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ordos45

Christo-Islamic War

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Scene:  Why?

"Why did they call you the Red Wraith," asked the aide nervously, he had been put up to this by a lot of the men and women in the command.

"Do you really want to know," asked Smith, his eyes seeming to glaze over, as if already remembering those times past.

"Um...yes sir," said the aide, sweat pouring down his brow, and his eyes darting around.

"They called me the Red Wraith, because I was never seen," said Thomas Smith quietly," The first indication I was present was a cloud of expanding red blood splattering from my target.

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Scene:  Tribunal

Two Months Earlier:

"I have decided to turn myself over to the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague," announced Thomas Smith to the gathered media," Now that I have arranged the proper leadership for both my military and humanitarian organizations, I can stand trial without fear something will go wrong away from the courtroom."

Location:  World Court, The Hague, The Netherlands

"...did willing kill five thousand Muslim soldiers as they slept.

"Charge three, that the defendent did willingly and knowingly commit the list of crimes against Islam contained in Appendix Four, sub-sections five through ten.

"Charge four, that the defendant did willingly and knowingly order the cluster bombing of Tripoli, resulting in the civilian casualties in Appendix Nine.

"Charge five, that the defendant did knowingly strike down medical convoys."

Five days later:

"...and lastly that the defendant did willingly and knowingly convert a mosque into a morgue."

The justices look relieved that the charges were over.  Thomas Smith gazed at them probingly, an Atheist, A Hindu, a Muslim, a Christian, and a Jew.

"How do you plead," asked the Chief Justice, the Hindu.

"Guilty to charges two, seventeen, and five thousand ninety seven," replied Thomas Smith calmly," but not guilty to the other counts."

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Great Story. Interesting approach on the "christians and violence" theme

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A/N:  Thanks, and sorry for the wait everyone.

Scene:  Cain

"I was wondering when you'd come," Thomas Smith chuckled, not gazing up from his spot in the savanna grasses.

"You expected me," came a surprised voice.

"Of course," said Smith, yawning slightly," You are always watched Cain, son of Adam, son of Eve, first murderer of mankind, and kindred of the vampire Iscariot."

"And why not slay me if I am watched," the first murderer asked with a smirk.

"You're not to die yet Cain, you must wait until the end of the age, just as I must.  We both carry a curse to wander until the end of time."

"So you wouldn't defend yourself," asked the vampire, his eyes glowing a predatory red.

Smith smirked," I can't kill you Cain, I never said I couldn't contain you.  Go ahead if you wish, but know that I act as a tool of I Am."

The vampire sprang towards him, only to fall screaming, clutching at burning skin and writhing in pain on the ground.  He got back up and went at the Christian General again.  The same results occurred.

"Cain," said Smith, his voice tinged with compassion," give up.  You cannot do something not in God's plans."

"Never..."

Smith shook his head, and watched as the savanna grasses acted to tie the injured vampire up and bury him beneath the ground.  He knew the vampire would not break free for a thousand years, and was unsure of how he felt about that.

"Your sire is trapped soulless abominations," snarled Smith into the night air," Leave now, or my pity for you as part of God's Creation will soon lapse."

He could hear them scramble into the night, only to be dispatched by quick pops from a silenced gun using silver bullets.  He smiled and turned to face the Priest behind him," I see your skills haven't dulled Father Dalleono."

"Indeed," said the Priest of the order known as Servi Di Cielo," and neither has your rhetoric."

"Sharp wit on behalf of God."

"Of course."

"So, would you like to discuss old times over dinner?"

"It would be...acceptable."

Smith chuckled and lead his taciturn mentor back towards camp.

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Scene:  Colonel Omar

Stillness was a way to describe this night.  Not a creature stirred, and deep within the Islamic Republic of Arabia, capitol nation of the Islamic League, the guards were not weary of an enemy they knew would never make it this far.

Thomas Smith almost reached for the reforged Lance of Longinus, but remembered he had placed it in a safe vault of Servi Di Cielo back in Vatican City before this.  Instead his hands wandered to the Indonesian Kriss Knives he had brought with him.  One had to be careful when handling them, lest he lose his own hands by accident.

