Shepherd of Fire: Prelude of The Blackened One

by StoneMountain2040

Rating: mature
Tags: Tragedy, Slice of Life, Human, Anthro, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 5379

A recount of a man recruited by O.R.A. going by the callsign "Razer". Operative Razer is sent to the land of Equestria on reconnaissance. Meanwhile, everypony believes he is their missing link in the evolution of the Homo-Equine race.

A recount of a man recruited by O.R.A. going by the callsign "Razer". Operative Razer is sent to the land of Equestria on reconnaissance. Meanwhile, everypony believes he is their missing link in the evolution of the Homo-Equine race.

Take a young boy and have misfortune slay his parents. Boy becomes a man and goes to war. War changed this man, he learns every lesson very well. Many years later Earth is gone, many realities become huge expanses of dead space and only a few realities remain that still bear life. Now this man led an army, fighting side by side with people who are now his family. Take the family and kill them all too along with the enemy.

People think that a man is broken when he has no strength left. This is not true.
True strength comes after you have been broken.
People think that the best teacher is your parent or your elder…

The best teachers are Experience and the Enemy.

This is where his lessons have taken him, to this idyllic land called Equestria where the people wonder how they came to be. This will be a story of a man who has no place to call home.

But, who would want to shelter a coldblooded killer? Why, you would you silly goose!! As long as you don't know, of course. As they all say: Ignorance is Bliss. These ponies think he is a primitive…oh how wrong they are.

Father Time has a very special plan in store for Razer, one that even this warrior won't see.

"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."
-Abraham Lincolin

“It is a curious thing, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well."
-Dumbledore

_______________________________________________________________

Reference for anthro
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/131/e/6/types__applejack_by_shepherd0821-d64v7eg.jpg
I envisioned Stage 3 Anthro for my fic.
Gore, war, and other content is comming.
Main story takes place after the Prelude.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-31 08:20:22 UTC

So I Am

So I am the Shepherd of Fire...

Three mares briefly check the leather straps binding him to the chair and return their attention to the scientific instruments.

...on my current assignment in another world so alien to me...

A stallion taps on a mare's shoulder and gestures for the clipboard in her hands and she angles it so he can see.

...where I am unknown to them...

Twilight Sparkle enters the room. Her gaze lingers on the man in the chair before motioning to the stallion to come look at the monitor that displays his brain waves. Their expressions are of mild surprise but, mystery still has them all ensnared in its wake.

...they know not my intentions, motives, or objectives...

Twilight whispers to the stallion, “How long has he been awake?” He replies, “Since yesterday. It surprised us when we learned he had been awake all night. I think-” She cuts him off with a remark brimming with glee, “This is amazing-we may finally have found the missing link in our evolution!” “Uh, well what I need to-” “Just think about it! We'll be the first ponies to make the biggest discovery in history!!” Twilight's tone progressively grew louder, caught in her own bliss swirling inside her in anticipation for what she believes will be the answer to a timeless question.

...they know not my name...

Twilight's excitement is easily registered by the man who has sat perfectly still while his eyes devour and pick apart the room with inhuman efficiency. Though he mustn't overdo it lest their primitive machines detect what they believe to be his “higher” functions.

The fools.

...they know not that death is merely three meters away, sitting in this chair...

In this room are four mares serving as assistants to the stallion. His Doctorate and Ph'D degrees hanging in frames back in his home at Canterlot as his wife prepares dinner for their foals, a filly and colt.

...and so I wonder what these peoples will call me...

One of the assistants and another mare began to converse. “Look at the scars. They're just...horrible.” Her tone was melancholy and rightfully so. It truly saddened her to see any creature suffer like she figured he has.

Hell, if only you knew lady.

...will they give me new names...

The other mare slowly walked into the man's view and his red eyes instantly snapped to her, frantically reassessing the situation. Red irises scanning her from head to hoof, hand to hand, and everything else.  But to her, what he was doing remained a mystery to her. Yet, they weren't entirely in the dark. Their theories of how all Homo-Equine kind came, she believed is sitting in front of her.

