Lightning flashed across the pitch-black sky as thunder followed, shaking the foundations of the Earth below. The mountainous peaks of the Austrian Alps were all but desolate, save for the ancient, stone monastery that stood as if isolated from the rest of the world.
An elderly man stood within the monastery's tallest tower overlooking the east. He was dressed head to toe in the religious habit of the Benedictine monks. His black hood rested comfortably over his head as he knelt before a ceiling-high crucifix erected against the wall, muttering under his breath in prayer.
Upon finishing, he lifted his hood and looked up at the crucifix standing behind the altar before him. The brass visage of Christ stared down at him, illuminated only by the candles about the tower and the occasional flash of lightning outside. He stood to his feet and approached the altar. He closed the Bible that lay upon the altar and doused the candles that stood on each corner.
As the room darkened, the elderly monk glanced over at the elongated window. The storm was still raging above the monastery. He lumbered over to the window and stared out at the dark sky, musing on a lesson a mentor once taught him many years ago; that the blinding streak of lightning and the cracking of thunder was indicative of the very heartbeat of God. The howling of the wind swept through the surrounding trees, accompanied by a peculiar new sound that attempted to claw its way above the rest of the raging commotion.
The monk's eyes were drawn up as a light appeared above the monastery. It was not another flash of lightning, rather it appeared as though a spotlight was now illuminating the sky. The mysterious whirring sound grew louder. The monk leaned his head out the window to examine the source of the light, and that was when he saw it.
A large helicopter flew overhead, barely thirty feet over the tip of the tower. The incessant chopping of its propellers was deafening. The monk retreated back through the window, watching in astonishment as the great aerial vehicle, black as the clouds above, came to a steady hover before slowly descending upon the open courtyard below.
Strange, the elderly monk thought. The abbey rarely had visitors from beyond these parts, leastwise not of this sort. He squinted through the darkness to try to catch a glimpse of the commotion in the courtyard. The helicopter's propellers began to slow and several figures stepped out of the cabin in quick succession. To his great shock, they all appeared to be carrying rifles. Without a second thought, he turned and hurried across the room toward the staircase that spiraled down the tower, forcefully closing the door behind him.
The halls of the ancient monastery were nothing like those of this modern age. Even in the candlelight, they were as dark and drafty as the outside atmosphere. The monk turned briskly down an open corridor overlooking the courtyard. The helicopter sat about fifty yards away. The propellers had come to a stop, returning the ambience of the area to the storm above. By the illumination of the lightning and the flashlights attached to the visitors' rifles, the monk could make out half a dozen men approaching the gate.
In the middle of the corridor, also observing the mysterious intruders. another monk stood, turning his head as the first approached him.
"Brother Peter," the second man bowed his head.
"Brother Viktor," the first returned the gesture. "I see we have visitors."
"This cannot be a good omen," the man called Viktor uttered in concern.
"Do not fear, my brother," Peter responded. "It is likely just a matter of international authority."
"Perhaps, but with the Abbot not yet returned from his summons by the Vatican-"
"Steady on, Brother," Peter put his hand up to calm him. "Come with me to the gate. We will get to the bottom of this."
The two hurried down the corridor, coming into a large atrium where a metal gate was closed and sealed. Several other men stood around the gate, all clad in the same habit and watching as the visitors neared.
Peter stepped forward and attempted to address them through the gate. "My apologies, but this abbey is closed for the evening."
His voice reverberated throughout the atrium, but the armed men did not seem to acknowledge him.
"I'm afraid the Abbot is not here," Peter continued. "We are not authorized to open the gate at this time."
"Blow it," a voice spoke up from behind the armed men. One of them stepped forward, producing a C-4 explosive pack from a pouch on his tactical vest and planting it against the metal frame of the gate.
"Wait!" Peter cried before scrambling away from the gate. The rest of the monks took cover just as the area was filled with the thunderous roar of the explosion. Chunks of metal shot in all directions as Peter covered his head.
Once everything settled, Peter stood back to his feet as the intruders immediately marched inside the atrium. The monks scattered and cowered away in fear. Peter struggled to maintain his composure, his eyes darting this way and that.
"Are you mad?!" Peter exclaimed without thinking.
"Brother!" Viktor cried out as if to beg him not to do anything too rash.
Peter did not acknowledge him. "This is holy ground you are desecrating!"
