Origins of Chaos - Harbinger of harvest

Origins of Chaos - Harbinger of harvest

A pale hand touched the cemetery's rusty iron gate and opened it with a echoing creek. The man's devilish grin grew wider and he entered. Graves of the long-deceased littered the landscape around him, but the dominating object was still the church. Catholic in nature, it had quite many decorative features, including a single gargoyle. It stood there, seemingly a watcher, protector.
But a statue could not defend mankind from what was to come. Oh, most definitely not. His right hand gripped its glowing, green cargo. Such a precious artifact. Too precious to just be left behind glass in a museum. Breaking glass was so simple, too. Come to think of it, so was running from the cops. After all, they were just human. And he was more.

So much more.

He was a servant to powers greater than the galaxy itself. And he would not fail them. And not just because their rewards were treasures beyond his wildest dreams. Eternal servitude... and life. As a powerful leader of the dead. All he needed... was to die shortly after performing the necessary rites. Oh, those rites would be so much fun.
His eyes went upwards, letting the shine of the full moon bathe them fully. Such a beautiful night. A full moon, sending mystical rays down to the dirt. Cold winds, which bit into the flesh like daggers. Wolves, which howled in the distance. One could not wish for a more perfect night. Especially if they wanted to perform rituals. Of the unholy kind.

A small wooden door was in sight. He had no intention of knocking and waiting for someone to open. No. His entrance would be far more... dynamic. His left hand reached to his back and grabbed an item. This item was his weapon, conveniently strapped to his back. He had been told anything would suffice. A double-barreled shotgun he had chosen.
With a loud blast, the door's lock was removed. His boot then collided with what remained and he entered, his brown cloak still moving in the wind. Two grey eyes watched the surroundings. They were contact lenses, because his normal colour was just a boring blue. His long black hair was tied into a braid... and his skin was pale as snow.

He knew only one human would be inside by now. And he could already hear footsteps. As soon as father Beneth's landed beneath the stairs, the weapon was aimed. The priest's last word was:
“Jason...!?”
After that, the only sound was another shot.

******

The cleaning took about an hour. And by 'cleaning', an ordinary human should understand 'giving the place a new paint job with the priest's blood'. Oh, how fabulously it looked! The once proud altar, walls and floor now turned into grotesque images.
It was time. He placed the artifact in the middle of a bloody circle and then took a few steps back. The crystalline skull suddenly started floating in the air, its perfect shapes and features making all the imagery around pale in comparison. And then, it shattered. Shattered into millions of tiny pieces, which formed a small cloud. The pieces then flew off in every conceivable direction. Some would say it was a demonic ritual. They would be wrong. It was a ritual of necromantic nature.

The ground then ripped open, creating a large chasm where the altar had once been. Jason Drine grin became even wider. From the chasm, a green light shone. And a voice echoed:
“You have done well, my servant. Now, gaze at the prizes for your victory!”

A small, portal-esque rip in space showed up before him. Through it, Jason saw many things. The tiny crystals landing and burying into the ground all over the world. The dead rising from six feet under. Their grotesque faces and lack of those. Their endless hunger and ferocity. And their victims, which were torn to pieces or doomed to become parts of the horde. The true face of the apocalypse. A hungry one.
“Glorious.”
“Indeed. Now, it is time for you to become one of us.”
A banging could suddenly be heard on the main door. Soon, it was torn down by undead hands. The mass approached, eager to feast. He threw away his shotgun and embraced his temporary demise.

The pain... was indescribable. So much of it, yet, to him, it was almost a pleasure. Their teeth sinking deep into his flesh, tearing into it. And his eyes went upwards, to see an image of a warrior in armour fighting a grim reaper-esque being. What was something like that doing in a church? He would never know. For his vision went black shortly thereafter.

******

His sight returned. But what he saw... was unexpected. Three figures, some sorta' businessman, a big guy in bones and a wizard... thing. Did his mistress trick him? That bitch...