pROLOGUE III : a tASTE oF hELL

"Your life has become one to watch." the eerie voice fills his mind.

A teen in a muddy football uniform is rushed down a hallway on a stretcher."You have become a prodigy among mere men." the eerie voice says.

Blurry visioned eyes watch, as the emergency room lights become too bright.

"You persevere when others fall to peril."

A football is spiraling through the air and a tactified glove reaches up to steal it. A cornerback, number 21, begins running down the sideline the other direction, the name Tempest above his jersey number. He holds his hand up high, as the interception turns into a touchdown.

"You have overcome what others only dream of." the eerie voice coaches.

A young man in a graduation gown and hat with a wind blown tassle, walks across a stage and accepts his diploma.

"You will be a champion among mortal men. You will enter a room and they shall part to allow you a path. Your very prescence will silence them."

Strobing images of a career in sports entertainment. Blood, sweat and glory, where Tempest raised the World Heavyweight Championship title ten times during his tenure in the ring.

"Your path has allowed you to harness your abilities for your true destiny."

Tempest finds himself in that eerie darkness and can feel the essence of the eerie voice next to him. Although unseen, he knows he is very close. The darkness below him parts and another essence begin to glow throughout existance below him.

"A reaper's work is never done. The essences you seek appear to you. It is up to you to make sure they get where they belong."

"Heaven or hell." Tempest says softly.

"Yes."

"How will I know?" Tempest asks.

The eerie voice's essence laughs softly, however it is thunderous throughout the darkness.

"You shall discover that on your own. Now go."

Tempest steps through the darkness.

Gunther Collins is celebrating. He has his classical music turned up to a not so moderate volume this late evening. Today is a day he prides himself on thirty years in the family law business. He has poured himself a glass of red wine and loosens his tie from his collar. He clumsily acts as if he is ballroom dancing with his glass of wine, as he sips arrogantly from it. He is very clever at his profession. He has manipulated court systems for three decades now.

A celebration, indeed. He sits down in his plush leather chair at his marble topped desk. He thinks rather highly of himself. His peers do not. The judge's hammer concluded a child custody case this day in his favor. A verdict not in the best interest of a young girl. A judicial system already tainted with corruption, Gunther Collins' deceptive methods of intimidation and coercion allowed him a judge practically in his hip pocket, and a young girl is now where she does not belong.

He sips his wine and rubs his oversized belly with hands that have never labored in their lifetime. He sets his glass of wine on the desk and eases back in this expensive chair and taps his foot to his music. He hums along with it, as his eyes grow heavy, his smug sneer still permanent on his face. He has done well this day, or so he believes.

As his body slowly allows him to swim into sleep, his essence begins to glow.

"Psst."

Gunther Collins snaps awake. His sleepy eyes blink wide awake. He could have sworn he heard something. He shrieks as his plush leather chair is violently spun around.

Tempest sneers at Gunther Collins.

"Did good today, didja?" Tempest asks sarcastically.

Gunther Collins cannot believe his eyes. Who is this ballcap wearing, tinted shades sneering bum in his home? Gunther's eyes travel up and down the figure in front of him, the trenchcoat and most disturbing, the scythe blade hooked over the figure's left shoulder.

"Who are you?" Gunther asks. "And what are you doing in MY house!?"

"I'm da last thing yer ever gonna see." Tempest assures Gunther.

"Like HELL!" Gunther roars, yanking open a desk drawer, pulling out a .38 Special and unloads all six rounds into the figure.

Tempest looks down at himself, then back at Gunther.

"Feel bettah now?" Tempest sneers.

All Gunther saw was the flash of the scythe blade. His eyes grow wide, as he realizes he is suddenly cold below his chest. His eyes slowly roll downwards to see what he feared.

"People like you in places where ya can make a difference and ya decide ta deceive yer own oath fer yer own benefit...makes me sick." Tempest says softly.

