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Life is full of irony. I sometimes think it is because Mother Nature, being a woman, has a terribly sick sense of humour, but I think humour is a good thing. The point si that irony generally manifests itself in desperate and horrible circumstances, and even though terrible things are happening, we can't stop but sit back and laugh hysterically at the twisted humour of the pain that others experience. Why does this all matter, well I guess that at the moment that the world is coming to an end you have your best opportunity to sit back and laugh and keep laughing until you think you're going to die - because you probably are.
The world is coming to an end. TV's blare out the cries of reporters hailing the coming of the Apocalypse, and all humanity stops a moment to listen in anticipation for the final sign. In New York people are trampling each other to death in an attempt to get out the city. Its towering buildings have become a monstrous cage that traps the pulsating masses, and the screams of people fill the streets as the beat each other and fight and stab in their vain attempts to escape their closing prison. Bodies are piled high in the street, their stink rising into the sky, lying dead where their frenzied neighbours killed them. In London images are very similar. People are streaming over Buckingham Palace, armed with what ever instrument they can find, their single desire being to wreak revenge on the Royal Family - because if they're all going to die, then dammit so are the monarchs of their impending doom. In every country and in every city people flock to churches, synagogues, and any !
other place of worship. The Basilica in Rome is so packed with desperate human beings that it is start to crumble from the weight of waves of people pressing against its walls. When it collapses thousands are crushed to death instantaneously, but many more will suffocate slowly and die of asphyxiation because the bodies piled on top of them have formed a human trap. Waves of death and destruction wash over the world and panicked masses loose control and become unhinged at the thought of the end of the world, and the situation becomes so desperate that the rivers turn red with the blood of the worlds hapless victims. All the while the dirty yellow sky leers down on us, an awful portend of the monstrous creatures that thrash against the ancient gate that holds them back from wreaking pain and destruction on this sad and decrepit world. Is there any hope for mankind?
The answer to this vital question lie in an ancient and vile book, a secret history of a doomed world, and that book lies in the dead and mangled hands of poor, sad Hardigan. The Egyptian Book about the end of the world not only contained a recount of our miserable future, but hidden in an obscure passage about the "Child of Light" is the secret to mankind's hope for a better future. These few scribbled lines contain a description of a boy, one not cursed by the sin of mans thought, will be the only power to combat the terrible creatures that will soon invade this world. The book is a history and as such it will be fulfilled and it was.
Thirteen years ago a devout and religious Catholic couple, the Sanchez's, who lived in Santiago at the time, decided to travel to Rome to seek the blessing of the Pope. This couple had been happily married for five years but despite many attempts to have children the failed over and over again. This caused them such sorrow that they were about to kill themselves, but instead they decided to go and seek out the Pope and request a special blessing by the hand of this agent of God. If anyone could provide them a miracle he could. After many difficult trials they managed to get to a special mass in the city of Rome where the Pope would be performing rites and even though the square was packed with thousands of worshipers they managed to squeeze to the front of the pressing crowd and the husband was able just for a brief moment to touch the hem of the Popes cloak as he walked by giving blessings to his followers. Just that brief touch was all the power that was needed and that very!
night the Sanchez's conceived their first child.
The child was born was born premature after many complications, and as a result was born severely disfigured and mentally handicapped. His parents were devastated about these terrible afflictions that seemed to curse their poor child, but they loved their son and spent the next twelve years devoting their lives to him. The child grew up surrounded by care and attention and was protecting and loved by all who knew him. The child was the fulfillment of prophecy, a child of innocence who through his unique characteristics would be the single source of goodness in this misbegotten world that could stand as a shield for humanity against all the horrible forces of darkness that are arraigned against this planet.
On the day that the sky turned to vomit and blood began to rain from the sky, when all the signs of the end of times began to manifest themselves, and the cities of the earth became charnel houses - this innocent boy sat playing with his mother in the park. The salvation of mankind was oblivious to the terrible events unfolding around him, his world was a world of love and goodness that could not be pierced by the malicious claws of the powers of the Mythos. He was playing with a ball, his favourite toy, and kicking it around, while in the heavens stars converged and planets rotated towards the once in a millennium combination that would turn the keys and unlock the ancient gates. As the world continued to decline and oceans began to rise and as earthquakes began to rock the ground and tear it up, a single star began to rise. The star was called hope and it was the key to unlock the powers of little Sanchez who deep inside had the power to chain the beasts of war another thous!
and years. As the star rose to its fated position little Sanchez kicked his ball into the street, and at that very moment his mother turned to look at the strange bright star that was glowing on the horizon. At just the moment her son stepped into the road to grab his mischievous toy which had tried to escape his grasp and a speeding bus careened around the corner. Its driver was overtaken by fear and was hoping that if he drove fast enough he could escape his miserable fate but he did not realize he was speeding towards his destiny. The boy's mother turned just in time to scream helplessly, her hands outstretched to grab her son, but in vain, because he was too far away. The bus slammed into the child at over 1000 kilometers per hour and the impact shattered his body, the force flinging him violently into the air. His head exploded viciously, scattering blood and brain all over the window of the bus. Then gravity grabbed the body from his spinning trajectory and pulled it bac!
k towards the ground, bouncing it against the roof of the hurtling kening noise like rotten tomatoes being thrown against the wall. The bus came screaming to a halt, and for a moment the only sound was the screeching of little Sanchez's mother. Hours later they found Mrs Sanchez rocking her sons mutilated body in her arms, tears streaming her face. The bus driver lay in pieces, strewn across the interior compartment: Mrs Sanchez's arms were covered in his blood. Ironic isn't it - who says good always triumphs over evil.
The ground has become to shimmer and is glowing a vicious red. Torn bodies lie spread across the room, one of the bodies still clutching an ancient book tightly in its bloody arms. The ground of the room is rippling and monstrous hand paw at the barrier it forms, pushing out in anticipation of there final release. The air is electric, the static incredible, strange noise rattle against its icy walls. In the corners of the room stand the few remaining people, either staring blankly at the hosts of demons trying to escape, or sitting in the fetal position, rocking back and forth.
An almost giant figure, clothed in blood, stands flashing a wicked axe, a look of glee on his face. A figure is flying towards him, stopped for a moment in midair as time reasserts itself. In one hand is a massive pistol, in the other a hand grenade. This person, Lepus, would probably find the site quite funny if he wasn't the one hanging in the air for just a brief moment, while he flies towards the maniacal red figure. The stars have just reached their final critical position and the gates are beginning to open. Somewhere in the back of his head a thought passed through his weary brain - you know the whole world might depend on what happens at this moment. That though nearly causes him to fall out the sky. His second thought is just as scary, will this hand grenade kill this stupid red garbed creature. The world waits with baited breath to find out what the answers to these two questions will be.
