Hello, oh Fanfiction. My name, (err... obviously, by the username above) is 'In Christ Alone', and here is moi first, humble story onthis site. Although I have been fan- ficcing for over a year, I just now have this account. So… ya. This fic is rated T for Violence, Action, and maybe some romance. There will NEVER be adult content or swear words in my fics, as I strive not to get involved in such things. So no worries, for any of ya'll who do. J Oh, and if you have anything against Christianity, don't read this. I would appreciate constructive criticism, and flames are welcome… *gulp*. I will try my hardest not to be saddened by them. J


Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

-Robert Frost

Chapter 1

"...I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ.

I was in the Spirit on the Lord's Day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet,

Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and, What thou seest, write in a book, and send it unto the seven churches which are in Asia; unto Ephesus, and unto Smyrna, and unto Pergamos, and unto Thyatira, and unto Sardis, and unto Philadelphia, and unto Laodicea..."

Revelations 1:9-11 KJV

Island of Patmos, Aegean Sea.

Around 165 AD

A feeble, strained whimper scratched its way up the man's throat, bursting out of his swollen, numb esophagus and out into the summer heat. A tear leaked down his gaunt face and down the angry red lesions crossing his cheeks. The glaring sun, strong and oppressive by a healthy man's standards, was almost too much for the barely recognizable John. His formerly glowing skin, twinkling eyes and strong, yet fatherly, features were now reduced to that of a haggard, limp beggar. The skin, melted and scabbed by hours of harsh sun exposure, stretched taut over arthritic bones. The eyes had lost their gayety, and sunk into the sockets with a permanent expression of despair.

He lay languidly in a puddle of his own regurgitation and feces, unable to move from the evidence of his sickness. His only robe- if it could be called so- was a mere loincloth covering his groin, which left much of his small form to the native mosquitoes of the island. The annoying mosquitoes swarmed his body incessantly day after day. But now he let them come: he had no energy left to swat them away. With half-hooded eyes, his eyes flitted to and fro; curiously watching them land on his tanned calves, have their feast, and zoom off. He could no longer feel their bite; no longer feel the inevitable itch that was the precursor to crippling disease that was sure to come. Not that he would be getting up anyway; his body could no longer cage his life force. He was almost dead. Hearing had long abandoned him, dropping him into a senseless, underwater world. Sight was also quickly dissipating, as every motion left a blurry trail behind him, reminding him of his own failure. A useless vessel to anyone- he had no purpose left. Meaning he really felt no reason to prolong this agony. Why should he? No one was coming to rescue him from this accursed island. No one would erase the hunger and wipe away the pain. No one except his Lord, whom at the moment, seemed extremely far away.

Leaving him alone. Alone on this horrid island, alone save for the mosquitoes and the ospreys that occasionally dropped their discarded scraps of meat upon his head. This he was actually thankful for- it gave him at least some nutrients, although they rarely stopped by now that breeding season was over. So he amused himself with his thoughts on his banishment and with thoughts on his next meal. His last meal seemed hours ago, though in reality it had probably been days. The sense of time had been skewed in such great proportions; he could almost convince himself that he hadn't been here that long. Not long enough to for his young daughter to grow into a young woman, not long enough for his accusations of 'coups' to die down, and not long enough for his wife to have been remarried off to some pompous Roman.

The starvation only started about two months after his lawful, yet unmoral, confinement to this place. Up until that point, food had been sufficient enough to sustain him. Then the annual drought hit, and food had to be fought over among the birds and the crabs. What little life had called this place home had long since fled to find more bountiful reservoirs, and he, with no means of escape, was left to scavenge the population of herbs. But even that withered when the full heat of summer hit, and then his will withered too- he resigned himself to his fate.

He would die here.

A useless vessel.

An empty shell of a once great, albeit infamous, man.

Then the vision came. Or, rather, maybe he was truly seeing this, or perhaps it was a 'glimpse of heaven.' Maybe he was dying now. It would be an eternal relief. Literally. But what he saw was to shocking for his malnourished brain to comprehend. Even after years of faith, years of service, this came as a complete terror. But tinged with a sense of relief: it was over. The pain. The suffering. It could end now. So he turned to face his Lord…

"…And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks;

And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle.

His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire;

And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters.

And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.

And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:

I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.

Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter…"

Revelation 1:12-19 KJV


0~0~0~0~0

An Explanation

Perhaps, before we venture further into this account, we need to explain a little.

After all communications tragically collapsed on that wintery day, when chaos pounced upon the world, all alliances and connections dissolved with it. Countries drew in on themselves, and people formed, once again, into the small city-states that they were meant to be. Lives were rebuilt, trading reconstructed, and the whole world brought anew.

For once, there was hope that maybe; just maybe, the human race would evolve into something better.

But nothing stays good that long.

Years passed, governments took over once more, alliances re-formed, and communications brought up again. One empire, the Leatromach, rose to higher power than the rest, their control stretching from the northern regions of the United States to the southern tip of South America, and the islands between. They were good to their people, and to the rest of the world, their trading skilled and their regulations loose. Eventually, they became one of the most powerful and loved empires in the new world. Some nations, of course, were slightly worried as to their reign, and the power they were gaining, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

The world had returned to the original paths, if slightly stunted. Wars again broke out, turmoil laid over…

Life was back to normal.

But then, the countdown began.