Tempest sinks his right hand into the open gash in Gunther Collins' chest. He forces his hand upwards and to the right. Gunther's eyes roll with excruciating pain, as he tries to maintain focus on whom he shot six times. Tempest's hand feels the beating heart and caresses it with his leather gloved hand.

"Their lives are in yer hands, like yers is now in mine." Tempest whispers. "And ya toy with their lives, like it is a game. Game over, Gunther."

Gunther gurgles a little blood from his lips, his eyes are crinkled and how he wished he could get this intruder into a courtroom. Oh, how he would pay...

"I thought I would have a problem takin' souls ta hell." Tempest confessed. "In yer case, da verdict is in. No problem at all."

Tempest's hand clutches Gunther Collins' heart. Every corrupt verdict he was responsible for. Every tear he was the source for. Every heart he ripped apart. Every family he destroyed. As Tempest squeezes Gunther's heart in his leather gloved hand, he sees, feels and endures them all simultaneously. Gunther's heart bursts.

Pain.

Gunther Collins awakens and is paralyzed in severe pain. He clutches his chest and leans forward. His glass of wine spills all over his computer keyboard and sprawled paperwork. A solid gold pen spins from the clinkin wine glass and falls to the floor. Gunther drops to his knees, his hands clutching at the pain inside his chest and his thoughts race with what he thinks he just dreamt.

"It was just a dream!" Gunther cries, as the pain is taking him. "JUST A DREAM!"

Gunther collapses to the floor, his eyes full of fear, as he realizes his end is before him. Thirty years in his profession and his last thought alive was asking for a retrial.

His last breath escapes his body and his soul escapes into the air. A leather gloved hand clutches it.

"Only one thing ya need ta know, Gunther." Tempest smiles. "Dreams do come true."

Tempest places Gunther's soul on the floor and it begins to take human form again.

"What are you doing?" Gunther asks, as his transparent essence begins to form as a human again.

"I'm gonna show ya hell." Tempest smiles.

The floor opens behind Gunther and the red glow of the pit of hell illuminates the room. Gunther dares let his eyes look behind him, where a demon rises from the opening and his eyes are full of torturous delight. The demon begins to manifest and take form of the father of the little girl Gunther played a huge role in taking from him.

"Hi, Gunther." the demonic father form smiles. "Why don't you come with me?"

The demonic father form seizes Gunther by his ankles and begins to pull Gunther into hell.

"O! PLEASE GOD, NO!" Gunther screams.

"I ain't God..." Tempest smiles. "And He ain't listenin' ta ya."

The demonic father form grabs Gunther's belt and yanks him deeper into the opening to hell. Gunther's fingernails scraping across the woodgrain floor.

"NOOOOOOO!" Gunther cries, as the demonic father form's claws grab Gunther's mouth and pull him under and the opening to hell closes.

"Case closed." Tempest sneers.

pROLOGUE II : sIX fEET uNDER oR sURVIVE

1 "...Clear Creek South football team was travelling back from their game with arch rival Clear Creek North, in this very tremendous thunderstorm system that blew through the area..." the voice of a reporter.

Images of a dark stretch of lonely highway, wet and flooded from the pouring rain. Caution tape lines a sharp curve.

"Intense wind, tornadoes have touched down in the area. It is unclear exactly what happened at this point, all that we know is that the school bus came right through here..." the reporter's voice fades in static.

A staticy television screen flashes back to the news studio.

"...where the school bus lost control and apparently went over the edge..." a newscaster's voice reported.

A staticy image of the reporter, standing in the darkness of night, fighting the wind and rain to stay in view of the camera feed.

"...authorities are on the scene, however at this point, they have found no survivors." the newscaster's grim face is all that you see before everything goes dark.

2"And from amongst the dead, you shall rise." an eerie voice echoes in the darkness.

A lone bright light suddenly comes down into the middle of somewhere, the perimeter of it's brightness is surrounded by a thick darkness that neither of them had ever seen.

