Myth of the Dark Archangel Armaros (in three parts)

Myth of the:
Dark Archangel Armaros


Part 1

Once Children of Heaven






Nightshade

In the stir-less night
Of nights that have no seams
Rooted in death, it seems
Down a narrow spiral path
They rattle like rattlesnakes—
Buzz like dozens of blundering flies
Monstrous thoughts within their heads:
They crawl and howl, like:
Snakes, dogs, rats and bulls:
And sore like hawks, ghouls and eagles.
Half-ignorant vile and rival Rephaim!
(Demonic giants of old)
Splashing and dancing,
In their world of grotesqueness
Gnawing and pawing one another
While prancing in the nightshade
(within the Circle of Rephaim
and on Mount Hermon)
As if on parade, until dawn…!

No: 2672/ 4-13-2010 by Dlsiluk


1


The Judgment of Armaros


“By the once children of heaven and its multitude that have since fallen from its first abode, with ten-thousand demons, imps and ghouls born since from the abyss in the crust of the earth, and to the great archangels now on the summit of Hermon, everyone among us, by this curse I pledge you, and by the tail and horns of the ten-winged Beast, Lucifer, I pledge to you I with you will bring Armaros to his knees.” Then said Semyaz the main leader among leaders of the Watchers (among them—once a renowned holy archangel among the great Watchers of earth), as he opened the ancient Book of Curses, on the table beside him, drinking the vile blood of Agaliarept, the Henchman of Hell in a wooden cup, taking in a deep breath: “Something will have to be done to our mad brother in arms, this nuisance among us, Armaros. I have now learned beyond any reasonable doubt, he has gone to Enoch—the profit of God, for the very purpose to give him proof of our descending to earth, an our connection with us revealing eternal secrets and performing them, and taking unto ourselves wives among the daughters of the people on earth, that we have defiled ourselves. He is a betrayer among us two-hundred, he has broken the great pledge among us, to be one with us, and for one and all, but has a hidden agenda, to save himself from our group whom we are more ancient than the demons and this ancient world; and this very evening, a moment ago, he has readied himself to hide within the caves and crevasse of the moon, and hopes a return journey to the gates of heaven. There is no time for a trial, there is only one way to deal with this, and to avoid inconvenience of this trial, this crime must be administrated to Armaros before he leaves this earth for the journey beyond its atmosphere, and who’s to say, or not to say where he will hide, I predict it will be the Asteroid Ice-cap, or Cibara, the moon alongside the planet Moiromma, hidden within this interplanetary sphere?”

Azaz’el of the Watchers


Azaz’el, Semyaz, Arakeb, Tam’el, Ram’el—and many others of the two-hundred Watchers, were not surprised, nor horrified, by Armaros breaking of his oath, and cannily behavior, that the Bishop of the unholy group, Semyaz said, it was within his unconventional nature to betray, not only God, but Lucifer himself, so to betray the Bishop of the Watchers, thus, to be surprised at anything of this nature was inconsequential. They had all known him before he was an archangel, but rather a Power, among the angelic forces, one who straightened things out, and he had told the Most High, he had dreamt of becoming an Archangel, during the next phase of his existence, that was this phase, but after ten-thousand years away from heaven he got bored and joined the group, made his oath to stick together, to descend to earth with them. And it was in his nature to do as he did; he was always troubled to keep a secret at the point of avoiding self-interest.


Lucifer



“We all understand,” said Azaz’el, to Semyaz, “we are at your service; you can depend upon us, that your curse will be administrated upon our brother, and he will not reach the orbit of the planet, Moiromma, save he is not already there.”
“There is little time to overtaken him,” said Semyaz.
“Of course, he knows all of us,” said Azaz’el.
“That can be taken care of easily,” said Semyaz, “not the major problem.” And Azaz’el smiled confidentially.
“Then we leave the affair in your hands, await your orders, and your curse let it be everlasting,” said Azaz’el, adding, “With you having at your disposal, Lucifer, himself, the demonic world, and us, you should be in no great danger from this betrayer and extremist. We live here among the earth beings as gods, in piety, and among us we have this private understanding with Lucifer, and his many, and Agaliarept, and his many, said Azaz’el, “we are available post-haste on binding him in iron chains and burying him under cursed rocks at the great site called “The Circle of Og,” also known as the Refaim Circle, we will overtake him immediately, just give us your plan.”
Said Tam’el, “I must be getting feeble, I admit, this never occurred to me, not to have suspected him of this treachery. All though I am not horror-stricken, do you not think the Most High does not see what is going on down here? You blame Armaros, for wanting to gain back his old stead, and squander our time, do you not think he is already cursed by having to live in fright of God’s calamity—forth coming, he thinks he can get into God’s grace, when we all know, we are doomed. God does not look through a keyhole to see this subterranean planet beneath him, my suggestion is, let him alone, let him hide on the asteroid, or the moon or even Moiromma itself, while we feast on earth, he will inherit the same doom, we all will inherit, no one wants him back in heaven, nor does any of us want him back in our playground.”



