The eternal struggle of natural and supernatural.Only time will tell who is master and who is servant. Lesser gods walk the Earth as do their children. The battles fought between their factions and those of mankind could break the world. The only hope of survival lies in a bloodied journal, discovered amidst the ruins of an ancient civilization, far in the Middle East.
A shadow moved where the void was, blotting out the stairway as it slithered up towards the monolith's top. Silent and smooth, the humanoid shadow approached with a sliver of metal, like the fang of a star god floating before it.
Vanguard hesitated, caught up in the great looming form as it descended from the sky. The great metal hulk gobbled up the light with sponged absence. Hesitation expired, and he moved in quick to do his job.
Nathan reacted to years of paranoia as he heard the brush of a shoe on the platform behind him. Removed from his enamored view, he ducked and spun narrowly missed by the would-be assassins blade. Pinning empty air, the blade turned in its trajectory as Vanguard’s body reacted and moved in towards Nathan's face.
Not a man of finesse, Nathan treated the small dark man with respectful distance.
Adopting a squat tense posture, Nathan screamed at him. “What the hell!”
“Hell indeed.” Vanguard cut him off. “That's where you will be heading soon. Stop twitching so much so I can finish the job.”
“What job?” Nathan tried to stall him as potential reactions zipped through his mind.
Nathan feigned a punch that was met with the slick edge of the blade; cutting his knuckles to shreds. He withdrew and cradled his hand, backing off slightly.
“You've pissed off the wrong crowd Archaeologist. Now just hold still so we can.” Hardly out of breath, Vanguard swung again, testing his opponent's skill. Vanguard's distractions seemed to be working. Nathan was shuffling backwards, trying to move away, but one foot met empty air, and he spun on instinct to regain balance. Then Vanguard made his final move.