The Inevitable

Dawn came, the sun's pinkish-orange rays poured over the horizon. Ring-necked Pheasants chased each other through the Dakota air, their chirps erasing any hopes of silence. The grassy meadows danced with each gust of wind, all in unison. Farmers were always hard at work at this time of the morning, their tractors gathering hay to be bailed in the later day. As the sun engulfed the horizon, the farmer's stopped, awaiting the sound of bells. They would set their eyes to the top of the hill, overlooking the church. They would stand at attention, for good discipline towards thy Lord would bring great harvest, and they were in need of such a blessing.

The bells of the town church rang out, 6 chimes in all. every working body in the field stood as if they were rooted, as stiff as any board could be. As the 6th chime ended its sounding, a farmer cut his eyes towards the east, catching a silouhette within the sun's glare traveling down the road. He would be angered, for this would effect his harvest, and such treachery would not be allowed near his farm.

"Hey! You shall be stationary once the bells begin! You shall not bring plague to our lands!" The farmer began to make his way towards the blasphemer.

"Did you hear me! I said you shall STOP when the-"

His voice shrunk in his throat as the silouhette took form. It was a man of African American descent, his bald head glistened in the sun. Heat steamed from his forehead as he stopped and awaited the farmer. His broad shoulders and muscular frame seemed to dwarf the sun and the shade his body created stretched towards the farmer's feet. His long sleevless overcoat seemed to be leather-or maybe a rubber based fabric from the looks of it. He seemed to stand at least six foot and wielded a giant hammer on his right shoulder which looked as if it was made of silver, for the texture was too shiny to be steel. G.O.R. was etched in the hammer's face.

"u-Uhm, you may not be from here outlander, but you must abi-"

"Under God the people rule." The gi-normous figure interrupted with a penetrating voice.

"Uhm, yes sah that is our state motto and we hold true to that heya and -"

"Do not lecture me on the likes of God as I bathe in his Glory, as will you; in thy body and thy spirit. Your harvest will come of no harm and our Lord shall welcome you in his gates."

The farmer listened as the man spoke. The transcending image of the man with his back to the sun glowing within its rays seemed to have him in awe as he spoke such words. He continued to listen.

"I have come to collect a soul here. The information I seek is of the most importance. I ask you, ye of good faith, point me in the right direction so I can rid you of this evil."

The farmer squinted his eyes sharply, searching the glowing image for a face.

"I am Jeriko. Who might you be, friend?"

The man dropped his hammer from his shoulder to the ground, causing an indention in the pavement. He took a step forward with his left leg, then took a bowing position. Placing his right arm over his chest diagonally, his fingertips at his shoulder and his elbow at his hip, he bowed his head. Staying in this position, he lifted only his head to meet eyes with the farmer.

"I am Bishop Rayne, born in Portland, raised in the outskirts of Rome."

The farmer studied Bishop's face. It was hardened yet solemn, a taste of youth drowned in the hardships of life. His eyes were hazel in color and most of his body was tattoed with religious scenes and scriptures. He watched his lips as he finished.

"I have come for the meta-human, your brother."