The Planets (Moiromma, Ice Cap and Cibara)



“Wisely thought out,” said Arakeb, “leave the Book of Curses, which has the oldest and most vile torments contained in it for the ungodly men on earth to use against the Godly men. As you know, I have put a curse into the skins of the cow leather of this book. We also said to one another we would not fight amongst a brother, so we are about to break a rule, perhaps not an oath.”
Vii, a demonic being, took and carried the Book of Curses away, under the orders of Arakeb; Vii, who is and was, and remains addicted to the Black Arts, and teaches them among the inhabitants of earth, the keeper of the book. It was written in an old tongue long forgotten on the planet, older than Vii, of ten-thousand years, in this year of 500, before the Great Flood, it was of a script used on the planet of Moiromma during those old days, a planet outside of Earth’s solar system. Only those of this ancient type plant would be able to read it, other than Vii and the unholy archangels.
There was now this long, very long interlude of silence, and one looked upon the other in a grim and grizzled and snarling way, with blazing eyes, and tightened lips that burned deep into the creases of their faces—both cadaverous faces, they all wanted as much time to rule on earth, and earth, as they possible— before their judgment came; although, if one of them needed to be cruel to another, one of their own kind, none were mercer to their own kind, than to humankind, it was out of self-interest, Arakeb spoke nothing else, “It is deplorable what this brother has done,” said Arakeb, “yet I speak of no revenge, for Aromas is equal if not stronger than many of us, and rest assure, there is no holiness left in him, but it is most probable he will—at some given time, want to come back to earth, if indeed we are still on earth, but we serve one another, or Lucifer, not him, and he will be between God and us, neither God wanting him, or us allowing him into our group, he will be the new Cain, if he walks the earth. He now will walk in blindness; he is worse off than he was before. If he leaves, we need not evict him, if he stays, we can bring him to trial, and have fun with him, and play games. If that occurs I shall be doubly heedful and wicked; I assure you, he will find nothing but unkindness to tell to his second mind, for he will have no one else to tell it to.”


2

The Great Circle of Og



Armaros, the Black Archangel


The many thoughts that were circling throughout the mind of Armaros, were taxing, if not troublesome, as he thought of leaving the beautiful earth for the cold planet Moiromma, where there was no tranquility, or beauty other than mountains of ice and caves what were nothing scenic at all, just holes in the planet, or alongside of mountains, no forests, or warm landscapes, or beautiful women to sleep with. Terror was gripping his heart, his throat, like a python squeezing his ribs, knotting his muscles, although and through, there was no sorcery in play, there need not have been, just him knowing everyone of his comrades knew of his dirty deeds, was enough. It was like a huge hot anvil weighting against his heart, on top of his brain, burning beneath its fleshly layers, throughout his marrow of his bones, yes, they were now of flesh and blood and bone and spirit, all of the above, and all of the below. He knew the Bishop of the Watchers, had put out a warning and was about to put out a warrant —‘If spotted, let us know where the betrayer is, so we can bring him into the arms of torment!”
Armaros, had learned all there was to learn about the plot against him, and shame and terror they planned for him, if captured, because he now refused to be exiled to Ice-cap, or Cibara, or Moiromma; consequently, he headed during the meantime, for the Circle of Raphaim (in what would be in latter days, the area around Syria and Israel, known as the Golan Heights).
There was only one alternative, and that was to find the prelate of the Circle of Og (also known as the Circle of Raphaim, or Circle of the Giants), was King Og himself (some thirteen feet tall, regarded as a Raphaim, in Hebrew, for giant), the son of who was over three-thousand years old, the circle was made to honor him, and a shrine to the giants of the previous great war, 400,000-had died in the war, and 8,000-were of the great king’s clan. He had influence among the Watchers, among everyone, and although half human and half supernatural, they all listened to him, and perhaps would side with him, to be allowed to be brought back into the unholy Watchers good graces. King Og, giant of the Amorites (Fathered by one of the Great Watchers). And there he picked lived among the Great Circle, that consisted of five great astronomical circles or rings, seven feet high, 159- meters diameter, and 42,000 tons of stones, known as the, Gilgal (or the circle).
Here he found some peace to his uncommitted soul, and from that time on, the world had become more corrupted by the day, everywhere, and the dark and evil of Lucifer and his henchmen circled the earth, while Armaros lived in violation of the two-hundred at the Great Circle, under the protection of Og.
As he live on, he walked about with bear feet, no sandals, or comforting things, no women were allowed to visit him, he was dogged to resist his kind, and they would not violated the sanity of the circle, it was a shrine to the dead, their dead, the giants sons and daughters they gave birth to. Nor would verbal intimidation provoke Armaros to leave his sanctuary. He was, or had become the Gargoyle of the Circle of Gilgal, the mascot, you might say, in time. There he lived in the oblique rays of the sun over head, so hot it would kill a pure human being. Nevertheless, he lived there, like a bird with a broken wing, in a rocky nest. As nights passed from one to another, his thoughts were of Semyaz, and Azaz’el, and King Og, and Vii, and Agaliarept, all appearing night after night to him as wide and tall as the circle itself, above him, extraordinary his antagonist, enemy, rivals.

