And Now...
We Join Your Regularly Scheduled Carnage, in Progress

Over the course of twenty minutes the flash of sky changed through a rainbow of colors. The pinks were brilliant, the blues depressingly dark, and yet even still the reds never felt as violent as they ought. As bulbs of white light opened and closed all throughout the sky, the terror on the ground finally overshadowed the sky. The patrons of the city stared up until their necks began to ache, but the pain did not free them from the fear that glued their feet to the ground.

Squares of white light appeared in the skies above them, but it was not the doorways they feared, rather the bullies that fell from the sky, which showed their hearts true terror. Some people ran, others simply died where they stood, as the black winged vampires sucked dry the blood, which they craved. Screams of joy and horror mixed in an odd musical rendition of terror that no musician would ever recognize. Many of the survivors would remember nothing more than the screams of today, if the world survived at all.

There was one doorway that opened which no one paid heed, for an hour had passed since the first wave of terrible beings and no one looked to the sky for answers any longer. His fall was witnessed by no one, but the creatures knew He had come. Many had panicked and taken to the skies, but only the ones with wings would escape this day. The first creatures to die would be the ogres that feasted on the flesh of everyone smaller than they.

He stood from the building that broke His fall and surveyed the creation that lay in waste with such ease. Protection of the innocents was not the name of the game this day, for there were not many truly innocent people left in this plane. The wounded man stood tending to the wounds on His wrists that had opened yet again. It was a pain that He knew would come if He were to ever step foot on this place ever again. Looking to the sky, the wounded Savior queried as to why He had to return. “They are not ready,” He pleaded, but there was no answer to His cry.

“Fine,” He muttered with disdain, and the skies exploded with thunder that shook Him to His very foundation. “I know, Father, I know.”

Many of the screams had started to fade as the dark ones flew for their master, but hiding behind the Morning Star would not save them a second time, as His time was also not long for this Earth. The skies blackened with their winged numbers. As He raised His hands from His sides, the ground obeyed His wordless command, and the foundations tore from the building on which he stood. The wounded Savior took to the sky, but His feet never left His ground, His hands clenched into fists for the first time since the Insurrection and glowed white with the power of His righteousness.

Their squeals filled the air as some of their brethren tried to escape their deaths, but the ones that could not did not meet their demise easily. They scratched at Him and they did nothing to him, his bloodied wounds healing instantaneously until only the wounds at either wrist remained. He spoke nothing to these evil creatures that raised their hands against Him and His Father. They were showed mercy once, and it was a mistake He meant to rectify.

Blood rained down to the earth below, and He realized it too late before the dark children of the earth rose from the dying grass. He looked down, and as His disappointment washed over His face, He left the Fallen Ones to run for their master. There was something new to fix. The sky once again shattered through the thunderous disapproval of The Father, and The Savior nodded. “I know, Father. I shall fix this.”

The building crumbled under its weight, and the Savior floated to the ground, His very presence bringing light to the darkness that had so quickly befallen the Earth. He stepped forward, and His feet touched newly sprouting grass that cushioned the bare skin beneath Him. The sight of the carnage in front of Him made His stomach turn, as a host of ogres fed; He only wished to vomit, for this was not a sight worthy for Him to watch.

Still living bodies crumbled in the rows of crooked teeth and were crushed by the sheer strength of the giants’ jaws. Very few of their number tried to run when they saw Him; instead, they wished to fight, but He would rather not oblige them. No, He understood that He must do that which His Father commanded, and that was to save the righteous among the people here.

The battle was nothing short of grotesque. Body after bloated body fell to the might of the wounded Savior, their green skins a horrible mixture of exposed and bloody organs that fell from their bellies. One by one, they all fell to the might of His hand until there was only one left.

The Second King long ago died. Torn asunder by every limb, his body lay in heaps all around the still-standing beast, and the ogre lurched forward. Graceful movement for this creature would never be attainable. As the man fell, piece by piece, from its drooling mouth, the behemoth charged forth. Its fingers gripped a lamppost near, yanking it out of the ground as though it were but a fragile twig in its way. It screamed and grunted into the air, while the man bathed in white light simply waited idly for it to strike. Its strength was akin to that of something double its formidable size. The post moaned through the air, as it swung. Like a musical instrument in the hands of a toddler, it made one apparent noise without any connotation of musical organization, and the man in white simply moved from its path. Crashing downward, the metal bent around the aura of white, screaming as it bent over His head. The Savior smiled at the behemoth...in pity. “I forgive you,” He said, at first turning the other cheek in order to find something sharp. Then, He sent it home into the gut of the ogre, tearing its intestines out of its flesh. The Savior bathed in burning white light tore the insides out of the creature one organ at a time.