He leapt the wall and before the first guard could react, a cloud of red blood was spraying onto the wall behind him.  Smith moved quickly, gutting the second guard in an instant.  He slinked inside, and cut the power line by the door, plunging the building into darkness.  He noted with a satisfied grin, that the place did not seem to be outfitted with emergency generators.

Three men with AK-47s rounded the corner, and before they could react, two had fallen to arteries being slashed open with kriss knives, and the third moved to run.  As the third ran, Smith through both daggers and watched with satisfaction as they buried in the back of the fleeing man's skull.

He walked calmly into the bedchamber of Colonel Omar, the infamous man who had gassed Smith's entire army in Africa while he had been visiting the Pope.  His lip curled as he took the man's scimitar off the dresser.

"Forgive me Lord, for my act of sinful vengeance," he whispered, tear falling to the floor.  And then he began his grisliest work of the evening.

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Scene:  Are you sure this is the end of the world? 

Ten thousand years...ten millenia had passed since the Abrahamic-Chinese War had ended.  Over the course of centuries he had acted as a shadow advisor to Popes as the world fell into a new Dark Ages.  But now he had a choice.

"Do you know how weary immortality makes you," Thomas Smith asked the Pope.

"Not very I'd imagine," the Pope replied," There are so many things to..."

"That's what I thought originally," Thomas Smith replied," Why else do you think I'm the only one with full memory of the texts in the old archives.  After they burned down I wrote every volume you now have by hand, from memory."

"Why are we even discussing this," the Pope sighed in disgust.

"Because it's soon to begin," said Thomas Smith, looking out to the much smaller city of Rome than he had once known.

"What," the Pope asked annoyed.

"Once every thousand years an Anti-Christ is born.  The Anti-Christ must be killed before age thirteen, or the Tribulations begin," explained Smith," I have killed nine Anti-Christs, and a tenth has just been born in Switzerland."

"Then go kill it," the Pope ordered.

"I don't know if I can," said Thomas Smith to the insufferable whiner.  He quite missed the days when Popes were wise and calm," I'd be killing a baby.  Even if he is an Anti-Christ."

The Pope remained silent, glaring.  Thomas Smith sighed in resignation and parted a pillar to reveal 'the sword', and the Pope mouthed 'Longinus'.

                                      ---

He never had liked Switzerland, even when there was good banking and technology.  He liked it even less now as he approached the cottage where the young Anti-Christ awaited.

"You will not stop it this time," said a melodic voice behind him," We shall finally crush He who cast us out."

"Satan," said Thomas Smith, eyebrow arching," I feel honored in a perverse sense, usually you send demonic or fallen lackies to save your Anti-Christ."

"As you humans say, if you wish to have a job done, you must do it yourself," said Satan, his glowingly beautiful form now wielding a flaming sword.

"Then perhaps it is time to seal the dragon for another thousand years," said Smith, bringing out the sword that was once the lance that had pierced Christ's side from his robes.

"Never again," vowed Satan, propelling himself forward.

Thomas Smith stood still and parried Satan's first blow, then cut off the two wings on his feet, then the two on his back, and finally the two on his face.  Satan screamed in rage, preparing to rally for another strike.

"What's wrong my fallen Seraphim, your six wings have been clipped," taunted Thomas Smith, now realizing he was here to hope humanity could survive another millenia, that they could grow beyond things like this.

Satan raised his arm, and hundreds of fireballs flew towards Thomas Smith, only to splatter against an ethereal wing that appeared to protect him.  Satan shook his fist angrily, and pillars of fire lanced downward, only to have them smash against another ethereal wing that had appeared.

"Satan," said Thomas Smith, his eyes glowing white," It is time for you to be sent back to Hell!"

"No," was all Satan said, and then he transformed himself into a dragon that filled the skies.

"This will be interesting," muttered Smith, launching himself up and shearing off a wing.

The Dragon screamed in pain, acid shooting from it's wound, a deadly rain.  Smith danced around the shower of droplets, only to see dozens of zombies shuffling up the hills.  The Dragon's fire melted part of the snow he stood on, sending him rolling down towards the zombies.

He sprang up out of his roll, a blur as he slashed the zombies in two, their decaying bodies becoming ash with the touch of the holy weapon.  With a grunt he launched himself into a high jump, shearing off the other wing of the Dragon. 

