burn in his light
The other night, I fell into a melancholy mood while listening to Gorgoroth's "Burn in His Light" from Instinctus Bestialis, sparking the seeds of a short story in my mind.
Dust devils danced in the orange glow of streetlights shining down on cracked asphalt. All was silent except the dry shuffling of his boots.
He had lost his wife to the plague that swept through last year, taking so many. Now, he was alone. At first, he raged against God for the injustice. But after the fires died down and the last of the bodies were buried, an empty numbness set in.
As he walked, a strange thought occurred to him.
What if God was not all-powerful?
What if some darker force had challenged Heaven's rule and won, remaking the world in its own image of despair and death?
The idea disturbed him but also seemed to fit this broken land more than any benevolent deity ever could.
A chill wind picked up, blowing dark clouds across the moon. At that moment, a shadowy figure appeared at the end of the street, backlit by the glow of destruction on the horizon. It stood utterly still, watching him approach. An aura of menace and wrongness spilled off it like an oil slick.
The man stopped, gripping the cattleman's revolver he now carried. As the clouds passed, pale moonlight illuminated the figure - too tall, too thin, its limbs too long. Empty eye sockets regarded him curiously.
A twisted grin split its face.
It spoke, and its voice was like stones grinding together. "Do not fear. I offer purpose in this new age. Vengeance for your loved ones. Power over the weak. Come and be remade in my image."
The man trembled but did not raise his gun. Some dark prayer whispered in his heart that this nightmare lord just might be what the world needed now. He took a step towards the waiting entity, and the cold night winds swallowed him up.