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The Son Of Chaos

(by Zekule) The harsh mountain winds blew at an unusually high rate in the darkness. A blizzard of snow limited all vision, and the cold was all too much to bear. Yet to one man, a quest must be fulfilled. This old man’s journey to the top of the high rule mountains was a blessing to him rather than a suicide. He was told in the late hours by the Gods that he was the chosen one. The one who will prove himself worthy by climbing to the summit. The man listened, and now he climbs.

With nothing more than old torn robes and wooden sandals, the old man continues his accent to reach the top. His hair, as white as the snowfall, was constantly blown into his face. His vision was blurred by the blizzard, and the winds threatened to knock him down. Still he climbs his faith in the Gods above his only guide. The man was wise, and though his old age has made his body fragile, he was strong. Strong enough to hold himself up, and climb higher. His grip on the rocks was strong enough to bend steel.

The end is clear to him. The summits edge jutting out, just enough for him to grab a hold of. His frail hand reached up, straining to reach the rocks. His fingers wrapped around it, locking into place. Planting his right foot, he pushed himself up with a deep groan of pain which coursed through his body. Still, the wise old man was able to pull himself to the top. He rolled onto the summit, his chest heaving in and out as he regained breath from the thin, cold air around him.

By this time the blizzard had subsided to a light flurry. The winds calm and quiet. The man raised himself to his feet, looking towards the center of the summit. There, basking in the glow of a single ray of sunshine through the Hell dark clouds was a bundle of ragged blankets. The man cautiously moved closer to the heap. As he leaned down to pick it up, there was a sound. A soothing, angel like coo coming from within the bundle. He then raised it up in the air, looking at it with intense curiosity. Carefully, he removed some of the bundle, only to reveal the angel like face of a baby boy.

The old man’s eyes twinkled with tears of happiness. The baby smiled a sweet smile and let out a small laugh. The man gently took the baby’s hand. He was warm, as if the cold had no affect on the child. The longer the old man held the child’s hand, the warmer he himself felt.

Looking up to the skies above him, the man smiled. He wasn’t smiling for himself and his accomplishment. No. He was smiling to the Gods above. The ones that had chosen him to raise their child. Before the man made his way back down the treacherous mountain, he spoke in soft tones towards the Heavens.

“Thank you. I now understand why I have been chosen. This is your son. The son of Chaos. Kenji Karrasaki.”
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Upload Date: 31/12/1969

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