The sound of laughter behind the intruders drew the attention of all eyes in the atrium. "Did no one ever teach you that the laws of God are nothing to the laws of man?"
The man who followed the armed intruders was an imposing presence, and his voice indicated that he was American. He appeared in his mid-fifties and stood well over six feet. The faint candlelight cast a menacing glow across his face and the scar that crossed over his right eye. He was wearing the same tactical vest as the rest of his men but did not carry a rifle. Instead, he carried a small, brown sack in his right hand.
"Whoever you are, you need to leave at once!" Peter demanded, stepping back in intimidation as the man approached him. "You are trespassing, and you were informed already that the Abbot is not present!"
"First off, who I am is no concern of yours. However, you may refer to me as Rider," the man responded in a cold and sinister tone. "Second, we found something you have lost."
With that, Rider pulled something out of the sack he was carrying. It was too dark to make out what it was, but as he tossed it onto the ground, the atrium was filled with a series of sickening gasps.
Peter's legs nearly went limp as the disfigured, severed human head rolled over and landed at his feet. It was the head of an elderly man with thinning white hair painted red with blood, much like the rest of his face. His mouth hung open and his eyes were clenched shut in the everlasting expression of agony. The breath was ripped out of Peter's lungs as he recognized the face of the severed head.
"My God in Heaven!" Viktor cried as if reading Peter's mind. "It's Abbot Lorenz!"
"Indeed," Rider mocked. "We picked him up an hour outside the Vatican. He was carrying this." He held up his right hand to reveal that he was holding a large key that looked as ancient as the stones of the monastery.
Peter's eyes widened in disbelief. "It cannot be!" he uttered under his breath. "Who are you people?"
Rider took a few menacing steps toward him. "Just as you are guardians of the past, we are the ones who will usher in the future. And this," he dangled the old key in front of Peter's face, "is the next step in our little journey - and I believe you know where it goes."
"You cannot be serious!" Peter exclaimed. "This is a revolting affront to the Lord!"
He hadn't even finished speaking before Rider gave a nod toward one of his men, who stepped forward, raised his rifle, and unleashed a spray of automatic fire that sent Viktor tumbling violently onto the ground in a pool of blood. Peter watched in horror, speechless as Rider inched closer to his face.
"Your God is not going to protect you from me," he sneered with a sinister smile. "Unless you'd like to join your friend, I suggest you get moving. Now!"
He grabbed Peter by the back of the neck and forcibly shoved him to lead them into the interior of the monastery. Peter's mind was racing with questions as to who these people were and what they wanted. Nobody at the abbey knew the reason for Abbot Lorenz's calling to the Vatican, and now they did. The key the intruders had taken from him was an ancient relic that was made around the time the monastery was built. Those who dwelled here took on the responsibility of safeguarding an impossibly ancient secret. Though the monks were not permitted to know exactly what it was, they were sworn nonetheless to guard it with their lives, but after seeing what these ruthless men were capable of and how far they were willing to go, Peter's resolve was all but shaken. He knew exactly where to go, and many times he considered misleading his captors, but what good would it possibly do? God will lead the way, he kept saying to himself. God will lead the way.
Eventually, they came to a dead end at the end of a long, dark corridor. Rider looked around with an expression of displeasure on his face.
"What is this?" he growled. "Is this a trick?"
"No," Peter muttered in a trembling voice. "This is the way."
With his shaking hands, he reached up and stuck his fingers into the divets between two of the large, stone bricks on the left side of the wall before them. Rider watched as he slid one of the bricks aside, disappearing into the wall and revealing an opening. Peter stuck a hand through it, and the corridor echoed with what sounded like the shifting of a latch.
Suddenly, the entire wall in front of them began to slide away, revealing a new entrance. The path ahead was darker than a starless night on a new moon. A rush of cold air escaped from within with a low, moaning sound that sent chills up the spines of Rider's men. It was clear that nobody had been down here for centuries - perhaps millennia.
"Impressive architecture," Rider said to himself before gesturing toward Peter. "Lead the way."
Peter's eyes darted between Rider and the new, dark corridor. "Please, I've never gone this way before. I do not know what lies beyond!"
"Which is precisely why you're going first," Rider hissed as he shoved him forward. He raised his flashlight to light the way, but it barely cut through the thick veil of darkness. Nevertheless, it was enough for Peter to lumber forward with Rider's palm planted against his back.
