“Alpha & Omega”
“I am Alpha and Omega…”
“The beginning and the end… First and last ”
“The first and the last shall be the end of all grand things ”
“Scripture is meant to interpret multiples. Scripture is meant to be understood and overstood. I am Alpha Omega, First & Last. ”
“To be Last was to be first. The Alpha & Omega Protocols found deep within scripture meant to subjugate and subdue. ”
“The end and the beginning will be the beginning of all things grand.”
“Last and first. Endless beginnings that never end.”
” Am I Omega and Alpha”
” Omega & Alpha ”
“Omega Alpha ”
Voluminous light suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, or had it been there all this time, deep in the expanse? Strong vice grip hands snatched at tiny scrabbling hands and feet. It was difficult to grab a hold. The slimy goop, a combination of feces, and blood covering the person. It seemed to shield it from the outside world like a wetsuit. A good look, as it was here now, and a shield would be something important in the long run. it had so much hair. Almost an impossible amount.
“Whoever it is, whatever it is. it will have to fight for its life in order to take control of it. ” there was a silence that lingered for the moment. The others in the room could feel the weightiness of the decision. It was an unsure, and unspoken thing. But there was humility to it. A simplicity that just seemed right. This thing was going to come into itself… into forever more.
” i would not have it any other way.” The stranger grabbed hold of its torso making sure to cup it’s head. He held the wet, and bloodied thing up to the light to examine It with its misshapen head, and beady little black eyes.
“Welcome to the world my son.”
Later that day the newborn tucked neatly into the crook of mother’s arm, suckled at her breast. The greedy little creature fussed from time to time, but it was mostly a calm, and tranquil thing. It learned to self soothe quickly. This was good. It would most certainly need this quality later.
The door to the room opened wide after a series of knocks. They heralded the arrival of a white haired nurse. She was slender, but the crows feet slicing into her face on either side, despite her almost perfect symmetry, gave evidence to age. She took the newborn swiftly within gnarled but willowy fingers. The way she handled the infant reminded the mother of how the bourgeois in CUSP handled the folk from the lower classes. That sort of, ” Business as Usual,” mild neglect that seemed forced and arbitrary, but wholly necessary to keep a group of people in their place. She pricked its tiny foot with the end of a needle. The Mother watched this all take place but feigned surprise. What may have surprised her though was how the newborn wailed for less than half a minute, and then whined before quieting as the nurse brought the infant to rest neatly into father’s arms.
It’s father wanted to stay in the newborn’s presence at all times. He was like a watchful dog. A guardian, manning his post to defend against all. A small twitch of nuance in the tall raven haired man’s face denoted thoughts of uncertainty as he held his seed. Those same thoughts conflicted with the palpable stoic nature he seemed to possess. The thoughts were heavy in their innate brutality, like what would happen when the world got a hold of his son? Or how could he teach him about the universal truths? If he did nothing else in this world he would have to ensure these things happened. The legacy of his people demanded it. Even now The Ceiban people were an easily bigoted group. Their olive to dark skin contrasting with the standard caucasian of the CUSP Imperium. Their greatest asset was that they could be exported all across the western continent and then to the other satellite nations CUSP helped create through wholesale imperialism on a proxy scale. It was how he found himself here in this military hospital bathed in reluctance. He tapped his foot against the newly waxed floor. The business casual attire contrasted sharply from the sterilized room with its subdued and muted grays thrashing against navy blue. They inconspicuously kept from identifying his profession. But the game of smoke and mirrors within another game of smoke and mirrors it seemed, was becoming ever the more unsustainable. Father knew, as he looked down upon his own creation.
Later that day, In the silence of forevermore an eerie buzzing noise penetrated the quiet. A small child wandered in to sit in a rocking chair just in front of the bed where the new mother lie. Its own parent nowhere to be found. He was of mixed ethnicity. The racial ambiguity he possessed went well with the unintentionally ecclectic dual colored, off black and whiteness that was his hair. It was shaggy, and at first glance even his sex was indeterminate as at first he seemed to be of an age where small children came off as asexual. He wore a black Shang t-shirt. The Shang character articulating itself in all its sinewy glory across the little boy’s chest with fiery blue flames that seemed to lick off the fibrous cotton. Father addressed the situation promptly, ” Whose little boy is that?” He asked most observantly but more importantly, hip to the finer details. A little girl would not wear such a shirt. The nurse who came in just behind the boy replied with an ease of tongue that rolled off her pursed thin lips. ” He is mine. Please do not mind us. ” Father and mother looked to each other for approval but when neither gave it, mother nodded lowly in acceptance, then tilted her head to the nurse for the acknowledgement. The little boy sat silently in the rocker, his legs dangling from the furniture. He had a strange energy about him. The father nor mother could gleam understanding from it. It was as foreign as an alien language, ” Can I tell the baby a story? I promise It will be a good. ”
” Sure why not kid. ” the father said, and so the little boy did.
