i’m a holy avenging angel listening to dead can dance on my headphones storming the nights, taking the moment and turning it to new gold dreams, guns blazing amber light in the heat of the desert.
i set the world aflame with my sword, ezeikiel which translated means angel of transformation, i ride where the barren wastelands stretches north south east and west, where the flesh withers and bones buried under sand from ancient times have turned to dust as vultures of the necromomicon use thermoregulation to enable them to survive extreme temperatures, sandstorms and fire so they can feed on the carcasses of the slain and terrorize the wounded. they control a small army of subhumans who do their dirty work, people who have sold their soul to the devil, people who are no longer human, parasites of humanity, who serve only the vulture gods.
they have sent their best men and women, they all have tasted blood and have the hunger of the kill fresh upon their tongues, they have the lust deep in their hearts, they carry the banner of the vulture skull and fear nothing except a dishonorable death. they appear out of the dust like a red cloud.
a grim looking bedouin has foretold this to you many days ago, you have prepared. there are no surprises left for you, it has been written in the eye of the tiger, the stars in the skies, the patterns on the sand.
the stallion you ride heads towards the dust storm, ezeikel drawn gleams and screams as it slices the air above your head. you have fear on your lips and in your heart but you have the mind of a buddha, you have died a million times, and one more death at the hands of the horde, ha, you laugh out loud, it is a good day to die.
the opponents are confused, bewildered, a laughing man riding towards them with a single sword, it’s a certain death. it cannot be so. something is wrong, doubt flickers like flames in the wind, and that’s all it takes.
it has been written.
‘inshallah’ the old man said as he saw the future and that was the name he gave you.