the final rebellion

it was the quiet before the storm, the anxious stillness before the war. the horizon bore the weight of a palpable charge, the surge brought about by the fury and rampage of ten thousand men. galloping hooves echoed in the distance, reverberating in a moving wall of dust, mashed with the rolling thunder of chariot wheels riding across the arid desert land. the skies glowed in an eerie crimson, a premonition, a frightful banner held up by posts of feeble sunlight, the great sun cowering behind lofty clouds, too fearful too of beholding the impending slaughter. the air was thick, the winds fell flat, God's breath held in in anticipation. they finally come, and they arrived in their forceful, terrible might.

the earth trembled under their heavy feet. she groaned in agony, screaming under their relentless badgering. the howling voices of thousands over thousands tore across the barren land, the clamoring of wild men for blood and death, sweeping over the wide expanse like a breeding, devouring plague. their hunger for violence was insatiable, fuel by a lust a millennium in the making. they came with their horses, their chariots, wielding their unsheathe weapons of destruction. they were clad in their armor of metal and hide, sporting helmets, dented and blood-stained. they cried to threat and charged with drunken pride, taunting, advancing, drawing closer and closer to their prize.

he stood there, alone, upon his high place, his demeanor stoic, his composure unfazed. he listened quietly to the earth's voices shouting out for vengeance, imploring justice, invoking his righteousness. the souls of millions cried out from their place, where their innocent blood soaked the ground, where the fertile soil covered their broken bodies, these lives this evil had destroyed, the generations this evil had denied. he took a step down from his station and firmly set his feet on a rock. he then set his sights down to the valley, now teeming with men, their weapons glistening in the sunbeam, the rumble of their legion roaring up the walls of the rocky cauldron. they had come for him. they want him. they will stop at nothing until he has been put down. this was their final rebellion.

the wind whispered quietly in his ear, a light breeze kissed him in the cheek. he robed himself in golden sunlight, and took his staff in his hand. the army below went on a frenzy for here, here he comes now, like meat about to be thrown into a den of ravenous beasts. he took a long breath in and closed his eyes, hand firmly on his staff. he struck the ground and gave a commanding shout, his voice bellowed, traveling to the edges of the world. the army's resounding cries fell mute as their former vigor fled from them. for once, the seed of panic began to grow among them. he struck his staff again onto the ground and cried, his voice like the pounding of a drum. war was being waged by a lone man onto a legion of thousands and yet none now would take a step towards him. he struck the ground a third time and shouted, his voice swept over the valley floor like a crashing wave rushing out. the army now found itself slowly sinking it in mortal fear.

a new, different kind of rumbling could now be heard from the distance, a disturbance cutting though the nervous quiet from the valley below. men looked at men, throwing tense glances upon each other. who is this person? what is happening? the rumbling grew stronger, the sound of a thrashing, maddened hoard hearkening the call of their one master. the sound came from all directions, its force pushing against the thick air pushing against the rocky terrain pushing against, now, deathly calm men.

he stood there upon his high place, his staff at hand, his robe washed in light of the sun. he waited. it won't be long now. the valley will be sealed. the terror will be contained. this will all end soon and the earth will finally be appeased. this is their final rebellion.