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XL:Interlude-Endgame
-42 years past- The mountains of Ammon, June, 2610
The thick clouds darkened overheard. The Inferno was not near, but the spoor of its black forges thickened the skies. The time of war was coming, a great battle unseen in hundreds of years. Its impact would touch the lives of all.
A lone figure stood on the rocky soil in the mountains of Ammon. He was robed in a simple cloak, his feet bare and his head uncovered. His age was at once young and old, different to different observers. He had long black hair, a tended beard, and a strange trail behind him. If one looked from where he had walked, he would find a trail of shells and small bones as if they had risen from the very ground.
The figure stood alone, watching the sky. To his west was Jerusalem, to his east the city of Amman. It was here, in these mountains, that Engel and Dreamseed would clash. There was little he could do to stop it, for it was destined, and yet he ached in thought of the slaughter to come.
The figure, if he was a man, was alone. And then, without anyone approaching, he was not alone. Standing beside him was someone who had not been there moments before. At once an old man with a large staff, a thick cloak with hood up, and a very lined face was beside him. Large saucer eyes shined from under the hood of the cloak and met the gaze of the bearded man.
"So, Maetoth, you have come. Do you plan to try some intervention here?" the bearded man asked of his newly arrived company.
"No, friend, I will not. But it is hard. How many Engel will die here today? How many men will loose their lives fighting a hopeless battle to save a city already doomed?" Maetoth was brimming with emotion. His aged face twisted as his frowned grimly. "Are we to do nothing?"
The bearded man who some called the Wanderer nodded, and stepped away. He walked up the hill, and motioned for Maetoth to follow. The old man grunted at the exertion of old flesh. He knew not where the Wanderer led him, but he was eager for some answer to his question. There was little he could do to stem the horror about to be unleashed upon the mountains around him, but knowing he could not even try (even if he would fail) was maddening.
The Wanderer crested the hill and waited for Maetoth to reach him. He pointed first at Amman and then Jerusalem.
"They have their hope. For ten years they knew they had beaten the Fear-Lord only to learn it was not so. In the past five years his servants have returned stronger than we have ever seen. Three hundred Engel, if not more, will die here today. Perhaps two thousand Templars. Perhaps even more. But this has to be. Jerusalem will fall. Amman will not. That is the way of it. Nothing you can do can change that."
Maetoth brushed the dust from his eyes and nodded. The wind was blowing stronger now throwing rock and sand in the air. Hundreds of Engel would die. Thousands of men. Madness.
"What about you? Perhaps I can do nothing to stop this. I accept that. But you� tell me you could do something. You can not stand by and watch this happen!"
The Wanderer listened to his plea, but shook his head. It was not easy.
"Maetoth, you must understand. There is a pattern to this, as there is a pattern to all. This battle will happen, and the Church will lose. Hope will be shaken. Desperation will set in. The Fear-Lord will drink deeply of this, as we both know. He will grow stronger, and a decision will be made in his council. They will try for another Himmel, not any, but the Himmel."
Maetoth listened, and at first thought the Himmel to be that of the heart of the Orders in Roma Aeterna, that of the Michaelites. But as he opened his mouth to ask if he understood correctly, realization hit him. It was not to be the Himmel of the Leaders. It was to be...
"Yes, Maetoth, you guess correctly. It will be the Source. He will try to take it. Imagine his power combined with the machine? They were fools to hide it so far from their power-base. And now, that mistake will damn them."
Maetoth was aghast. The enemy would be undefeatable if they had the Source, let alone it meant the end of the Engel.
"Is there nothing that can be done? Has hope failed us now and forever?"
Again, the Wanderer shook his head. He put his had on Maetoth's shoulder and smiled gently.
"Do not feed the dread one with your own despair. The words of the old woman will come to pass. The Source will be destroyed, but from its ashes will come two who are one, the twins. One will be raised in darkness, the other in light."
Maetoth mouthed the word "Gemini". Could the words of the old crone come to pass? But there was only a most dangerous hope in them. Could salvation truly come to pass from an Engel shaped by the Church? So many lies they told. So many lies. The Wanderer saw Maetoth's doubt.
"I know you have doubts. You have to have faith. I will act in the final moments before the Source is taken. I will not act directly, but through another. I will bring forth from the deep places of the world the horn. It will be its clarion call that starts the endgame."
"Forgive my doubt, but I must ask. How can we place our hope in one Engel? There is so much kept from them. And if the crone is right in her divination, the Engel will have to kill his own flesh and blood to fulfill the prophecy. It is too much."
The Wanderer smiled at Maetoth, and admonished him thusly.
"I am surprised at you, seeker of forbidden worlds. If any should have learned this lesson, it should have been you. We are not what we are made by others, but what we make of ourselves. There is hope in this Engel. Hope for us all."
The sky began to fill with the white wings of many Fellowship, flying forth from Jerusalem to meet the oncoming avalanche of monstrous nightmares. Templars on the ground raced forward, blades sharpened and ready, prepared to die for their cause.
"One last thing, Maetoth. And I warn you, this is grim."
Maetoth swallowed, his old throat dry and sore. He nodded to the Wanderer.
"Tonight is the re-birth of the plague. It will not surface here and now, but what happens here will bring what man called the Vitus Dance into the agony of all men one last time."
The Wanderer walked away into the shadows, leaving the strange trail behind of bones and shells. Maetoth, left with a mystery, watched as the first Engel fell before the claws and razor teeth of the winged monstrosities above. The day had come. As the Wanderer had said, from this battle the endgame had started. He only hoped the world survived to see who would be the victor.
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