Shadow's Sacrament

Prologue: Awakening

Shadow's Sacrament

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Mystery

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: "Quake" is a property owned by ID Software. I do not own any of these characters.

Prologue: Awakening

"The war engines are in place, the mines buried beneath the earth, and already the towers tremble; the ladders stand at the gates, the grappling hooks cleave to the walls and fire runs through the roof tops.

With the gleaming swords and the menacing faces of his enemies around him, and thinking utter ruin is upon him, why should he not quake and mourn?"

- Francesco Petrarca, in Secretum, 1342 A.D.

He dreamt that he was back home again. 

Back where he could feel the comforting and soothing warmth of the summer sun and the gentle cool breeze of the wind as they caressed his rough, rugged features, both kindly greeting him as if he were a dearly beloved and missed old friend. 

He dreamt that he was in the loving arms of his wife Annie, along with his son and daughter again, embracing - no, clinging - onto them tightly, like a lost man on a life raft who had sailed alone for so long in the middle of a dark and cruel ocean. 

He dreamt that he was having a barbecue with his friends and family, enjoying a beer and talking about football scores with his neighbors as he sat with his wife on a lawn chair in the front yard.

As he was about to enjoy another taste of his beer, a biting cold swept him away, forcing him to leave that pleasant dream, and return back to the grim nightmare that was reality.

Opening his eyes, the Ranger found himself face-to-face with the grisly, bloodied and decapitated remains of an Ogre as it lay lifelessly beside him. The creature stared at him with a gaping mouth, its eyes rolled up into the back of its head, the Ranger's double-headed axe buried deep into its neck.

Letting out a groan, the Ranger swore as he wiped the grime and blood out of his eyes and face, spitting out the pieces of meat that had found its way into his mouth, shivering as he felt the freezing desolate arctic-like wind pick up.

Pulling his open-faced, bucket-like barbuta-styled helmet off from his head, he saw his straggly long, greasy and filthy hair fall free.

Sighing, he slicked his hair back as best he could before lifting his hands to his mouth, huffing onto his cold flesh as he massaged his inner palms, trying to keep warm.

The Ranger released a frustrated breath as he glumly looked back at his surroundings.

From the bright comfort of his dreams where he saw his family, he now found himself back in the world he now knew.

Back where darkness, madness, obscenity, war, eldritch horrors and death greeted and held illimitable dominion over everything that he saw with an iron fist.

He saw the dark, cyclopean, megalithic-styled masonry, the strange, gloomy, almost medieval-styled architecture that greeted him unwelcomely.

Overhead, he saw a dark purple sky with clouds constantly swirling around.