But she had to try something. Just had to establish some kind of mutual connection universal to any creature with a greater degree of sentience than a dog or cow.

Lady Warm Heart had her hands clasped on her belly as her arms held their position. She contemplated again her decision while her eyes looked over him. Standing at seven feet and one inch, weighing two-hundred and twenty pounds, muscle upon muscle upon muscle, the mane was obviously unkempt and down to the neck where the bone of the spine is felt. Scars nearly covered his body. Some of which were easily identified as cuts from swords or other tools of warfare, burns by fire, welts and bruises bludgeoned until they healed thus leaving their own unique mark. Others took a while but nothing extraordinary. Some must have been quite gruesome such as the bites on the right side of his neck, top of the left shoulder, and on the left side of the lower abdomen...to name a few. Strong facial features  namely the jaw, brow, and cheek bone. Despite the presumption of his limited flexibility of his muscles, he proved to be extremely flexible and unbelievably maneuverable.

Five bucking days straight of running through the EverFree Forest had nearly made the Pursuit Team quit until they got lucky when this huge beast let his guard down.

...will I still be known as The Blackened One?

His face was devoid of emotion. A long, ugly scar running across his left eye from cheek to the forehead in a perfect line. Another running from the opposite cheek to underneath his jawline, down the left side of his neck, and ending at the left shoulder blade. Truly he has seen some sort of hell to suffer these injuries and survive, a testament to him. Patches of his mane were expected to be missing but the scalp and mane appear in good health, but...

...his eyes.

What of his eyes? His skin isn't paste white from hiding in caves or shelters nor a toasty brown from extended exposure to the sun; a healthy light tan color or Hisponic as some from Las Pegasus call it. He wasn't dehydrated nor hungry. He spoke not a word and hardly made a sound. Of course he can't speak, he is a primitive. But those eyes...

Those red eyes of his hold more than his scars ever will. No amount of scientific data will ever hold a candle to what she believes lies locked behind those eyes. They say the eyes are the window of the soul. His deny her entry. Instead, it feels as if he looks right through you into your mind.

So she slowly unclasped her left hand and his eyes immediately saw the movement. The various instruments were going crazy. Areas of the brain were lighting up: threat assessment. He was assessing her? Suppose that would be expected of any animal that has lived through as much as he has. So she let his eyes examine her hand for a few moments as she turned over her hand to reveal her palm. Then she continued to move it toward his right shoulder.

His eyes widened. Scratching on paper grew louder. Areas of the brain were lighting up like fireworks. Twilight and the Professor she was conversing with immediately went over to inspect the data being documented. Their jaws dropped as they looked toward Lady Warm Heart as she sought to place her hand on his shoulder...and she did so.

She saw fire behind his eyes and as her hand rested on his shoulder, his breathing slowed. Then she began to stroke him, staying on the shoulder of course, in hopes to calm him down. In her gambit of comfort she gained the most insightful shred of information that was leaps and bounds ahead of everything that was recorded thus far: he hurts.

...and so my title is The Shepherd of Fire. What merit do you have to compare to mine?

Yet...

She felt herself getting wet. A prime specimen of stallionhood, or rather ancient stallionhood, sits before her. Who could blame her? After all she knows what she likes in a stallion. Aside from some key  differences, he's still mostly the same. Right? Nothing wrong with sexual attraction to somepony primordial as this, right? It's not the first time somepony was ideal mating material.

It's only natural to want the strongest male to buck you.

The Way Things Used To Be, Part I

The Way Things Used To Be, Part I

It wasn't always this way...

