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Chapter 3
3:05 AM
Nathan sat on the ground crying and clutching his lower left abdomen. He glanced around the area. Blood was splattered everywhere, along with a thick, smelly, purple liquid which must have been its blood. Nathan turned his attention to the two bodies scattered on the ground
The hostiles body was one he had never seen. It had the head of a serpent and the body of a human being. It's eyes were just as weird as the rest of it, large, yellow, and bloodshot. It's pupils were only a slit, and they were blacker than anything he had ever seen, like a night sky with no stars or moon.
The other body belonged to his mother. She lay still and stiff, a lifelike statue lying on the ground lifeless. She was looking at the ceiling with an expression of mortal shock.
She hadn't exactly died in peace. The being had attacked her as she had been opening the door. It slammed her into the wall directly behind the doorway and speared her with its lengthy fangs. It pierced her in the stomach, which was the worst way to die. This was because the acid in her stomach was released into the rest of her body to dissolve her innards, a slow, painful death from within.
Then it turned to Nathan. Nathan's eyes were practically the size of watermelons when it lunged for him. It lodged its fangs into his side, ripping off the flesh. Nathan stumbled backwards, blinded by the pain searing from his ribcage. He ran into a dresser behind him, knocking over a quart of oil. This was out because the car, out on Highway 98, had turned on it's "Check Oil" light. They replaced the oil, and hadn't bothered nor had the opportunity to put it away.
This gave Nathan an idea. A bad idea, but an idea nonetheless. He ran into the kitchen and began searching frantically. If he could just find them, he could probably destroy this fiend. It was suicide, and mass murder to boot, but he was willing to risk it. He glanced up, and found exactly what he was looking for.
A box of matches.
He turned. The monster was still in the main room, waiting. It then spoke to him in a raspy, maniacal voice. It said, "Resistance is futile, O Saint. Embrace your damnation. Open up to the Word of Satan, for he-"
"No!" Nathan screamed, as he lit a match. The being seemed to pause, almost as if the light altered its perception of reality. Then, it shook its head, as if trying to compose itself. "You would never..." it started, though this sounded completely unauthentic.



You wanna bet?" Nathan snarled, slightly startled by how insane he sounded. "You take one step forward, and I will blow us all to Kingdom Come!"
The being's face twisted, turned into what appeared to be a horrifically crooked smile. It took a small step forward, and it's "smile" grew wider. "You are bluffing."