More shouts of pain as The Savior’s hands were painted red by the creature’s interior. The glass shattering noise halted as the behemoth ceased its breath, and the ground almost shook when it finally fell to the pavement. One more adversary to befall His wrath, The Savior moved to the side, as a river of bile and blood flowed freely from the ogre’s mouth. His laundry bill would already be immense -- no sense making it worse.

It was time to move on.

The screams of the patient sufferers were coming from the buildings not far, and as He passed the men holding each other, He looked into the window and asked, “Do you apologize for offending my father, your creator?”

The men could say nothing -- not out of shame but out of fear -- when The Savior raised His hand to the stronger of the two and shut down the man’s brain through His eyes. “It is a shame. You could have been forgiven.” The second man had no time to protest, as several vertebrae snapped from their places.

The Savior sighed and took a moment to miss His home, the paradise in the sky, and cursed His Father for sending Him to tend to the bottom feeders once again. As if promises of immortality if they behaved wasn’t enough, He thought to Himself and wondered if the next testament would be written in the blood of these forsaken. The screams of the sufferers worsened still, and He walked forward, as though His love would save them, no matter the speed to which He stepped.

His Father would not look kindly on His wasting time, so again He sighed, and His breath coursed through the nostrils of another member of the fallen. He simply moved the obstacle from His path, splattering its remains against the flesh of His holy fingers. The wounded Savior cleansed His flesh on the tattered clothing of a poor hapless soul that had befallen all this violence. The man gasped for air, it was the most wonderful breath he’d ever taken, and it would be his last. “You will return to paradise. Your time here has ended,” spoke The Savior, and the living dead man died once more, this time only by the simple words of command.

The apartment buildings were larger than He remembered seeing with mortal eyes, but several thousand years will make a body forgetful. He counted aloud in a language dead to the world, for his spattering of American English was not something He was keen to use without the presence of His followers. There was too much work to place effort in useless such things. The doors should’ve parted for Him, but they had not. For their insolence, they were thrown from their hinges with His curse. He brushed off the dust and put His attention on the stairs and commanded the ground to raise Him up to His destination; stairs were for the use of mortals.

The Savior took to a knee and looked into the eyes of the woman, huddled in the mass of death that was all around her, so afraid. “Be not fearful,” He spoke, and suddenly her tears forgot to flow. “That is much better,” He said and touched the wet skin of her cheeks with a single finger. “You will avenge the death of these innocents. The fear that has rendered you useless is cleansed, and I shall have need of your help.”

The woman rose from her knees and felt the strength bolster throughout her body. As her skin turned lighter, breasts grew larger, and her hair became blonder, her blue eyes looked into the eyes of the friends that had died because their faith had been so weakened by pleasures of the flesh. “My savior,” she knelt to worship Him. “What would thou have me do?”

“Clean up this mess.” The Savior spoke, and she began without hesitation.

Her furious attention to detail pleased Him, and He rewarded her vigilance with a kiss upon her forehead. She nearly fainted at the gesture, and He simply pointed His finger. “Out there are the ones that made you fear everything in your life. Do unto others as they have done unto you. Become the righteous follower you were destined to be.”

She bent at the waist and clasped her hands. “It shall be done. You shall be proud.”

“I ought to be.”

He moved through the apartment and onto the floor of yet another humbling worshiper whose stature grew, as he too became a warrior for the wounded Savior. “Your blood is cleansed of all the past indiscretions, but you must prove to me you are truly worthy.”

“But it was college. I was weak.”

“Your rectum was penetrated. Once, a thousand times, it matters not the amount, for it makes you weak against your fellow man. You have much to make up for.”

Room to room, the wounded Savior moved and cleansed the righteous of their indiscretions and made them stronger for their unwavering faith in He who was their ticket to paradise. He was pleased as His army grew and took the fight to the members of the Fallen Ones. The evicted usurpers of paradise would surely pay for their crimes forever more. “Please!” a body cried out, as He stepped onto the street. “Save me!”

“I bled for you once, child. I am not here to do so again,” He spoke to the crying man, the weak simpleton who only regretted his action, as death stared at his face from the gates of the unknown. “I will grant you mercy,” He said. “Suffer no longer in this physical body, but burn for all the laws of my Father you have broken!”