The door opened and the man saw his newly constructed shelter. A giant glass dome enhanced with spells to increase the durability of the glass and support the structure. Tall enough for trees from the EverFree Forest yet there were none. Logs of wood and stones in different shapes and sizes were placed in hopes of gleaning some insight into the creature’s nature. As the man looked behind him he saw a much smaller building compared to the Dome. A wooden, portable building, no foundation, standing on wooden pillars, connected to the dome yet separate from the spells. On the inside were file cabinets, a couple desks and a few chairs, paper, ink wells and quills, diagrams, reference books and more. Beakers, phials, microscopes and other tools that were deemed the standard equipment for this project.

I wasn't always sent to other worlds...

This glass dome will be the habitat for the man. The zoologists assigned to the project are legitimate badasses in their own right of their chosen field but, at the end of the day they're nopony noteworthy. Ultimately more fodder to be thrown around in the man's eyes. Members of whatever people, whatever culture, whatever civilization, the man cared not enough to give a fuck. Though his position dictates the level of an empath, he has delivered his reports in depth and in extraordinary accuracy to his superior without bias.

Now the two Night Guard ponies release the man from their grasp and return to the portable building. Having served their duty at this time they return to their established patrol route. The door closed and the lights turned off. The wildlife biologists have turned in for the night and the zoologists would come tomorrow morning. Flora swayed as wind passed through the enchanted glass; spells transferring wind from the outside to within and outside again while keeping the rain out; a section of a river flows freely through in a “U” shape, the apex of the curve barely offset from the center. A magical membrane created by unicorns of relatively  extraordinary skill. Rain clouds filled the sky in the EverFree Forest making the habitat dark; no moonlight tonight.

The man was left alone to his thoughts. Naked in this new world that painfully reminded of his home. Alone in the darkness of the Dome.

Home...

He grimaced as he fought the memories fighting their way to the front of his mind. His face contorted further.

There were days of a different time in my life...

Memories from times long ago surfacing like lava in a volcano about to erupt. The pressure was building so quickly, pushing on his psyche. Once again he wrestles with his past like a comic book villain and hero would at the final battle. By now he is sitting on the dirt in a fetal position as he resists to remember.

...days when I was not afraid of my memories...

He grabs his head as if it were to burst like shrapnel from a grenade. He finds himself backed into a corner again as he is surrounded by memories. Now he weeps as his corner becomes smaller and smaller every second. His eyelids pressed shut so hard as if parasites were trying to pry them open and the tears became blood from the pressure. Another night of bleeding eyes and battered mind.

...when I wasn't afraid of pain.

When others felt loss and when they were hurting, he hurt as well. When others would lose their loved ones or friends or even strangers and when they were hurting, he hurt as well. When fellow soldiers learned that others around them died and when they hurt, he was hurting too.

And when his own soldiers, brothers and sisters in arms forged in the crucible of war and the fires of battle, bonded together by friendship and blood, the ones who became family to each other and himself, when they suffered, he felt the weight of their pain. He would never resign to seeing the dead as a statistic. He got to meet them all, as impossible as it sounded even to him. He cared greatly for each and every one of them. He went on suicide missions daily so more of his family would see the light of day and fight in the next battle where they would be needed more. He even had an entire theater all to himself; the entire frontline.

Screaming, gunfire, explosions, mad men's rants and crazed women's shouts.

Joyous laughter of people he once knew, dinners held with family, babies born and young kids playing together.

Laments of wives, husbands, uncles and aunts, and children as they learn the fate of their loved ones...at the funerals, in their rooms, in isolation chambers and...

...when they shove another aside when an enemy sniper takes aim and fires.

When I wasn’t afraid to feel anything but anger.

***

One Year Earlier…

A man walked down a hall. One hall of many. With him was his immediate superior, “You will be stripped of your armor…” who was informally debriefing the man. “...and you are to follow the appropriate protocols.” The man, currently wearing said armor, was stone faced as the mission parameters were disclosed, his gaze was straight as if he were lost in a meditative daze. The hall was empty. Doors were shut and the Mess Hall was cleaned, every crack was scrubbed and washed. “...there will not be a time restriction. Take as long as you need.” The informal debriefing was now taken into the superior’s office. The chrome desk reflected the holographic screen on the wall. Coordinates to destinations unknown. The desk itself had no items to decorate it except a simple name plate standing on the desk that read, “Head Administrator of O.R.A-Father Time”.