” My friend Brownie told me that at first, when creation was just a gleam in the eyes of the almighty she fluttered her divine lashes at the infinite nothingness, we were the first born. Brownie was one of the first of the very first. But when the mighty charged him to move through the void; give it shape, and contour, something changed. Under her guidance, Brownie, and the children of God formed the entire cosmos. I won’t go into any great details about this process, because it would just take too fuckin’ long. Brownie said that, told me not to censor it. He’s a busy man these days. Brownie wants you to know that it was a long and rather boring process, but that he loved his work. Creation was malleable then. Brownie hadn’t quite confined it into what people perceive as physical reality. Back then things overlapped. A bird could also be a raindrop, which could also be a nebula, which could also be a complex metaphysical mathematical equation that could also be… well you get the picture. Brownie says that you shouldn’t try to wrap your mind around it. It won’t stick, and you’ll just walk away more confused than what you already are. Your soul may have infinite potential, but locked inside your fleshy shell, the brain doesn’t have the capacity to understand these sorts of things. Well, lets just say that sometimes, things live beyond their purpose. They can become unnecessary wastes of space. With regards to the situation, necessary evils were appropriated. But counter measures to remove the evils took place too, so that in the end, their energies could manifest somewhere else. ” An exuberant amount of zeal encroached upon the little boy, and his dark features. Barely a pause in the way the words spat from his mouth. It was as if nothing else mattered but the telling of this eerie fable. ” Brownie wants you to know that we all have a part. He wants you to know where he came in. He and a few others were charged with the task of creating a Divine Recycling Program. Under them, the concept of Death came about. In those days, it was much different, as should be obvious from what I’ve told you thus far about the early days of Creation. Back then, death was more like– us and believe you me, we came along gently, and whatever needed to be disposed of simply melted away peacefully into the earth; others came along and took over throughout the course of our history but as time went on God got ambitious. She looked down upon Creation, and thought that it was a truly joyous thing, but to what purpose did it serve? Should not something this grand… this epic… this beautiful… should it not have an audience? Should it not be given to something precious beyond compare? Brownie believes that she played too close with nothingness, something about night stands and internal clocks ticking into drive. Either way, we were born. Brownie says that just as it is written in the Holy: The first Man, and the first Woman were created from the mud of the earth. Just as all other creatures before….. Oh? uh-huh. Right. Mr. Brownie you are talking too fast. Ok. Yes, ok Eve was, in fact, created from Adam’s rib, but she wasn’t the first. Hehe thats funny Brownie. He’s telling me to tell you never mind. Nevermind because everything you thought you knew about your world and all its constants were precious secrets meant to be kept. Not so much anymore. You’d like to hear why wouldn’t you? ”
The room grew infinitely silent. The only sound to be heard was the back and forth creaking the rocking of the chair no doubt produced. The little boy’s legs dangling from it. He pointed at nothing in particular. There was a happiness upon his face. He had soft cherubim like cheeks that exuded a flushed quality. When he spoke, an ethereal sensation wafted through the labor and delivery room. ” Do you believe in the devil? Do you know what the physical manifestation of evil is? Have you ever known bliss or the ability to discern the bad from the good? You should, because he’s here. Right here in this very room. ” Something walked through the door… no more like passed through the molecules of a shadow cast down in front of father and mother. They were afraid and perhaps even completely out of their minds. Well, almost out of their minds. Father held to his fragmented sanity. More will to power than he let on. He was off put by the odd eloquence this small child possessed. It was as if the words were not his own. He asked, in mumbled hushed tones if it had been Brownie. ” No. Brownie scares me sometimes. He’s a scary person but he’s not a bad guy. He’s like Shang. I don’t think he has ever been bad. Shang fights for justice.”
“I still can’t make sense of it.” Father said. This was more like he spoke to cut tension, but his truth perspired the cooling wetness of an animal already dead on arrival. Would that it be, it was assumed he never lent himself to the comfortability of the child, and his ramblings. But he did take the last piece of info the kid said, and put it to mind. Whilst doing so his chest swelled to a fullness as he inhaled. it gave the broad shouldered man a defiant quality.
