Redemption

Prologue

The wind whistled and moaned over the red rocked dunes, mounds of rust colored earth which constantly encroached on the small dirt road that ran like a scar through the sand. Along this path, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding desert, walked a cloaked man, the edges of his gray robe fluttering wildly with the sandstorms whims. The incessant noise drowned out all thought and it was impossible for him to see beyond a foot in front of his face. These conditions would be fatal for any normal human, yet still Darial walked on, the few footsteps behind him dead straight, heading unerringly towards Jerusalem. To him, the elements were like children, noisy but harmless, infants in a cradle.

Slowly the sand began to settle, and in the hot afternoon sun, the hazy image of a large city began to form, shimmering in the distance. Pace unchanging, Darial continued to press on, right hand clasped around the sheathed sword at his right hip.

Even as he approached the gate, the cloaked figure began to make out a blanket of darkness which stained the sky above the fabled city. With that realization, his steps began to quicken, for though he had come because of a rumor, he hadn’t truly believed such a tragedy could truly take place. Soon he was racing through the streets, the city flying past in a blur of brown. His cloak flowed out behind him revealing the ragged white robe that he had on beneath his grey cloak, the remnants of a former glory.

Above him the darkness began to thicken and, in a strange way, pulse with a strange sort of malicious anticipation. Even in his speed, Darial was aware of his surroundings, and what he sensed only filled his being with more horror. It was all about to take place as he had been told… and really there was nothing he could do about it. Finally he reached the end of the city, and came to a stop, his sandals sliding on the gravelly ground. Almost instinctively his left hand half drew his mighty double edged sword, but just in time he stopped.

Before him stood hundreds of figures who could only be described as demons. Faces twisted with pride, greed and rage, each was more grotesque then the last. They were monstrosities of dark blue, purple and black, some huge and some the size of small children, lounging in a ring. In the air were thousands upon thousands more, the flapping of their wings creating a sound like the moaning of a thousand lost souls as they formed a dome of sheer darkness.

The mass seemed to be in very good spirits, cackling with hideous laughter even as they watched the events taking place on a small hill a bit outside the city. There, three cross were erected, and three men hung, dying.

Darial felt the world around him spin sharply, even as he slumped down against the side of the gate on which he lent. To go into that cesspool of evil was suicide, especially for him… but to leave things as they were, how could he live with that shame on top of all the things he already regretted. Would his immortal life be one of endless pain and torment? Was that to be his punishment?

He sat there for hours, looking for all the world like a normal man, resting against the gate. All the while he watched in agony, indecision and inner turmoil. Even through the darkness and the earthquake, he didn’t move. Only when the body had pronounced dead as water and blood flowed from the side of that man in the center did he quietly depart. The mocking sounds of triumphant laughter from a hundred thousand throats followed him. It would not leave him for a long time.

It was finished.

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