The Fallen Angel Chronicles: Book One

A/N: Just the prologue and the first chapter. Not to much to it, sets up the main heroine (least I hope so) along with some of her friends and starts a few plot lines the whole book will follow (if i keep on track like I plan to). The start of this is really to show where Chelsea starts so that by the end we can see the change and growth on her path for redemption.

So fire away on the feedback, I won't take any of it personal I aim to make this as good as I can to get it published and set to go. So I need honest and hard feedback. So cheers! And enjoy!


The Fallen Angel Chronicles

-Book One Title Coming Soon… –

By Gary Cooke









Prologue

I was always fascinated by the darkness. Not just literal darkness, like the darkness encapsulated by a moonless night. No, I'm talking about the darkness within. The darkness, that harsh, acrid power that lives within us all—that demon within—and without.

I enjoyed reading about the horrors and agonies perpetuated and suffered by humanity. Pestilence, violence, psychopathic tendencies, inhumane atrocities. And, of course, raw evil. The kind of evil so violently demonic, so putridly attractive, that one almost believes it cannot exist. At least not on this earth. And indeed, it doesn't. at least not in its raw form. It exists a bit within us all. Some have it more than others. Some have it much more than others.

And yet, some, hardly human, are carnal manifestations of such darkly seductive powers. They are the demons of this world and the next. They are the ones that hunt human souls and haunt their minds. They are the ones that seduce you into twisted thinking and lustful carnage. These are the ones I know all about. The darkness….is something I understand. I use to know about the light, but I haven’t seen or walked through that in ages. I use to be one of those…the raw evil I spoke of.

A Demon.

A Monster.

A Fallen Angel.

So many names…all so fitting. I just want to be alone, but it seems that this world will not allow me to be that. Seems like a bad time to say this but turns out the fate of the whole world is going to rest on my shoulders… the shoulders of the girl who is banished from heaven, and kicked out of hell. I almost feel bad for all the saps stuck in the middle of my own personal vendetta….almost.

-Diary of Chelsea Masters-












Chapter One

Dateline: June, 2112

The UN offices in New York City were considered a work of architectural genius, the perfect blend of history, tradition, and technology. All of the building's electronic security systems were completely unobtrusive, molded into the faux woodwork, marbled floors, and painted ceilings. However, the suited UN security officers were another matter entirely.

They paced the length and breadth of the building at all hours, always alert and always on their guard, and the two directly-assigned to Western Eurasia's UN representative were the best of the best. Like the palace guards of old, they stood at either side of Lord Stonewarts office, speechless and motionless. For all intents and purposes, they were dead to the world, automatons who answered only to the beck and call of the most powerful man in the territory, the UN representative in charge of all of Western Eurasia.

Inside the office, Lord Alexander Stonewart X was examining a holographic display of the entire world. All of Western Eurasia was graphically-displayed in red. Bits of red also dotted parts of all the other territories and the oceans as well. His influence was spreading, and he had eyes and ears all over the world. Indeed, he was positioned to, perhaps, become the most powerful man in the entire United Nations.
Unfortunately, even he had people that he had to answer to, a debt that had to be paid. Indeed, failure would require that he pay the ultimate price. Not his life. Not even his family. Nor even his power. The price of failure would be his immortal soul. Turning to admire a portrait of his long-deceased father, he speaks aloud, cursing the price that always comes with power.

"Where in the world could she be hiding? Decades have come and gone, but still there hasn't been even a rogue sighting. Not one word. Not one peep," he said, wondering how his father was currently faring in the lower levels of hell, a fate that also awaited him should he fail in his mission to find, capture, and destroy just one woman. Cursing, he slammed his fist onto the top of his desk with enough force to make the holographic display cut out and disappear from view.

"Where in the world is Cassiel?"

Time Square: New York City

The night was an unusually warm one in New York City. Rumors abounded about the recent destruction of the remains of the Statue of Liberty, and the people of New York City had good reason to be concerned. The possibility that additional conflicts would erupt between the police and the ever growing unknown enemy was quite real and very frightening to most. In response to the rising public concern, the N.Y.P.D. was stationing police officers throughout the city, and Eddie McKnight was one such police officer, working the late shift in what was once called Times Square.

