Prologue To Tenebré

Prologue

Valley of Just Injustice

         The sun flickers on like a fading, old light bulb, flashing a bit too bright at first but then adjusting. The field of violet wildflowers and deep-yellow mustard below sways softly in rippling waves as the wind of spring blows through the sunlit valley, two lone men standing face to face in its vast beauty. Both men are peculiar. Both are silent. One will never be seen again, or at least not for a long, long time. The shorter of the two, with honey colored hair and powerful arms, gets down on his knees, following some unspoken command. The light hits his head in such a way that a cold shadow is cast over his detached face, concealing any betrayals to his iron dignity.

         "Why did you bring me here?" He asks with a distant voice, looking ahead unwavering as the taller man stands over him, still like a statue but very much alive.

         "Because this will be where you perish, Brame, and it is a lovely last sight." It is hard to say which of the two sounds more apathetic, although the one called Brame bears a stony demeanor whereas the other has ice running through his veins. The one standing reaches for a sheathed blade at his side, but Brame stalls with another question, stretching thin the last minutes of his life.

         "Why must I die?" His executioner lets out a mouthy laugh and fully draws the sword with deliberate loudness. Yes... I like that name for him. 'The Executioner;' It is very fitting.

         "You possess power that does not belong in your undeserving hands." His words come out harsher now, more charged than before. "This world will be led to peril if you are allowed to live." The Executioner circles around him twice, sliding his fingers up and down the length of the blade which glows white by the sun.

         "But why now, of all times?" Though it cannot be seen, great regret radiates from this man. One thing alone makes letting go so difficult for him.

         "Because, the timing is perfect." He replies simply. "Your death with act as the catalyst for a chain reaction of events that will lead to a better future, one where I will take my place on the throne." Now it is Brame's turn to laugh.

         "That would be a dark future."

         "I said 'better,' not 'brighter.'" His patience grows tired, and it can be glimpsed in his half-closed eyes and heard in his ever sharpening voice. With one, practiced motion, he raises the sword to Brame's bearded throat and presses against his skin, drawing but a single drop of blood. "Any last words?"

         "Go to hell." The blade cuts through his thick neck, putting the period on the end of his final sentence. His head falls into the flowers with a thud, rolling until his face points to the sky, the sun finally shedding some light on his handsome features, his precious eyes of gold...

         "Already been there." With smooth strides, the Executioner walks away, spraying the field with red as he swipes the blade through the air and sheaths it. Clouds roll in and shadow grips the land, putting a blanket over the scene that just began and concluded under the eyes of the heavens.

The world becomes black.

Then the memory fades.