| 1: COLUMNIA REVEALED The grey sky arced overhead, the ominous clouds shading the steps of a figure in black. He wore a black trenchcoat, red sunglasses, and a silver crucifix. His long brown hair fell across his collar, and when the wind picked up and the trenchcoat's tails were blown behind him, one could see a gun on one thigh and a sword strapped to the other. In his breast pocket on his trenchcoat, a worn leather-bound book protruded.The road to Columnia was relatively empty, although the stranger noted that there was construction a few miles back. Apparently the rulers of the city-state of Columnia predicted an influx of people, and were widening the roads. The stranger walked, and walked, and walked on that road, never tiring, never faltering. He was a man of God on a mission-he had been sent by his Church to evangelize the land of Columnia. Columnia had been sent witnesses, prophets, and the like, but the citizens of the city had slain half and driven off the rest. The stranger remembered accepting this assignment. The elders of the Church in Augusta had seen his work-how he had been one of the leaders of the Pendinmortican revolution, how he had preached in the streets of Proiectica and dying Ephanescenia, and how he had nearly been martyred in the lands of Gottica. This was no mere evangelist-this was St. Chronos of Augusta. And he intended to leave a mark on Columnia in the name of his God. *** In a cathedral in Asthaban District, a lone young woman stepped towards the altar. She looked unimposing, in a red t-shirt and glasses. Her long brownish-blondish hair was brushed behind her shoulders. "I come seeking the wisdom of Holy Cale," declared the woman boldly. She spread out her arms, as if drunken in religious ecstasy. As she did this, a ghostly figure manifested itself in front of her. "It is I, Cale of Base, one of the gods quartet of the land Columnia," the figure proclaimed. "Who is it that calls out to me in my holy sanctuary?" "It is your lowly servant, Vanana," answered the woman in reverence, bowing herself to the apparition. "Cale of Base, I come to inform you that the road to Tota Regues Liev is halfway complete, all glory to the Four." The ghostly Cale smiled. "This pleases me, and this will please the Four. I have two proclamations for my beloved servant Vanana to hear." "You deign to grace my ears with such wonders?" replied Vanana in complete reverence. "You are great among your people, child, and worthy of such things. The first proclamation is thus: The Four will come upon you in twenty-eight days and make an announcement through you to the people of this land." "The tenth of June, milord?" asked Vanana. "Indeed. Let the people know this. And the second proclamation is thus: A corruptor has been sent by the Ancient Evil to take this city. He is already on the road, and he will cause many to fall away from the true faith and the Four. He has been allowed to do this by the Four, as a test of the faith and loyalty of this, our city." "How will I know this corruptor when I see him, milord?" asked Vanana. "He will bear the sign of those that fight lions," replied Cale. "The Four will not intervene to aid you in this struggle. To prove your faith, you must overcome him on your own." "The judgment of the Four is precious and righteous," Vanana agreed. "All glory to the Four." Cale faded away, and Vanana stood up and walked out, grabbing the scepter of her city as she walked out. *** Loud bass beats thundered across the slums of Generatoph that night, on the south side of Columnia. Prostitutes peddled themselves on the street corner, preachers screamed at them from across the street, and motorcycles sped across the pavement, coming to a stop at that corner. "The Bombers are in town!" shouted a man with a strange accent and a brown goatee. He fired a few shots in the air. "An' me mates, we just took down the West Side!" A pale man with dark sunglasses stepped forward and backhanded him. "Shut up, Mick." The man with the strange accent, Mick, gulped and nodded. As the pale man walked away, though, he scowled behind his back. "So what are we gonna do now, Nos?" asked another man, this one with long black hair. "How many times have I told you, the name's NOSFERATU!?" demanded the pale man. "What else? We're going to Dive and we're getting stone drunk. Maybe we're gonna pick up some hookers before the night's up. It's what we always do." They then entered a bar on the corner, with a neon sign reading "Dive" half-burned out, half-flickering in the window. They passed the prostitutes, and they grabbed a couple as they passed. Nosferatu grabbed a young girl by the wrist with neck-length brownish hair and marks on her arms. "You're coming with me." She meekly nodded and hoped that this time, she'd get paid. *** Chronos looked at a piece of paper one more time, checking the address. "I wonder how accurate this is?" he pondered. "Timotheus of the Ander-Brethed... running a bar in the slums of Columnia? Oh well, maybe he'll put me up for the night. We could trade old war stories from Pendinmortua. That'd be nice." *** The girl endured it, endured the panting and the penetrating because she didn't know anything else. It started with Nosferatu, but she was circulated around to the rest of the Bombers, like the other several hookers they had grabbed. She didn't have the luxury of a private room, either-it was behind pool tables and on top of bars. It was degrading, humiliating-but her only meal ticket. Finally, after most of the Bombers had exhausted themselves on alcohol and whores, she was tossed out of the club by the man with the strange accent, Mick. "But-but what about my money?" she asked. "I get something." "Well, we don't want to pay ye," growled Mick. "Think of it this way-the shopowners pay us protection money, right? Well, yer too damn poor, so ye pay us protection shag." "I-I have to live too, ya know!" Mick shrugged his shoulders. "But-I have no money and I haven't eaten in three days! I'ma die if this keeps up!" "Everyone's got a sob story. Now run along, ye little tosser." At the sound of a gun clicking, she ran out the backdoor of Dive and into the alley. She slumped against a fire escape on the next building and sobbed. *** "So this is the place, eh?" pondered Chronos. "I'll head in..." He stopped, though. "No-I got it! I'll surprise him by going in the backdoor. Heh, I wonder if he remembers his old pal Caese..." *** The girl found a shard of a broken beer bottle near where she lay, and she examined it in the streetlight from down the alley. "A... shard," she whispered. "It's so pretty... I could use this." She thought on her life, broken like the shard in her hand, and thought of what she had to endure just to live. The sweaty, horny, rough men that hated themselves, that saw her as instant gratification and then, when it was done, as the symbol of everything they hated in themselves. In all her sixteen years of life, she never remembered a client that had simply handed her money. It was always thrown at her, at the street, at the wall. But never simply offered. She remembered what had just transpired, how she had run from that odd man when the gun clicked. Why? To save this pathetic life she now thought about taking? A gunshot would have been relatively painless. Now she would have to bleed to death. She began hacking away at her wrists, like a bear in a trap trying to free itself. She cut away, trying to get free from the life that had been thrown at her like all the dollars she ever was paid. *** Chronos walked into the alley, and saw a dead woman wearing next to nothing in the alley. Cheap mascara had long since run down her face, and the tears that had ruined her makeup still hung on her face. He thought he heard a breath, so he bent down. No, she was dead. Freshly dead, but dead. A thought came to his mind. In all his years, he had never tried this, but he knew that there had been stories from distant lands. People had been resurrected, returned to life. "Girl, arise by the power of Yehoshuah," whispered Chronos. But she lay there. He tried again, dedicating more of his heart to praying for this. "Girl, I command you! Get up!" he cried. Nothing. He then prayed over her for about five minutes, praying like he had never prayed before. He knew not why-in Pendinmortica he had killed countless people, and never tried to resurrect them. He was known as a great if somewhat heartless apostle of the church, so he knew not what drove him to save this girl. Finally, he felt something intensely spiritual leave him. He could almost see it leave his body and inhabit her. "He-hello?" mumbled the girl. "Who are you?" |