The Prophecy

The General was the first to speak.

"Master Rakknubis, why are we here?" The chilly nocturnal air brushed against him, and the urban expanse was laid out before his sight, gleaming with bright towers, and not a sound was stirring except for the occasional hum of motor vehicles. From his vantage on the rooftop, he could make out prominent features: the radio tower, the river, and an ominous, sky-piercing octagonal building. But this was no friendly place. It was full of Capitalists.

"Look upon this city," said Rakknubis. He pointed forward. "Upon Octagon Tower. Do you know what that is?"

"The bank tower?" The General was confused. Everyone knew about the bank tower.

"No, what it *really* is."

"Tell me, Master."

And so he began. "Its white façade is a lie: for within, it contains the very portal to the domain of The Sheldon himself. To light it would require the power and will of a god, and the attack and dismantlement of this entire city. Why do you think we are here, General? The very fate of the world clings to the security of that tower. But it is not secure, for the Null knows of it. The evil, hideous, insidious, deceptive, infective, two-faced Null which transcends all of time knows of this portal, this weak point. It speaks to its red, deific crusader; it tells him of these things. O, pray to Rakkalord, General, for his army grows two fold by the day. The Null and The God do not rest."

The General turned away in appall. "What is safe?"

Rakknubis faced him slowly, his complexion pale. "The domain of Rakkalord is unending and sealed from the claws of nolarity. But Rakkalord's power is meaningless if he chooses to hide like the times of old."

No, it can't be. For the General it was too much. The tale of the deities is an ancient, disregarded story. You go to church once a week and that is that. They do not interfere with the world. Nothing has happened for thousands of years.

"How do you speak of this," asked the General, "when the mundane affairs of the world have been in motion since the times of recording began? The gods are dead. They do not interfere."

Rakknubis glared into the General's eyes. "Aren't you Rakkan, General?"

"What does it even mean to be Rakkan, Master?"

Rakknubis turned and unsheathed his sword, handing it to the General hilt extended. "Take it."

And so he did.

In an instant, the General was blinded by yellowish-orange light; he choked on some kind of dust—no, sand—and spat it out, but with every heave his lungs only accumulated more and more of the stuff. He squinted and stood up.

"Get up and follow me," Rakknubis said calmly, as if he had a deep familiarity with this place. "The Sunrise is about to commence. We could not be at any better place to answer your question."

"What question?" cried the General. "What about Wiz City? Where am I?"

"A mirage of sorts. Actually, no, this place is very real. A pocket dimension of a glorious, glorious, most generous being." Rakknubis knelt down and dunked his head into the sand like an ostrich. He then proceeded to consume copious amounts of it uncontrollably, slobbering all over the dune he knelt upon. "Delectable."

The General hobbled over but could barely keep his footing. The sand drifted and waved under his weight like a viscous ocean. Finally able to keep his eyes open, the image of a quiet city was replaced by something radically different: tremendous brown spires rocketed into the sky with brazen confidence, accompanied by a soothingly dark-orange atmosphere that wrapped around them. Some spires laid flat, others stacked onto one another, but they seemed infinite, disappearing into the horizon. With them, patches of sand and dark rocks marked the infinite plain they stood upon, devoid of any deviations other than the occasional dune. A mark of divine perfection. And the air was warm and delicious.

Rakknubis was totally absorbed by it. "Come! Follow! Go to the spire here. Do you know what this is?" He ran into it with full and careless force, licking it ferociously. "Nectar of the gods! Praise Rakkatopia!"

Then it struck the General like a brick wall. It was all Spook and Sinister. Every last particle of it. He roamed his way to a bubbling hot spring of liquid Sinister and gulped it down like no tomorrow. It had the warmth of honey and the strength of milk. The General could see clearly now, for his Rakkan anatomy allowed him to consume any amount of this divine substance. He vomited, flawlessly duplicating it in the process. Utter bliss.

Rakknubis suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him fervidly.

"General! It is time to get your bearings straight. Gaze east!" The dark brown sky began to grow brighter. Brown to orange. Orange to yellow. Then suddenly the most piercing white color he could imagine. It stung the General's eyes like crooked knives; it was so bright that those knives drove deeper, until everything was white and hot and loud. "SUNRIIIIIIIISE!!!"

A trumpeting noise blasted and echoed through the heavens, shaking the General's bones. It kicked up dust and nearly swept him off his feet. Daring to open one eye, the General could not believe an ounce of it.

This was no sun.

A mighty smirk beamed intense rays of light upon the land, accompanied by a pair of the most confident yet relaxed eyes one could possibly imagine. Every grain of sand humbled itself to the presence of his skyborne visage.

"Bow immediately," urged Rakknubis. He threw himself upon the ground and trembled, struggling to keep his composure. The General followed suit.

Rakknubis fell into deep prayer. "Blessed be thy glowing fruits, aye, let them multiply, see them grow brighter. I give thee mine as I keep mine own. Distribute and share, eternal comfort mutually guaranteed." The smirking god grew brighter, closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly.

"Breeeeaathe," he said. "Relax, and stand up." His voice boomed so deeply that the whispy neon clouds waved back and forth. "You are home, my child." But his complexion quickly shifted to confusion as he shifted his gaze towards the general. "Newcomer?"

"Yes, yes," Rakknubis said urgently. "His fate awaits trial. He is my most loyal servant."

The being in the sky paused for a long moment, eyes drifting as if in some thought. Then he snapped back quickly. "The sands of time have spoken to me. They tell me that this General will be denied two times."

"By the Chaotic One and Joshua, of course? You know the drill." Rakknubis was hopeful.

"NO," the voice boomed. The sky darkened and flooded with turbulent clouds, accompanied by a loud screech that lasted twenty minutes. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HAVE JUST DONE?"

Rakknubis was drained of color as fear gripped him. "What do you mean, Rakkalord? I have been initiating people into this realm for four thousand years."

The supreme being was clearly in distress. "He may be Rakkan NOW, but the sands of time tell me that he won't be soon. For this general is cursed." Out of frustration he had to pause. "He is a pawn of some other deity I cannot tell. The prophecy is sealed now."

Rakknubis just stood there shaking his head. "No. I lived my entire life to prevent it."

"*And woe to the gods who turn their backs on him,*" Rakkalord recited. "I cannot accept someone who is doomed to change. I cast you two into the storms. No place is safe now."

"But you must help us! Vile forces from the depths of the sky will be descending any day now. Joshua is weaker than he has ever been, and he cannot defend. Mighty Rakkalord, you are everyone's last hope-"

But he was already gone. He knew this would happen.