A shooting star streaked across the sable sky as the crescent moon lighted the dusty roads and towered over the colossal structures. The countless stars matched the ancient runes glimmering daintily on the columns of the citadels. All was calm. Then, thunder struck. All of harmony swept away as the rainfall pounded on the land and lightening blinded the skies with terrible white. Even the heavens seemed to rock back and forth as the earth groaned and shook. Suddenly, a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. Its face was unseen and its back was hunched over as if the weight of the world was upon its shoulders. It struggled to reach the edge of the rooftop and raised the cane that supported it. As if on command, the temple gates burst open.

"Search every house! Slaughter every one of them. May their blood be our feast!" A command boomed over the troops that were lined up in formation. Each had raven stallions, proud but savage beasts garnished with the skulls of their own on their heads. The riders seemed drunk and shivered uncontrollably as the leader stood before the broken gates to the temple. The temple gates were easy to destroy and the holocaust that they came to create was clear in their minds. The horsemen seemed almost mortified of themselves; the death dripping red from their swords made even them ill as the lightening revealed the crimson stained armor. No life was in their eyes, stories of unutterable horror emanated from them. The leader raised his sword and motioned them to charge.

As fire surges out from a dragon's mouth, so did the nightly horsemen from the temple gates. Women and children flooded out from the buildings in panic, confusion, and mostly fear. Metal met flesh as blood-curdling cries were silenced immediately after. Blood seeped through every crack in the ground as it and the rain mingled together to form a sea engulfing the capital. Tides of scarlet rose and rose until it stained the middle levels of the temple citadels. The leader of the dark horsemen and a few of his footmen rode to the main ashram splashing through the crimson waters, when there they halted. At once, a footman stepped forward and took off his helmet.

The footman's face was pale and his eyes were bloodshot. He was bald and ghastly symbols were burned all over. The footman raised his sword, he then muttered numinous chants as he sliced off his own head. The body fell face- first and thunder sounded the skies like war drums. The ebon stallion snorted as the body slowly rose again and its dissevered head drifted back to the moving corpse. The same facial expression of when it died was still there, a lifeless visage where no pupils were visible in its eyes. The head clung onto the body by pinning gray worms into its stub of a neck. The symbols on its head were now glowing of darkly colors as it lifted its arms and the holy doors of the temple began to shake. The doors drenched with the rain and under control of the zombie's vile power, it seemed to profane the entire temple. The doors finally exploded with smoke and fire beginning to pour out.

As the smoke cleared, a shadowy figure seemed to appear. It then charged out of the smoke and slashed upwards on the zombie with its sword. The figure was a knight, clad in golden armor and a white cape on his back. The fallen zombie did not rise, the symbols were melting away. Then two more knights came forth from the entrance. Each one was of different height, yet their divine lights were equally radiant. The swords they held gleamed of hallowed brilliance. Each blade whispered the chant that was engraved on them softly but persistently. The dark knight raised his sword in rage and the bloodthirsty footmen lunged at the golden warriors. They began to engage forces; the knights shined with saintly light while the other dripped with the ghoulish stench of darkness. As the golden warriors fought with valor, a horse leaped from the entrance and sped past the dark horseman. The grisly rider followed the fleeing form in a relentless pursuit.

The black stallion narrowed its red eyes as it chased the white, massive mare adorned with gold and a facemask of glittering ivory. The rider was a large knight and behind him were a woman and a small boy; she held with one hand a baby, and the other clung onto the paladin with dear life. After a lengthy chase, the paladin stopped at the temple gates and turned. Closely behind him, the black rider also halted with brevity. The paladin raised his sword as a warning, platinum lights shot to the night skies and danced momentarily before dissipating. The dark knight in turn roared and charged while the white mare neighed as its rider swung his mighty sword.

The shadowy warrior fell from his black steed and landed with a mighty thud. The helmet that cloaked his face shattered and revealed his orcish face. He hissed and rose with sword in hand. The paladin of the white horse closed his eyes and the sword began to illuminate a pious light as the fiend stormed at the guardian. The sentinel whirled his sword and white winds took the shape of a lion, thrusting away the ogre. The violent gale carried it to the sky where bolts of lightening mangled its body to a thousand pieces. The paladin then raced to a hill where another stood before him. The woman got off, as did the boy. The standing vigilante held the dead body of a once crowned king. The woman began to sob as the boy fell to his knees.

The hill looked over the ruined city; it revealed nothing but desolation. Sitting on a small rock, a widow held her baby. She rocked it gently and sang a hymn but began to weep at the same time. Tears fell on the blanket that wrapped the baby, sleeping heedlessly despite the calamity about it. The psalm carried the baby to peaceful slumber and strengthened the spirit of its mother. Standing before her were the two paladins burying the dead king. The boy mourned with his hand covering his eyes. He grieved a son's lamentations; endless sobs trickled down to the grass resting with the morning dew that just arrived. The morn light implored the boy to look up, his eyes were red with tears and burned with anger. Beneath the mound that stood before him laid his father, above it rested his mighty sword. The son rose immediately, picking it up and raised it high in honor. The two paladins bowed low and placed their fists on their hearts.

Behind the trees of the hill watched the same cloaked figure that stood on the rooftops. The winds had died down considerably and the rain enfeebled to mere drizzle. Dawn rose and the sunlight kissed the hill as the figure raised his staff. The daylight revealed the figure's darkness, its cloak was white with azure linings, and on its cane were antlers of silver. The cloaked figure finally turned and vanished exactly how it emerged.

"Is-is it over?"

". Yes. Look for yourself."

"I don't want to."

"She's singing a hymn. It's pretty is it not?"

"How can you focus on the hymn when you see the destruction lying in front of you?"

"Ha Ha."

"It's not funny! Stop it!"

". What lies before you were always there."


"Look at the world and you should realize it."


"Peril always try to cover the entire rock. Nevertheless it leaves room, for hope."

"So wait. In this case?"

"In this case, that hope is a baby."

"Oh I see. So now what?"

"Now, Namma should be pleased. This hope should have stirred her sleep by now."

".And that beginning stir will turn into her awakening."