A form appeared through the whirling blackness of the vortex and from it came a blinding light that expanded and grew as a flame in the darkness. The room soon exploded with the searing heat and all had been thrust into pure choas. Members of Intel ran and dodged hurridly away from the bizarre flux, trying the best they could to escape from its impact, all the while pointing their assault rifles to the growing thing before them, fearing the reprocussions of their employer's actions. They had been trained to defend against all forms of threats from the outside world, yet they had no understanding of how to defend themselves against the beings that lived within the threads of the Other Plane. As civilians, they had been taught that what lurked between the boundaries of their world and the next could not possibly cause any harm, but as soldiers, they were forced to believe that all was illogical unless it was standing before them, and in that case, if what was standing before them was illogical, then the only action that was in their disposal was to eliminate the target at all costs.

"Don't shoot!" Landon barked out as the light faded slowly, revealing the form that was inside. He threw up a free hand while grasping the other tightly around the trigger of his assault rifle and added, "Hold your fire--there's expensive equipment in here. You scratch something and R&D's gonna have our asses!"

The form finally stood upright and the team stood in disbelief as a pair of giant, raven-like wings unfolded from its back, stretching their huge wingspan across the entire perimeter of the chamber.

From all appearances, it was a big man clothed in ebony armor that gleamed as the glow that came from his massive form.
On his head was a headdress tempered from steel, covering over his forehead and stopping at the crown. From where it had encircled around his head, protecting the bottom of his skull from attacks was a thick line of black feathers, which stuck out from behind his ears, appearing as somewhat of a mane, creating a air of intimidation about him, and making the illusion that he was bigger than he already was. A large broadsword lay sheathed on his back, the exposed tip of the blade shining silver in the soft glow of emergency lights. For all the world, it reminded Landon of a giant butcher knife, and he immediately made note to himself that under any circumstances, no one was to anger this man, for he feared the outcome of the slightest sign of trouble.
Slowly, he took his headdress off from his head and revealed himself to the nervous team, who held back their weapons in antipication of a possible attack.
Landon felt a wave of nausea as he realized the identity of this person and immediately felt a sting of fear in his stomach. He couldn't grasp on how he could explain the sense of knowing he had on this man's true identity, but somehow, he did. Deep inside of him, he sensed it and tried his best to ignore those feelings, and yet, they still came. Who he was now seeing was clear to him and he could not mistake it for the world. Before him stood the sentinal of time and space incarnate, the being he had worshipped for his entire life as Chronus, the God of Time. The god of time was said to have been a rather frail man dressed in pure white robes. His long hair was the color of the morning sun and his sapphire blue eyes gazed across eons, overseeing the past, present, and future of mankind, beholding only the date of Ragnorak to himself and no one else in the Other Plane. Many tales around the world called him "Father Time" and worshipped him all the same. Images of stone-cut charatures flashed through Landon's mind, each portraying the same picture of a wise-looking man, infinately powerful and benevolent.
The Eddas had lied. Landon could feel a sense of betrayal grip into his heart as he beheld the frightening spectacle before him, morphing and growing in the pulsating darkness, undulating as air in an otherwise silent atmosphere. The man he seen had the appearances of a middle-aged individual, forever frozen in this decade of his life, and had deceived Landon's senses beforehand. It had was to dissern that Chronus was an ancient being from a distant past, yet his face revealed someone from the current era. His face was chisled with centuries of experience and across his right eye was a deep scar from a long-forgotten battle that had occured in a time beyond anyone's imagination. Unlike the fraudulent description of the Eddas, this Chronus was a hardened warrior, and his body had shown signs of each victorious campaign in his existance. Chronus's cold and unemotional eyes glistened a brilliant cerulean in the dull light and once again, proving the tales of the Eddas wrong, his faded goldenrod hair was short, cut in somewhat of a fauxhawk, and on his chin grew a goatee of the same faded blond color.
"Make one move....." Landon said through clenched teeth as he steadied his weapon to the man's exposed head. Much to his dismay, Chronus began to show a flash of amusement to this display and stood, unguarded and clearly unafraid of a mere mortal's handgun. "And I swear I'll make this chance encounter quick! Who are you?"
The armored man appeared amused and smiled dangerously as the atmosphere began to warp around them, "I find it amusing you would ask such a trivial question when you know wholeheartedly who I am. Perhaps you are lost within your own ignorance and therefore, need a clue to refresh your memory. Humanity has called me by many names....being an intelligent man as yourself, you should know. I am Chronus Hesperus Draugadrottin....or...in layman's terms, I am the man you humans are so found of in your bizarre fixation with deifying others of higher standing."
"You mean the god of time?" Landon asked, keeping a firm grasp on his rifle, and trying his best in the thickening atmosphere to stand his ground. "I expected something else."
"If that's what you are going for, then yes." Chronus answered firmly and added, with his massive arms folded across his chest, "You're disappointed? I find it hard to believe, given you are so willing to accept what is in front of you as fact. Yet, Landon Wilson, you are as naive as a child. You've no sense of self-respect and I suspect your weapon is but a ruse to protect a fragile existance. Pitiful creature....you know nothing of your true potential."
Landon peered over his weapon and said in a sarcastic tone, "I guess you're not here for a friendly conversation, right? It'd only be a special occasion if the god of time made an appearance to the party. Why're you here? Our theories have traced that negative entities are drawn to vortexes, and...."
"I came to pay my respects to your ill-fated plan. Not only is your company endangering the lives of others, but it is also threatening the foundation of the Other Plane." Chronus explained flatly."The Aesir beg you to reconsider your ideas of breeching Tapio to infiltrate Valhalla with your crude machines."