A den of iniquity even in its heyday, very little had changed, even after more than a century of violent, social upheaval. Times Square was still little more than a breeding ground for vagrants and drunks, just as it had been in the late twentieth century, and Eddie was keeping a watchful eye on one such derelict now. Good old Eddie had been forced to introduce himself to most of society's refuse during his career, and as far as he was concerned, not one of them was worth the spit he used to shine his boots. But the woman currently stumbling his way into the alley nearby made all those before her seem like distinguished gentlemen in comparison.

Her hair had grown long past her own waistline, she looked like she'd spent the better part of her twenty odd years in the gutter. She was obviously inebriated and singing both loudly and off-key.

"...Saints and sinners raw beginners...lipstick traces and tv dinners..."

Horrible to look at, the smell was even worse, and the unusual heat was making her even more pungent. Even worse, it looked like the disgusting little bugger was going to plant herself down right next to his patrol vehicle before passing out for the night.
"Hey, you! Bugger off somewhere else! It's bad enough I have to be assigned to this God-forsaken place every night without having to wrinkle my nose at the likes of you!"

The drunkard didn't even spare a glance back in McKnight’s direction. Instead, she just plopped herself down of the pavement and leaned her back against the wall. Only after belching long and loudly did she bother to take the time to turn her bloodshot eyes toward the patrol car and acknowledge the police officer's presence by extending the middle digit of her right hand.

"Up yours," she said with a hoarse voice and an evil grin.

"Right. I guess I'll have to teach you a little respect for the law, then."

"Better than you have tried, you filthy pig."

Eddie brandished his stunstick, and gripping it with relish, proceeded to beat the drunkard mercilessly. A loud crack was clearly audible as the weapon connected with the base of the vagrant's skull. She was killed almost instantly, but she'd been far too drunk to feel any pain. Even so, Officer McKnight continued to beat her for several minutes, just to be certain he'd taught her a proper lesson. The lifeless body convulsed as electrical charges ran rampant through it.

"That'll teach you. And in case you hadn't heard, there are laws against that kind of language."
He emphasized his statement by kicking his fallen opponent hard in the ribs and spitting on her back. And when the vagrant didn't moan or groan, he kicked her again.

"Aw, crap. Why'd you have to go and die on me, you lousy little whore. You know, they just don't pay me enough to deal with this kind of crap. Damn it, sometimes I wonder why I ever bothered to become a cop in the first place."

Mumbling, he grabbed the corpse by the cleanest parts of its soiled coat and dragged it into the alley, hiding it behind a dumpster. Let the morning patrol deal with it, he thought to himself. His own shift was almost over, and it was high time he was on his way back to the station for some much needed coffee and donuts. Feeling sorry for himself, he shook his head, clucked his tongue, and said the same thing he always said whenever this kind of thing happened.

"Why does this always have to happen to me?"

Judgment Room: Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell

Chelsea awoke to a sea of pallid faces, the visages of the forlorn and forgotten. Her eyes were greeted with the relieved expressions of those whose many sufferings had ended, those who waited patiently in hopes of something better, and those who dreaded something worse. But that description wasn't really accurate.

She no longer had eyes, not in this realm, this way station between heaven and hell on the shores of Death's realm. Neither did she have to deal with emotions brought on by the chemical reactions of the body. Indeed, she had no physical body to force such burdens upon her. No one did in this realm, but despite this fact, she was still an outcast, even in this place of sublime tranquility.

Why? Because her worldly sufferings were not quite yet at an end, and all those gathered here knew it and would have absolutely nothing to do with her. Well, all of them except one…

"Hello, Chelsea. Long time no see, eh?" The words were spoken by a man of comical appearance. He was short, bearded, and fat, and dressed in fashions that had gone out of style centuries ago.

"Hello, Twiddle Dee. Dum been having another go at you again?" asked Chelsea, looking over Dee’s newest set of injuries. Apparently, he'd been stabbed with several hundred dinner forks.

"Yeah," said Dee wistfully. "I spoiled another one of his mysteries, gave away another one of his stories. I'm not supposed to do that, and it's Dum’s job to see that I don't. After all, he is my keeper. But it hurts to be punished by someone you love."
Chelsea thought to herself that if Dee had had a body at that moment, it would be shedding tears. It made her sorry for Dee, but it also conflicted with what could only be called her principles. "If you ask me, Dum’s just a big bully, one that needs to be taught a lesson. He might not beat on ya so often if he was on the receiving end of it just once."

