DREAMSCAPE
By Regis A Welch

PROLOGUE: THE RIDER IN THE STORM

The storm raged above them. The fields of wheat waved an ocean of teal blue grain on either side of the dusty, rocky road. There stood the first, whose form was a bizarre green and gold cross between a mantis and a humanoid cyborg.

The second rode out of the distance. Tall, slender, and pale as death, his hair and eyes were an icy raven black and his outfit resembled the trappings of the Visigoths: a mesh of deeply colored armor that absorbed light and tough, soft clothing that provided comfort during the cold, sleepless nights of the hunt.

The figure rode a nightmare steed: dark as himself with ice for eyes and a dark flame for a mane. As the steed of death came charging out of the fog like a bull to red, it let out an echoing cry that sounded a chill in the depths of the soul.

The dark one drew his blade: a shimmering silver that contrasted his form so much as to blind his opponent as it was drawn. The mantis-like hunter did his best to throw off the assault to his oversized eyes and still get in a crack with his electric green whip as the bringer of night came rushing by, but it was too late. The blade sounded with a gong-like clang as it tore clear through the back of the thorax and out the other end, spilling neon yellow juices along the path as pieces of the now dismembered creature fell to the ground.

Never once dismounting, the dark one simply sheathed his sword on his back and closed his weary eyes. "Cherish the death of the body: it is far preferable to the eternal damnation of the soul for things you will thankfully never know", he reflected softly in his poetic baritone voice before riding on into the storm.