THE FINAL ENEMY – THE RISING
STARDATE 01.02.26
The frail figure with bone white skin and blood red eyes felt a surge of newfound strength throughout his body. With unnatural ease, he broke free of the chains that imprisoned him. His red eyes glowed with determination. It was time to escape this icy prison at long last. He began his ascent.
Within a lake of ice, he saw betrayers and traitors. Those who turned on those of shared blood, those who turned on their country, those who turned on their guests, and those who turned on their masters. Each betrayed a sacred trust given to them.
The old man continued on, his white hair flowing behind him. It was revenge which drove him on, along with a burning hatred in his heart. Not a wild, untamed hatred, but a controlled and tightly focused hatred. The kind that provides endless fuel for the firestorm of revenge.
He passed ditches upon ditches full of those who were guilty of fraud. Panderers, seducers, flatterers, simoniacs, sorcerers, barrators, hypocrites, thieves, overseers of fraud, and those who sowed discord. Each languished in their own specialized torment.
At the base of a great cliff, he mounted a monstrous creature known as Geryon. The creature flew upward, depositing the old man at the top of the cliff. There, he passed through a vast burning plain. Here were those who committed forbidden violence in a sexual manner against innocents.
He entered the dark wood of twisted trees. Each tree was a being who cared not to live any longer. The man with bone white skin ignored their cries for mercy. He emerged from the haunted forest.
Walking along a river of boiling blood, he saw those who perpetrated violence against those around them. Centaurs fired arrows at them, punishing them for their crimes. At the end of the river, a Minotaur charged at the man, but upon seeing his blood red eyes, the creature turned and fled.
The old man continued on, his white hair flowing behind him. It was revenge which drove him on, along with a burning hatred in his heart. Not a wild, untamed hatred, but a controlled and tightly focused hatred. The kind that provides endless fuel for the firestorm of revenge.
He passed the flaming tombs which held those who denounced the true way. Upon exiting the City of Dis, he was confronted by a trio of Furies. But, again, once they realized who he was, they bowed their heads and moved aside. A boat provided passage across the swampy, stinking water of the river Styx, where the wrathful ever fight each other.
Nodding his head to Pluto, he witnessed those persons guilty of greed forever pushing huge sacks of gold with their bodies up a steep slope. Three loud growls inform the man that he entered the domain of Cerebus, the three headed dog that torments gluttons. The beast stopped in mid-jump, where the old man took a moment to lovingly pet each of the three heads.
The old man continued on, his white hair flowing behind him. It was revenge which drove him on, along with a burning hatred in his heart. Not a wild, untamed hatred, but a controlled and tightly focused hatred. The kind that provides endless fuel for the firestorm of revenge.
Powerful winds nearly knocked over the elderly figure. But the man rose to his feet, refusing to be stopped. Above him, whirlwinds whipped through the air, buffeting all those who had been consumed by lust. Further on lay the serpentine judge, Minos. The old man nodded at the old king, who let him pass without incident.
Soon, the man found himself in beautiful, peaceful meadows. Here were philosophers, poets, and those innocents who never found the true way. They all watched as the strange figure with bone white skin quietly passed them by.
After emerging from an enormous Gate, the man found himself blocked by the river Acheron. He took a moment to read the sign above the Gate: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Then he motioned with one hand to summon the ferry. Charon appeared and transported the man across Acheron.
The old man continued on, his white hair flowing behind him. It was revenge which drove him on, along with a burning hatred in his heart. Not a wild, untamed hatred, but a controlled and tightly focused hatred. The kind that provides endless fuel for the firestorm of revenge.
He found himself inside of a dark wood which would normally cause ordinary souls to become lost. But the man knew the way through. He exited the dark wood and waited patiently on the other side in a dim light.
A small ship emerged from subspace. It landed next to the old man. A beautiful woman exited the vessel and approached the man with bone white skin and blood red eyes.
She had blonde hair with red streaks and green eyes. She smiled, stared lovingly into the old man’s eyes, and then kissed him passionately. It had been an eternity since they last saw each other.
“Ichaborn believes you are dead.”
“Of course, he does, my love. That is the arrogance of the light. He was a fool from the start and he will be to the end.”
“Ichaborn can never kill the Final Enemy.”
“FOR HOW CAN YOU KILL YOURSELF?”
