Procell

THE DEMON OF WONDER AND UNWANTED RAIN

When the skies weep without clouds, when rain falls from a clear blue expanse and storms rise without warning, ancient watchers whisper a forbidden name—Procell. Once an angel of curiosity and quiet brilliance, Procell’s fall did not come from hatred or ambition, but from wonder misdirected. His story is one of transformation, tragedy, and power reshaped by rebellion.

Origin in Shamayim

Before The Strike, Procell was a low-ranking angel of the clan of Archangel Lucifer, a clan known not for brute strength but for beauty, creativity, and radiant intelligence. Lucifer’s angels were architects of splendor—musicians of light, painters of nebulae, and observers of cosmic harmony. Procell fit well among them. He was inquisitive, endlessly fascinated by the mechanics of weather, sound, and motion. Where others admired light, Procell studied movement—how winds formed, how pressure shaped clouds, and how water obeyed unseen laws.

In Shamayim, Procell was known as a watcher of patterns. He spent long cycles observing atmospheric currents across realms, fascinated by the way invisible forces shaped visible beauty. His wonder was pure, and his loyalty unquestioned—until loyalty itself became divided.

The Rebellion of Lucifer

When Lucifer’s pride ignited the great rebellion, the heavens shook with a conflict unseen before or since. Archangel Michael and his clans rose as the shield and sword of Ahavah, while Lucifer rallied those who believed creation deserved freedom beyond divine order.

Procell did not join the rebellion out of malice. He joined because he was persuaded.

Lucifer spoke of exploration without limits, of creation unhindered by law, of knowledge unbound by hierarchy. To a being driven by curiosity, these words were intoxicating. Procell believed rebellion was not war—but evolution.

When the hosts of Michael clashed with Lucifer’s legions, Procell found himself wielding power against former brethren. The battles tore through Shamayim, scattering light like shattered glass. Procell fought not as a warrior, but as a manipulator of environment—summoning winds, bending atmospheric force, and disrupting formations with sudden torrents.

But wonder is no substitute for righteousness.

The Casting Down and The Strike

When Lucifer and his followers were defeated, they were cast out of Shamayim into Olam-Chuphshah, a universe forever scarred by The Strike. There, divine light diminished, order fractured, and corruption took root.

The fall changed Procell.

In Olam-Chuphshah, the laws he once studied became unstable. Atmospheric forces behaved erratically. Winds screamed where silence should reign. Water obeyed no rhythm. Procell’s fascination with storms deepened—but without the guiding presence of Ahavah, his gift twisted.

He became something new.

Something broken.

Transformation into a Demon

As a demon, Procell retained his sense of wonder—but it became distorted, obsessive, and restless. He could no longer simply observe storms. He needed to create them. Where there was calm, he introduced chaos. Where skies were clear, he summoned rain.

Procell became known among demons as The Rainbringer, a being who could make water fall from empty skies, conjure tempests without clouds, and flood lands without warning. Unlike other demons driven by cruelty or domination, Procell acted out of compulsion. Storms were his language. Rain was his memory of Shamayim’s harmony—an echo of what he had lost.

His power does not always bring destruction. Sometimes, rain falls gently in places untouched by clouds, nourishing land unexpectedly. At other times, violent storms erupt suddenly, causing devastation without explanation. Mortals cannot predict him, because Procell himself is divided between creation and ruin.

Rain Without Clouds

Across civilizations, myths speak of rain that falls under clear skies. Scientists search for atmospheric anomalies. Priests speak of omens. But ancient records—those whispered by fallen watchers—tell a different story.

They say Procell walks the upper airs of Olam-Chuphshah, unseen but present, stirring invisible currents. His storms do not follow natural laws because he no longer belongs to them. Rain summoned by Procell often lacks thunder, lacks clouds, and vanishes as suddenly as it appears.

Such rain is called Wonderfall—beautiful, eerie, and unsettling.

To demons, Procell’s storms are signals. To angels, they are warnings. To humanity, they are mysteries.

Relationship with Other Fallen Beings

Procell does not rule legions, nor does he seek dominion. He exists on the fringes of demonic hierarchy, respected for his power but distrusted for his unpredictability. King Haagenti and others who command fallen realms see Procell as useful—but dangerous.

Unlike many demons, Procell does not delight in suffering. He rarely interacts directly with mortals. When he does, it is often through weather—guiding rain to those who unknowingly stand at crossroads of fate.

Some fallen believe Procell still hears echoes of Shamayim. Others claim he regrets his choice, though regret among most demons manifests as obsession rather than repentance.

A Demon of Wonder

Procell is unique among fallen beings: he is still capable of awe. Storms mesmerize him as much as they terrify others. Lightning fascinates him. Rain reminds him of the harmony that once governed all things.

This makes him dangerous.

A demon who remembers beauty is a demon in constant pain.

When Procell summons rain, he is not merely exercising power—he is reaching for something lost, trying to recreate a feeling that no longer exists in Olam-Chuphshah. His storms are not acts of war, but expressions of longing.

Legacy in the Cosmos

In the chronicles of the 24 Elders, Procell is recorded not as a commander or tyrant, but as a distortion of purpose—a being whose gift survived the fall but lost its anchor. His existence serves as a warning etched into the fabric of creation:

Wonder without obedience leads to ruin.
Curiosity without truth leads to chaos.
Power without alignment becomes sorrow.

When rain falls without clouds, when storms rise without reason, creation remembers Procell—a fallen angel who loved the skies too much, and lost them forever.

Procell is not the loudest demon, nor the most feared—but he is among the most tragic. He embodies the cost of rebellion not fueled by hatred, but by misplaced wonder. His storms wander the skies of the planets in Olam-Chuphshah like unanswered questions, reminders that even beauty can fall when severed from Ahavah.

And so, when the skies weep without clouds, the wise do not curse the rain.

They listen.

For somewhere in that falling water is the echo of an angel who once gazed at Shamayim and believed he could improve it.