"One of you are already dead and do not realize it." the eerie voice spoke to them.

Two teens, in muddy football uniforms cautiosly enter the brightness, both shielding their eyes from it's intese glare.

"One of you will go on to better things." the eerie voice chuckled.

The two teens are frightened, looking around and at each other with confusion, wondering where this voice is coming from.

"It's time for you both to realize a few things. There is no heaven and there is no hell, unless you take them there. There is no tomorrow, only what must be done today and at this precise moment. There are no second chances and there is no remorse. There is only what you must do and how you intend to do it. The rest is solely up to you." the eerie voice preaches.

"What are you talkin..." one teen asks, the bigger of the two, obviously a linebacker or defensive lineman of the now extinct Clear Creek South varsity football team.

"SILENCE, INSOLENT!" the eerie voice sonically booms and echoes throughout this strange world. "You have but one choice. Discover what has been given to you and use it to defeat whom is in front of you. One will prevail. One will die. The choice is yours."

The two teens look at each other. The linebacker smiles at the smaller teen, obviously a wide receiver or a cornerback.

"You're going down, Tempest!" the linebacker roars and as he begins to take off across the illuminated circle, his legs seem to drape back behind him like a cape.

He is no longer leaping, he is flying and gaining momentus speed, tackling the smaller teen and they crash to a dark floor. Dust clouds rise underneath their impact upon the strange surface of the floor. The linebacker rises and drives a vicious fist down into the cornerback. His face recoils and the linebacker seizes the cornerback by the head, as thoughts race through his barbaric mind. His thoughts are clouded, but as his hands grip the skull of the cornerback, his fingers sink into the scalp and he begins to rip flesh from the skull. He discovers this to be somekind of new rush and begins to shred the cornerback's flesh and sling it into the thick darkness around him. He rips the skull from the spine and holds it in his hand and holds it so that glazing eyes stare at him. He takes his fingers and digs out those eyes and begins to tear the muscles from the skull. He even rips the bottom jaw from the skull and continues peeling away all signs of what used to be life. A frenzy of ripping and tearing and soon the linebacker stands triumphant, holding a bloody skull up to the bright light.

"And what were your thoughts, during this..." the eerie voice asks the breath heaving linebacker.

"I just wanted to shred him! I never really liked him anyway." the linebacker said boldly.

Your view is taken inside the left eye socket of the bloody skull, where brain activity is starting to fade, however there is still one last glimmer of life left, like a smoldering ash about to be blown out by the wind. It's last thoughts would become legendary.

"You traitor! I'll take your soul!" the cornerback's brain thought.

As the linebacker roars in triumph, all of a sudden he looks down at the skull in his hand. The surface of his skin seemed to be being drawn in where there once was a bottom jaw, as if the top row of bloody teeth were beginning to consume him. The linebacker tries to shove the skull from his hand, but it was too late. He shrieks with confusion and terror, as the consumption process takes his entire hand up to his wrist. The linebacker cannot believe his eyes, as the more the skull takes of him, the more of the skull returns. Oozing liquid begins to fill the bloody empty eye sockets and formed two moist white spheres, where soon light brown eyes begin to appear around forming black pupils.

"What the...." the linebacker cries, as the skull continues up to his elbow, muscle formations and a new bottom jaw beginning to form, as it progresses to his shoulder.

Once the skull is at the shoulder and has begun to reform skin, it's eyebrows sprouting hairs and crinkling in fury at the linebacker. It releases it's bite and drives right into the linebacker's chest with a bite with it's newly formed bottom jaw bone.

The linebacker staggers backwards in the blinding light, as the skull continues it's consumption, his chest being sunk into the jawline, as a spine begins to stretch out from the base of the skull and form rib cages, arm bones, hip bones, leg bones, and each bone that is formed begins to have muscle formations ooze into place, ligaments realigning themselves and skin beginning to ooze over the surface.