The pleading man’s eyes glassed over, as the emotion of terror was glued to his face; there was no forgiveness for sins such as his. Staring down all the creations of His Father that now carried on in flame and destruction made him sad, The Savior knew there was more work to be done. More creations lay in ruin, more he had yet to see. There were more people dying but few that he needed to care for this time. Though he expected to feel something more, these people were given their chance, and they made their choices.

There were many more unworthy mortals that died in these first few hours of carnage. The wounded Savior saved those that he felt were worthy, but there were many too many people living on the earth and crowding it, turning it into an unclean visage of what was intended. He spoke to His Father and felt it was a favor to those allowed to survive this day. Another flood would certainly be easier, but a promise was a promise and if the Father did not keep His word, then how could anyone? He walked on, and an unnatural presence filled His sight. “The Morning Star.”

Shining brightly in the face of such darkness, he hovered in the sky, burning away the clouds of night that attempt to swallow him. He is a lesser being, though his power is great. The Savior stroked the smooth hair on His face, as He looked upon the visage that blocked his path. “There is work I must do; you will kindly remove yourself from my sight.”

Apollo looked down with a single crooked eyebrow and remarked: “Why?”

Taken aback instantly, The Savior of Mankind clenched his fists, and they shone brighter than this usurper would ever hope. “I command you to leave my presence!”

Continuing to simply float in the way of this man, The Sun King defied a deity he didn’t believe to exist. “Because you say so?”

“I am The Light of The Creator! And you shall let me pass!”

“Must the villains always rant?” Apollo sighed.

“I the villain...?” The Savior turned his gaze onto this lesser being with more intensity, and his eyes grew wide. “It is you who are unclean!”

The Sun King’s teeth ground against one another, and he clenched his fists tight, the leather gloves around his fingers pulled and stretched almost loud enough for mortal men to hear it. He struck the bearded man’s face with a speed reserved for the light escaping the sun and dust flew into the air at the sight of where the wounded man should’ve been obliterated. Yet when the dirt settled, the bearded man stood unfazed and casting a glance of disapproval. “I was hoping I might be able to look past what you have done. There is evil to destroy, and I haven’t the time to waste with the likes of you.”

Confused, Apollo looked down at his open palms and then to the sky. “How...?”

“I shine with the power of creation,” the wounded man announced, his aura glowing. “And you are but an Idol, false and elevated by the craven masses. I will remove you from this existence.”

“I’m su--” His insolent tongue was silenced as two glowing hands were thrust into his gut. Apollo was cast down from his invisible perch, his feet cast onto the ground just before his knees fell and the vomit released itself from its home within his gut.

“Disgusting creature,” The Savior spoke. “Disappointing the Morning Star would choose such a visage to corrupt.”

“Enough.” The false idol took to the sky slamming his fists into the face of the unkempt man. There was no stopping the speed by which he pummeled this man, in effort to shut his damn mouth. Tiring from the effort, The Sun King slowed his beating to the pace of a normal street brawl, sending fist and foot into the wounded man, wrapped in cloth that hung only from his shoulders and barely touched the dirt of the ground. Though a single punch was not a worthy chance at displaying his strength, Apollo stood back and looked at his work with disgust, as the sky once more exploded in a thunderous burst. The man whose mouth could not stop moving had finally stopped talking as teeth fell from their home inside his skull. Hobbling and hoping for a strong footing, The Savior found none. “Whatever you are, creature. Your strength has left you.”

The cheering from the windows of the still standing building was more than apparent, and the Savior took notice. “Stop! I command you!” His voice escaped his lips with a lisp belonging to a man with so few teeth remaining. It was a shock to Apollo he still had the strength to speak. “Finish him off!” a voice came from an apartment building not far, followed by more voices still.

Apollo looked down upon the fallen man. “I know what you claim to be: a deity of the past, long forgotten by this world. They clamor for me now, and as they do, so too does your power over them fade.”

His fingers grasped the top of the skull of the man claiming to be the son of this world’s creator and pulled. The Savior screamed in agony. His eyes grew wide and nearly fell out of their sockets, as the muscles that kept his head attached were severed by sheer force. The Sun King raised the head, the spine still dangling from its base, to look into the dead eyes of the fallen man, and the people loved him for it. A halo of blinding light surrounded Apollo’s head, and flesh and bone turned to ash in his hands.

Clutching the embers, he took to the sky, cutting through the dark clouds. The light burned behind him, and the masses cheered, as they took to the streets, destroying the monsters that fell from the sky. Burning their bodies with maltov cocktails, they no longer needed a mythical savior to abandon them in their time of need; the people of this Earth would now rise up and destroy their fears on their own.

The Sun King released the ashes of the fallen man. “Dust to dust.”

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To Be Continued...

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