As it is said in the Bible, and as mentioned in the Holy Qur'an and the Torah, and as the Prophet of the Arabs, Muhammad (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him), said: the father of mankind was born on a Friday. On that same day, he entered Paradise, and on that same day, he was cast out of it. Yet there was a creature before him—beloved, devout, God-fearing, and sincere in worship.
Known by many names, he bore one name in a layer of heaven, but in the seventh heaven, near Paradise and Hell, he was called Azazel. His story is mentioned in all religions, but if you seek the truest source, untouched by distortion or falsehood, then look to the Holy Qur'an and the Sunnah.
This is only a faint prelude to what is yet to come, in this novel that will carry you on a journey without beginning or end. I assure you, you will lose yourself somewhere within it screaming at times, cursing at others trying to grasp its truth.
But tell me, dear reader, how is it that your miserable life could not find answers within itself, yet you place your hopes in a novel made of nothing more than thoughts gathered together, armed like an invading army to storm human minds, planting twisted ideas within them like a cancer that blinds them from the divine truth upon which the universe was created?
Do not blame me for this. Blame yourself. You were the one who opened the gates to these ideas, welcomed them with flowers and music, and some among you even paid for an imaginary wedding feast. Yet the end of it all is but a brief ride upon people's shoulders, only to be cast aside like garbage beneath the dust. From dust to dust, as it is said in both the Holy Qur'an and the Bible.
And now, I will stop here and step directly into the story that may change the way you see the world people fight over so desperately.
One man killed his neighbor for a plasma television. One woman betrayed her husband with his friend for a sports car and jewelry. I pity those who lost a friend or a spouse, and those who abandoned their principles for the worthless glitter of this world things they will never carry with them when death finally comes.
Thunder crashes against the fragile human ego from the heavens above, while rain pours down in torrents. It is as though the universe itself weeps for humanity and what it has become.
A darkness blacker than pitch has swallowed a forest already drowned in shadow—like the hearts of some among us.
The eyes of the woods are blind. Its heart has been torn out completely and hurled into a black hole.
Nearby stands a well, built like some ancient shrine. Around it circle three dogs with crimson heads, burning like the flames of Hell itself.
They bark without pause, watching something that draws nearer.
A flood unseen by human eyes approaches... closer... closer still.
Look behind you.
It is behind you.
What is that?
No... it is too early for you to know.
Just leave the light on.
It is getting worse.
Moments later, amid the barking, a shining light appears within the forest—then suddenly vanishes.
Red eyes flare open in the darkness.
Disappear.
Then return again.
And again.
Until at last, you see them staring straight into your own eyes.
He is coming for you.
Please... do not stop.
I do not want to die.
But you are already dead, aren't you?
A conversation unfolds between spirits or perhaps ghosts in the depths of the forest. Harsh words, yet they reflect what we become once we drink from the cup of life itself.
But the true question is this:
Are you ready for it?
The dogs suddenly fall silent.
They crouch low to the ground in humiliation and terror.
For something now stands before them.
Who is it?
Do you see?
And why is he here?