3

The Great Vaults of Og


King Og

“They are coming for you,” said Og to Armaros. “Their hate for you is more potent than I had imagined,” he remarked. “It may be to your good fortune, I have, beneath these rocks, a vault, wherein I have not peered for a thousand years, you are welcome to hide in there indefinitely, for I can only see a scene of infernal terror and lethalness here within the upper circle. I can feel at this very moment the fumes of the unholy mingling together to put you into a sulphurous vapor to dissolve you into a slippery bondable horror, and demon Vii to store you someplace in the pits of hell, in some glass tube, as liquid until the end of days.”
Recalling them—his old companions, again he trembled and shuttered at the thought of being found by his kind, mad-angelic horror, and desecrated demonic hideous foulness and terror, it all circled his cerebellum, and the sorcerers of Lucifer, how agonizing potent they could be, all immortal and diabolical beings, an evil prelude to an everlasting demise, it would be worse than living in a vault, thus he dared to scream aloud, threatened the integrity of the sanctuary, the shrine, uneasily, Og said, “They are coming, and your blasphemous presence, is contaminating this area. Yet I will help you.”
At this juncture, Armaros had stepped down onto the first steps that lead to the underground vaults and corridors, not a bit untimely, for the horrendous quickness of Semyaz, Agaliarept, and Azaz’el were at the first of the five rings, heading for the centre, where there was a domain, which looked like a pile of rocks, some forty-feet high.
“You will have to remain down there for years,” said Og, “for I do not possess a way for your return, I hope you are not regretful!” And Og, kicked a latch, and several tons of earth filled the top of the hole, to its bottom, some 1800-feet below.
Armaros, proceed to walk through the corridors and visit the many vaults, within this maze, in a monastic manner, fully at ease for once.

And so the legend goes, neither then nor now, beyond the eyes of Og has anyone seen or sighted Armaros, nor does anyone know if he still lives within those vaults of the Great Circle of Giants, also called the Refaim Circle—to this very day.



Part 2

Beyond the Vaults


The Imps

1

The Stairway


(400-hundred years before the Great Flood) Armaros, beside him and below him was the deep well, it dropped down boundless it seemed, and there he stood by the winding staircase. And as he stared down into its blackness, it appeared to Armaros, that the end of this well that he stared into, perhaps even went deeper—a bottomless well beyond the crust of the earth, perhaps to the core, which’s to say, he thought. A hundred years in the vaults, where blackness resided at ever threshold, and at times elusive to where he was, and the intensity of being alone, all alone, devil or demon or anything living, should not be alone, but this was a self imposed prison, stretched across an ungrounded world, a maze, barring entry to man and beast and even to his kind, the angelic forces, once the children of God.
Yet form the well came the sound of warfare, and he heard shouts of agony and torture, thus Armaros, plunging down the stairway, deep into the threshold, breaking parts of the stairway that held it together as he hurriedly reducing the steps by leaps, ten at a time, going into the thick dark veil of the deep. He was blind within this dark, and creatures seemed to be grabbing on to his flesh, clawing at it, and as he looked down after two days of dropping, his sight was restored to light, as everything behind him now was dark.

