No more than a few minutes passed in reflection as I contemplated my situation. I felt disgusted by what was happening, but after truly thinking it over, that feeling of disgust seemed ridiculous. I am human and will remain so no matter how much I change. How my existence changes won't truly alter who I am, so it's absurd to think I will stop being human.
I sighed and pulled myself together. After all, thinking about that isn't relevant. My senses extended through the machine room in my basement: metal scattered across the floor, cables connecting everything like a web, decorating the space, and the computers humming in a chorus no human could distinguish. Joy was noticeable in the brief, almost imperceptible flashes of energy. My mind cleared of mundane thoughts as my soul connected with the machinery.
The machines intensified their synthetic chorus as reality began to shift under concepts impossible to define. The chorus grew stronger and more fluid in a place where their existence was reinforced by will.
My eyes opened and I gazed at the incipient machine spirits that inhabited my computers. I paused for a moment to consider what I was about to do.
As I mentioned before, creating a demon is rather deficient in my current state, but power wasn't what I sought for these beings I was about to create. No, not beings—these extensions of my will.
The machine spirits awaited my command through the metaphysical link that bound them to me, like pets waiting for a reaction from their master.
In a sense, their devotion to a being capable of understanding them was admirable. But the time for admiration had to end—greater tasks lay ahead.
With a single command, the machine spirits were thrown into ecstasy, and their true incorporeal forms began to take shape in this strange place. The metal and circuits were stripped from their ghostly forms.
Many fragments of light swirled around me—though most were smaller than a grain of sand, three small fragments matched the size of a human eye.
"These will do," I said as I tore a piece from my own existence. The power, though like a single drop in an endless ocean, was still felt at the edges of my being.
The small piece of my essence changed the lights' forms, fusing with them to create something new. Concepts stained the lights. The closest one to me took the color of the sky of this world, as if representing my own presence. The next was bathed in the wisdom of all that my being could encompass, while the last was dyed with blood and the end of everything I could name.
While the larger lights were shaped with a delicacy beyond comprehension, the remaining ones were refined—the color composing them replaced by a cold, indifferent silver.
Now that the souls of the creatures had been created, they needed bodies to inhabit.
The metal and circuits that once made up their forms were twisted beyond what any mortal could conceive. The metal adopted impossible shapes, and flesh emerged where it should not have been possible.
Metal, flesh, and magic fused to bring forth what had not existed before. The first orb was adorned with cold and distant metal, a man's body as tall as mountains, a faceless face—mortals did not need to know what it was. Wings of flesh and mechanisms propelled its impossible form. In its hands, it held a massive tablet made of the same metal as its body, etched with countless geometric engravings impossible to fully comprehend.
The second orb took the form of a small child. Its height was diminutive, and its innocent face overflowed with wisdom beyond imagination. In its hands, it held a book containing all the knowledge that could ever exist. Its white wings extended beneath the electronic mechanisms that composed them.
The third orb was a grown woman, with hair white as the moon and lips red as the blood of a fresh wound. Her eyes, made of metal, reflected nothing. Unlike her siblings, she bore two black wings without mechanical components. She held a massive scythe that never ceased to bleed, gripped by her delicate yet firm hands.
The remaining lights took on human forms—bodies of metal and flesh combined in such perfect synchrony that it seemed impossible. Each had a different, yet similar, face.
He looked upon his creations, and they knelt before their creator.
With a voice filled with the power of his soul—his very existence—he named them.
"You, who has no face but carries my presence, shall be called Metatron," the being trembled as its existence gained purpose under a name given by its god.
"You, who guards knowledge, shall be named Uriel," the child bowed as his small form was lit by the only knowledge he had not known: his name.
"You, who guards mortal souls after their end, shall be called Azrael," the woman bowed as the veil of darkness and compassion covered her under God's command.
And thus, the angels were created in the image and likeness of God.
A God who was Machine, Flesh, and Magic.