The Admin’s voice became stern. Razer knew this closing very well. The grave words echoed in his mind as he dedicated them to memory.

“Operative Razer, you will be sent for reconnaissance. You will conclude if this planet and this reality must be isolated from the Fabrics, to have no force or entity enter or leave this reality that this planet resides in. You will conclude if this planet in this reality must be torched to ashes, erasing any evidence and order the renewal of said planet. Or...a third option that you may propose.”

The ritualistic pause of three seconds. The Admin inhales to finish, “As Head Administrator, I have the highest authority bestowed upon me by Him and the Archangels. I have been granted the power to exact judgement. I have been granted the right to reject, modify and accept any and all Third Options you propose. I hereby authorize this assignment under the eyes of God. Do you accept this assignment,” pausing before saying the title, “Shepherd of Fire?” Razer answered in an even tone, “Yes.”

Father Time’s parting words were as such, “Take all the time you need then.”

***

Others have often been asked about, to what lengths they would go for family. What would you die for? Who would you kill for? Questions of devotion, honor, integrity, happiness, humility and compassion…

That’s it. They hardly asked any deeper than that.

So I asked them why do they fight? Why do you hope for peace? What is your contribution to life? What is your meaning in your life? How will you bridge the gap between your ideals and how shit is now? I tested them on the field and off the field just as I was tested many years ago. I tested their minds, bodies and spirit. Their wisdom, knowledge, loyalty, integrity and memory among other things. Over time I was piecing together the winning solution...but who the hell wants to hear all that shit. Rehashing the same shit over and over again. Those who haven’t make the kind of progress that breaks new ground, going against everything you know and challenging your beliefs. Altering your habits, bending your nature and breaking your mind. Molding your whole self, galvanizing, nourishing and making you alien in contrary to everything, everywhere and everyone you know. They will never understand you entirely. You will be ever changing, chaotic: disharmonious. No semblance of a normal life.

I took on the forms of abominations. What everyone else feared.

I adopted the strategies and tactics of my foes.

Honor became a luxury.

I did it to protect. To bear the weight of sins so my people wouldn’t have to. I sacrificed myself in ways that would bring an onslaught of relentless nightmares to my people.

I wanted to see my people restored and renewed. To watch with pride from a desk as I stack my skeletons in my closet and shed my serpentine skin for good. To see my family grow under banners of wholesome prosperity and genuine love. To know that the virtues and values we have cultivated and preserved would stand the test of being untested, where there would be no enemy to give them an immediate drive, no concrete reason to be a straight arrow. To truly live up to the definition of integrity and honor.

They almost lived that long too.

Almost.

***

“I think he knows.” It was daytime at the Dome and Sala Mellow was one of the few privileged mares to watch the zoologists do their thing, do their voodoo that they do so well, do their-ok enough of that. Sala was the only news pony permitted to assist in documenting the “public” portion of the project. “Well if you hadn’t stuck your face on the glass he wouldn’t have known we’re watching him, idiot.” “I still blame that stupid Twilight. Damn filly thinks she can just bucking order us around just because she’s Princess Celestia’s personal pet. She doesn’t know a damn thing.” The door opened and the fourth member of the zoologist team entered. The stallion that was protesting against Twilight suddenly realized he had been caught cursing. “D-d-dear I didn’t-” She smacked him, gently, on the back of his head and scolded him. The other two mares just giggled at the sight of them before returning their attention to the reason they are there.

That...male.