He found himself in a room, and he rested in a corner, feeling shattered and exhausted. Priceless was this though, perhaps a new era for him. As he looked about, the room as big as coliseum, he saw swords smeared with blood, and not a tree or brick, or piece of furniture, or rock, everything level and flat, but there was a clean order entering the area, mixed with sweat and blood, an order liked to perfume, flowers, and as he walked to the other end of this plateau, seeing at the other end there were many cave entrenches, as there was many above the lower ones, and many above the second row, making for a third row, he stared to see corpses here and there—one that even moved slightly, his throat cut, and his arm desperately trying to reach his throat, as if to analyze the damage. And a short figure of a being came out, of who knows were, he was just there, he was called Yecho; Armaros figured him to be an imp of some kind, a long think nose, and oblong head, jelly-ling torso, having only four fingers and three toes, a rippled chin, and face, large rimed eyes, with watermelon seeds for, iris, and a long thin tail, and as he approached, the three rows, upper tiers, filled with a thousand or more creatures like him, but many with no hands, he would find out they were the female species, naked as a jaybird. And he just started swinging his sword down strokes and side strokes, that would have decapitated him had he landed the sword on his shoulder and endeavor to regain his feet after he fell, slipped on a dead corpse.
In consequence, Armaros, moved with lightning speed, no sword in hand, just swift as a hawk of movement, and kicked the sword from the hands of Yecho, and Yecho fell once again hard onto the corpse behind him, and the giant Armaros, some nine feet tall, clutched this little imp of no more than four feet, by his wrist, and screamed in a wordless rage to the echoing arena, “You can’t kill me!” Ignoring the dead and Yecho, addressing the thousand or so observing. And so, Yecho gave a nod, as if to say, okay, you won, giving him ground, he could not deal with Armaros deadly speed. Had Armaros wished he could have squeezed and burst every bone in Yecho’s head, and body. And at one time he would have, but a hundred-years alone, made a difference, he needed friends, not enemies.
“Look out, angelic warrior,” said Yecho, “we are many, you are one!”
“I need no more living enemies,” cried Armaros, unarmed. He looked about, and felt a cold, very cold jolt edge up his spine, if he wanted to make friends; this was the time to do it.
His body was worn and pale, twisted and wrapped in hideous looking wounds, but all could see his great muscles surge during the fight. His strength, and the horror he could cause with his strength, impressed many.
“You know who I am,” said Armaros.




Agaliarept, Henchman of Hell


“Oh yes, we know also that Agaliarept, the Henchman of is your friend, and our enemy,” said Yecho.
“Used to be my friend, past tense,” remarked Armaros.
As he looked at the tiers, the crowd roared, and grunted, lifted up weapons, slobbered spit and slime, “Let him be our friend!” they yelled, and Keveq the Imp, a priest came forward, “Yes, yes, let him be, and if he can chain Agaliarept, let him lead us, he, I think has more strength that Agaliarept, all Archangels do.”
Armaros moved forward like a cat, hesitated, “Where is his domain?” He didn’t realize it might be nearby.
“Let me give you an indefinable warning, he is a monster that warps his arms around you, and as he does this, they grow like pythons, to anacondas, in strength, in squeezing intensity, and in length and bulk, he is our antagonist, he kills a hundred of us for sport every year, as if we were his little bulls. And so we practice in this arena with one another to train ourselves to one day beat him, fruitlessly of course.”





Yeil, daughter to Keveq



“What madness is this?” he murmured. And then became much tied. Keveq, ordered dead fried rat, and skinned boiled worms—for Armaros to gain his strength (a delicacy for this underworld species), and he ordered Yeil to comfort him to be available to talk to him whenever he wised to talk, and he had Yecho, bring him water, and there in the middle of the arena they built a tent, and laid him on a grass rug. But of course, all this had subtle evil within it, and the Black Archangel, slept for three days and three nights. And Yeil remained by his side, listened to his great nostrils tiredly making great sounds, and his hoarse breathing made the tent tremble—like a crushed tomb out in the high seas, and Yeil, noticed he had no shadow, and knew he was for sure the doomed angels, she had been told, all Black Archangels lose their shadows, they are the worse of the worse, but he didn’t seem so, and made her smell sweet, among his mucky smell, reminiscent to dead things
And the imps, outside of the great tent, ate the rotting carcasses. In the following weeks they smothered him with gifts, and wiped the hundred-year stench from his body, grinning harshly knowing what they want of him, vainly, this time, he’d do it willing. And his weakness lifted.