Here's a piece from something I've been writing on for a while now.(About 2 years now, since Senior year of high school.) This is the third draft from the original, which was very different than what it is now. This version is darker and more serious, as well as more morbid in parts. I intended it to be a reflection of the recent inspiration I've gotten from my studies in Norse mythology. If you know anything about the Norse from Scandinavia, they were a brutal, fatalistic bunch who made fighting their life. Overall, their belief system was as brutal as their culture. The gods were just supped up humans who could die very human deaths. When someone died in battle, it was said that the bravest were chosen by the Valkyrie to go to Valhalla, or the hall of the dead, where Odin was said to host a daily feast to the einherjar. The einherjar were said to practice fighting in the hall in preparation for the final battle of Ragnorak.
In my version of events, the entire world believes in a quasi-Norse religion that is centered around Chronus, the god of time, or "Father Time". His full name is Chronus Hesperus Draugadrottin. (Chronus and Hesperus are Greek names for "time" and "evening star". Draugadrottin is the old Norse word for "lord of the underworld", in association with Odin.) There are many who have tried to reach the Other Plane(the world of the Aesir, in my telling) to prove the existance of gods. Some, like North Carolina Paranormal, are against the idea, believing Chronus to be a creation of humanity. All of their investigations center around disproving his existance. However, in light of a mysterious government organization rising into power, the Ishtar Corporation, NCPS is threatened by this dangerous organization into haulting their theories. Their overall goal is unknown, and even people on the inside are oblivious as to what they are. Is it to discover the existance of the Aesir or to reanimate a hidden, ancient danger?

This section revolves around an Intel agent to the IC named Landon Wilson during an experiment to open a portal to the realm of the undead. Again, if you know something of Norse mythos, Chronus's description is strikingly similiar to a Valkyrie's. Here you go--and tell me what you think. Is it publish-worthy?(Look at the next post for details.)

Epitaph(Tribute to System of A Down)

The phoenix rises from the wasteland,
dancing in its self pity
crafted from the ashes of death,
swirling time from dust,
raising from its upkeep
its glory turns to rust

I stand upon the mountain
and watch the world disappear
With wars and violence, ignorance
all fading into yesteryear
Before the stains of time
stand still, the sun breaks from the sky
and it's too late to reverse the damage
made by the human race.

I can't question what I see,
can't fight back when I scream
everyone is holding me
another young mind drifts into the sea
farther away, farther away I go....

And in the darkness of the day,
the silver moon opens full,
parting the sky in a brilliant light
one that overtakes the clouds above
Can't you hear the spirits sing?
Their call to you, their call to....
And I hear the sound of choas
somewhere between the sanctuary of the night,
a song sung most clear to all the world's stage,
but falls as a silent whisper to deaf ears.

Audio ut natura, et ille mos exisisto vestri rector
Luna's lucis mos planto obscurum evanui
permissum naturo existo vestri viscus
permissum existo vestri anima.

Audio ut meus lacuna
audio ut lemma puteus
Vos mos navi forem
si ille est vestri desiderium
Operor id pro nemo sed vos, carus
nunquam permissum lemma subsisto vos.

Wherein the Lord Aeon sleeps,
the threads of time slither free,
across the tides in the oceans vast,
fleeing as far as the eyes can see
He knows nothing of his rule,
and slumbers deepily on his throne,
the mighty statue on a golden bust,
who strewns the ashes dark,
and casts them aside as the mournful dust.
Oh Aeon, they would pray,
make us live another day,
make sure our lives can stay,
and spare us 'til tomorrow's dawn.
Bring no flames from the mountains tall,
nor waves from our wide seas,
shelter all the vagabonds,
and keep our men courageous,
and make them smile at death.
Our children should know of nothing,
as the world falls, depressed,
we believe you to do your best,
though the pillars fall,
the cities' left in ruins,
and sickness takes us all,
we think you'll stop our fall.
I pray you stop the darkness,
and sleep grants you eternity.
Forever cannot be....

