Birth of Chaos 1

Birth of Chaos

by Michael "Stalbon" Peleh

"In a time of great adversity, one man shall rise up to destroy the world, and yet he shall save it."

The Awakening

"No man can be both a devil and an angel. But one can assume the form of the other from time to time..."



         A gunshot. The whirl of magic. A building power. The screams of the insane. A bright, white light. A roaring explosion. And then...silence.
         He opened his eyes.
         He saw the sky floating endlessly above him, clouds skimming past, blotting out the bright sun as he lay upon the ground. He slowly got to his feet, his garments swaying freely as he stood up. He looked about, the terrain seemingly unfamiliar to him.
         Rubbing his forehead to get a bit of an ache out of it, he stretched, spreading out his arms wide. His white-feathered wings opened out as he stretched them as well, getting any kinks out of them. Where was he? He didn't remember this place at all...
         He began walking in a random direction, when he realized that doing things that way might take forever. He looked at his wings and smiled, crouching down and leaping into the air, powerful beats of the feathered limbs lifting him up higher and higher, until he could see above the trees themselves.
         He ceased flapping and leaned forward into a shallow dive, holding his wings out to catch any updrafts of warm air as he began to soar above the treetops, occasional beats of his angelic wings helping to keep him aloft. He traveled in this fashion until he spotted smoke coming from a small village.
         The village's homes were made of wood, with metal pipes sticking up out of a hole to act as chimneys, smoke billowing from several of the houses. Children were at play, watched by their working mothers or other women, while men worked crafts. He banked downwards and came in to alight on the ground, wings flapping to help steady him as he descended, small whorls of dust kicked up from the wind generated by his wing beats.
         He landed on the outskirts of the village, and the women and children nearest to him cried out in shock and awe upon seeing his form. Many rushed up to him, though some remained back, wary. Small children looked up at him with wide eyes, gazes drawn to his white wings. Their mothers also approached, speaking in hushed tones, muttering things about 'an angel'.
         Obviously he assumed they were referring to him. Apparently he was the cause of much awe and trepidation. The children, growing bolder, strode up to him, circling about him to look all over his form. Some jumped up to touch at his wings, while others fingered the smooth material that his garb was made of.
         Their mothers looked on with cautious awe. They saw before them what appeared to be an angel... A young man, not great of stature, but neither too short, who wore the most interesting garb. A crimson robe-like garment, split down his sides, black lining. Beneath that, black pants, all of it held up at his waist by a black belt. Quite apart from these darker colors were his white shin-high boots.
         Yet above the waist he wore nothing, and they could look upon his bare torso, to see that he was slim, yet not skinny, with a toned, muscular physique. The children looked up from behind at where his wings connected to his shoulder blades. Yet many of the women stared at his face and left arm with apprehension, for coiling up his arm was the tattoo of a black snake, and it traveled down his chest to circle around back, where the children shied away from rearing head of a black cobra, jaws agape, hood flared, a crimson dot adorning each side of the hood.
         His brown, neatly parted hair was somewhat long, and a few bangs dangled in front of his hazel eyes. The women stared into those eyes, seeing them filled with little emotion. Could this man really be an angel, with his tattoo and cold eyes? Some of the mothers called to their children to come away from the man.
         He stared down at one child, who was playfully tugging at his garment, smiling up at him. His left hand came up from his side to stroke the child's hair, and he suddenly got the feeling that these people were very weak, very soft. Why, if he wanted to, he could just reach down and...
         Kill them.
         He blinked, the thought coming so suddenly, and with such force.
         Kill them.
         He smiled. Yes, he could do just that. Taking his left hand from the child's head, he raised his right one in the air, and suddenly a flame of purest obsidian black appeared in his palm. The women gasped in fear and the children watched in awe as it shaped itself into a fiery sword, which the man gripped at the hilt, his skin remaining miraculously unburned. The women shouted at the children to get away, but it was too late.
         His eyes gleamed as he swung his sword down, hewing off the head of the nearest child at the neck, the flame cauterizing the wound instantly as the corpse fell to the ground. He began slicing left and right, cutting down children where they stood as the women screamed in terror. He advanced upon them as they fled in fear, stabbing at those nearest, his blade piercing through their flesh with ease.
         The men of the village were rushing towards him now, drawn by the screams, wielding scythes and homemade swords. Smiling devilishly, he raised his left arm out in front of him, hand up, palm out and flat, fingers spread wide. Suddenly the approaching and fleeing villagers were bowled over by an unseen force, several of the wooden houses also toppling in the wake of the attack.
         Eyes ablaze, he went about slaughtering the inhabitants, setting wooden lodgings ablaze to burn in his wake as he came upon those now left unconcious and defenseless by his force attack. Raising his sword up high, tip down, he prepared to plunge the blade of black flame into the nearest individual.
         Suddenly he gasped, eyes bulging. The fire blade dissipated into the air as he fell to his knees, clutching at his left arm, which was spasming wildly. Fire raced over his skin as searing pain tore at his flesh. He threw his head back to the sky, making small sounds in his throat as he clutched at his arm. He felt nothing upon it with his hand, yet still it seemed to burn wildly, agony racing through his body as his eyes rolled up in their sockets, whites exposed, red veins running through them. Then he collapsed onto the ground, wings beating spastically.
         He lost consciousness.