Initially they believed this “stallion” had been abused to an abhorred degree. The expected coat was missing, hairless except for the top of the head, trace amounts on his arms, legs, chest, buttocks and presumably just before the anus, eyebrows still present, armpits tied second with the groin for the most hair, some hair on the jaw area; disfigured legs that healed improperly and the entire mouth, snout, muzzle and all, were missing. He looks completely alien...except for the ears atop his head. Those ears somewhat resemble equine ears, but they look more like a fox’s ears. Of course the eyes and the general structure of his face and the sideburns are recognizable as such, duh.

However, there are many things that contradict the theory that this male predates the modern equine. It’s an obtuse observation that he, as identified by the genitals hanging freely, that this male is more closely related to an ape. Even so, there are many things that contradict the counterfactuals.

Just too many contradictions. Too many similarities and differences to make heads or tails out of this. Essentially, these initial “conclusions” are wrong. This male was born like he is now. The members of the Project couldn’t be that stupid, could they? But those rumors about him barking like a dog and snarling like a timberwolf, are they true?

Too many thoughts for Sala to have in the wee hours of the morning. Seems like they’re useless. All we have is a seven foot tall mystery, loads of questions and not one answer. The team members of the project, named Origin, were baffled...obviously. So why am I here again? All he does is stare at us. Now, I’m not educated like any of these ponies are, but what sense is there to have me here for six bucking hours just to watch him, watch us?

A shallow snort came from Sala.

Something interesting please happen and give purpose for me being here. Please, anything.

Seems like somepony is slightly agitated. Understandable. Perfectly understandable.

But nothing will happen during her six hours. At the end of her workday she came to her boss with an empty cup. Disappointed? Yes he was. “Well, that’s...that’s just a real bummer,” her boss said, “so why exactly do I have to send you there? You just sat there bored out your mind! You’re better off somewhere else. You know what, take the day off tomorrow. I’ll make an excuse, feed them some crap. You shouldn’t have been heckled like that, that’s your job to heckle somepony! Heh. The irony huh?” Sala nodded in reply, fully agreeing with her boss. “On top of that,” she began, “those ponies on the project just slip past the public eye and I get shafted with taking the train.”

A half hour later, boss and subordinate are leaving at 8 o’clock in the evening and conclude their conversation. “By the way Sally, while you were gone doing nothing at the Dome, I heard there are some ponies gathering in protest. There’s all kinds of nonsense being spread around, nonsensical rumors and well, you know the typical stuff. Heh, there’s even a few who wanna give you some sort of trial, claiming you’re just using this to...oh Tartarus who knows why or what.” He scoffed at the thought. Sala was just puzzled, but brushed it off with no concern. “Like I said, take the day off tomorrow. Get some sleep, ok Sally?” Dark bags under her eyes coming from three days of irrational ponies harassing her about the week long assignment. The amount of brain power to even begin to comprehend their motives is beyond her. Rumors and more rumors. Misinformation spread around like the common cold would be the death of her and the newspaper she worked for, someday.

Tomorrow, she would sleep in. Tomorrow she would wake up and have some bacon her friend shipped from the Griffin Empire. Tomorrow she would relax…

...and get her mate’s cock buried within her. Knowing the sight of her naked to get her stallion going is already making her wet.

Maybe being fucked in my sleep is better...yeah that would be nice to wake up to.

***

2048 AD. REDACTED, Texas, Earth.

7:30 AM, Monday, August 17

“But mooooom!” “No buts. Get in the car.” “But the man said-” “I know what the man said. I’m still sending you to school.” God, please make everything alright today. A dutiful mother is driving a small, red car this Monday morning. Her son’s first day of school.

God please, oh please make everything alright.

She didn’t give one fuck.

She wouldn’t listen.

She firmly believes she is right, one hundred percent right.

She feels she didn’t have to discuss this with the husband because she’s right! So why say anything? The reasons are obvious and all she has to say is that it’s a school and he’s already six years old and that’s that.

She thought those men in white aprons would fix this problem with her son. Why can’t anything be simple and straightforward?

She hated this day and age.

People ask too many questions.