2

The Arena


The little imp, Keveq, shook his head, up and down—glancing at Armaros’ muscular body and size, and had three imps bring forth a great sword, of two-hundred pounds, and gave it to the great and evil betrayer of his own kind, Armaros, dropped it beside him, it was too heavy for them to do otherwise, then brought forth a large wooden cup of wine, blazing red, and said, “Kill him! He comes today!”
“You don’t kill demon, you bind them,” said Armaros. “And should the Devil Belphegor, come along with him, you must dominate him, with all your forces, until I weaken Agaliarept at least, then I can take on Belphegor. But I fear I can’t take them both on at one time. Keveq, looked down emotionally to his feet, hoarsely said, “Leave it to me,” at that moment, Yecho, with several other imps, carried a chain twenty feet long, weighting a thousand pounds, “Will this do to bind those two?” he asked.
Armaros, picking up his sword, made a quick gesture, indicating ‘yes.’ Armaros held the sword to his lips, kissed the blade, drank deeply the rest of his wine, “Where are they?” he asked.
“I have plotted against him, telling him, we had our one-hundred imps awaiting his slaughter, there will only be the two, had I not visited him on he would have brought many more of his kind, all desire to see the slaughter, but once he’s in chains, they will leave alone for a thousand years.
“My strength drains fast,” said Armaros “bring me more wine.” And Yeil, who remained at his side, did as he asked.
“The power of evil brings him here,” said Armaros, “and it is the powers of evil that will dominate him, and the dark lust in my heart, for he was one that overthrew me, forced me down into this world. For only a crazed man would come here willingly, hatred has lifted my spirits.


3


The Iron Battle



Demon King, Belphegor



Agaliarept and Belphegor, walked into the arena, first thing they caught sight of Armaros, said Agaliarept, “Armaros what a surprise, you are true to life! What are you doing here?” his voice somewhat excited to see him.
“The crowd thinks you are going to fight me?” questioned Armaros.
“Am I?” asked Agaliarept.
“You have little choice, if any, to fight and lose, or not fight and still lose, and be chained by me, and forgotten for a thousand years.”
Belphegor stepped back. As Agaliarept feinted swiftly and shot his right fist into the face of Armaros. And you could hear the bones crushing quality in the punch. He had rough and large knuckles, heavy shoulders, and great forearms, but was only six feet tall. Armaros wiggled his jaw, felt it, “A good shot,” he murmured. The impact of the blow was plainly heard throughout the arena, and Belphegor was gloating. Then with a intake of breath, and a leap and jump in the air, when he landed back on his feet, Armaros’ long and thick talons, sank deep into the back shoulders of Agaliarept as if he was a bull, and he swayed drunkenly, but he remained on his feet.
He had the head of a horse, and horns of a bull, and talons as long as Armaros, but was not as swift as Armaros—this was a flashing red light for Agaliarept, that came instantly to him, he had always failed to realize this with angelic beings, but knew Armaros was dangerous. Agaliarept swung a wild left, high near the ear of Armaros, but he went down, and the crowd rose, fearful he might not get back up. He was dazed, but he quickly regained his posture. Now a tinge blinded and dizzy, Agaliarept threw another punch and missed, now Armaros, had regained all his senses, and with both hands circling around him like a hawk, likened to a mind-sweeper, he kicked and punched relentlessly, until he dropped Agaliarept senselessly to his knees.


Agaliarept Chained in the Vaults of the
Underworld



The crowd went crazy, and Keveq said to Yecho, “Did you see that,” then turned to Belphegor, saying, “It is best you leave, we don’t want you, if you stay you’ll face 1000-of us, and Armaros. And he left like a natural born demon freak, and Armaros handed Agaliarept over to Keveq, and was crowned that very day, King.



