posted on Sep, 13 2018 @ 11:15 PM
The team had been working in the hot sun without a break for hours. It was just about time to call it a day. Then, with one swipe of a brush, the top
of the box appeared. Intricately carved, it seemed to be mocking them. How could you take so long to find something so beautiful? Word traveled
through the team quickly and what had moments earlier been sweltering fatigue became excited energy. Each swipe of the brush revealed more detail on
the beautiful box. This must have cost a small fortune in its day. Not many people would have had the means to acquire a piece like this, or better
still, have it commissioned to their specifications.
Slowly, the team cleared away the layers of time that had accumulated around the box. Each swipe of the brush a step further into the past. Finally,
the box was free to be removed and inspected more closely. By now the wonder of what may lie within had reached a fevered pitch.
Gently the lid was raised on its hinges revealing an ornately and brightly colored disc, round and thicker in the center than at the edges. Even with
a thin layer of dust upon it, it shown brightly in the afternoon sun. There was a small ring on one edge suggesting it was meant to be worn or
suspended. There were dozens of runes or writing of some sort that was not immediately recognizable. On the reverse of the disc was an image of a
large outstretched hand, with a smaller tightly clenched fist within it. More of the mysterious writing encircled the image. Three rings of the
unknown characters on the back and three on the front.
The lead archaeologist gently pulled the disc from its resting place in the box. As lifted the disc he heard nothing but the sound of roaring thunder
as if it was coming from deep within the mountains and his eyes began to fill with a thick swirling mist. Though he could see the mist clearly he got
the impression its sole purpose was to prevent him from seeing anything clearly at all. The roaring thunder grew louder, like the pounding of hooves
in a canyon, until it drowned out the pounding of his own heart in his ears. Then from within the roar came a deep and resonant voice. “I am the
darkest moment on a dying planet. I am the purveyor of fate. The vengeful one. The hand of God. You are not the chosen...” With that the thunder
faded away to silence and the swirling mist withdrew. As his senses returned to him the archaeologist found himself on his knees, his hands clasped
tightly together as if praying, tears streaming down his cheeks and staring at the heavens, unable to speak. The disc lay in the sand in front of
him.
Another member of the team, a young woman, grabbed the disc to protect it from harm. Immediately she was overcome by the roar of thunder that only she
could hear and blinded by a swirling mist only she could see. Then the booming voice, “I am the darkest moment on a dying planet. I am the purveyor
of fate. The vengeful one. The hand of God. You are not the chosen...” The woman was screaming, her eyes shut as tightly as she could close them. In
her mind she was left with only the suggestion of four horsemen, glimpsed for just a moment, then they were gone as if waking from a dream. She
swooned and fell gently to the ground as she was caught by her teammates. A third member of the team, seeing the first two falling victim to the
strange object, lifted it gently with a large cloth, careful not to touch the object itself, and returned it to its resting place in the box. This
needed to be studied by experts at the University.
Professor Hilllborn had been contacted well in advance of the artifacts arrival. Having been told of the events at the dig site he dismissed them as
some sort of college prank or perhaps a weekend of binge drinking, which had been known to happen occasionally. Pictures of the disc had been sent to
him from the site. He had studied them with keen interest but had to admit there was something about this particular piece that had him stumped. He
began studying the disc as soon as it arrived. As master of ancient languages, the writing on this disc had him utterly confounded. The larger the
body of text the greater the chances of deciphering it. There were only six rings of text around the circumference of the disc and few of the
characters actually matched. The professor emailed a colleague and old friend at another university. He specialized in religious history and
artifacts. In the email he attached a new picture of the disc taken in his office. Upon seeing the image his colleague immediately called and laughing
said, “Subtle never was your strong suite.” Professor Hillborn thought for a moment and was about to respond when his colleague and friend said,
“The picture with the mirror image...”
Professor Hillborn was stunned. It had been staring him in the face the whole time. The picture he had taken just happened to show a reflection of the
back of the disc right next to the front of the disc. The writing on both sides was identical, only that the writing on the back was a mirror image of
the front.
“That's a damn fine representation of the seventh seal amulet.”
“You mean, the seventh seal? I thought that was supposed to be on the scroll itself, wasn't it?”
“Yes, and no. Its always a test to determine if Biblical reference is literal or philosophical. You know that.”
Overcome with curiosity Professor Hillborn snatched up the amulet forgetting the stories from the dig site. Thunder swelled in his ears and a swirling
mist enveloped his sight. Then the booming voice, “I am the darkest moment on a dying planet. I am the purveyor of fate. The vengeful one. The hand
of God. You are not the chosen...”
Hillborn's colleague, unaware of his friends predicament continued, “The amulet seeks out the anti-Christ, the Dark Messiah. It only has power when
both Messiah walk the Earth simultaneously. In the hands of a Messiah it brings forth the final battle. Everything depends on which Messiah controls
the amulet.”
Horrified, Professor Hillborn began to slowly collapse like a giant timber falling unseen in a forest, without making a sound. The image of four
horsemen lingered in his mind, with something in front of them. Something they were chasing, or perhaps something leading them. His heart, having
succumbed to the fear of his vision, stopped as he uttered the word, “Horsemen...” Professor Hillborn fell the last few inches to the floor of his
office where he lay lifeless. His college and friend, upon hearing the weak utterance, knew his friend had departed and why. Hurriedly, he punched the
numbers on his phone and breathed heavily as if the exertion was too much to bear.
“State Department, Roger Pearce...”
“Roger, its Will Jensen. I don't know how to tell you this...”
Many governments over the years had sought out the power of religious artifacts and ours was no different. It was standing practice to make sure that
experts in the field knew to call the State Department when something critical was discovered. Will relayed the entire tale to Roger who responded
with only, “We'll take it from here. Tell no one.”
Less than 24 hours later the ornate box sat proudly on the elaborate desk of the head of the State Department. As her feral eyes glazed with the lust
for power she threw open the lid of the box and clenched the amulet in her talons. Thunder surrounded the State Department. From deep within the roar
came a deep and resonant voice, “And so begins...The End.”