The dark angel’s voice narrated this part of the tale as we saw a spark of light encased in an embryo.
“This is me, at my conception. Abstractly nice gentle erudite luminous incandescent colorful sperm and abstractly nice gentle erudite luminous incandescent colorful egg. The first voice I heard was my father singing in Latin, tbe contemporary language in Chronistica, the high place in the fourth dimension, during the second month of 1280 A.D. The fourth dimension is based on time and space. We are abstractly nice gentle erudite lurkers.”
We heard the baritone abstractly nice gentle erudite luminous incandescent colorful voice of his father singing in Latin. The dark angel then showed us his father, a great angel with short brown hair, electric blue eyes, milky white skin, and… no wings singing. Apparently some angels had no wings. Who would have thought?
“He was the first sight I saw. I knew that I came from great stock. I also discovered another thing…. I am not gay,” the dark angel spoke.
The dark angel then showed us a light so bright that we needed sunglasses to endure it.
“The twenty-second day of the ninth month of 1280 A.D. THE TIME OF MY TRUE BIRTH!” the dark angel shouted. “I was ready.”
Then the baby flew out of his mother’s womb screaming as though he were an ancestor of George, George of the Jungle.
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” the baby screamed as he flew out of the womb. He was bathed in gold and had small white wings. He then sang in Latin.
All of the angels in Chronistica sang to celebrate his birth. The gears of clocks were turning, twisting, and floating everywhere. One of the gears was even descending into the rusty bronze metallic floor.
Tug, the great basenji howled in harmony.
“Thank you!” the baby said as he floated next to a turning gear.
“We will call thee, Makolai III,” the baby’s father spoke in an authoritative voice.
“We will call thee, Makolai III,” all of the angels of Chronistica sang. The voice of a young blonde angel with a petite facial structure and the same electric blue eyes as the baby’s father stood out among all voices. He had no wings, either.
“He is my brother, Constantine,” the dark angel spoke. “He mostly honors me.”
Constantine then surfed on a cloud, sort of like a child using a skateboard, to the cherub and kissed his forehead. “You honor me, great brother. We will fly together always.”
The baby sang to his brother in Latin.
The dark angel had tears in his eyes as he relived this moment.
The dark angel then showed us the events of a few months after the baby’s birth.
“1281, the year of Kubla Khan, the asshole that burned Taoist texts. Why? Because he is an asshoooooollllleeeee!!!” the dark angel sang. “He neutered Daozang. A side note, he was the grandson of Ghenkis.”
“Castration was popular even then,” I said.
“Absolutely,” the dark angel spoke.
A black muscular goatman then walked up to Kubla Khan and bleated the famous poem to him. That goatman must have been Baaaahlah Barnes, the same goat who was in the Society of Animals with us in the 2020s.
An English prince wearing a gold crown translated the famous poem into Middle English. He was six feet tall, had a muscular medium build, mousy short brown hair parted in the middle, and slate eyes that contrasted with his milky skin. He was whiter than bleached, enriched white bread and wore a navy blue suitcoat, black slacks, and gold shoes.
The cheerful hairless erudite reasonable ubiquitous babe and his angelic family sang the poem in an abstractly nice gentle erudite lurking incandescent colorful language. His father’s voice stood out among the rest of them.
“We wanted to bring some form of peace to the land,” the dark angel spoke. “I have always thrived for peace and understanding in future generations.”
“Is that English Prince the same man as Prince Oliver of London?” I asked.
“Yes. He has been an intergalactic time traveler for longer than I can know. Same with Baaaahlah Barnes,” the dark angel said as he bleated Baaaahlah Barnes’s name perfectly.
Baaaahlah Barnes hates when anything mispronounces his name. He has killed animals and people for that crime, and I witnessed a few of these occurrences in 2020.
“It goes to show that you really don’t know people as well as you think,” Peter spoke.
“Correct!” the dark angel shouted before he showed us the next scene.
“The Mongolian invasion of Champa, 1282 A.D. Champa is now Vietnam. Led of course by non-other than asshole Kubla Khan,” the dark angel spoke.
Mongols were riding into Champa a.k.a. Vietnam. A naval fleet also swamped the beaches of Vietnam. History seems to repeat itself.
The cheerful hairless erudite reasonable ubiquitous babe and his family were singing songs of protest and peace. The music sounded eerily similar to the music inspired by the hippies in late 1960. Angelstock was happening.
“Peace and love and Our Lord are all we need,” the cheerful hairless erudite reasonable ubiquitous babe sang. The dark angel sang with his former self.
“War is never the answer,” his father sang. He wore a halo over his head, a white suitcoat, off-white slacks, and golden shoes.
“We need the Lord!!! Oh Lord oh Lord! Please heal the Champa. Please heal the Mongols. Show them the way, oh Lord,” a blonde angel with white wings, blue eyes, and white milky skin sang. She wore a white robe and a halo.
“Oh Lord please protect them from their own avarice!!!!” the angels sang.
Tug howled in harmony with the angels.
“We sang these songs to our Lord for five years,” the dark angel said to us.
“Who won?” Godiva asked.
“No one. No one ever wins war, but the Champa swore fealty to the Mongols to keep peace,” the dark angel answered.
The dark angel showed us more wars and more angels singing. This was his early life. Then he showed us the Black Plague.
“Now this is where my life changes to the point of no return,” the dark angel spoke as he and Tug sang a song of sorrow in angelic language.