Part 3

The Tumulus
((Part three to: Forsaken Gods) (The Dark Archangel, Armaros))




1

The Tumulus


The following narrative takes place among the great stones of Rujm-el Hiri (otherwise known as the: Gigal Refaim; Circle of Raphiam; the Wheel of the Giants, in: Hebrew; and Stone Heap of the Wildcat, in: Arabic; also, the tomb of Og, giant king from before the Great Flood in the book: Deuteronomy: chapter: 11); location, in the Golan Heights of Israel, by the Syrian boarder.) In July of 2010, I went to the Circle of Refaim; I am somewhat of a tourist-archeologist, enthusiast you might say, who has traveled throughout the world, in this visit, it was to investigate the unaccountable disappearance of one of the Watchers, a particular one; whereat, during the period before the Great Flood, this one Dark Archangel, known as Armaros took upon himself to be self exiled. This of course I’d find out later, and would write about it in a two part story called “Forsaken Gods,” this now being the third part to that story, and the part I left out until now which concerns me, and my Peruvian wife Rosa.

It was my first trip to this sight, and I took some measurements, the sheer size of the place was enormous, I had no intentions to stay longer than an hour, yet during that hour, curiosity ignited in me like a bonfire. I had learned the stone circles were in part, an offering—put in place, to give thanks to the gods and entities of that day, some 6000-years ago, or 4000 BC, all the way up to 1000 BC, which was 500-years beyond the time of King Og, and Goliath, being one of the last giants of that era, around 1100 BC; the time the second war of the Giants took place was around 1500 BC, led by Joshua (the previous one was before the Great Flood, foretold in the Book of Numbers; King Og, being the last King of the remnant Rephaim). In any case, the circles I had leaned stood for earthen gods and fertility; along with that there were many ceremonies held here in those pagan days I had learned, and noticed there was a positive energy circle that surrounded the site all the way to the surrounding hills. Furthermore, it was a temple site, astronomy site; I had also become aware of the dimensions, it was constructed according to PHI (1.618), the divine proportion (to: art, design, life, beauty, and mathematics...).
A sinister bright-yellow summer’s early afternoon made my visit untimely by an unexpected cloudburst that had filled the plateau region, and in particular, Rujm-el Hiri. The heaps of rocks along the circle were already blurred more than enough to make out anything clearly, and the gloom of the afternoon to be was met with a slight earthquake, everything said we shouldn’t be here. That the old ones, the Shinning Ones, the world underneath the Great Circle, didn’t want us; I had looked the place over well, knew where the main entrance was, the rear entrance, a separating stone showed me where two rooms were, a large one and small one, in the middle of the structure, I saw where once was a tunnel—the tumulus (a large mound of stones, and an entrance under it, different than the many dolmens I had discovered within the circle). This is where we hid from the storm, my wife and a Jewish man by the name of Shmuel, who was our guide.
With my illness I was woefully tired of the journey, I have Multiple Sclerosis, and we had begun the trip at dawn, and my wife Rosa was fanning me every five minutes from the scorching heat, and now the piercing muggy atmosphere. While crammed within this opened site of the tumulus, I now had time to notice the plants that were growing in this particular location, flowers of some odd shape. The energy level here was at 4 MB; I could feel tingling sensations in my fingers and toes, and even my teeth ((MB, equals energy level in Bovis units) (Basic Vibrations))