"Oh, no!" responded Dee quickly. "I would never want to see Dum hurt. Besides, no one ever will. He has this mark on his head, see, saying that Lucifer will punish anyone who hurts him. No one can ever hurt Dum."

Chelsea just smirked. "I'd not be so certain o' that," she said, not looking at Dee. Instead, she locked eyes with an approaching figure wearing a red robe. "I don't think that blasted mark or rule applies to you. After all, you're Dum's brother. And that makes you his keeper."

While Dee pondered the implications of Cheslea’s words, the strange figure approached. "Chelsea, I need to speak with you. The Order requires your aid and would have your assistance. Will you render us aid?" she asked, her face expressionless, yet somehow both intent and distracted simultaneously.

"What do you want, Kendra. Or should I call you something else?" Chelsea asked with a sneer. "Maybe I should call you Mother Star? Or maybe I should call you crazy? I suppose I can take it for granted you don't want my help throwing another tea party. You putting together another plea to “save” the church? This is my quality time, Kendra. Tell me what you want and leave me alone."

"Chelsea, I have new duties and responsibilities to which I must attend. It would seem that you have already guessed their nature," she continued, somehow doing so without voicing either surprise or resentment in her tone.

"These duties will take me to planes and places other than this one. I must focus my attention elsewhere and else when, and I would ask that you serve as the protector here in the time and place through which your own journey takes you."

Incredulous, Chelsea just stared back at the woman expressionless face. "Let me get this straight. You want me to be your hand maiden? Back off. Pick some other chick to work for you."

"A great event is approaching, a melding of magic itself and a war between the forces of heaven and hell. Soon, all of us will be asked or forced to choose sides, and those who choose not to take sides will require powerful allies to survive. Even you. I ask you one last time, will you serve as protector."

Statement rather than query, Kendra knew that Chelsea didn't really have any choice in the matter. Terrible times were coming, and not even Chelsea Masters could hope to remain in hiding much longer. The words she had spoken were true, and Chelsea would indeed require her aid to survive the maelstrom of events in which she would soon become embroiled.

Still, despite all the scrolls, prophecies, and legends she had access to as the High Priestess of the order of the eastern star, she did not know whether she was doing Chelsea a service or a disservice. Her last vision from God the Father only showed that it had to be done, that this choice was most likely the lesser of two evils.

"Ahhhh Kenny…"

Time Square: New York City

Chelsea Masters woke up battered and bruised in both body and spirit with one mother of a hangover. The bruises she didn't care about, they would go away soon enough, but the hangover was another matter entirely. It was a nasty one, and she could tell that it would be with her for some time. And if she was going to do what she now had to, then it would be long time before she would have another if at all.

She awoke to the sensation of a tongue being rubbed across her face like sandpaper. The slobber was bad, and the breath was worse. "Aagh! Stop licking me! What have you been doing? Drinking out of the toilet? Do us all a favor and brush some time, will you?"

"I would be glad to consider it if you would take the time to bathe at least once a month. Honestly, I've tasted better toilets, and you should be grateful that I was concerned enough about your well-being to attempt to wake you."

Chelsea cracked her eyes open to find a dog standing over her, her eyes stabbed by the neon lights of the city. No one else was anywhere to be seen. Friendly and intelligent-looking, the dog sat there panting, head cocked to one side as if to express curiosity.

"Well, where are you, then? Eh? Come out where I can see you, and let's have us a chat." Chelsea looked from left to right, in search of someone hidden in the shadows, but finding nothing. And only when she finally gave up did the dog speak.

"What in the world are you looking for? I'm sitting right in front of you," said the dog, glancing from side to side to make sure that no one else was there. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that the human before him must be somewhat slow. "Yes, the dog."

Chelsea blinked a few times before coming to the conclusion that she wasn't imagining things and that it wasn't knock on the head or the bad liquor; the dog actually was talking to her. She groaned audibly, wondering why weird things always had to happen to her, not much liking any of the answers she came up with.
"Are you alright, then? I saw that policeman beat you and leave you for dead. I daresay I thought you were dead until I saw you start twitching again. Anyway, just what was all that about if you don't mind my asking?"

Chelsea turned the corner of her mouth up into a wry smile and chuckled mirthlessly. "That bit of fuss and bother was about the two constants of the universe screwing with me again. And don't be believin' any of that guff by that Woody Allen fella. Death doesn't always come for you, and not everyone has to pay taxes."