Satan was forced to return to his original wounded form, snearing.

"Satan," said Smith," I am but a tool of God, if you can't defeat me, you'd stand no chance against him."

"How dare you," roared Satan in his melodic voice.

"No," said Smith," How dare you rise against the Lord!" 

Smith gazed down at the ball of pure holy energy that had formed in his hand, and tossed it at Satan.  The roar was nearly soul rending as Satan was forced into the depths of Hell until the rise of the next Anti-Christ.

Smith moved into the college and did his bloody work, murmurring to himself it was the Anti-Christ, not another defenseless child.  As he left he reflected, another thousand years, and Satan wouldn't let it be so easy next time.

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Scene:  The Fallen Voice

The wind blew quietly through the rustling savannah grasses, but Thomas Smith could feel his quiet presence," It's been a while Metatron."

"That is has," said a cold voice in reply, from what appeared to be a man in black.

"I can't believe you've fallen, the Voice brought low," said Thomas Smith," However everything in Creation is God's plan, so let our mutual test begin."

"This is no test," replied the Metatron, ethereal wings stretching," I am here to kill you."

"Then it shall be a test indeed."

Pain shot through Thomas Smith's body, unlike any pain he had felt before.  He could feel his very skin being flayed from his bones by the corrupted holy energy directed into him by the Metatron.  As he neared passing out, screaming in pain, Metatron gave him a brief respite, long enough to heal so it could begin anew.  Dozens of times this repeated, an endless loop of suffering, but not death.

"Why do you not raise a finger to strike me," asked Metatron, amused.

"I am doing as my Lord commanded in the Bible," said Thomas Smith slowly through the pain as it re-entered his body again," I am turning the other cheek."

For hours it went on like this.  Until finally, it stopped in the middle of a flaying.  The Metatron looked alarmed," What have you done?!"

Thomas Smith rose shakily to his feet, wounds healing," I have passed this test, and you have failed."

The Metatron's eyes glowed, and Smith continued," I have endured horrendous torture, without fighting back, a truly humbling experience.  You merely finished your fall from Grace.  Now I give you a message on behalf of Him,' In My Name I command you to go to the depths of Hell, with all other traitors'"."

And so it occurred.  The Metatron's haunted screams followed Smith all the way back to the camp.

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Scene:  First Meeting

"As-salam-u-alakum wa-rahmatullah wa-barakatuh," said Thomas Smith quietly, to the man replacing a tire on a broken down jeep.

Suhail Akbar jumped at hearing 'May the peace, the mercy, and the blessings of Allah be upon you' being uttered from the darkness of the African savanah. He replied in English," I believe that sounded like an American accent." He reached for his weapon, only to discover it was on the passenger seat of the jeep.

"It was," replied Thomas Smith," but I will not harm you. I swear it in...Bismillah ir-rahman ir-raheem."

Suhail Akbar flinched, 'In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful'. He carefully considered if he could trust this man who spoke to him in his native tounge at times. Quietly he asked," Who are you?"

"I am your counterpart," said Thomas Smith, eyes not wavering from the man, ready to strike him down if he reached for the weapon on the passenger seat.

Suhail Akbar's entire body froze, the assassin was only feet away from him. The most deadly of infidels, the scourge of Palestine, the Slayer of Holy Warriors, was within easy range of killing him. His eyes grew wide with panic as his infamous counterpart approached, and crouched.

"C'mon," the Christian said," let's get this tire back on."

"You don't wish to kill me," asked Suhail Akbar disquieted.

"No," said Thomas Smith," You're defenseless as long as you don't reach for the gun. And I do not wish to become a murderer."

They continued to work quickly, replacing the tire in silence. Thomas Smith rose, and bowed slightly," Until we meet again another day General Akbar."

As Suhail Akbar drove off, he questioned what had just occurred. Was it a miracle of Allah, or merely one of Iblis's temptations?

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So abysmally behind on NaNo, like Appollyon is, never gonna finish it in time.  Yet gazing at the stars after I got home from class, I had an idea for this scene.

Scene:  Covenant

"What do you see," asked General Smith, to the soldier on guard duty.