"Oh really?" Nathan dropped the match.
Then the world seemed to stop turning. Time seemed to freeze, creating an image, a painting of the calm before the storm, of the last moments before the coming of oblivion. The fiend was diving towards the match, in a sad attempt to save itself. Nathan just watched the match fall.
His life was over. Not that it mattered, he had nothing to live for. His mother had died moments before he had grabbed the matches, he had no brothers or sisters, his friends and father would be left but, well…they were nothing to live for.
His father had walked out on his mom and he when Nathan was three. The last memories he had of his father were hardly pleasant ones. Late one night, he heard his mother and father arguing. He didn't know what any of it meant. Something about how his father was "out of line" with a move he had committed, which was apparently related to his work. The next morning, his father had left with half of everything, without anything more than a brief, "I love you, my son" to Nathan. As if that was reconciliation for leaving him with only one parent to raise him. Nathan's mother had watched him leave with an expressionless face, though her eyes, glowing blood red, begged to differ. She had been weeping. That was the last time he had ever seen his father.
As for his friends, they were nonexistent. He had moved into the metropolis he now lived in- San Francisco, just one year ago. He had never been popular, but he had a few friends. That is, he had a few before he knew what they had done. They had committed the most blasphemous act against teenage relationships-they gossiped. About him. They slandered him just to make a name for themselves. They had used his popularity to gain some for themselves, like a virgin sacrifice to archaic gods. A whore they had called him. A stoner. A f**. A loser. Not worthy of more than five seconds of your attention. Those words had echoed in his head since they had been spoken. Now, he had moved on from them.
So, here he stood, emotionless, the last few moments of his life ticking away. He was a martyr, a righteous suicidal, dying at this metaphorical crucifix to free humanity from the threat this mystical being before him posed. He found it strange how resolute he was about killing himself. Seeing how before this instant, he had feared death, he found it odd how ready and willing to die he was.
He snapped out of his thought process long enough to see what his apparent end was.
The match hit the ground.
And the s**t hit the fan.
A brilliant white light suddenly emitted from the fallen oil, blinding both doomed figures. The last thing he saw was the creature starting to say something, then everything went black.
What…
The scenery had changed. He was in a brilliant white room, seated at a table made of the finest wood imaginable. The room was perfectly clean, yet behind the whiteness, there seemed to be a hint of golden yellow. Perhaps this was intended.
Seated across from him at this table was a man who seemed to be about Nathan's age. He had short, dark blonde hair which, despite it being short in length, seemed to flow smoothly. He had deep, light blue eyes, and a tan, firm body. He wore what appeared to be a toga made from fluffy clouds. Extravagant, white, feathery wings protruded from his back. Nathan eyed him and immediately thought Damn! I would kill for his body. And hair. And complexion. And eyes.
The man beamed. "Hello, Nathan," he said politely.
"Um…how do you know my…"
The man put a finger to his lips. Nathan obeyed his command, and grew silent.
"I am Michael."
"N-nice to meet you."
Michael gave the perfect blend of a smile and a silent chuckle. Then, though he was still smiling, Nathan felt his demeanor grow graver. "Nathan, you have to promise me you will do something, okay?"
"Sure," he agreed, not exactly committed, just wishing all of this would go away.
"Don't give up."
Nathan paused for a second. He wasn't sure what Michael was addressing.
Apparently, Michael read his thoughts and decided to elaborate. "I know you think you have nothing now. But you have more than you think. Sure, you seem to have no family, friends, nothing. But, even still, you must persevere. You must keep going."
This made Nathan feel strange, almost disappointed. With everything that had happened that night, Nathan wasn't entirely convinced he wanted to live on Earth anymore. Now, here, wherever here was, this random guy was telling him to keep going? Nathan sighed internally. This is going to be a long day…
Michael smiled at him one last time, and slowly rose from his chair. Literally. He was flying.
"You will be all right!" Michael called down to him. "Go with your uncle! We will meet again! Christ will be with…"
With that, he flew out of sight. Once he had completely left, as if he was a light bulb, the room became pitch black, thrown into apocalyptic midnight. Nathan didn't know where he was. He looked around frantically, attempting to find some light to connect with. When this plan failed, he felt his shoulders slump, and his eyes close.
Is this death?
Death smelled suspiciously like waffles.
Nathan opened his eyes. He did not know if he was relieved or livid with the sight he was met with.
He was lying on the ground outside of Jackson Hole's International House of Pancakes. Across the street from him lay a smoldering pile of ash that was once referred to as Motel 6. Nathan sighed. So I really did do that…
He sat up, but as he did, he felt a surge of pain coarse through his body, with the epicenter being his stomach. He glanced down. The left half of his shirt was coated with dried blood.
Nathan, slowly and painfully, go to his feet and rushed over to the ex-Motel 6. He scoured the area for bodies, but only found four. One was charred beyond identity. One was the body of a small child. One actually belonged to the fiend that attacked him in the first place. The final one…was his mother's.
Nathan sat down, weeping and clutching his stomach, all the while thinking, My God, my God, what have I done?