"Well, yes, I'm quite aware of that, actually. Death and I have met socially on more than one occasion, and the girls have been kind enough to agree not to come for me. And I've never been asked to pay any taxes as far as I can recall."

"Well, that makes two of us, then."

Chelsea fumbled around in her pockets for a moment and pulled out a few pain pills and threw them into her mouth. She felt the pain go away a bit from the beating and the hangover. She became so relaxed that she almost forgot that she was in the middle of a conversation with a talking dog.

"Disgusting habit. All that drinking and fighting with the cops will kill you, you know?"

"Not necessarily," said Chelsea, her eyes intent on those of the strange dog before her. "Oh, yes. We have established that, haven't we. Anyway, what are the two constants of the universe, then? I mean, if they aren't death and taxes, then they must be something else."

"Hmph." Chelsea had never thought of dogs as logical creatures, but then again, most people thought humans were logical so she really shouldn't have been surprised to find out otherwise. And the dog deserved an answer.

"Well, that's easy. The first is that no matter where you go or what you do, there will always be jerks like that fat cop around screwin' with people's lives. The second is that no matter how many jerks you get rid of, there'll always be at least one more so you'll never be rid of them."

"I see. And I suppose you've figured out the meaning of life as well?" asked the dog.
"Of course. Do what you can to not become a jerk yourself." The dog paused a moment to consider what he'd just been told. There were quite a few flaws in his newfound companion's logic, but he decided not to argue any of them. It seemed rather clear to him that whether or not these suppositions could be held as universal truths, they probably were true of the human who had just spoken them. As such, he decided to extend his paw instead.

"Well met, then. My name is Barnabe. And you are?"
Chelsea looked Barnabe in the eyes, taking a few moments to decide how she was going to respond. She wasn't one to give out her name freely, not anymore leastways, and she was pretty sure she shouldn't change that. Still, Barnabe seemed like an alright sort, something hard to come by in a universe overpopulated with jerks. Finally, she took the extended paw respectfully and smiled cheerily, something she hadn't done in quite some time.

"Right, then. Glad to meet you, too, Barnabe. My name's Chelsea. Chelsea Masters."

"Excellent. Now that we've gotten the preliminary formalities over with, I must insist that you do something about your personal hygiene. I would like to be your friend, but my nose is much more sensitive than that of the policeman who just 'killed' you. Think about it."

Chelsea smirked good-naturedly, running her fingers through her hair and getting them stuck in tangles of hair and gum. "Anything for a friend." She said with a grin.

New York City - The Waldorf Astoria Hotel

Barnabe walked into the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria behind Chelsea and sat himself down by the doorway. Unlike other great establishments that had lost their former grandeur over the passing of the centuries, the Waldorf Astoria had remained a glamorous institution. He watched as Chelsea approached the hotel desk and smiled at the clerk, cocking her head to one side. She stared the clerk right in the eyes, and within the span of a few heartbeats, the clerk passed Chelsea a set of keys, without even asking her to sign the register.

Chelsea had gotten in just like she'd said she would, even though logic demanded that things should have turned out otherwise. Barnabe had suggested the Y.M.C.A., but Chelsea had insisted on something with style. As she made her way to the elevator, Chelsea gave Barnabe a smug look, bidding his approach. Barnabe got up and walked into the elevator with Chelsea; strangely enough, no one objected to his presence. The elevator continued upwards until it reached the Penthouse Suite. Chesea unlocked the door, and they walked in.

"Alright, I'll break the silence," said Barnabe, turning Chelsea a curious eye. "Exactly how did you get this hotel to give you its best suite in your disheveled state, let alone with a dog in tow?"

"How do ya think? A little magic is all. What else."

Chelsea walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack. Barnabe jumped onto the bed and pawed the remote control, activating the holovid projector. The sound of Barnabe flipping through channels mingled with the sound of clothes hitting the floor and a hot shower starting up.
Barnabe lowered the volume after turning to the Arts & Entertainment channel, where a holovized version of the wizard of oz was playing. The suite could almost be considered palatial, a very pleasant change compared to life on the street. "I take it you're not talking about pulling bunnies out of hats, right? But if you know magic like that, then why live on the street?"

A momentary pause was filled with the sound of a pair of scissors shearing away. "A lifestyle choice is all. Old habits die hard. 'Sides my, magic tends to draw unwanted attention. I try not to use it too often."

"Then why'd you use it now?"

