Disclaimer: I own nothing. This was all brought about through one man's phenomenal presence. The words of the prophecy were the words to his entrance theme which I think are just amazing. Please let me know if you like it!
SILENCE
The rain fell in hard unrelenting drops. There was no where in the street to hide from it as it pounded down onto the pavements. The sky was a deep dark grey, lightning forking dramatically across its plain morbid scapes. Even the buildings seemed miserable in the weather's desolation.
He watched from the open doorway of a warehouse, a black baseball bat clutched tightly in one hand. No one noticed him or his striking pale face which glared out through the darkness. They all kept their heads down as they walked, terrified of eye contact on such a dark dank day. He smirked. What a waste it was to be mortal, to feel such fear through their hot- blooded veins. What a waste it was not to enjoy a day like today when heaven opened up its gates for a brief time and let out the dirty water, not to enjoy the magnificence of a thunder storm splitting the sky open.
He had other matters to concentrate on other than the glorious expanses of stormy scenery. He knew the time was coming again. He could hear the words vibrating in the air
"The battle between good and evil has begun"
Slowly he turned and walked back into the warehouse, the door shutting behind him on its own accord.
"Against an army of shadows comes a Dark Warrior"
It was his prophecy. They were the words he lived by. Ever since his transformation from a blonde brat punk from Venice Beach decked out in spangles to a brooding morose loner who skulked in the rafters, he had been unable to reverse what had begun. He could never turn back now. He was that Dark Warrior, called to turn the tide for good when empires lay in ruins. It was his life's work and he loved it, he lived for it. There was nothing else he would rather do. The words spoken at his birth and then at the past time of reckoning had sealed his tumultuous fate.
"The purveyor of good with a voice of silence and a mission for justice"
Silence
He had kept silent for so long, forcing all those words back into his soul. He used to waste words but now he understood. When his soul reawakened to his calling, he could not speak. There were no words to describe his mission except those of the prophecy. He was not silent because of what the prophecy stated but rather because the whole experience had rendered him speechless. He was unable to communicate what stirred in his heart anymore. Silence was better. When words had to be spoken, they would be.
Like when the others would join him for the gathering.
The rain was falling harder now. He neatly dropped the bat to the floor, almost flinching at the loud clatter that resounded through the emptiness. Noise was unnecessary.
There was a squawk and a large vulture with shining black feathers landed on his shoulder. It cocked its head at him and then squawked again. He reached a gloved hand up and stroked his feathers before it took flight again, freewheeling in lazy circles high above him before dropping onto a solid splintering rafter. He could feel the tension in the air. He wondered if the others were already moving across the plains of the rain-soaked Earth and moving towards this warehouse, this sacred ground. He could count them all in his head, some he had never met before. Only in his visions had he seen their faces as they looked towards him and listened to the messages the Powers brought.
He could hear the glorious rain drench the outside world. Here he was kept dry, though the rain regenerated him. It was always a pleasure to stand in the rain and feel it reach his very core. Rain was good. He walked silently to the large ornate chair at one end of the warehouse, painted coal black, the same colour as his long dripping hair that hung just past his shoulders and writhing with serpentine patterns that made no sense to no one but him. He sat and he smiled. Soon they would arrive and then they could plan and plot to break down that demon's grip piece by piece before he choked the company, the business forever.
"This.....is.....Sting"
SILENCE
The rain fell in hard unrelenting drops. There was no where in the street to hide from it as it pounded down onto the pavements. The sky was a deep dark grey, lightning forking dramatically across its plain morbid scapes. Even the buildings seemed miserable in the weather's desolation.
He watched from the open doorway of a warehouse, a black baseball bat clutched tightly in one hand. No one noticed him or his striking pale face which glared out through the darkness. They all kept their heads down as they walked, terrified of eye contact on such a dark dank day. He smirked. What a waste it was to be mortal, to feel such fear through their hot- blooded veins. What a waste it was not to enjoy a day like today when heaven opened up its gates for a brief time and let out the dirty water, not to enjoy the magnificence of a thunder storm splitting the sky open.
He had other matters to concentrate on other than the glorious expanses of stormy scenery. He knew the time was coming again. He could hear the words vibrating in the air
"The battle between good and evil has begun"
Slowly he turned and walked back into the warehouse, the door shutting behind him on its own accord.
"Against an army of shadows comes a Dark Warrior"
It was his prophecy. They were the words he lived by. Ever since his transformation from a blonde brat punk from Venice Beach decked out in spangles to a brooding morose loner who skulked in the rafters, he had been unable to reverse what had begun. He could never turn back now. He was that Dark Warrior, called to turn the tide for good when empires lay in ruins. It was his life's work and he loved it, he lived for it. There was nothing else he would rather do. The words spoken at his birth and then at the past time of reckoning had sealed his tumultuous fate.
"The purveyor of good with a voice of silence and a mission for justice"
Silence
He had kept silent for so long, forcing all those words back into his soul. He used to waste words but now he understood. When his soul reawakened to his calling, he could not speak. There were no words to describe his mission except those of the prophecy. He was not silent because of what the prophecy stated but rather because the whole experience had rendered him speechless. He was unable to communicate what stirred in his heart anymore. Silence was better. When words had to be spoken, they would be.
Like when the others would join him for the gathering.
The rain was falling harder now. He neatly dropped the bat to the floor, almost flinching at the loud clatter that resounded through the emptiness. Noise was unnecessary.
There was a squawk and a large vulture with shining black feathers landed on his shoulder. It cocked its head at him and then squawked again. He reached a gloved hand up and stroked his feathers before it took flight again, freewheeling in lazy circles high above him before dropping onto a solid splintering rafter. He could feel the tension in the air. He wondered if the others were already moving across the plains of the rain-soaked Earth and moving towards this warehouse, this sacred ground. He could count them all in his head, some he had never met before. Only in his visions had he seen their faces as they looked towards him and listened to the messages the Powers brought.
He could hear the glorious rain drench the outside world. Here he was kept dry, though the rain regenerated him. It was always a pleasure to stand in the rain and feel it reach his very core. Rain was good. He walked silently to the large ornate chair at one end of the warehouse, painted coal black, the same colour as his long dripping hair that hung just past his shoulders and writhing with serpentine patterns that made no sense to no one but him. He sat and he smiled. Soon they would arrive and then they could plan and plot to break down that demon's grip piece by piece before he choked the company, the business forever.
"This.....is.....Sting"