CHAPTER 2

2:27 AM

Marcus Angula stared out the bay windows of the Oval Office, stroking his beard in a manner that accurately described his concern for America's well-being.
Marcus was in his late 30s. He was tall and strong. He had black hair and gray eyes. His face had a slight indent on his right cheek, a scar caused by an accident that happened exactly 8 years ago today. He was dressed in a tuxedo, as usual. He wore a rare digital watch that he had discovered was exactly in synch with the official Eastern Standard Time.
Marcus was one of the most powerful men in the developed world. Not only did he act as the leader of the Secret Service, he also was the President's right hand. He had three cozy condo-like rooms, approximately one-hundred-and-fifty yards away from the President's private sanctuary, making him easy to access on nights like this.
Tonight had been quite a hectic ride. At around one-thirty in the morning, he had awoken, hearing a commotion outside of his room. In an extremely jaded fashion, he staggered to the door. When he opened it, he met with the President face-to-face-quite literally, as the President was just preparing to knock.
"Agent Angula, can I meet with you privately in my office?" he inquired
"Yes, sir. I will be right in, sir." He shut the door and violently swore under his breath. "I hate these late-night meetings." He then put on his tuxedo, once again quietly cursed, and emerged from his room. Little did he know, that would be one of his last safe havens he would encounter until his mission had been completed.
Now, with the truth revealed to him, the future looked bleak and foggy. His attention turned once again to the outside world, as the President rose from his desk. He was shorter than he appeared, about 5'5". He had gray hair and brown eyes, and like Marcus, always dressed his Sunday best, in a midnight blue tuxedo. Despite his seemingly Texan accent, he hailed from Tennessee.
Marcus and the President, though they worked so often, had quite a bit of animosity between them. The reason was obvious and oh so childish. Marcus was a hardcore liberal, and the President was a Neo-Con, basically the polar opposite. Any issue that came up, they seemed to dispute. How neither of them managed to murder the other one was a mystery to their co-workers.
There were two other people in the room: the vice president, who was a plump, graying man, and the President's trusted physicist, who was a skinny bald man in his late thirties. An open bottle of Absolut vodka sat on the table with four empty glasses accompanying it.
"So, lemme git this straight," the President started, breaking a silence that had existed between the four for about a quarter-hour, "Italy is mass-producing these...things?"
"Well, yes, these things are originating from somewhere in Northern Italy."
The President was shaking his head in disbelief, while the vice president seemed lost in thought. Finally, the vice president spoke. "Why, though? If they're doing this to damage us, why would they avoid using their military forces, and instead use th..."
Still shaking his head, the President emerged from what seemed to be a trance. "Those sons of bitches," he said. After a brief pause, he continued with a determined tone, "call all the armed forces you can scrounge up at this hour. We attack northern Italy at daybreak."
"No!" Marcus screamed. Not only did he think this was wrong, he feared that family he had in Italy would be endangered. He composed himself and repeated, more firmly this time, "no. We can't."
The President wheeled around, almost looking shocked that anyone would dare contradict him. "Excuse me? Elaborate."
Marcus sighed. "We don't know where these...things are coming from!"
The President paused for a moment. "And?"
"And this means that we don't know if this was even purposeful! What if it was an accident? We will kill civilians for no reason!"
"And what if this was on purpose?" the President countered. "By the time we find out it was on purpose, hundreds of hard-working Americans will be dead, thousands injured, and the rest demanding an explanation! If that happens, we can debate the justification for an attack when we're standing in the unemployment line!"
One of the myriad secretaries that worked at the White House then walked in. "Evening, gentlemen." She was a benevolent old lady who Marcus had liked since she had welcomed him to the team back in 2001 with tea and cookies. He smiled as she saw her and she did the same. "Would you boys like some coffee?" Most liked her because she treated everyone like her grandchildren.
"Please," Marcus said, giving a tired laugh, "something tells me it's going to be a long night."
She chuckled. "In that case, you'd best get comfortable."