"Like I said, anything for a friend. Anyways, I'd have had to use it to get in anywhere looking the way I do so I thought I might as well go for the best. Why? Don't you approve?" asked Chelsea.

"You say that as if you expect me to complain," said Barnabe, his tone jovial.

"Not at all," said Chelsea, the sound of an electric razor humming in the background.

"Do ya mind if I call you Barney?"

"I'm a talking dog, not a talking purple dinosaur," said Barnabe, his tone mildly irate.

"How about Barn, then? It's just that I'm not much for formal first names is all," said Chelsea as if by way of apology.

"Very well, then. If you must call me something other than Barnabe, then Barn I can live with."

The sound of water splashing could be heard as Chelsea stepped into the shower. She sighed and moaned in pleasure and contentment as the hot water ran over her skin, washing away the mark left behind by the past few decades. She raised her voice to be heard over the sound of the running water.

"Unusual name, that, for a dog, even a talking one. How'd ya get it?" asked Chelsea, the steam improving the hoarseness of her voice.

"It was given to me by my first master. He's the one that taught me to talk like humans do. He needed a good talking to at times."

"Sounds like an interesting enough guy. What was his name?"

"He didn't have a name so much as a title. I just called him 'Master' but others called him Sir. Worthington the fourth. Of the Brotherhood. A kind enough Master, even if he was a bit too dim-witted and undisciplined. Or should I say too human?" he asked, his voice somewhat wistful. "I miss him sometimes."

Chelsea knew better than to go around asking questions about anyone in that family without permission, especially Mr. Worthington IV, and decided to change the subject. "Your first master, eh? Who was the second?"

"Oh, my second master was his sister, the Lady Del. Lady of the Brotherhood. People used to say that it was a tragedy that she went a bit crazy in the head, but I always thought her most delightful. I think I have her to thank for not having died yet."

"How so?" asked Chelsea, his curiosity piqued despite her own better judgment now that yet another member of the Brotherhood had entered the picture. "I don't know. All I do know is that she had to go away somewhere with her brothers and sisters. Her last words to me were that she had to go away but might come back and couldn't take me with but wanted me here because she might come back and always be her doggy pretty please okay. Or something like that. Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, she is still my master, and she will come back to me someday. But I must admit that I've been waiting for quite some time. Even longer in dog years," he joked. "But one mustn't lose hope."

"Why the heck not?" asked Chelsea, her tone somewhat irate. Life had rarely been kind to her, and her own hopes had been dashed far too often.

"Because then I would become like Chelsea Masters and stop taking care of myself properly. I am a dog, you know, so I probably spend as much time living on the street as you do, but even I smell better. Life is a struggle. It always has been, and it always will be. Giving up on that struggle does no one any good. Remember that."

The sound of the shower running came to an end, and in a few moments, a figure that Barnabe assumed to be Chelsea Masters emerged, dressed in a hotel bathrobe. Her face was clear of dirt and smudges, and her hair was cut short to medium length. Barnabe found it difficult to associate this clean-cut figure with the one that he'd originally befriended.

"I'll do that," said Chelsea, using a towel to rub her hair dry.

"You know, I take it back. Grow back the hair and find more gunk to stick in it and let yourself go. It suits you much better."

Chelsea scowled a bit before giving way to laughter, an action that reminded Barnabe of his first master. Seeing this, he did something he only did while in the company of those he truly cared for.

He wagged his tail.

I'll begin working at this a little at a time. Is this a different chapter from the story posted in the short story contest? Or, is it separate?

I’ve done a little fixing of the grammar, punctuation, and mechanics, although, I may have missed some of it. Also, I made a few suggestions and changed a few small things here and there. You’ll find my suggestions within the parenthesis before each paragraph. I’ve managed to do the prolog so far. Hope some of it is helpful. God Bless.

Prologue

(I’m not sure you should say “that demon within and without” at the end of this paragraph, that is, if you want this to be a Christian book. It won’t go over well with Christians. We don’t believe a Christian can have a demon within, because we have Jesus within.)

I was always fascinated by the darkness—not just literal darkness, like the darkness encapsulated by a moonless night—No, I'm talking about the darkness within, that harsh, acrid power that lives within us all.

(As a whole, some of this story feels as though you are trying too hard to make this horror, and you are afraid to let anything too Christian come out for fear of ruining the scariness that you are trying to project. Don’t hold back from entering the Christian element into it. It won’t ruin it. It will improve it. The juxtaposition of good and bad will give it more pop. Again, I would remove anything that says the evil that is within us all. You might say instead, the evil within the world.)