Audio ut natura, et ille mos exisisto vestri rector
Luna's lucis mos planto obscurum evanui
permissum naturo existo vestri viscus
permissum existo vestri anima.

"John"

There was a man, just 42,
a father of 3 who could barely make do.
His name was John,
a factory worker from New Orleans.
Never went to college,
just barely finished school,
he had the smarts of the alleyways
could keep alive in spirit for several days.
He once dreamed of having it all,
a picture perfect house,
a white fence and a dog,
but all John had was a 3 room house
just 2 blocks from his home growing up,
his front yard was the Lower Ninth Ward.

And then came that fateful day,
a moment in time when everything he had
got taken away.
It was August 27, 2005
he stood out on the front porch,
watching the shore.
As the skies became dark
and the wind grew strong,
John knew it was time
for his family to move along.



He thought about the memories
he'd leave behind,
and as he nailed the windows shut,
he knew he was in rut,
and the wood was found off the street,
he couldn't even afford to protect his home,
not much fill his tank with gas,
and all he had was 10 dollars,
just 10 dollars to get through the week.
The rent had to paid
and the lights were about to be turned off.
He was on the verge of losing his job.
John was the only support for his wife and kids,
his wife was sick terminally,
his kids went to a run down school in the inner city.
He toiled and toiled endlessly
to put together enough to pay for hospital bills
when he couldn't afford to pay for insurance.
They said she had 6 months,
a year with chemo,
he couldn't even afford that,
so they just sent her home.
Gave her a bottle of pills
and started to count down the days
until she died in the agony she'd face.
As he placed each nail,
the watched his neighbors leave
in their clunker cars,
filled with everything they would need.
He just sat there and thought,
'It's gonna be like the other times,
this storm will pass,
and everyone would come home,
just like the last.'

Later that night, they woke with a start,
the winds started howling as their house
began to tear apart.
John didn't know what to do,
he took his wife and kids into the attic upstairs.
Black water began to seep in,
slither like a snake in the bayou.
The kids cried as they were forced to leave their things.
An alarm wailed as the levees failed,
an explosion of stone and reebar filled the air
Lake Ponchatrain didn't even care.
It destroyed all they helped to build
their hopes and dreams were instantly killed
no more American dream,
the only sound they heard was screams

And they stayed huddled up in the attic,
cold and wet, as their radio faded into static
They had no idea what was about to go on,
and all they could hear was the storm's yawn.
The breaking of windows,
the splintering of doors,
as the water flooded in,
they could hear the roar
of a thousand angry seas
on the edge of death;
their small neighborhood took its last breath...

The rest of the time was really a blur,
the silence took over and water stayed in
The smell of death overtook their home,
mixed with fumes of gas, decay, and sewage,
rotted garbage, needles, and crack pipes
The remains of what their sad neighborhood was once like.
Everything was gone, everything he ever had;
he blamed himself,
thought he was horrible dad.
How could he let things get this bad?
He should've left when he had the chance--

Nobody in America lives like this
you've got kids on the streets,
crying in the sweltering heat.
The dead and dying lose grip
on the road, no shoes on their feet
And it's been three days since they had something to eat
Those who could stand walked the pavement,
with signs reading 'help, nobody will save us'.



As newsteams came and the Red Cross went,
nobody heard a peep from the President.
They say he was in Crawford,
on a boat, catching fish.
And that son of a bitch couldn't say much,
he and his Cabinent were all out of touch,
and FEMA never came,
instead they suffered in the acid rain,
living in human filth in the Superdome,
nobody's cheering on 'cause they lost their home.
How can you sit there and say
help was on the way
it will take three more days?
And three more days turned into a week,
a week into two,
the death toll rose as the dark skies turned blue.
And no one ever knew just how many were gone
how many left Orleans for good,
how many people died in the 'hood
Their world was in choas,
they stole into the flooded stores,
taking what they could to survive,
picking off the shelves to keep themselves alive.
They were law abiding citizens,
but the media called them thieves and crooks,
judged them solely by their looks,
and the blind nation couldn't understand,
what would you do if you were forgotten by your land?



And this is a story about the ignorance of man,
who never even knew what it was like.
Life in the Gulf never got better,
things got worse,
the city of New Orleans became its own herse,
carrying away the souls of the dead on slabs of concrete
and flooded city streets draped by trash,
riddled in bullets and filled with ash.
The locals say it was a long time coming,
few stayed behind to live out that terrible day,
and the rest just packed up their few bags and moved away.
Where there ever be a time when they come back to it?
It's something residents couldn't even dream of,
lying in the sights of solitude,
and they called it 'Hurricane Katrina'.