The President turned toward her. "While you are out, can you notify the army and navy that we are launching an attack on North Italy? It will be a massive missile launch."
Her face turned grave. "Right away, sir."
The President turned back towards the two men as she left. Marcus was glaring at him. "Are you insane?" he asked. "We don't even know where they are stationed! Even if they are purposefully doing this! It's like throwing a dart at a moving target while blindfolded! The casualty rate..."
"Stay out of this!" the President barked, his face quite stern. "This is not your decision."
"This IS my decision! I am the leader of the Secret Ser-"
"And I'm the President!" They were both screaming now, as the vice president and physicist stood awkwardly, silently watching as this tense scene unfolded.
"I am in a position of authority that is almost as great as yours! You will at least consider-"
"Yeah? Well, guess what?" He moved closer to Marcus, now about four inches away from him. His voice was quiet yet threatening. "I am still your boss. Is that clear?"
"But-"
"IS-that-clear?"
"Y-yes, sir." Marcus felt a surge of fear in his abdomen. The President, maddened by the Absolut, the hour, and the sweltering August heat, kept moving towards Marcus menacingly. Marcus moved backwards at an equal pace, making the scene look like a wrathful tango.
"Good," the President murmured, "now here are your orders. You are to leave, go back to sleep, and not get involved with this situation. Understood?"
"But-"
"Understood?"
Marcus paused for a moment, weighing his options, then he quietly surrendered. "Understood."
"Excellent," the President said with a hint of triumph in his voice. "Now-"
The secretary appeared in the doorway, carrying four cups of coffee. Her entrance placed a grin on the President and a grim expression on Marcus, as both men realized she must have contacted the Armed Forces.
"Hello, gentlemen. Here's your coffee," she placed the cups on the nearby desk, smiling as usual.
"Did you make the call?" the President asked.
"Oh, that's right, I forgot to tell you...no, I couldn't. The phone lines seem to be down."
The President seemed crestfallen, as if he was thrilled to bomb Italy, to prove the left-wing nut-job wrong. Marcus ignored this and chose to survey the room, thinking. He glanced at the computer. There was a Netscape window up, displaying a highly classified email from the CIA. The internet is functional. There's obviously no problem in connectivity. He glanced at the lights overhead. We still have power...what could the problem be?
Right on cue, the light disappeared. Everyone looked around, confused.
"A power outage?" the President asked.
"No," the physicist replied, "the White House has seven backup generators. To get this all seven of them would have to malfunction, and THEN the power would have to go out. This is highly irregular."
Marcus felt a familiar buzzing in his pocket. He identified it immediately as his cell phone, which had been turned to silent for the night.
He pulled it out, flipped it open, and spoke, "hello?"
"Agent Foxtrot, this is Agent Mammoth. Do you read me?"
The top 10 Secret Service Agents, in the interest of protecting their identities in case someone intercepted their transmissions, got together in a secret meeting and colluded to call themselves only by codename, even when off-duty. Agent Mammoth was really as his name suggests-a mammoth-sized, mid-50s man by the name of Ozzie VonDurken. He was Agent Number 4, and tonight, he had been charged with maintaining White House security.
"Agent Foxtrot here. What's your status?"
"Well, something interesting has happened here regarding the power situation currently occuring. The wires of all the generators have been spliced. Someone infiltrated the White House and cut the power."
And suddenly, it dawned on him. For the second time tonight he felt a wave of fear hit him. The link was too obvious to be mere coincidence. "Someone or something."
"What do you mean?" Ozzie asked, but it was a question that was never perceived. Marcus had hung up.
The door was opening. It opened ever so slowly. The lengthy creak only added to the tension in the room. The other factor that affected this was the fact that Marcus knew exactly what was coming. His stomach felt heavier than lead, and it seemed to hit the floor when the door stopped opening.
s**t.
The door flew open so fast it almost came off its hinges. Marcus grabbed the .22 pistol out of the pouch at his side, pushed the President, the vice president, and the physicist behind him, and fired two shots into the head of the being. Unfortunately, this did not discompose it at all. It was exactly as Marcus had feared.

