It reverberated within the hidden caverns of my chest, the BOOM of thunder and crack of lightning as it erratically slithered across heaven's shadowy havens. They told me it was the eternal battle between the giants that brought us crystals and iron from the sky and the angels raging above us. The silver Lords they called them, great beings clad in plaited steel with runes of power carved into their hammers and crowns.
They were the ones that folded luminescence into the Elysium towers for they alone could spark flames from shadows and bend light into darkness. So mighty and skilled they had become they soon became filled with visions of their own, of precious things they now wish to create of their own accord. As such, it was deigned in heaven's highest throne room that they may try their hands and the earth was granted to them that they may create in it and beautify it as they so desire.
Thereafter, they made strong its foundations with pillowing mountains and a clear awning that it may mirror the twinkle of stars by night and capture the sun's gleaming grace by day. In the shadow vales they fashioned the gems of the earth, of the crystalline jades and rubies, clear diamonds and glistering gold, the tinted beryls, the singular almandines and the tourmalines and so on and so forth. These were made after the many components they had woven into heaven's white. It was the forging of the colors for before it, none including the angels knew of them only the vast darkness and its celestial unlike, none except the makers and the king of makers.
The king looked upon the treasures and with a mighty rumble he buried them beneath valleys and covered them in great chasms, cast them into the deepest pits. It was deemed then: "these illustrious things will wait in the dark wells of the world for those whose core are as precious as their beauty, they shall adorn the ones who hold my breadth." Then he turned to the numena of architect and promised that they nor that which held their touch will ever be undone until the ends of time. So they were blessed but thereafter they would hammer the light of this gift into an egregious and grievous evil.
For they had grown proud of their makings, anger they contrived in their heart that their doings should be buried needlessly for others besides them. Who should be more worthy of such magnificence except those who created them? The lechery for their treasure hordes grew along with envy and malice for those who were deemed greater in measure than them and wrath against the one that denied them their right. They tombed themselves in their Acedian halls cloaked with the darkest of veils, away from the purity and glory of heaven.
Here they gathered in ill council, the greatest of them that they may decide the best way to reclaim that which they now bred pride and brooded greed over like a jar with no harmony, only cacophonous sounds, righteousness abandoned them. As did good reason also and in their self-conceit they declared themselves wiser and more powerful than the white king. From the threads of belief that they were the true inspiration for beauty they wove a grim mantle about them though they knew not. Dark things were gathered and in them they devised to bring forth a light of their own, another breadth to oppose the white and from the corruption fire was born with flames of many colors but wild and malignant. But for all their mastery and will they could not give them form and so the iron hammers were melted to form molds or armors as they were later named and the fire beings filled them and burned them, blackening the silver lustre into terrible forms of flames and shadows. Legions upon legions were created such that the doors of the Acediac (The forsaken halls) were forced open. That you should conceive the vastness of these halls and that you should know of their numbers it is said there is no other expanse in the universe that can rival the Acediac except heaven itself. Thus came to be the fire demons before the waking of man.
When they marched upon heaven it is said no other sound had ever echoed in all the worlds, had the angels knew fear they would have coward before it. Marched they did but their path bore no end, for the way to heaven's gates became lost to the Hammer lords, the knowledge was now irretrievable in the discord they had wroth in their minds, forgotten when divinity had passed from them. Their demon spawns became restless, unruly, disobedient to their now weaken masters and in their great disharmony and confusion chaos was born.
The walls of the mundane was rent asunder and a devastating light rose from it, a majesty over all, if the clamor of the demon march was great the voice that befell them was much greater and terrible, then fire knew master, chaos knew order and all knew fear, true fear. The white king had come forth and he spoke: "Know that its from me all life came and from me so too will come their end and there is naught that is, without my decree for it to be." Like a vacuum in the void the Acediac drew a deep breadth and reclaimed all that was spawned and unleashed from its forges. The fire demons were drawn back into its mighty halls choked and disheveled. Their fire grew feigned and was belched from their depraved forms then fortified by the powers of their screams until it danced among them as a raving torment, a harrowing keep now known as Hell.
Shame was the mantle the Hammer giants had spun and they prostrated themselves before the white king, chastened for the mischief they had done. So the power of creation was stripped from them, runes of providence became a curse that they shall wonder until the end of time in contention and naught shall ever more come from them but their treacherous raucous to remind the heedless of the power of their god.
That's what they told me, that sometimes they would still bandy themselves together in tempestuous thunder darkening the skies with their gargantuan forms, to find heaven's gate but the angels would come to disperse them and battle would be joined. Though their silver armor cannot be undone nor they themselves, they are no match for an angel's lightening spear. Upon the cloudy fields of their utter defeat, they would weep for their treasures afar, for the grace they once had and for the misery they have become and their tears are as pure as the sky's awning which would drip heavily from its makers' immortal grief bearing the gift of life though they who shed it do not know it as it was long lost in the discord of their minds.
Another thunder clap echoed within me and enliven a morbid thought, should they one day remember the gate to earth can the angels stop them from descending upon us with their wrath? After all demons have found the way...how else have they come to be amongst us?!