The linebackers torso is consumed as you can hear his spine snap in half and his arm is jutted out behind him, along with his legs at awkward angles. Soon, the linebacker is consumed and the newly formed skeleton rises, as all liquid oozing forms him into his former self. The cornerback exhales and the linebacker's soul seeps out. He graps it firmly with a muscle exposed hand, as skin begins to form over his fingers.

"You are complete." the eerie voice says. "Indeed, you are a Tempest. Now, you must decide where his soul must go."

Tempest looks down at the soul he has wrapped in his hand. He looks to the floor and a hole begins to open, burning red hot with the flames of hell. Millions of demons swim in the flames each screaming to be the first to torment this new soul. Tempest spikes the soul down through the hole opening and the demons consume it and drag it off, as the hole begins to close in upon itself and the ungodly screaming of hell's demons ceases in this already strange world.

"Your bloodline has shown to be superior over the centuries. Your forefathers before you. Now, you have passed your test. You are no longer a Tempest. You are now a Reaper."

The Reaper looks out towards the edge of darkness, where a dark robe enters the illuminated radius. The hood over his eyes conceals his face, but his own eyes cannot get past the glowing prismatic smoke for eyes this figure has.

"A new dawn has come. Legend of the prophecy is at hand. You must make sure this does not happen." the eerie voice behind those smoking prismatic eyes says.

"I will." the Reaper says.

"Then return to Earth." the eerie voice says. "Remember...a Reaper's work is never done."

"I will." the Reaper nods.

The robed figure waves his hand and suddenly the Reaper knew what to do. He turns and faces the thick darkness. He walks boldly and steps into it...

3"...OVER HERE!" a voice shouts.

Two fireman rush over to a dim flashlight beam and assist their fellow fireman. They peer into the twisted and ripped open school bus, there amongst the entanglement of killed teammates, cheerleaders and coaching staff, one stirs and holds up a bloody hand.

The fireman begins to wave the flashlight into the rainy night air.

"WE GOT ONE!" the fireman shouts.

One of the other two fireman begins to carefully enter what remains of the school bus, careful to step over the strewn remnants of the youthful dead.

"Easy, kid. We gonna get ya outta here." the fireman says, in a thick Texan accent.

The lone survivor's bloody hand trembles in the beam of the flashlight and the air that surrounds it.

pROLOGUE : a rEAPER iS bORN

I don't expect anyone to understand..."

A black leather glove is yanked over a hand and the fingers within squeeze with a tightened fist.

"I don't expect anyone to relate..."

Strobing images of fake faces blurred with their empty promises and muffled vows of lost causes flash before your eyes, as their wails of sorrow are drowned out by time. A leather trenchcoat is shrugged over a pair of shoulders.

"I don't expect much of anything...you can say nothing surprizes me, when I have seen it all."

A pair of silver tinted shades is placed over the pair of eyes that have seen it all. More strobing images of the most hated humans on Earth...all begging for mercy.

"...except, when I come for your soul..."

Leather gloved hands lace a steel toed combat boot and yank the bow loops tightly. The figure stands, as he visually takes you upon a journey throughout the sands of time, as you can hear each last breath of every soul he has taken.

"...I expect no substitutes."

A confident sneer appears across the lower half of an indistinguishable face. More images flash of graveyards, tombstones, infamous names long gone.

"There comes a time when history as you know it...and a future as you perceive it...collide."

Prismatic smoke seems to fill your view. Laughter fills your ears.

"I like to think of it as rewriting what will become history, as I go about my way."

View pans along the edge of the blade of a scythe.

"It's nothing personal. If your name is on the list..."

Leather gloves grip the shaft of the scythe firmly.

"The last grain of sand fell through your hourglass."

A flash of the silver tinted shades through the prismatic smoke, the sneer ever so present.

"I am the Reaper. An entity sent to distinguish of those the gods no longer care exist."

A close up of the silver tinted shades and the sneer, before it all fades to black...

"Enough about me...that's a story that will never end. So where else to start than where it all began?"