People are too damn nosey.

Kids getting fat too early, too lazy playing damn video games.

Kids killing kids, killing siblings, killing family members.

Politicians not fulfilling promises.

Why God, why does time have to keep going?

The old ways dying faster and faster with every generation...

Looking in the rear-view mirror she saw her son grabbing the hood over his head nervously...and the subtle bumps poking through. A frustrated sigh escapes the mouth of this old-fashioned Mother. The son already knows there’s going to be another argument ignited by his irrational, stubborn mom.

Later that day the son would say the kids are saying he has cooties on his head.

Meanwhile with the Father, he was in a office at a small clinic a couple streets away from his job. A woman in a tan business suit from the CDC was getting coffee from the pot, pouring two cups to bring back to the table. “...so we are lost in the dark too.” The Father releases an exhausted sigh and places both hands on his face, slowly sliding down until the fingertips are at his cheeks. He says, “So some dingleberry sent you instead?” “Yep.” “But there must have been signs, at least? Something over the recent years, some kind of pattern? Anything? I know evolution can be slower than a glacier but, radical changes like this in one generation?” The Father was thoroughly baffled. She shook her head, pinched the bridge of her nose and replied, “I wish I knew what to tell you. I wish they sent someone actually qualified in this subject instead of me. All I can say is that...your son is special and those ears of his are just the first of whatever happens. And no he’s not contagious or diseased.” She finished with a chuckle and pauses to take a sip of her black coffee and continues, “But from what I’ve heard all I can tell you is that he might be an, uh, ‘asset’ to the military. Don’t let them have your son. Send him to college, take three jobs, get married with kids, anything…” Fear gripped her voice for a moment. Genuine concern visible on her face, wrinkles of worry surfaced at last. “..just don’t-let-them-get-your-son. There needs to be some reason to keep him anchored. Some kind of purpose.” The Father’s eyes now stern and inquisitive, he asked her, “What did you hear? What did they learn about my son?” She hesitated. “I-I can’t say…”

Two Days Later, Wednesday 7:00 PM

“Hey dad.” “Yes son?” “Umm…” His son hesitating to tell him something? Bullies harassing him? Did he forget the wisdom the Father imparted already? “I think-I think I can hide my ears and make the real ones come out.” Say what now? The Father was intrigued and hopeful. “What do you mean?” “Watch.”

And so he watched…

...and then the Father smiled.

That’s my son. When he puts his mind to something, he gets it done.

***

It’s nighttime once again in Ponyville and while many are sleeping, there are only a few still up...besides Luna. One pony in particular is a butter yellow mare with a pink mane and butterflies as a cutie mark. She was shaking with excitement in anticipation for tomorrow.

Yes it’s Fluttershy, how did you know?

The mare exclaimed happily, “I can’t wait for tomorrow Angel Bunny!” Fluttershy was bouncing, gently, on her bed as she held her precious rabbit close. She was giddy, voice high pitched and wings spread and shivering. She raises Angel from her stomach only to be compacted inbetween her large breasts. “There’s a new animal that needs me!” Currently, Angel is suffocating. So he rapidly taps against her…

Yeah that just tickles her.

She pulls him out of her cleavage, recoiling from the brief ticklish assault. Now she’s calm enough to lay on her bed with her wings still splayed on the bedsheet, still tense with excitement. “I’m gonna introduce him to all of our animal friends first! And then we’re gonna have to ask what his favorite colors are, his sleeping pattern, if he hibernates or not…” She continued to list the plethora of things in a upbeat, sing-song tone.

It was some minutes later when she was finally ready to sleep. Angel was counting sheep in his little bed and Fluttershy was about to count sheep as well before the last thought, they should have called me in the first place a week ago. A soft whinny escaped her lips…

Sleep hath claimed another tonight. Be ever watchful, our Nocturnal Mistress. Your Silent Legion awaits your command at their posts; sword and shield ready to strike and defend. Your Republic of Shadows will always know its one, true ruler.

