Chapter 1 Verse 1-1 To those who will listen there is a warning. You see sometimes I look out there, into the sea, into the masses, and my heart skips a beat. I listen to the thunder of the crowd, the roar of the people, and I know that this was where I once stood. Everyday I look in the mirror and my eyes search for that spark. They search for something that I once had. No longer and I the creature of fear, the instrument of death and abolishment, no longer do I hear the call of the raven. Instead, as Poe did, I opened the door. I let myself become filled with the thoughts, dreams and hopes of a dying soul. With each passing moment I watch as I slip away, I watch as everything I once despised returns, I watch as I become the dying soul which I have long hated. Once upon a time I was the victor. I held the ground when none could, where none dared, when to stand against me was to beg for punishment. Those times have long passed and I’ve watched myself wither. I’ve watched myself become nothing more than a shallow reflection of everything that I once was. Am I the man whom knew fear and brought it with him to the doorstep of whomever? Am I the beast that can no longer stand the sight of blood? Am I a fallen angel with vengeance left for none but myself? I look down at my hands, I look down at my wrist, I look down at myself and I wonder… …Now that I’ve fallen so far will he want me to get it all back? .-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-. When humanity has fallen, when the vile overcome the righteous, who then will stand for the righteous in their time of need? Allow the believers to be dominated or allow the filth to know vengeance? Truly there should be no question at all. Images of a life that was left behind long ago flutter to fruition. Long ago there was something there for him. Long ago he was allowed to be among them as long as he continued to serve. He played his part and was doomed forever to know that which drives humanity. Their existence was shallow, meaningless and nothing more than a pulp of experiences thrown together. His existence was planned, touched from on high, with a single purpose and meaning. The twelve graves lay before him, dark night lending little light to show their names, as if they were important. Once upon a time they were the twelve who knew humanity for what it was. Once upon a time he was the deciding factor in a war with no hope. Did he hunt for them or did he hunt for himself. Each conquest, each meaning, each goal nothing more than a reason to inflict more pain upon himself. Targets, men handed to him with bull’s eye upon bare back, victims to his cause. “I am nothing more than the culmination of hate. A man who thought that his entire existence was meant to be something more and yet, yet it seems to be nothing more than the illusion which I fought against since the beginning.” Kneeling his eyes drop to the ground. There is no concentration behind his eyes, no thoughts going through his cortex at the moment. He is not Hell bent on revenge. He is not living each moment for revenge. He is not breathing in the cold night air so that he can enjoy being alive. Instead he kneels in the dirt, starring down at the barren graves, and his mind wishes that this existence had come to an end. He wishes that it had come to an end before it started. That long, long ago there was something that he could have done to keep this from happening, to keep the darkness. Each step along this road is a step towards that which he knows, that which he fears and that which shall embrace him once again. Some might call it a demise of sanity. Some might call it the faithful giving themselves to their cause. Some might call it the warped thinking of a zealot with an elaborate scheme to once again return to his throne. In truth of those choices there is no answer, there is only question. Even as his hands fall flat against the dirt, even as his palms find the hard Earth, as his nails dig into the soil that will one day condemn him to the same fate, the questions linger. All that has been placed before him he had torn asunder. All that had hoped to oppose him he easily thwarted. Never had they known fear as he caused, never had the gleam of hope left their eye, not until he stalked the land. Nails can dig into the Earth but Gaia feels not his pain. She can only look on, the Mother, hoping to shroud her forgotten child from this before any other can exploit his pain. Unfortunately for both Gaia and her son, his pain has been exploited for far too long. Silver eyes stare down at the Mother from behind the mist, from behind the veil of emptiness and they leave a single question for her… …Why has Father doomed him so? From this there can be no answer. His Father long having stopped listening, long having turned a blind eye to the goings on of a place that he created. Once he looked up to a Father whom he believed would protect him. Once he looked for a Father that knew right from wrong, that knew when to draw the line, that knew when to punish and when to pry. Once he knew what it meant to feel his embrace. Now the only embrace that he is allowed to feel is that of the cold. Even in the arms of love itself he is not allowed to know warmth. Even with the eyes of truth upon him he is not allowed to speak honesty. Clutching nothing more than hope he once drug an existence from the composition. Each time his hand scrapped the bottom was a time that he saw no other reason to hold on and yet he did. The smell of shame for failure having faded, a scent that sickened him to no end, he would once again make them believe. It was no longer his time, you see, for his time had faded into oblivion. Much like the memories