I used to enjoy reading about the horrors and agonies perpetuated and suffered by humanity, pestilence, violence, psychopathic tendencies, inhumane atrocities, and, of course, raw evil. The kind of evil so violently demonic, so putridly attractive, that one almost believes it cannot exist, at least, not on this earth. And, indeed, it doesn't, at least not in its raw form.

(The job of creating a Christian horror book is a tough one. It might tend to cause you to mix up theology a little bit. It’s a fine line. I would suggest reading C.S. Lewis’s “The Screwtape Letters.” You’re work reminds me of his work. He was able to use demonic activity to bring a powerful Christian message, as I think you are trying to do here. It’s a very short read. The following first sentence is somewhat confusing. It suggests that demons have a human element to them, but, I’m afraid that they don’t. )

And yet, some beings, hardly human, are carnal manifestations of such dark seductive powers. They are the demons of this world and the next. They are the ones that hunt human souls and haunt their minds. They are the ones that seduce you into twisted thinking and lustful carnage. These are the ones I know all about. The darkness is something I understand. I use to know about the light, but I haven’t seen or walked through that in ages. I use to be one of those…the raw evil I spoke of.

A Demon.

A Monster.

A Fallen Angel.

(Why does she just want to be alone? And, what vendetta? Who’s she angry with? God? Satan?)

So many names…all so fitting. I just want to be alone, but it seems that this world will not allow it. Seems like a bad time to say this, but, it turns out, the fate of the whole world rests on my shoulders… the shoulders of an angel, banished from heaven, and kicked out of hell. I almost feel bad for all the saps stuck in the middle of my own personal vendetta….almost.

-Diary of Chelsea Masters-

Hey Lora!

Thanks for the feedback. It is separate. The short story is the same main heroine just a different time in her life. The novel is the crux of her journey the short stories are more of just fun little side adventures I tend to write about her. I'll try to explain a few things from what I was going for to try and explain some of my word choices better for you :)


(I’m not sure you should say “that demon within and without” at the end of this paragraph, that is, if you want this to be a Christian book. It won’t go over well with Christians. We don’t believe a Christian can have a demon within, because we have Jesus within.)

You make a good point, was a poor choice of words. In demon there I was talking more about the darkness in people. We are all born into sin and need Jesus to wipe it out. So was making a note of there is this corruption in us all until we transition to the light. I didn't want to use the word darkness again but might be the best for what I wanted there.

(As a whole, some of this story feels as though you are trying too hard to make this horror, and you are afraid to let anything too Christian come out for fear of ruining the scariness that you are trying to project. Don’t hold back from entering the Christian element into it. It won’t ruin it. It will improve it. The juxtaposition of good and bad will give it more pop. Again, I would remove anything that says the evil that is within us all. You might say instead, the evil within the world.)

The start of the book we are no where near a good and working hard to be good Chelsea. I was trying to set up just how dark and twisted she was to show her growth as the story moves. At the start the reader doesn't know much about her but I didn't want to give away to many things, I wanted to leave question marks that will get cleared up as the story moves. Her past history that will be built as the story goes is she was created as an angel. She was lied to by Lucifer, was cast out of heaven, spent some time in hell, realized over time what she did was wrong, tried to revolt while there and was cast out. In the process of that she has lost her wings, and is forced to wander the earth. And it is in these wandering she has become a very cold, and angry person.

And this kind of ties into the point you made in the next bit about the Demons having a bit of a human element to them, I've been doing a lot of research on angels/demons/myths from the hebrew people and such to tie in fantasy and the bible on things people of that time period believed. And everything I have seen has pointed to Angels have free will just like we do It's what enabled them to revolt against God and be cast out. So i made the jump to say that as Demons they would still have a free will it would just be corrupted. And the vendetta is with Lucifer I just didn't want to give to much away in the intro to the story. The intro I wanted to just set up exactly where she has come from, how dark she can/has been, and then the first chapter picks us up with her at a point of having given up on everything and the start of her journey back to redemption and doing the right thing. We meet her at her lowest point to start out.