"Grass sir, and the sky," replied the soldier, wondering why the other man was even bothering to talk to him.  It wasn't rare for the General to take these walks, but it was rare for him to speak to anyone during them.

"And the sky," prompted Smith, barely below his normal speaking tone, gaze not wandering from the sky.

"Stars..."

"Do you know what those stars are to me soldier," asked Smith, not rhetorically.

"Balls of gas?"

"No," sighed Smith, "They are a symbol of my covenant with the Lord.  When I was younger I doubted a great deal, eventually crying out 'God, if you exist, allow me to see the sky with no clouds or lights', and nothing happened.  I was bitter, but a year later it happened...in the exact spot I had cried out to God a year before.

Those stars are more than balls of gas, or pinpricks of light to me, they are a reminder that I am a servant of God, bound to His will.  Even though they are in different positions from this part of Earth than I am used to...they still serve their purpose."

The soldier said nothing, and Smith's foot lashed out at his ankle, sweeping a snake into the air.  In a fluid motion as his foot released the snake he tossed his combat knife through its head.  Smith turned to the soldier he had just saved the life of, "You were just asking God to save you from that poisonous snake. Always keep in mind, we are all tools of God's will, and that we are never anywhere He does not require or wish us to be."

With that Smith wandered off alone, leaving the soldier to reflect on the fact his prayers had been answered, in a stranger way than he would've thought.

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Scene:  You Can Never Go Home Again.

"It's been nearly five years," Smith commented to the two bodyguards trailing behind him as a formality the Christian League of Nations refused to let go of, "since I was last in this neighborhood, I grew up here.  Parents loved their house, owned it, didn't want to leave it even as the place went from Middle Class to Ghetto."

A somewhat strangled scream occurred in the distance a block or so over, but Smith kept on walking down the trash covered street, his bodyguards tensing even more at the scream than they had been before, which was quite tense.

"Hell, by not displaying any weapons right now we're probably marking ourselves as good targets," continued Smith, unphased by his guards tension.  He had grown up here, and his childhood locales did not disturb him.  He nearly smiled at the drug dealer on the corner, but instead remained dower in appearance and gave a nod, "Antony, how's the meth sales?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," said the dealer with shifty eyes.

"Sure," said Smith moving on.  Once they were out of Antony's earshot he remarked to his bodyguards, "Trenchcoats may be good for hiding assault rifles guys, but it makes them think you're Feds."

Neither bodyguard said a word, but that had been the fare all day.  There was a smell to the air, and Thomas Smith remarked with a wrinkled nose, "Are either of you smoking?  I smell smoke."

Both gave negative grunts, and the trio turned the corner to see a house in flames.  Smith dropped into a dead run, and began to shrilly cry out, "Mom! Dad!  Can you two hear me?"

"They can't hear you," said a bald skinhead rising from behind a parked car, "We killed 'em for being behind on their protection money.  Might as well take out the whole family tree, right boys?"

There was mumblings of agreement as more rose from behind cars wielding everything from chains and baseball bats to semi-automatic weapons.  Smith's bodyguards had their M-16s withdrawn and levelled in seconds, but neither side moved to fire, despite the distinct sound of safeties being clicked off.

Thomas Smith, for his part, seemed to radiate rage.  The air itself seemed to darken, and not from smoke.  The entire area was becoming colder, he withdrew a twelve inch blade from its place on a scabbard on his belt, "You will pay for this.  I'm not easy prey...do you even have a clue as to who you're dealing with?"

"Some sort of wannabe Mafia Don," guessed the lead skinhead.

"No," replied Thomas Smith coldly, breathe now showing in the air which had been over eighty degrees moments before, "Thomas Smith.  Son of Susana and Herold Smith.  Supreme Commander of Christian Forces in Africa.  The Red Wraith.  And now, you will die as I release very un-Christ-like rage."

The two bodyguards would later report something that sounded like it was out of a demonic nightmare.  Neither fired a shot, both had watched in horror as Smith had killed one skinhead after another, a trail of black ethereal wings following him, sometimes being used as weapons themselves.  By the time it was over, the bodyguards would later state, the neighborhood was cleansed of life.

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