CHAPTER 1

2:17 AM

A bright and sunny island. Nathan walked along it, feeling strangely pleasant. He ran past friends, who were biding their time leaning against palm trees, playing catch with something spherical, that Nathan could not place.
"Hey Nathan, lookin' good!" one called out. Nathan turned and grinned.
He then felt something strange beneath his feet. A rumbling, as if something in the earth's core had been angered and now growled ferociously.
Suddenly, the ground split in two pieces. He was falling...falling...falling into a fire. Oh my God, Nathan thought. I'm about to be roasted alive!
Far away, against the beautiful midday sky now torn with chaos, he heard something. It sounded electronic...a...ring tone?
He opened his eyes. A dream? Oh man, that scared the-
His cell phone blared an electronic version of Green Day's "American Idiot". He had always loved that song. It was one of few songs that could lift his spirits no matter what mood he was in.
With the possible exception of tonight. Tonight, he could not have his spirits lifted because he felt absolutely no emotion. He was too exhausted for this "emotions" business. He found himself in an odd state betwixt sleep and reality.
He glanced at the clock sitting on the nightstand next to his bed. 2:18 AM. 2:18?! Nathan said to himself, who the hell is calling me past 2 in the morning? Bleary-eyed, he felt around awkwardly on the nightstand until he felt a small, metallic lump; his cell phone. He flipped it open and spoke into it. "Hello?" His voice had always sounded strangely feminine immediately after sleep, and this occasion was no different. He rapidly cleared his throat and repeated, "hello?"
"Nathan?" it was his mother.
Nathan sighed. "Yeah?"
"Nathan, its mommy." His mother spoke with a tone that sounded like she had been panicking and now was attempting to mask this fear but failing miserably. "Listen, something has come up, and I need you in here now."
Nathan sighed once more. "Be right there..."
"HURRY!"
"Mmkay." He hung up the phone firmly, almost forcefully, as if trying to break the device. Watch it just be a spider or something. Reluctantly, he rose and strode over to the sink.
He had forgotten why he had agreed to be where he was currently. His mother had walked into his bedroom one day and asked, "Why don't we go on a road trip together, Nathan? That would be fun." Nathan was zoned out on the PlayStation 2. Whenever he played PlayStation, he reached a state of mind much like meditation; peaceful, thoughtless, and hardly breakable. So, when his mother had asked this, he had replied in monotone, "yeah. Sure. Fun." He was unable to think and realize that a road trip with this woman would be quite the contrary. However, that was all the reason his mother needed to book such a trip.
Nathan threw water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He wouldn't call himself particularly attractive, but not necessarily ugly, either. He was...decent. His sixteen-year-old figure was a slim one. He had short brown hair, olive green eyes, and a few pimples spread around his nose, which he resented with a fiery passion. He wore different styles of the same outfit on a daily basis: a Hollister shirt, boxers, and Abercrombie and Fitch jeans about 1 size too large. Today, he threw on his favorite combo, which consisted of both the top and bottoms being a navy blue.
He drew in a deep breath, and continued towards the door. He stopped, his hand inches away from the door. He was feeling an odd discomfort in the heart of his gut, an intuition, whispering to him that he mustn't...
Nah, he said to himself, interrupting his own thought process. I'm just hungry.
The feeling swelled, almost as if it were a fire and some idiot had carelessly thrown a quart of mixed gasoline and rum into it, as if this intuition was now screaming NO! YOU WON'T...
Nathan inhaled sharply, and then let it out slowly, gradually easing the pain. "Just hungry..." he muttered and walked out the door onto the second story balcony of the Motel 6 they were staying in. He stared out at the peacefully slumbering town.
Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Driving into town, Nathan was skeptical. It looked like just your average cowboy town with a few familiar names such as Wendy's and Arby's. Seeing how Nathan had grown up in and loved San Francisco, a cowboy town was the last thing he wanted to see. As they drove, Nathan stared blankly out the window, and could swear he saw a huge sign advertising a saloon. Classic, he thought. Freaking priceless. They stopped by a local Italian restaurant, where the scrumptious shrimp fettuccini changed his mood for the better. After dinner, he experienced one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever witnessed. Looking over the town with less than five hours of sleep, however, resurrected his old, contemptuous feelings.
He walked sluggishly towards his mother's room, room 113. He knew exactly why she had called the moment she had said, "Nathan?" His mother was deathly allergic to spiders. Whenever a spider was within a twenty-foot radius of her, she freaked out and called on Nathan to kill it as she ran for cover. Tonight would most likely be no different.
He reached her room and knocked loudly on the door, overall pissed off by this late-night "emergency"
"W-wh-who's there?" she asked. Her voice sounded immensely distraught.
Goddamn, mom, Nathan wanted to say, it's just a spider! However, out of reverence, he held that in. Still, he had to reply sarcastically, so he said in a shrill voice, "Maid Service! Who do ya think, mom?"
"Nathan, this isn't the time for joking!" His mom said this quite sternly, almost as if she had been hurt by his words. "Okay, I am going to open this door. I trust you have a large blunt object?"
Nathan rolled his eyes. "Of course." Not, he thought, My foot will do.
"Okay..."
At first, nothing happened. Then the latch clicked, and the door creaked open. However, when it was halfway ajar, Nathan heard his mom shriek, "OH MY LORD!" The door flew open and Nathan gasped.
This was no spider.