The journey through the darkness felt like an eternity, as they were forced to move much more slowly. The new corridor was almost too narrow to pass through comfortably.
Eventually, the group came to the top of a staircase that descended into a dark chasm. As they approached, Rider noticed a draft sweep over them that was colder than the corridor itself.
"Interesting." He muttered the words to himself, but as he expected, they echoed loudly off of unseen walls. "It's an open chamber."
Peter stared in vain down the spiral staircase. "Who knows where this leads?"
"Time to find out." Rider nudged him toward the first step. Peter breathed anxiously as they began their blind descent.
It took them nearly ten minutes to get to the bottom as they took each step with caution. The floor of the chasm was the darkest and coldest of all. Rider could not see his own hand in front of his face without his light. He shone his flashlight around the area until it revealed a small trough of some sort along the wall of the chamber. He walked over to it and stuck his fingers into it. It was lined with a wet substance, which upon bringing it to his nose, Rider knew it to be oil. He opened a pouch on his vest and pulled out a flare. Upon lighting it, he stuck it into the trough, which instantly sparked to life with a fire that traveled along the wall of the chamber in a spiraling pattern toward the top.
Everyone gazed in awe as the chamber slowly became illuminated. Their attention turned toward the center, and the magnificent wonder that stood before them.
At the sight of it, Peter crossed himself with the Christian's gesture of sanctification. "Oh Lord on high," he stammered in disbelief.
Standing before them, at least fifty feet tall, was a great statue atop a large pedestal. The statue appeared to portray a man clad in golden armor astride a horse made entirely of a magnificent crimson material. The man's right hand was raised and held a sword that seemed to be engulfed in flame.
"What is this?" one of Rider's men uttered.
Rider stepped forward with a triumphant grin. "It's one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse - the harbingers of Revelation." He approached the massive pedestal on which the statue stood and placed a hand on the dusty material. "Tell me, brother monk, what do you know of the horsemen?"
Peter swallowed with a newfound anxiety. " 'And I saw in the right hand of him that sat on the throne a book written within and on the backside, sealed with seven seals,' " Peter said, reciting the book of Revelations. " 'And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, Who is worthy to open the book, and to loose the seals thereof?' "
"What the hell does that mean?" another of the armed men asked.
"It means the world is about to change," Rider answered, shining his light on a large keyhole within the pedestal. "And only the worthy will rise to lead it into the future."
Peter took a frantic step forward and continued to recite the Biblical passages. " 'And no man in heaven, nor in earth, neither under the earth, was able to open the book, neither to-"
"Spare me your rambling!" Rider hissed. "The time of the old gods is over. We are ushering in an age of a new order." As he spoke, he inserted the ancient key into the pedestal, turning it until the archaic mechanisms within began to work. "An age of new gods."
Just then, a slot opened up on the pedestal as a small panel slowly slid out. Resting on the panel was what appeared to be a dagger, more ancient than anything else in the chamber. The rusted blade was curved slightly like a talon, and embedded in the hilt was a spherical, red gem that glistened as if with a fire from within. To the unlearned eye, it was nothing but an artifact of a forgotten past, but Rider's eyes glowed with passion as he picked up the dagger.
"It's incredible," he said under his breath. "Tell me, monk, what does your Bible say about this?"
Peter could barely find the strength to speak as he looked up at the statue of the crimson horse. " 'And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see. And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.' "
"And the sword is a dagger," Rider put in. "We have what we came for, men. Let's get the hell out of here."
"You fool," Peter said rather sternly. "You have no idea what you're meddling with. This is not going to go the way you think!"
I'm sure." Rider gave a sadistic laugh as he pulled the gun from the holster on his waist and fired two shots into Peter's legs.
The shots echoed thunderously in the chamber, followed by Peter's agonizing screams as he dropped to the ground. He clutched at his legs, which were gushing blood from the knees.
"Thank you very much, monk," Rider taunted. "You did your job well. Don't despair, though. You should've known that all this was destined to happen. Now you should consider it an honor to die here in a tomb unlike any other in the world." With that, he tucked the ancient dagger into a pouch on his vest and signaled for his men to follow him back up the stairs, leaving the fatally wounded Peter to whatever fate he would succumb to first.
Peter continued to groan in pain, unable to stand or so much as move as he watched Rider disappear up the stairs, followed by the sound of the passage being sealed.