HAIL, MOONBUTT!

***

You weren’t there when the bombs fell, when non-combatants were running like headless chickens and the fauna simply disappeared from normalcy. You weren’t there when they steamrolled over everyone and everything for miles in one swift stroke. You weren’t there to see beings from beyond the stars drop down to Earth and slaughter entire cities.

They were nameless, so we named them.

They were speechless, yet we spoke to them.

They were homeless and we offered them a hand.

They rejected everything and gave us war.

And so there was war!

The will to fight wasn’t felt by everyone. Many still clung to the foolish hope of peace to come easy and they were killed off by the enemy. Naïve fools for believing in such a baseless notion in those desperate years. The few that still clung to hope were driven mad. Hope drove many into madness for there was no foundation for their hope. Hope will break any person if there is no foundation for it and you will be forever haunted by persistent phantoms of your fears, relentless spectres refusing to give you peace of mind and ghastly shadows of ones you held dear and memories that dog you from the corners of your eyes. Your mind will be shattered and paranoia will bloom which only listens to your new master: Insanity.

This man had two parents, Mother and Father, who were powerless when the American Army came knockin’ on their door. Crazy shit came from the stars just like the movies and these fuckers were merciless butchers and soulless scavangers. Guess what, that house got blown to hell. So did a lot of other houses. So did a lot of restaurants, gas stations, malls, grocery stores and that hole-in-the-wall Mom and Pop store a couple blocks away. These crazy fucks were indiscriminant. Wanna know why?

You seriously wanna know who paid the price? It certainly wasn’t the rich.

Things didn’t hit hard until people saw the masses of dead from hospitals and nursing homes. By now, the man already had a inhuman body count. Seeing the corpses of babies made somethings click deep within himself.

Kill them all.

All the pearls of wisdom he missed…

All the times he didn’t listen to the wise counsel of his father…

All of the missed opportunities for promising careers…

One day he stood among the enemy he slain, among his human brethren, in the midst of an age bleeding out; he fell to his knees. He could hear something calling him…

It was faint, off in the distance. Strong beats he heard that day.

These beats weren’t calling him. They were searching for him. They wanted him to dance with them.

To baptize him with fire and blood.

These beats soon became louder. Drums! They were drums he heard amongst other instruments. Or were they even instruments?

The sound was not heard on the earth. He listened with his heart. Soon after he felt their speech by the drum, lyrics of the beat and asking him…

What were they asking the young man?

What was their song missing?

They wanted his voice.

So he unleashed his warcry that carried on for miles. For the first time, he found a voice to a song only a few have heard.

The Song of Death. The Song that has sought others voices for all the reasons ever known now has sought his. He took up the Drums of War in this ensemble.

In time he would shed his soft skin, the foundation of innocence for ashes and blood to be baked onto his bones with fire, hardened and burned; blackened into armor.

His bones that will have broken the spirits of the invaders.

His mind that will have harbored dark means to tear apart his enemy’s aspirations.

His heart that embraced the peoples out of sight of society during his time of war on Earth, forever shaping his core. Old teachers he will honor, new methods he will have culled.

He contradicted the day and age he was born in.

He adheres to the Song that his very being vibrates to its rhythm.

His body would soon dance to the Drums of War, his chosen instrument.

He would sing of swift retribution for all the crimes and all the dead souls.

The wails grew louder.

The shrieks became sharper.

The screams erupted and were stronger and stronger and stronger.

Yea, from the Valley of Death came this Warfighter.

This Warrior, honoring the lessons of ages past and the knowledge of days coming, will have achieved justice and by doing so exacted his vengeance.

The Blackened One he would later become, appropriately dressed in Death’s best black to reap the weeds grown with the wheat. The inhuman warcry from a man who sought to preserve became one who destroyed. He will cling to this haunting music for a very, very long time…

...far longer than he should. [link to lyrics here]