As this awful storm rapidity took a strong hold within the plateau reign and nearby hills, and the site itself, a grey twilight seemed to hang over us like a mysterious veil, yet it was only afternoon. It was turning into a nightmare chaos, and this confusion drove Shmuel to near desperation wanting to run off and drive us all back to Jerusalem—in our rented car—back to our hotel, at the spur of the moment, this moment. And the longer we stayed, the more he wanted to leave with increasing pitiless strictness. We could now hear all around us—as this storm, turned into a thunder and lightening, and near hurricane winds: the clatter of horse’s hoofs and flashes of illumed Nephilim (the old giants of old) seemed to appear in the far-off distance as I looked through the opening, some kind of forced visions I presume, from the residue of perhaps great battles that once took place in this area.
At this point I did not want to leave this tumulus, I knew now I could not even trace my steps back to the few footpaths we took to get here, feeling sure that had I gone, I would have gone astray, but not caring to retrace my steps in this horn of darkness, with gray to midnight dark clouds, a tempest at hand, God forbid I should go astray. But I told Shmuel to go, and come back later in the evening for us if indeed he cared to. But he said, “I cannot leave you, what would my wife Aviva say should I not comeback without you folks?”
My thinking was “…well-founded,” Shmuel said, and we stepped back into the tumulus deeper for safekeeping. As I dared to step down some stone steps, several steps within the tumulus, everything was—for the most part, indistinguishable against the bulk of the granite stones. Doubtless a grave or temple, and perhaps should we descend even more, into catacombs or vaults, at lower levels—this was my thinking. At about twenty-five feet below, from where we started, a sound suddenly and unexpectedly came, and increased at every foot we went from that step onward and downward, it was loud and echoing, with aftershocks, we all had goose bumps, and were shivering involuntarily, with—out of character, alarm. And there before us was a great hole, deeper than we could see its bottom.
A hooded creature appeared, an imp of some sort, and as he spoke he simple unarmed me with profound curiosity (outside the tumulus the storm continued, we could hear the gusts of rain, and ever-nearing thunder, and lightening lit up the entrance above us somewhat, as if light bent its way around the top of us, down to this hole to let us know, we were still visible).
Said the little imp, “My name is Keveq the Tenth… (and behind him were many eyes peeking upward from the opening of the great hole, one step below each other, for umpteenth steps, Keveq would tell me later there was 4000-thousand of these imps in line to come up and participate in a gathering for the teachings of sacred sciences this evening) it is fortunate (continued the Imp) that you found us now and not later, I cannot be your host, or if you remain here, it will be ill for you and all, hell-brew, if you know what I mean.”


Rosa



Rosa, my wife, looked at me, she knew I was hungry and as well very tired. “Well,” said Keveq the Tenth, “I can offer you some food but I doubt you’d like what we eat.” And I had heard what they ate, from the murmur from the hole, and I said, a little mollified, “I think I’ll pass the offer, but thanks anyhow.”
There was a certain refinement about Keveq, some good breeding emanated from him, and I thought right then and there of the legends and myths of The Great Circle of Giants, “Are you related to the Keveq that dates back to the times of the Black Archangels, and in particular, Armaros?”
I had to say it; no doubt, my expressions gave it away anyhow, if not my curiosity.
“Yes, he was my great grandfather many generations before me,” said Keveq the Tenth. “I am he! And we are of the Armarosion Order.”
“Legend has it; Ur’el the holy archangel came down in the days prior to the Great Flood and buried all the Watchers, under the sand and stones and elsewhere, did Armaros have such a fate? Legend leaves him out somehow, and to my understanding, still in the underworld.”
“In our order, and there now are several orders in the underworld, we do not hold that the spirit is enriched if we tell our sacred secrets, then they’d no longer be secrets, is this not so?” And he went on to say, “If you do want to know, we have a rare library in our underground city, it has taken thousands of years to accumulate the scrolls and books and tablets and so forth, and it also has taken a thousand-years for us to dig out this hole, and make clear and safe this stairway, as it once was. All you have to do is climb down it to find out whatever you are seeking, and you will also find out if Armaros is there, and if so, he will not let you return.” Then all of a sudden three more imps joined us within the upper part of the tumulus, by the names of: Vameb, Mechi, and Shaah (a female imp).
“Not a very appropriate way of saying welcomes to our home, and take all our hospitality at your own risk,” Said Shmuel.
“Without delay,” I said, indicating I wanted to go, but only after the science meeting.
And then Rosa pulled out some beef jerky for me to chew on, and same water. And during the light meal I was having, I quickly discovered my somewhat of a host was a scholar of rare if not unheard of abilities, with an sophistication, a different kind of reality, a cosmic and supernatural reality, unfamiliar to us humans. Now I had emptied my water bottle, and ate my piece of beef, and Rosa was chatting with Shmuel, and Keveq with Mechi, Shaah and Vameb; all turning out to be old familiar friends quickly.

My fatigue had now drifted off, and I was in some rare sense of well-being, perhaps the site itself and its energy source. I had heard this site was good for respiratory illnesses, and it was proving so, I now could breathe much better, less gasping for air. There was a physical comfort united with mental awareness and intensity to my being. So when Keveq, suggested a second time to pay a visit to his library and see if the Black Archangel was still there, I agreed with eagerness. But my wife sternly said, “You got to be kidding, what about me?” And I simply said, “You’re with me, right?”


