Indra-Return of the King

For the first time in a hundred years—since the annexation of Earth by the Hell God, Pluto—the clouds had rumbled. The leaden skies buzzed with electricity. Blue lightning bolts illuminated the skies and thunderous roars sent chills down everyone’s spine. Kratos, the last Illuminati stood by the window of his dingy apartment sequestered between a creepy looking pawn shop and a barbeque joint. This ain’t good. He thought as he saw blue thunderbolts strike other clouds.

Cracks after cracks broke the leaden skies and, in a heartbeat, heavy rain tumbled down. Kratos opened the window pane and let the rain washdown his face, this means war. Pluto won’t be happy with this. His chain of thought was broken when he saw the earth across the street, slit open and large red devils stomped out like blood oozing out of lacerated veins. Their metallic shoes drowned the pattering of tumbling rain. The red armored devils fanned out in all the directions and disappeared in the heavy rain. The Sky above kept rumbling, gaining in rhythm and decibels.

Another opening launched dragonriders towards the skies. This is getting serious. Kratos, thought. Pluto is pissed. Kratos closed the windows shut and went to his little study and pulled out a leather-bound tome. Its pages were loose and parched and he carefully flipped it open. The Oath of Thunder. The title page read—its ink fading. With care Kratos turned the pages and landed on a bookmarked page.

‘Pluto’, the Thunder God spoke, his breath heavy and voice rasping, ‘I shall come back again. The Thunder shall break your rein. The Lightning bolt will illuminate your empire. And when the first rain shall stop, there I’ll be. And you will feel my wrath burning your essence.

‘For now, I’ll fade away. For now, you are the king.’ With anger Pluto stabbed his fork into Jupiter’s chest. A small lightning discharged and Jupiter’s body vanished. Pluto turned to look at his army kneeling in subservience. Pluto raised his fork and the army hailed him in jarring uproar.

Kratos closed the book and went back to the glass window he had closed behind him. If the book is to be trusted… His chain of thought was broken when a blue bolt of lightning rushed towards the earth and struck it with a tumult. The fuck.

In a moment the rain stopped pouring down and the lead clouds that had covered the Earth in a veil of despair finally parted and for the first time in a century the golden rays of the radiant sun burst through the slits. Fuck. Fuck. Pluto’s gonna be pissed. Kratos went back to his room, pulled out a dark hoodie and grabbed his car keys and rushed out of his lackluster apartment. He pulled his motorcycle out and roared it towards the direction where the lightning had struck. In the sky the Dragonriders were still circling, their watchful eyes pierced his soul. Ignoring the menacing feeling, Kratos raced forward.

Snaking his way through the debris and rubble Kratos finally reached the beach. Getting off his bike he scanned the horizon. No one. He looked up towards the circling Dragonriders, clasping his chest. No one has taken note of the last thunderstrike. Towards the north, smoke gently rose and Kratos broke into a dash.

The sand was burnt to a crisp and smelled of silicon and Sulphur. The smoke slowly cleared and in the center of the thunderstrike was a newborn baby resting it’s head on a curled up baby direwolf. His skin was blue as the sky from the lore of past. His left fist was balled and on his right wrist had a mark – a thunderbolt. A golden eagle screamed as it spiraled downwards. The King has returned. It’s time for Illuminati to rise.


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