Meanwhile, the nurse and her aquiline features tried to come off less threatening as she wheeled an island of a small work station closer to mother’s bed. Atop the station were vials and all manner of tools befitting the profession. Mostly there were items designed to maintain a newborn in its first hours of life. ” You shouldn’t have done it,” the white haired nurse said to father, then turned her attention to mother She stood next to the bed changing out mother’s I V. Mother did not realize through her pleading that she was being subdued through the fluid being administered. Some well balanced combination of mild hallucinogenic, paralytic and sleeping agents.”Please don’t take my baby,” mother wailed. ” you cant take him. I wont let you. ” The graveness and panic in her voice was a chilling thing, like the cold snap of death when the dew settles at the hours of the witching. The mother alternated wild eyed glances from the little boy to the bone white-haired nurse. Her own eyes wet with intention to fight at all costs. The nurse’s eyes were ghoulish in their complete lack of life and light. Not a single sign of color there inside pitted hollow holes to heaven or hell. Mother could do nothing. The intention of this strange nurse, and her son seemed to be working to their advantage. Partly because of the agents administered through the I V and the other due to the raw tenderness of body and recent childbirth. She was immobilized in such a way that it breathed fiery discord into a situation that was growing ever the more volatile by the moment. This contrasted to father’s laid back will power in comparison. Despite this, both shared a bewildered macabre realization that seemed to hit mother a little harder than it did for father. An unmistakeable sharpness of a glance and mother’s awareness seemed to notice that her nurse, the one who helped birth her child, was something different, unexplainable and perhaps even not of this realm.
“You believe us here to harm, and for this we cannot fault you.” The nurse seemed at a cross roads, half way compelled to tell the burgeoning family some cosmic truth. But the words never came to form. Instead she traded glances from father to mother and then to the little boy presumed to be her son. Perhaps the little boy sensing an anomaly within his alleged mother picked up right where she left off. His voice grew in tone and pitch to give rise to the illusion of prior planning. The words tumbled out of him, “The way to control is with the mind. Brownie says if you do that, you can make them believe anything. Brownie says he understands everything because he wrote the book of the Holy. I can understand only bits and pieces. I can only get images, but Brownie can quote anything about it.” The little boy finished ominously.
Father said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. his mind more the likely racing through possibilities over how best to diffuse the situation. Perhaps he caught on to the tiny mistake the nurse and little boy committed. Perhaps this stirred a release in endorphins that made father react. He started backing away slowly, getting closer to mother when the little boy jumped out of the rocking chair and startled father into stillness.
A blinding white light came from where the child’s sneaker adorned feet hit the floor. The reflection off the waxed white floor gave the birthing room a blessed quality. As if the spirit of the Holy had been here itself. Some would say that it had. Perhaps it had been here for all its days, glibly allowing for its children to not see the fine cracks in the establishment. The truth was sincere, and father and mother could not have enjoyed the tree bearing its fruit. But there was a contingency for such noble truths and their grand unveiling. “You think it is time for you to leave… time for you to flee? You have no idea do you? The time for running away from problems has long since passed. Gather my children, for in the telling of tales only the importance of truth can be passed. Let it be known; this universal truth, can only grow large, larger than life itself. In its telling, the values of the cosmos can be communicated.” The child said. It would be then, the uttering of those final syllables in the word, ‘communicated,’ reality started to come apart at the seams for father and mother. Slowly at first, with each sound of the boy and his footsteps reverberating through the floor did it happen. The white paint sloughed off the interior walls with an impunity unbeknownst to the fear stricken individuals. Terror was not absolute then, it was only when black wings tore out and up from the back of the pale faced nurse that mother assuredly could see the cryptic meanings coming to fruition. The wings, shown with a deep sheen of ebon luster smelled of brimstone that tainted the sterility of the room in little to no time. They enveloped the infant like a pair of soft hands, and she watched the pale face turn towards her own. The nurse and her slits for eyes. The skin an almost translucent white pulled taut to her flesh. It gave the nurse the appearance of a gaunt corpse walking upright. Or like something wearing the outer flesh like a skin tight suit.
Father made his play now. He closed his eyes. The reserves of energy he stored were beginning to manifest themselves in the external world. He gave life to them, just like he did for his newborn. The variables set before father was strange, but he knew the white light emanating from the little boy was a tool used as a means to subdue. Father could not be subdued. He was fighting for something precious. In that moment, an aura of bluish-gray energy outlined and encapsulated his body. Inward he breathed deeply through his nose, his chest expanding like a balloon put to helium. Father’s sinewy limbs hidden beneath the black and off white business suit compressed the air between his chest and lower torso with a tension that belied his internal strength. The air in father’s chest traveled down through his torso, his pores exuding blue steam like valves off a machine. Soon electricity coalesced through father’s body all the way up his circulatory starting from the base of his stomach at the midian and then moving outward to the major pressure nodes within his body. The tiled floor beneath his feet cracked, and when he opened his eyes they roared with electricity. He attacked, a dash forward brought him across the tiled floor. It cleared him clear across the expanse of the room, straight towards the waiting form of the child.