2


The Underground Library




The Underground World



Here, in the library, were the hidden fragments of Socrates (450 BC), on God and Man, and Plato’s secret papers on Atlantis (400 BC), those never seen before, and the fragments of the 365-books Enoch wrote (200-years before the flood, 4800 BC) wrote while in heaven, and the secret scriptures of Josephus’ (100 AD) and the books saved from the fire at Alexandria, Egypt (396 BC, or thereabouts), and weathered documents once kept in the dry cellars of Timbuktu, and the Manuscripts of the Tiamat, and the Book of Light by Jews and Death by the Egyptians, and I saw books on black magic and white magic, and the Sumerian Kings list, in stone, dating back 241,200 years, and writings on and by the First Dynasty of Kish, and Erech and Ur and Babylon, and an ancient Chinese Text, and sculpted hieroglyphics dating to 1700 BC and beyond, and the secret writings of the Underground Empire ((of Aliens) (which I read: “For within these strange caverns and terrifying tunnels that go throughout South America all the way to and throughout Mongolia and Antarctica, resides here within this text for the safe keeping of taking over the world when the time is right; this is in part, my long lost hidden race, the remaining Black Angels, and the Shinning Ones, and the Reptilian Race, for all the Archangels but Armaros did not escape, yet there are one-hundred and eighty of us left…” written by Armaros.”))
Having read that, is when I stopped, knowing now, he was alive and here within the crust of the earth, or perhaps we might have even been lower than the crust, in some safe pocket. Armaros evidently believed he belonged to the angelic brothers he had once left, and betrayed, and perhaps won back their devotion. Although they were not archangels, but Powers, so I had unlocked the mystery I had sought after.


Worlds of the Draconian Race



I had forgotten to look after a week of reading, the dimensions of the library and now I had, it had an iron door, twenty-feet high, and the ceiling was twenty-feet higher, truly an enormous amount of man power it took to build this library, as it did for the Circle of Rephaim. Especially in a world that their major concern was survival for the imp race, yet, the shelves were overcrowded with books, one in particular on the “Dragon Race,” and the race of the Archangels before Earth, also known as the “Draconian” actually it was the human race all over again, being watched over by the Watchers of that day, and the Draconian Race, before the Earth, 40-million BC. This book was most interesting: although more on the reptilian race than the angelic, who also lived in Sumer, this race lived within three levels of existence: hyperspace, astral, and physical: and at three differed levels of awareness: conscious, subconscious, and super-conscious. Part of this race was winged reptilians (4-million BC). And then I stopped reading, and heard: a voice, as I gazed with mingled awe and curiosity at this tall being now standing in front of me and my wife to my side.
“These are unheard of treasures,” he suggested. I thought it was better not to speak, and what would I have ask him anyhow, it was Armaros, he crossed his arms, crisscross, across his chest, like the Egyptians do, as he spoke and his voice was no longer mellow, “You can’t stay here,” he said.
“Why,” I asked, a bit melancholy, with a troubled expression on my face, wanting to know more about everything, thinking this was going to be our new home.
“You bring a curse with you,” he said, “It is an evil spell to me.” He implied. He took the volume from my hand ‘The Draconian Race,’ and said: “You don’t understand, how can such things be, you are a sanctified Christian, I am an outcast to the Most Highest, and how can there not be any danger in you being here for me? There are things beyond your understandings. The evil of Lucifer himself would befall me if I left you stay here, and consider me a devious plot, as I did many years ago to my compadres, he is the only one of the angelic forces that know where I am, other than those that have joined me from those far-off days, also renegades. I do not even dare to slay you, lest I face a dreamless existence wondering if the Almighty will come down and have someone put a heel under me. Thus, all these manuscripts are forbidden for you to read, what you have learned is very little…”

When Rosa and I awoke, we were resting in our beds in Jerusalem in our four-star hotel, with a golden sun melting through the window glass of our room. It was like we had vanished from the underworld, on a cloud. I jumped out of bed, walked to the window, there it was, the world at large, the rain was gone, and all was beautiful, and I asked Rosa, “Should we rejoin our tour from Peru, today?” She was already up. “Sure she said, Father Manuel was looking forward to going to…?” and she had forgotten where. But charming as it was, my feet was very sore, and we went down and had breakfast, and joined the other thirty-eight other guests, and Father Manuel.


Note: part one and two, to the story “Forsaken Gods” were written on: 6-11-2010/No. 621; and part three, written 6-21-2010.