of the old that pass away into simple glimpses from the mind, so too had his time. Abandoned, alone, shivering from the cold, it was then that his mind began to race. Then that a voice, a voice of the past, called loud to him. “You found nothing without me…now I suppose you are prepared to welcome me home.” Tears flooded his eyes. Each droplet held the silver light that seemed to drip away from his eyes, it seemed to tear a piece of him away and slam it to the ground. The voice, his voice, knew exactly what it was doing. It had waited, patiently until he could no longer withstand it. Now it sought to show him that through his validation, through his hope, through the pain he would soon endure, the voice would prove itself once again. “Blessed be my son. Blessed be the sound of my voice. Blessed be the touch of my fingers. Blessed are those who come forth to me, who kneel before me, who weep at thy alter. Return unto me to do the bidding that gave your life meaning. Close your eyes, my son, close your eyes and speak of the visions which I give unto you. Each step upon the journey is nothing more than a step towards me.” The voice spoke with a serpent’s hiss, stinging his mind with each syllable as it reached out, bringing him closer and closer to its trap. “I have come for the abandoned. I have come for the Fatherless child. The one who was left to die upon the mortal soil after having fulfilled his duty to his Lord, I come for him. I see you behind the layers of flesh and puppets string that make your emotions dance. I see you behind the fear and loathing that you carry for yourself. You believe you’ve fallen into insanity. You believe that you’ve fallen into mockery and misfortune because of a mistake you’ve made. Sell yourself to the world however you want, but do not sell yourself short to the person inside.” Entranced he rose from the ground, the darkness seeming to swirl about him in clouds and mist. Smoke seeming to billow from nothing, hiding his vision, as if brought forth from the nether. Beauty and insanity given sway to collide, preparing to lead him into the path, preparing to lead him unto a new home. Dirt fell from the knees of his jeans, his hands dropped their clumps of Earth, dirty fingernails the only memory of moments ago. Warm hands seemed to embrace him, dragging the air from his chest, ragged breathing betraying a moment a weakness, the briefest in eternity. “Say yes…” It spoke to him, into him, telling him that which he had to do. It was the voice of everything that he had despised once. His name was Scott Monroe. Once he worked for the Vatican. Once he worked for the Occult. Once he worked for whoever the highest bidder might be. Now he was being given a chance to return to that which he had known. It wasn’t happiness. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t anything that he had ever sought for himself. It was nothing more than a vision into the mind of creature that had become corrupted. He served his Father. He served his Mother. Now he would serve as the right hand on an entirely new mission. Now he would be the scythe to swipe through those who once doubted. Forever and ever there seemed to be nothing other than his pain… …And now it was time for the culmination of the gift. “I accept…” A soft chuckle seemed to escape from the darkness, the gravestones before him seemed to tremble as the Mother herself seemed to weep. He shook his head, knowing a moment to late what he had just given, what he had just unleashed. A moment too late… …The days of mankind, the hope and dream of humanity knowing and being a whole, the days of life being full of peace, those days were meant to come to an end. Just as the Ocean roars from the deep, as the creatures of the abyss rise from their places of slumber and prepare to come unto the land, he too looks out unto them knowing what he will claim. Victims, victory and the right to ruin, that will be the goals of the damned. Each moment their hope is fleeting, each moment that they stand idly by, believing that he is naught to worry with, is a moment that his mind slips further away. Completely consumed and there will be no escape…for any of them. A pale hand reaches forward from the ground, dragging ragged nails across the gravestone that looms before it, hard concrete that stares down at the broken body. A small red streak begins to drip down the carved letters, stone being stained by that which lies within, a name starring up from behind the damned. The Father… Alexander Montigue… …And all would know what it meant to fear. .=-.=-.=-.=-.-=.-=.-=. I look into my eyes and I ask myself if I can once again become that man. I look into the mirror, I look into the face of my wife, I look into the future at the life I once wanted to live. I see now that I have no choice in this matter, humanity, for whatever reason, has been something that I will forever be without. In each moment that my senses try to calm themselves, in each moment that I hope and pray that I will wake from the dream, I embrace the nightmare. I was once the Most Beautiful Angel, I was once the man known as the Damned, I was once a vision of Hell for all to fear. In the beginning, before there was a creature, before there was hatred and before there was hope, there was only the pain which had been leveled towards me. There was only the pain which broke my heart, my mind and my spirit. Before the Omega there is always an Alpha… …My Alpha began when Sociaty turned against me. I am eternal but my pain is not an illusion. Soon all will know, soon all will fear, soon the dead shall walk again. Soon my nightmare will embrace them. Finale. .=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-.-=.=-. |