Not sure if all that and sense but you have given me a lot to think about and work over. Which is great! Just wanted to try to explain my mindset behind it and see if that clears some of it up or if anyone has ideas on how to better word it to poetry it without my commentary attached! And I will make a note here as well it is going to take till about chapter 3 if I remember my script right before we start to see the real solid positive christian message start to come in. The first one introduces us to Barnabe who will be her mentor of sorts, and the second just grows her relationship with him. And he will put nuggets of truth throughout the story for her and the reader.

Here's what I've got for you so far. I've not finished yet, as I'm still on the mend. I added some suggestions for clarity and improvement in parenthesis and changed a few words that might sound better and bolded them when I did so.

Chapter One

Dateline: June, 2112

The UN offices in New York City were considered a work of architectural genius,
the perfect blend of history, tradition, and technology. All of the building's
electronic security systems were completely unobtrusive, molded into the faux
woodwork, marbled floors, and painted ceilings. However, the suited UN security
officers were another matter entirely.

(Are automatons robots? Please forgive my ignorance, but others who read may be a little confused too.)

They paced the length and breadth of the building at all hours, always alert
and always on their guard, and the two directly-assigned to Western Eurasia's
UN representative were the best of the best. Like the palace guards of old,
they stood at either side of Lord Stonewarts office, speechless and motionless.
For all intents and purposes, they were dead to the world, automatons who
answered only to the beck and call of the most powerful man in the territory,
the UN representative in charge of all of Western Eurasia.

Inside the office, Lord Alexander Stonewart X was examining a holographic
display of the entire world. All of Western Eurasia was graphically-displayed
in red. Bits of red also dotted parts of all the other territories and the
oceans as well. His influence was spreading, and he had eyes and ears all over
the world. Indeed, he was positioned to, perhaps, become the most powerful man in the entire United Nations.

Unfortunately, even he had people that he had to answer to, a debt that had to be paid. Indeed, failure would require that he pay the ultimate price. Not his
life. Not even his family. Nor even his power. The price of failure would be
his immortal soul. Turning to admire a portrait of his long-deceased father, he
speaks aloud, cursing the price that always comes with power.

(Perhaps, change the repeated words in the following lines. I have them bolded.)

"Where in the world could she be hiding? Decades have come and gone, but still there hasn't been even a rogue sighting. Not one word. Not one peep," he said, wondering how his father was currently faring in the lower levels of hell, a fate that also awaited him should he fail in his mission to find, capture, and destroy just one woman. Cursing, he slammed his fist onto the top of his desk with enough force to make the holographic display cut out and disappear from view.

"Where in the world is Cassiel?"

Time Square: New York City

(The bolded sentence needs to be fixed. It seems to say that the remains of the Statue of Liberty were destroyed. As if it had been destroyed before and it was destroyed again.)

The night was an unusually warm one in New York City. Rumors abounded about the recent destruction of the remains of the Statue of Liberty, and the people of New York City had good reason to be concerned. The possibility that additional conflicts would erupt between the police and the ever growing unknown enemy was quite real and very frightening to most. In response to the rising public concern, the N.Y.P.D. was stationing police officers throughout the city, and Eddie McKnight was one such police officer, working the late shift in what used to be Times Square.

(It seems a little awkward comparing the woman with men. Perhaps consider using another non-gender specific simile.)

A den of iniquity even in its heyday, very little had changed, even after more
than a century of violent, social upheaval. Times Square was still little more
than a breeding ground for vagrants and drunks, just as it had been in the late
twentieth century, and Eddie was keeping a watchful eye on one such derelict
now. Good old Eddie had been forced to work with most of society's refuse during his career, and as far as he was concerned, not one of them was worth the spit he used to shine his boots. But the woman currently stumbling his way into the alley nearby made all those before her seem like distinguished gentlemen in comparison.

Her hair had grown long past her own waistline. She looked like she'd spent the
better part of her twenty odd years in the gutter. She was obviously inebriated
and singing both loudly and off-key.

I love the following line. Very nice work:

"...Saints and sinners raw beginners...lipstick traces and TV
dinners..."

(Bugger is a reference meant for a male person. It’s meaning: “A sodomite.”)

She was horrible to look at, and the smell was even worse, the unusual heat was making her even more pungent. Even worse, it looked like the disgusting little bugger was going to plant herself right down next to his patrol vehicle before passing out for the night.

"Hey, you! Bugger off somewhere else! It's bad enough I have to be
assigned to this God-forsaken place every night without having to
wrinkle my nose at the likes of you!"