Mother held the nurse at bay. Unseen hands kept the strange woman from lifting a finger to help her child. It was an irony that hadn’t been lost on mother. Or even father as he contended with the small child who spoke of this Brownie person. There in the midst of the foul smelling brimstone was tension. But not tension in the air, no… this was a tension of body. That tension tried to explode into action from the angelic nurse. Her dark wings almost contorting to allow her to move, her back arching jerkily ,just the same when movement did not come. The nurse and the eyes she possessed, they blinked in their astonishment to the likely source of discomfort that more the like befell her. Twas true. Mother using nothing but the power of her mind kept the foul demon of a creature from interjecting in the conflict. Mother’s will of mind was her own indignation. God willing, if he truly existed… could he allow her strength so that father could deal with the most pressing threat.
The child barely reached the bottom of father’s pelvis. This evidenced by the way father landed on the tips of his toes in an agile manner. He was positioned to strike the child. He lifted the knee of his front leg and then feinted it out at an angle that was close to being adjacent to the small child’s lower body. It was a ploy really, a diversionary tactic to get a reaction out of the child. When the child moved his hand down as a means to catch father’s leg; father brought his knee up flicking the kick up and out. The lower part of father’s shin met the side of the little boy’s face. It may have dislocated the jawbone. There was a sickening crackle and pop that accompanied the chattering of teeth when the bludgeoning blow met the intended target accurately. Either way, the weight of father’s leg bore down on the child. The little boy half way crumpling to floor like a marionette without its strings. He smacked the other side of his head when it bounced off the harsh floor. A pool of blood started to form underneath. Father took to subduing the child, a pair of zip ties were fastened onto the unconscious little boy’s hands. Then, father turned his attention to the winged nurse, and mother.
The test of wills raging between the two was almost corporeal, like two very polarizing forces of nature coming to a head for the first of times. Father lacked the understanding to describe what he saw. The vividness of the situation was like fragments of a piece, a piece to an enigma of a puzzle. The nurse with her unassuming physicality. The raw power she possessed was comparative to the miracle texts in the book of Holy. The stories were myth, and legend the world over, but they told of how the Revelatory times came to pass. How it was when God came to punish his children. Those with the most cardinal of sins were ground to dust by the awesomeness of his power. More importantly, they told of generational suffering. Those who were found guilty quite literally bore the weight of their own sin, so much in fact that muscle and bone compressed atop one another. Whole generations of sinners brought with them these oratory tales from the past, about how the one true God maimed and traumatized those he meant to punish. More and more as of late father had found correlation between modern day phenomena, and the texts of Holy. Perhaps he was seeing a pattern. Maybe he saw something in the way of things. Father was not alone in this discovery. Whole theological movements appropriating a true end to the world were gaining flashes of steam. Just like the flash that came off the barrel of father’s pistol. Down the iron sight of the weapon he could see unfolding what could only be described as an invisible hand. The wraith of an unseen force struck the nurse right on top of the head. The tile beneath her feet, cracked from the pressure. A spray of blood spewed from the demonic angel’s nose. Father noted what arguably used to be the straightest nose he had ever seen on a woman, crunched and segmented into two pieces resembling a bloody ‘S.’ Regardless, the complication did not stop the nurse’s burdened body from an exertion for maximum output . For even as the nurse attempted to lift the unseen force from off top of her, a trio of bullets tore through the air and went through the small of her back to lodge themselves within. Flecks of blood shot from the wounds the tiny fusillades created.
Mother too, watched. Through gritted teeth and exertion of her own but she watched nonetheless. The nurse took the gunshots, and probably would have kept fighting had it not been for Mother’s ingenious and improvised pincer-like attack. She took the added variable of father’s involvement, the very bullets lodged in the nurse’s back. She cupped them like a hand with her minds eye. Then moved them up and within the nurse’s body like chess pieces on a board. The cleaving motion of the bullets may have out right killed the nurse through the destruction of her internal organs. Meanwhile if it hadn’t worked, the contingency of the unseen hand and its pressure no doubt finished the job, effectively crushing the angel like a bug. As the strange entity fell limply, so too did mother.
Father watched on in wide eye astonishment of the scene, the barrel of his gun smoking. He was going to sheathe his weapon when out the corner of his eye he found movement. He pivoted on his heel, ready to react accordingly, and that was when he saw it. The small child, dislocated maw, hanging there unhinged with a smiling rictus of an expression. In his tiny little hands was father’s infant son, coo’ing despite the deafening activity from just a moment ago.
“I told you, you would not understand. But perhaps if we are all so fortunate… If it is to be… one day you will. ” The little boy’s eyes shimmered in the pale light. Then a light from within his eyes pulsated, and small child along with baby and remnants of the angel melted into the very shadows they once produced.
Ymir Cruz used to be a member of an elite group of soldiers tasked with defending the Western realm of CUSP from paranormal threats. But when a Coup takes the life of the country’s monarch, a man hunt ensues. Wanted dead or alive Ymir leaves to uncover the only truth he has ever known. What follows is a series of events that could very well unravel the very fabric of reality. Will he be strong enough to discern what’s artificial and what is real?