PROLOGUE
12:46 AM

Cody VanFalto stood on the hillside, staring into the Trentino midnight breeze. His silver hair blew gently in the Italian zephyr, the gentle breath of Mother Nature as she slept soundly. He watched the slumbering city, as silent as a ghost town.
The village San Maria was a small one. Being approximately one mile by two, one can probably imagine its population was slim. Nonetheless, during the daytime, it was quite a bustling town. Housewives would travel from place to place, bidding each other "Bon journo" as they traveled to the market to pick up dinner for their children, their husbands (who worked in the town elsewhere), and themselves. When one entered the house of any of the citizens of San Maria, they would be met with a pleasing mixture of hospitality, Christianity, and home cooking.
However, as VanFalto had realized about an hour and a half ago, this would not be the case tomorrow. By the time daylight broke on this fair hamlet of dear old Italia, would be left in shambles.
And it is all my fault, thought Cody. I have doomed these innocent people. I am a fool. A murderer! He winced at the very thought. And there is nothing I can do about it.
Everything had been going so smoothly up until this point. His life was all so very simple, so clean. Get up at 7:30 AM, shower, shave, and eat a hearty breakfast of some sort, prepared by his personal chef Rosa. Then, he would call his colleagues and they would come to his mansion to study the Serpente Demonio over tea and scones. Then, he would dine in the local cafe, and study the Serpente Demonio before dinner. After dinner, he would read some Edgar Allen Poe, and then rest for the night.
But that life had been forced behind him. Now, VanFalto was forced to turn and walk away from his old life, walk on a crazy path to somewhere he didn't know.
If he got there at all.
Cody turned from San Maria. The gentle breeze now blew on his back, beckoning him to leave, to move along, to walk away from failure, from death, from hell.
Literally.
He tilted his head backwards, and glanced up at the eternal blackness, a dark canvas neatly dabbled with God's brilliant white paint, creating an aesthetic still-life entitled "The Dead of Night." VanFalto inhaled deeply, and stepped forward. He halted briefly, lost in thought. He then sighed and whispered, "Criste, eleison" and walked on.

List of accomplishments:
-Didn't get all homework done, but got some done, as opposed to the usual none.
-Wrote a chapter in my story
-Wrote a song.

Wow.

No.
Here's the deal, though:
Ahem.



Yeah.
So, here's to a temporary adios.
Sincerely probably yours,
Sean.
P.S. Now for my final five minutes of GDing. biggrin

Yeah, so...here's what's up.
I am deeply considering taking a break from Gaia.
It's kinda...taken over my life.
So...yeah.
I'll be back at some time in the future.
Con mucho amor,
Sean.

Yeah, so in case you didn't hear...
There was a giGANtic wind storm up here in Western WA. Things got absolutely crazy, and then, the power went out.
Me: OK, no big deal. They'll get it fixed by tomorrow, right?
Wrong. Dead wrong. Hoo boy, was I f**kin' wrong.
And, one week and one day later, I finally get power back. So, in case you missed me, can I get a big "welcome back?"

This is my journal. I did it for the gold I got for finishing the free tour whee . So anyways, For those who don't know, My name is Sean. I am a teenager (YAY!). Yep. That's all, cuz I can't think of anything else. sweatdrop