The drunkard didn't even spare a glance back in McKnight’s direction. Instead, she just plopped herself down on the pavement and leaned her back against the wall. Only after belching long and loud did she bother to take the time to turn her bloodshot eyes toward the patrol car and acknowledge the police officer's presence by extending the middle digit of her right hand.

"Up yours," she said with a hoarse voice and an evil grin.

"Right. I guess I'll have to teach you a little respect for the law, then."

"Better than you have tried, you filthy pig." (I don’t understand this sentence)

(I’m not sure I can believe the following paragraph. Perhaps if you add dialog, her fighting back, insulting him further, and letting him build up enough anger to kill her, it will help)

Eddie brandished his stun stick, and gripping it with relish, proceeded to beat the drunkard mercilessly. A loud crack was clearly audible as the weapon connected with the base of the vagrant's skull. She was killed almost instantly, but she'd been far too drunk to feel any pain. Even so, Officer McKnight continued to beat her for several minutes, just to be certain he'd taught her a proper lesson. The lifeless body convulsed as electrical charges ran rampant through it.

"That'll teach you. And in case you hadn't heard, there are laws against that kind of language." He emphasized his statement by kicking his fallen opponent hard in the ribs and spitting on her back. And when the vagrant didn't moan or groan, he kicked her again.

"Aw, crap. Why'd you have to go and die on me, you lousy little whore. You know, they just don't pay me enough to deal with this kind of crap. Damn it, sometimes I wonder why I ever bothered to become a cop in the first place."

Mumbling, he grabbed the corpse by the cleanest parts of its soiled coat and dragged it into the alley, hiding it behind a dumpster. Let the morning patrol deal with it, he thought to himself. His own shift was almost over, and it was high time he was on his way back to the station for some much needed coffee and donuts. Feeling sorry for himself, he shook his head, clucked his tongue, and said the same thing he always said whenever this kind of thing happened. (Okay, so this character is prone to violence, but I haven’t heard enough background on him. Why is he prone to violence? What brought him to such a place?)

"Why does this always have to happen to me?"


Judgment Room: Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell

Chelsea awoke to a sea of pallid faces, the visages of the forlorn and forgotten. Her eyes were greeted with the relieved expressions of those whose many sufferings had ended, those who waited patiently in hopes of something better, and those who dreaded something worse. But that description wasn't really accurate. (Which description isn’t completely accurate? Maybe this is just an extra sentence we can do without.)

She no longer had eyes, not in this realm, this way station between heaven and hell on the shores of Death's realm. Neither did she have to deal with emotions brought on by the chemical reactions of the body. Indeed, she had no physical body to force such burdens upon her. No one did in this realm, but despite this fact, she was still an outcast, even in this place of sublime tranquility. (This description is incongruous with the description of the previous paragraph, because if there are people who are dreading worse, then it isn’t tranquil or sublime. Maybe you could say “even in a place where the main concern was eternity,” or something of that nature.)

Why? Because her worldly sufferings were not quite yet at an end, and all those gathered here knew it and would have absolutely nothing to do with her. Well, all of them except one…

"Hello, Chelsea. Long time no see, eh?" The words were spoken by a man of comical appearance. He was short, bearded, and fat, and dressed in fashions that had gone out of style centuries ago.

(Do fairy tale characters belong in this story? If they are real people she knew from her life, perhaps, that needs to be said. If these are evil spirits, perhaps, that needs to be said. Sometimes being too secretive about the plot is a hindrance and not especially necessary. It can create confusion for the reader instead of suspense.)
"Hello, Twiddle Dee. Dum been having another go at you again?" asked Chelsea, looking over Dee’s newest set of injuries. Apparently, he'd been stabbed with several hundred dinner forks.

"Yeah," said Dee wistfully. "I spoiled another one of his mysteries, gave away another one of his stories. I'm not supposed to do that, and it's Dum’s job to see that I don't. After all, he is my keeper. But it hurts to be punished by someone you love."

Chelsea thought to herself that if Dee had had a body at that moment, it would be shedding tears. It made her sorry for Dee, but it also conflicted with what could only be called her principles. "If you ask me, Dum’s just a big bully, one that needs to be taught a lesson. He might not beat on ya so often if he was on the receiving end of it just once."

"Oh, no!" responded Dee quickly. "I would never want to see Dum hurt. Besides, no one ever will. He has this mark on his head, see, saying that Lucifer will punish anyone who hurts him. No one can ever hurt Dum."