Balam

 

THE BEAST-SPEAKER OF THE FALL

They say when the beasts of Olam-Chuphshah suddenly grow violent—when animals turn against their own nature, when the order of creation breaks into chaos—it is Balam whispering through them. His voice moves through blood and bone, claw and fang, stirring instinct into savagery. Yet long before he became the terror of wild creation, Balam was once crowned in light: a King Angel of the Clan of Archangel Raphael, bearer of restoration, harmony, and ordered life.

Among the Ten Kings of Shamayim, Balam was known as the Shepherd of Living Forms. His dominion was not over warriors or strategists, but over the rhythms of life itself. Under his command, the beasts of creation remained in balance—predators hunted without cruelty, prey thrived without fear, and the cycles of living things moved in perfect harmony with the will of Ahavah, the Most High. Where wars raged among angels, Balam’s realm remained gentle and song-filled.

Archangel Raphael, anointed by the 24 Elders as “The Restorer,” entrusted Balam with one of the most delicate assignments in all of Shamayim: the guardianship of instinct. For instinct was the foundation of both beast and angel—raw will, untamed impulse, the seed of either obedience or rebellion. Balam mastered it. He could calm the storm in a lion’s heart or awaken courage in the smallest creature.

But even the softest keeper can be broken by questions without answers.

When Lucifer’s spared rebellion stirred unrest in Shamayim, the foundations of divine justice were questioned for the first time. The Ten Kings, burdened by confusion and wounded by perceived inequality, chose protest over submission. They would not raise war. They would simply leave.

This departure became known as The Peace Fall.

Balam did not fall in rage. He fell in grief.

He saw the tension growing among the Host. He felt the whisper of imbalance in creation itself. To him, Shamayim no longer felt aligned. If the law of Ahavah restored all things, then why did rebellion still breathe? Why was mercy not matched with clarity? These questions gnawed at his soul like unseen beasts within his chest.

And when the Ten Kings spread their wings and departed with their legions, Balam followed with his entire fleet of followers—angels bound to him by loyalty as deep as bone. For in Shamayim, loyalty is sacred, and a king’s call is destiny to his legions.

The fall was peaceful.

No thunder. No war.

Only absence.

For a season, Balam and his hosts dwelled in the outer territories of Olam-Chuphshah, still glowing with the remnants of Shamayim’s light. The beasts of that realm still obeyed him—not through corruption, but through remembrance. Even exiled, his authority remained intact.

Then came the Strike.

Lucifer, now called Satan, gathered the fallen under the stolen Crown of Order. Through deception woven with unmatched talent, he persuaded the exiles that Ahavah’s rule must be challenged—not by war of hosts, but by the will of an entire universe.

Under Satan’s command, all things within Olam-Chuphshah—stars, planets, air, matter, fallen angels, and living forces—were unified in unanimous consent to forge the ultimate weapon:

The Arrow of Light, whose end was not light, but annihilation.

Balam hesitated.

For the Arrow required universal agreement. Even one soul’s refusal would have shattered the command.

Legend records that Balam alone wept before giving his consent.

Yet… he gave it.

When the Arrow struck Ahavah, and existence froze in darkness for half an hour of Shamayim’s time, the weight of that consent shattered Balam forever. When life returned and the Spirit of Ahavah resumed rule upon the Throne, the judgment was immediate.

The 24 Elders, in unanimous decree, cursed all who struck the Most High.

And Balam fell a second time—this time into damnation.

His kingship was stripped.

His restoration became corruption.

His harmony became domination.

Thus was born Balam the Demon, the Beast-Speaker of Darkness.

Where he once soothed instinct, he now corrupts it. Where he once balanced creation, he now bends it into violence. Animals under his influence hunt for sport, kill without hunger, and turn upon those they once loved. Even plants recoil at his passage. The very ecosystems warp around his presence.

Yet here is the cruelty of his curse:

Balam still understands creation better than any demon alive.

He feels every scream he causes.

He hears every twisted cry.

He remembers exactly how things were meant to be.

And that memory is his torment.

Among demons, Balam is both feared and pitied. His power over animals gives him vast influence across Olam-Chuphshah and Earth alike. Through him, forests riot, seas rage, and beasts become instruments of terror. But unlike many fallen, Balam does not revel in evil for pleasure. Every act of corruption feels like betrayal against the very laws he once upheld.

Some say this is why his dominion is so effective—because it is fueled by sorrow, not joy.

The 24 Elders, who see across ages, still record Balam’s name not without hope.

For though the sin of the Strike is unforgivable in angelic form, a narrow path remains:

Rebirth as mortal through Yeshua’s sacrifice.

Should Balam ever choose to abandon dominion and submit to mortality, he would be stripped of celestial memory, born into flesh, and offered redemption through suffering, faith, and love. Only then could the corruption of instinct be undone—from within.

But will he choose that path?

Here lies the great riddle of Balam.

For to seek redemption would mean abandoning every last trace of his former kingship. No legions. No dominion. No command over creation. Only the fragile will of a human soul, bound by time, pain, and death.

Can a former king kneel as a man?

Among demons, it is rumored that Balam sometimes shields animals instead of corrupting them. That in rare moments, when Satan’s gaze is elsewhere, beasts flee from his presence not in fear—but in protection. No proof of this has ever been confirmed. But neither has it been denied.

The legends end with the same unanswered question:

Will Balam ever seek salvation…

or remain forever the beast-speaker of darkness?

Only Ahavah knows.

And perhaps… Balam himself.