Over two thousand centuries ago, the prediction of the Christ's second coming had been made. With this came the foresight of the most horrific war between good and evil. Hell was raised when the dead walked the earth, the planet itself began to rot as angels and demons plagued its soil. All government was destroyed, invoking utter anarchy. New continents were discovered, old ones lost, each system crashing down. This earth is reduced to a primitive place, where only the wisest will survive and only the brutal will conquer.
PART ONE
Under a black umbrella full of holes, as though it were found as a survivor in a closet full of hungry moths. The sky was dark, black with gray clouds, water sprinkling down. He blew the smoke into the rain, watching the cancerous fog circle twice, then dissipate into the cold of the night.
This rain had barely begun, but it was certainly progressing at a fast rate. The sky's tears were falling faster, twice the number splashing on the ground then there had been not twenty minutes ago. His long black hair was plastered down to his head, droplets of water spontaneously falling from strands on each individual layer. A raindrop landed in one of his translucent blue eyes and he looked up to the sky.
Yes, the rain was certainly falling faster now.
He was in the midst of a field covered in dandelions, standing next to a ravine, the open field of flowers stretching out with no end. Were it not so cold, and were the sun out, he would be convinced that this was all a dream.
A dirt road lined with telephone wires rested about twenty feet away from him. He could hear a car approaching, and he ducked down into the flowers, the stench of them in the rain overpowering anything else a driver might smell. Though he doubted anyone would drive with their windows down in this weather.
When he was sure the car had passed him by, he stood and tried to trace it down the road, but it was gone. Instead of a vehicle on the road, he was mildly surprised to find a single raven perched upon a telephone wire. He could barely see the silhouette of the creature against the starless sky, but he was sure it was a raven, for he had seen its form many times in his travels. The moon reflected off of every damp feather on its wings, making the vision curiously eerie. He felt shivers run down his spine as the bird's eyes met his, and they held.
Neither creature made any sound.
For what felt like hours to him, the two merely stared at each other, drawn together by the same purpose -- the desire for blood.
He completely lost memory of what his surroundings were until he felt the presence of some other living being near him. Breaking the eye contact, he turned swiftly, just in time to acknowledge the being as nothing more than a rat moving out from under one of the corpses around him. In less than a second, the raven glided fiercely at the smaller animal, and greedily attacked it, sharp beak pecking mercilessly.
The white rat had no chance in hell of winning this battle. It bit, pounced a few times, but every time it attempted to run, the raven would catch it by the tail and drag it back into the duel. As he watched, it was clear that the bird was only subjecting the rat to so much torture because it wanted to prove its superiority, as if in the movements, it was saying ''You cannot win. I am bigger. I am stronger. I am better.''
The rat jumped again, seeking refuge in the crisp clean air, hoping to lose its predator underneath the storm. The raven caught the tail once again, this time tearing it off of the animal in punishment for attempted fleeing. Blood spewed out from the gaping hole where a tail had once been, and mixed in the dirt with that of his victims. He could hear the rat squealing in pain, no longer provoking the raven, accepting its sure demise. The black omen attacked once more, the white rat squealed one last time as its spine was snapped under the beak of its competitor.
It lay motionless now, rendered immobile and bleeding to death.
The raven merely waited until the rat died, then lifted its prize and carried it away in its talons with pride.
He watched until the bird disappeared into the sky, then he turned back to the sodden earth before him. He had been left with nothing more to do than watch the bloody mixture on the ground swirl with the rain. It flowed with some sort of grace into the ravine, being washed from the soil and its former owners' bodies at last.
When all of the red water had gone, he lifted a container of gasoline and indifferently bathed the corpses in it. He surveyed the area once more, hands trembling with the usual paranoia of having some unseen spectator to his method of disposal. But he was alone, and he regained some composure with that realization. He smiled back at the scene, blinked twice as a camera would to savor the image, took one last drag, and promptly flicked the lit cigarette onto the bodies.
He stood under the umbrella in the rain for only seconds to watch the flames spread, eating and burning up the flesh before turning into the storm, only to vanish into the air momentarily.
