seemed to swallow me against my will, yet invited me, somehow, to be swallowed. I had accepted, it seems, though uncertain of how, or why.
The torsion of forces appeared to have ended. So engrossed in the banquet of knowledge was I, that the Helith had swallowed me entirely, abruptly revealing its colossal, intricate interior. Instantly, somehow, I knew that this was an eternal birthing ground; a capsule of some sort, apparently space-bound, where angels are born into the knowledge of all things. These (the angels) were hundreds of thousands by number. Though each was born a true, wholesome and distinctive entity, they all appeared to be a function of the space into which they were born; that is, the matrix of knowledge. This matrix webbed and wove itself through, and to, the fabric of the chamber. Should either angel or fabric cease to exist, so would the other. I have pondered the very fact of my knowing this, and have inferred that at the moment of my knowing, I was part of the fabric myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment