The Four Horsemen and the Apocalypse: The Restoration

By William Nichols

Jackson Mathias More had a dreama grand, vivid dream.
Codenamed the Apocalypse, Mathias, along with four of his friends, dubbed the Four Horseman, gathered an army, went to war with a government he despised and brought about the Restoration in his country. These five spent years contriving the ingenuity, the strategy, the will . . . the guts to go through with the plan, and when all the pieces were in place, they began their incredible journey. Defying odds, facing sorrow-filled trials and tribulations, warring with a mighty enemy, and basking in the glory of victories, Mathias finds a strength of body and soul that can only be provided by God. Through his prayers and sufferings, Mathias brings the restoration of his faith to the people of his nation, separating the righteous from the wicked as he initiates a war to purge the enemy from the country.
The war Jackson Mathias More foresaw in a dream camehe waged it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466916623

William Nichols

William Nichols has wandered through a life of sin, facing his own trials and tribulations, learning his virtues and vices, defining his character. Through his sins and his repentances, he was made aware of so much more and in his newfound knowledge returned to a love of his past—writing. It was here that he found a gift from God.

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© Copyright 2012 William Nichols.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-1661-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-1660-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-1662-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903185

Trafford rev. 07/18/2012

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter I                   Riders of the Storm

Chapter II                  Birth of the Warrior

Chapter III                The Restoration

Chapter IV                The Flame of Mathias

Chapter V                 Ring of Fire

Chapter VI                Destiny

Chapter VII               Eye of the Storm

Chapter VIII              Warriors of Apocalypse

Chapter IX                 Armageddon

Chapter X                  Suffering

Chapter XI                Mathias’ Prayer

Chapter XII               Storm of the Apocalypse

Chapter XIII              Knighting of the Horsemen

Chapter XIV              Unveiling

Chapter XV               Castellum

Chapter XVI              Awakening

Chapter XVII            Deliberation of the Enemy Council

Chapter XVIII           The Ultimatum

Chapter XIX              Queen of the Apocalypse

Chapter XX               First Wave of the Storm

Chapter XXI              A Fear Realized

Chapter XXII            Blood of the First Wave

Chapter XXIII           Second Wave

Chapter XXIV           Reach of the Apocalypse

Chapter XXV            Noah’s Ark

Chapter XXVI           Closing of Club Fed

Chapter XXVII          The Impenetrable Fortress

Chapter XXVIII         Clash of the Titans

Chapter XXIX            Cleansing Wave

Chapter XXX             Two Camps

Chapter XXXI            Continuation of a Destiny

Chapter XXXII          Hierarchy of the Apocalypse

Chapter XXXIII         Trials of the Old Faction

Chapter XXXIV         Sentencing of the Old Faction

Chapter XXXV          First Revelation of the Enemy

Chapter XXXVI        Trial of Ages

Chapter XXXVII       A Sheep in a Wolf’s Clothing

Chapter XXXVIII      Sodom and Gomorrha

Chapter XXXIX         Exodus Plan

Chapter XL                 Serpent of Death

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary, Queen of Martyrs and to those martyrs of my most beloved God.

QOH.jpg

True soldiers are warriors!

The meaning of a true soldier has been lost. A true soldier is a warrior. He is a warrior for God. Warriors have been tossed out and these so called soldiers have taken their place, soldiers that won’t even look evil in its face and deny it. They do as they are told not as they must. That is what sets them apart from us.

We are warriors. We are true soldiers. We do as we must so that we might be able to make this world a better place for us. We leave behind the fear of death, even when we feel its cold breath on the back of our necks. We keep the words of the ancient text. The Holy Word of God, the Holy Bible, is our commands. That is why we make our stand against this world.

Every day is a battle in this life long war. We fight it on every shore of this nation. We fight for the Incarnate One, the Son of the One above, the One who knows only love. He raises every sense in our body to fight this evil that has over taken this world. The evil which has been hurled into every ones faces and even into some of the places of Holiness.

Satan has stepped on our ground for the last time. It is time to climb the mountain of evil and with the strength of God and all His angels, over throw this master of pain. It is time for God to have His rightful reign back in our lives. There is only one question left to answer. Are you ready to strive every day to defeat the evil within this world and the evil within this nation’s government, because your last minute could come with in an instant!

Christopher A. Carver

The fifth period of the Church, which began circa 1520, will end with the arrival of the Holy Pope and the powerful Monarch who is called Help From God" because he will restore everything. The fifth period is one of affliction, desolation, humiliation and poverty for the Church. Jesus Christ will purify His people through cruel wars, famines, plagues, epidemics and other horrible calamities. He will also afflict and weaken the Latin Church with many heresies. It is a period of defections, calamities and extermination. Those Christians who survive the sword, plague and famines, will be few on earth.

"During this period, many men will abuse of the freedom of conscience conceded to them. It is of such men that Jude the Apostle spoke when he said, ‘These men blaspheme whatever they do not understand; and they corrupt whatever they know naturally as irrational animals do.’ They will ridicule Christian simplicity; they will call it folly and nonsense, but they will have the highest regard for advanced knowledge and for the skill by which the axioms of law, the precepts of morality, the Holy Canons and religious dogmas are clouded by senseless questions and elaborate arguments.

These are evil times…

—Venerable Bartholomew Holzhauser

(17th Century)

Prologue

Tomorrow is a big day for you, honey.

A young girl sat in a chair in front of a large, ornate mirror. Her mother stood behind her, brushing her lengthy black hair.

Yes, she sighed. Yes, I know, Mother.

Her eyes turned to the ground, staring with the melancholy of understanding what the morrow would bring but not the why. She knew what would happen on the day to come—her eighteenth birthday. She was told of this for as long as she could remember but the reasoning behind this special day was never given—never, not once—no matter how many times she asked, pleaded for an answer. She had thought of this day often, dreamed of it pleasantly and paid no mind to the answers never given—she was used to it, it became tolerable. But this day, the day before the day, she wanted answers and she would receive them one way or another.

Her eyes lifted from the ground; the ground saddened at the loss of the grace that was the miracle of those beautiful eyes. She turned her gaze into the mirror and saw her beauty but did not. She was very modest, never admitting the beauty that was the same as Helen of Troy or like that of the mythological goddess Aphrodite.

Searching her flawless features over, she came to catch the gaze of her mother. Her mother stared into the reflection that did no true justice to her radiance. She saw her daughter’s golden eyes looking into hers and she saw the melancholy. What troubles you, sweetheart?

Again the young woman sighed. Nothing is wrong, Mother. She had something to say, to ask her mother, but it was difficult. I am just nervous I suppose.

Are you sure? You seem…

The girl huffed in frustration. Mother, please!

The mother’s eyes darted from the mirror to hide their tears caused by the scolding of her daughter. She took her hands and ran them underneath her daughter’s finely brushed hair to fluff it out. Very well. It is time for you to go to bed. She turned despondently and walked away.

Her daughter rose from her seat revealing her slender but perfect figure covered by an azure blue satin nightgown laced in gold trim. I apologize, Mother. That was inappropriate.

The mother stopped at the doorway, her back turned toward her daughter. The daughter saw her mother’s head nod in acceptance of the apology. The girl glided elegantly over to her bed. She pulled back its covers and climbed in. Pushing the covers back some more, she sat in the center of the bed, her knees high, chin resting on them and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She stared at her feet, lifting her toes and relaxing them. You are right, Mother. I am troubled.

The mother turned from the doorway and saw the sadness of her daughter. She walked from the doorway and sat on the side of the bed. What is the matter?

The girl took her gaze from her toes and looked into her mother’s eyes. Her mother saw the golden eyes of before fade into the forlorn brown that was accompanied by the grimness of the child’s disturbance.

Staring deep into her mother’s eyes, searching for an answer to a question she so desired, she asked, Do you remember when you would tell me bedtime stories?

Her mother smiled. I do.

The girl grinned largely and lifted her misty eyes toward Heaven. I did so love those stories. Which was my favorite, I could not say. They were all so wonderful, she took a deep breath and continued, There is one story that you never told me.

Her watery eyes fell from Heaven and found her mother’s face. Mother, will you tell me of the Apocalypse?

The mother’s heart ached at the pain she witnessed in the eyes of her daughter. Touching her daughter’s cheek softly, she answered, You asked me that question first when you were five and I declined. I told you it was not the time for that story and not to search for that story. You obeyed, never once did you ask anyone of the story which you wanted to know. At ten you asked me again as you lay down to sleep and again at fifteen. Both times I answered the same as I did the first and again you obeyed, never searching.

I want to know, Mother. A tear rolled down the daughter’s face and she looked down to her feet. Tomorrow is my big day and I know not of the Apocalypse, the man responsible for Terradeus. I must know.

The mother began to weep. Her daughter, affected by her mother’s tears, moved beside her. Wrapping her arms around her mother and laying her head on her shoulder, she asked, What is it you are afraid of, Mother?

The mother’s weeping lessened. She sniffled and patted the hand of her daughter. Precious, I am not afraid. I hurt. The knowledge of the Apocalypse is painful for me and it will be much the same for you.

I am capable of handling pain, Mother. It is an emotion and feeling that is necessary in this life. With it I will become more than I already am.

The mother smiled widely. You sound so much like your father, she turned and looked at her daughter and saw her eyes alive with fire, and you have his eyes. She stroked the long silky black hair that belonged to the child that was of her. Lay down, sweetheart.

Sulking, the girl did as she was asked. Her mother turned away from her, still sitting on the side of her bed. She heard a pouting huff from her daughter. The mother wanted to speak but words froze in her mouth before they could leave. There was a long pause. Mother sat on a bed feeling sympathy for daughter and daughter lay in bed feeling sad for the pain her mother seemed to be experiencing.

Mother?

The daughter did not receive an answer right away. Another pause insisted that her mother was thinking—she knew her well enough to know that, so she waited.

Time passed and the words that were frozen thawed. Soon, the Lord God will shine His Graces down upon me and the Army of Angels and the Glory of God will reflect in my eyes. And those who have persecuted, wounded and falsely loved me will wish they were with me, for I will bring forth The Restoration and purge the wickedness from this nation. I am the Apocalypse. The mother paused momentarily. Those were the first words uttered by the newborn Apocalypse.

The girl, intrigued, folded her pillow and propped herself on it. Pulling the covers over her she listened, for the legend of The Four Horsemen and the Apocalypse began—a story she had anticipated for seventeen years and three hundred sixty-four days.

Chapter I

Riders of the Storm

The birth of a new dawn was only hours away. The sky carried the shimmering stars in its immeasurable emptiness. The air was fresh this early morning, along Interstate 95, just north of Richmond, Virginia. The leaves of the trees quivered as a cool, brisk breeze blew gently through them. Their rustling was the only sound to be heard as much of the surrounding world still slept—one of the rare times the world seemed at peace with itself. This peacefulness, however, never lasts and on this day, that would be for certain.

In the distance, a slight rumble echoed. The noise continued to grow, seemingly every second. Though the leaves still quivered, they became silent as the rumbling began to drown out the softness of their blissful sound. The noise grew closer, as if a clap of thunder was rolling through the vastness of the land. The closer it came, a vague light pursued. Then, over the top of a hill, headlights appeared and the resounding thunder was at its full force.

A white streak, stained grey from the pitch blackness of the sky, barreled down the freeway, engine screaming. The car was a 1977 Pontiac Trans Am, powered by the massiveness of the engine inside. The brute force of the engine propelled the car over the morning asphalt. A man sat in the passenger seat and added another sound to the quiet world. "What in the hell are we doing out here? He bit on a fingernail. Spitting out the partial nail that was torn from the quick, he commented. I mean, this is crazy."

The passenger was Damian Amos, a young man of twenty-five years. He was born in a small town in Tennessee outside of Memphis. Damian was tall, nearly six feet four. He had a medium build, not muscular but not slender either. His form gave the distinct characteristic of strength but did not do justice for his true brawn. His hair was flaxen, cut close to his scalp. His eyes were a keen winter blue, similar to that of a Siberian Husky. They did not shine but skewered, like cold sharp ice. His visage was smooth, all but the wiry growth of hair on his chin. He and the driver were close friends. Their friendship was closing in on a decade. The two had experienced much together. Their journeys led to many growth opportunities. More so than either one of them could say about any two people they knew. In short, they had been through it all together and after today, that statement would be etched in stone.

The driver never replied to the commentary of the passenger. He merely stared ahead, eyeing the road before him with imposing dedication. Damian spoke again, softly but strong, Crazy, I tell you. Then again, voice escalated a bit, Insane.

Still, there was not a single acknowledgement from his counterpart. Damian turned to the driver, his brows knitted tightly together. Are you not scared? No reply.

Afraid? No answer.

Terrified? Yet again, he received the same response—nothing.

Damian incessantly gazed at the driver, patiently awaiting an answer. When one did not come, panic materialized in his voice. Come on! Throw me a bone here, I’m freakin’ out! Not a peep. Damian stared ahead. He huffed loudly, trying to entice the man into answering. It did not have the desired effect he had hoped and he groaned and massaged his temples.

Well, if you don’t want to talk… Damian reached down to turn on the radio; his wrist was grasped by the silent driver.

The driver, taking his eyes from the road, turned his head and his eyes met with Damian’s. At last, his silence broke. Softly but forcefully the driver said, I am excited. Damian stared at his friend then turned and sat back in his seat, pensively. His gaze refocused on the road ahead, the driver demanded, Never touch my radio.

Damian sat speechless and then he chuckled slightly as the comment relieved some of his tension. Smirking a bit and shaking his head, Damian turned and his eyes flirted with the stars hanging motionless in Heaven. In an instance his smile faded and the sense of foreboding returned as he stared out the window. "Excited? Damn, Mathias, I’m flat out scared. I am afraid. I am terrified."

Jackson Mathias More was the name of the driver—Damian’s friend. Mathias was the man who forged in his mind, for years, the path that they now found themselves speeding down. He was the master of the oncoming storm. He, himself, was the man that would come to be known as the Apocalypse.

Mathias was from a fairly large town, north of Atlanta, where he met the passenger he now rode with. Mathias was born there and raised by a respectable family, living out the majority of his twenty-eight years in relative obscurity. Although raised as a traditional Roman Catholic, it was only in the past ten years that he traversed the labyrinth of spiritual inclination. It was only recently that Mathias truly discovered the dichotomy of good and evil, the schemes of the nature of the Devil himself. The corruption and hypocrisy, which surged forth from the hands of the governing body of this nation, tore at the marrow of Mathias for many years. As his spirituality and love for God grew, so did his hatred of the evil that spawned anew daily. He had seen the many graces given to this world taken and twisted by the hands of those that pugnaciously invite secular humanism into every social circle, increasing the idea of a Godless world. He had become angry with those people. He felt they needed to answer for their blasphemy.

Mathias, unlike his partner, was of an average height. He was slender and not nearly as strong as Damian. Still, as many had rumored and most feared, strength was not the concern when dealing with Mathias; it was his mind of which one must be cautious. It wielded a virtuosity of which no man could comprehend; it was dangerous in its own accord. He had long brown hair reaching to the top of his shoulder blades, hair that shone with brilliance. His eyes were brown, fair as any—at the height of his spirits they gleamed like pure gold, but during moments of anger or near despair, Mathias’ eyes turned as black and empty as the abyss of the darkest realms of night. His face was handsome. He wore a slim beard, slightly darker than his hair, which followed his jaw. He was an extremely intelligent man, well educated—mostly by his own studies and desire for the Truth. Mathias’ mind was what made him. To know his mind was to know him, not many people could say that they did. The torment and torture that his mind had been through in these twenty-eight years had developed him into what he had become. Soon the world would see.

Mathias noticed his friend’s nervousness, or sensed it, for he never took his eyes from the road. Mathias was blessed with what some may call a sixth sense. He could be subjected to another’s feelings, more so depending on his relation to them, and as in tune as these two were he seemed to feel everything.

Mathias broke his silence to ease Damian. You have no reason to worry about anything.

Damian scoffed as he rolled his eyes and stared out the window. Why in God’s name shouldn’t I be? Damian asked the question demandingly as he fidgeted around in his seat turning once again to the stars, only now he had begun biting his already chewed fingernails.

"In God’s name, my friend, is the reason. Through Him our destiny has been chosen, our path has been laid down before us, and now, that destiny we are living, and that path we are following. Our lives have been molded into warriors for God. We shall not doubt our destiny or what follows." Mathias believed his own words unconditionally. He lived a life of sin for many years until, as he would say, he was shown his way. Mathias’ eyes had been opened to the sins of the world—his sins included—and he recognized the governing body he lived under as the harbinger of the torture and torment of hell itself. Upon this recognition, he spent the years that followed developing this crusade of his in the name of the Father, God Almighty. He believed that he was truly a warrior for God.

Damian, now feeling a little eased, stopped biting his nails. He turned from the darkness of Heaven to the speeding highway that passed under the rolling wheels of the Trans Am, whose massive engine still thundered. He then turned his head towards Mathias, who was again entranced, staring at the freeway. Timidly, he asked, What if we fail?

Mathias tilted his head forward, his brows slanted and his eyes squinted in rage. Peering at the road from underneath the dark eyebrows, Mathias, in the usual soft manner, commanded, We will not fail.

Damian felt a chill up his spine as his eyes remained fixed on his companion. The sound in Mathias’ voice added a terrifying comfort to him. He had seen this look in the eyes of his friend before and, by that simple observance, Damian knew deep in his heart that they, indeed, would not fail. Still, he could not help but ponder the thought of uncertainty and, as he slouched into a long awaited comfortable position, he found it actually intriguing to ask a specific question. Observing the dark highway in front of them, he asked, How do you know? I mean… what makes you so confident?

Mathias still stared from beneath his brow and darkness fell upon his brown eyes. His intensity showed powerfully on his face but his words were relaxed. My heart tells me so. In my heart it has been placed before us by the Almighty Himself. Mathias paused, his energy roaring through him. Another reason to point out would be behind us. He gestured toward the back of the Trans Am. Damian turned and, as he looked through the rear window, saw a multitude of monstrous headlights. You see that? That makes me very confident. We are the chosen, D. That is who we are. A feeling of security, mixed with the promise of tragedy, weltered in Damian. While it was indeed comforting to see what lagged behind the speeding fury of the car—Damian knew what followed—it was stifling fear that was foremost in his mind. With what pursued them, he could only call to mind the fury that was being caged, the power that wanted to be released and when Mathias unleashed it… what would happen?

Staring amazed at the image behind them, row after row of headlights shone in the darkness of the world. An entourage of transfer trucks powered on behind them. The massiveness of the convoy placed a wrenching feeling deep in the gut of Damian. He was not sure what the sensation was. Was it comfort? It did not feel comforting, but no matter, whatever it was had caused his imagination to soar to all new heights.

Damian repositioned himself as this possible comforting sensation settled in the depths of his stomach. He propped his arm on the window seal and rested the side of his face on his fist. He glanced once more at his friend and smiled as he closed his eyes. The lids of his eyes shut and thoughts began to turn into dreams.

Mathias, in his trance, saw mist rising. The fog is rolling in. This he said to himself, for Damian had drifted into the sweet bliss of dreams.

Relaxing the searing gaze that had ruled his face the past moments, Mathias came out of his reverie. He glanced at Damian and remembered better times—times more pleasurable, times of less frustration, times when the terrors of reality were but a myth. The festive thoughts played in his mind only a short time, the realization of the world had come home and it haunted the very day. He wished, momentarily, to return to those days. Then it became clear… those days were gone.

Tearing away from the past, Mathias returned his focus back to the road. Before he was completely absorbed, he spoke one last time, Sleep well, my friend. Mathias was gone. His stare was fixed upon the dark desolate highway before him. He appeared lifeless. Silence crept over and blanketed him. The only sound he heard was the roar of the colossal engine. The Trans Am sliced through thickening fog as she sped down the road. Through the rising clouds she carried two prized possessions—she carried two Riders of the Storm.

Chapter II

Birth of the Warrior

Damian had fallen into a deep slumber. He lay motionless except for an occasional twitch—dreams perhaps. However, his counterpart was wide awake and concentrating vigorously. The minutes passed like they do—consistent, never-changing. To Mathias they crawled by at their own leisure, dragging, forgetting they were time. He was impatient towards the course he pursued. Time could not begin to move fast enough for him. He wanted so badly to get where he was going.

He gripped the wheel tightly and, with a terrible pressure, he twisted at it. He breathed in heavily and exhaled even heavier. His thoughts gyrated through his mind. The visions he saw unfold emphatically antagonized his intensity and anxiety begging for an answer to the question, ‘How much longer?’

Time slowly crept by; Mathias began to find his mind roving into his past. Still vigilantly focused on the road before him, his mind called out to him, asking him to recall the torment from his long years. It was almost as if a power sought out these memories, brought them to him to visualize and turned the pages of recollection like a photo album. Images began to slip into perspective as he reminisced. All the pieces of the puzzle—the puzzle that made him the man he had become—were putting themselves together one at a time in the quietness of his mind. The pieces began to develop at around the age of seventeen.

Mathias saw himself undergo the intoxication of numerous poisons. Vast amounts of sex, drugs and alcohol were poured into his soul. All these actions condoned by much of the populous and spread throughout society by a governing body that saw it fit to portray them as acceptable—they had become the workhorse of Satan in the modern world. Through television, radio and the Internet: the labels of sex, drugs and rock n roll were dominant in this era and pushed as the ‘thing to do’. He witnessed persecutions of those he held dear by the present day Gestapo. Mathias saw friends destroyed for what was unlawful for them but not for superior figures such as athletes, actors, musical artists and government officials. Youths, persecuted for following the footsteps of these superior figures—role models, guides… shepherds. Superior figures can murder, rape, lie, cheat, steal and take drugs without as much as a bruise from the Gestapo—they were protected by them. Protected because they served a higher purpose—to manipulate the minds of many, lead them to sin and away from God; to have people live backwards, and live backwards spells evil.

His mind turned pages that he had forgotten; the memories of many of these tragedies, which he had witnessed or been victim to, returned. Mathias remembered and reaffirmed the veracity of his path—some might say that these social cancers and maladies awakened the spirit that had lain dormant, that these ills made him see the stark reality and showed him the path that lay before him.

There were numerous theories for what prompted Mathias’ mission. The speculated reasons were endless and a mystery. Were any of them true? If one asked Mathias he would receive one answer, ‘God freed my mind. He has awakened me.’

He slept one night and woke the next morning seeing the atrocities of which he had partaken. He began to see clearly the immoralities of the world as they lay before him. At this realization, he became filled with true remorse accompanied by righteous anger. He desired to cleanse his soul. This, itself, would be a long, arduous process. They say time heals all wounds; Mathias would say, ‘Time heals nothing. God heals what you let Him’.

Mathias began his attempt to reacquire the soul he had lost. As he faced numerous trials, he fought, and fought hard. Evil had become more predominant in the world as the years passed. He went through much agony in his journey. He saw the murders of two dear friends. He saw their murderers slide away without as much as a scrape from the long arm of the law. His friends were nobodies in this society, so what did it matter if their deaths were dismissed by the so-called justice system of this nation. He watched one of his brothers forged into a weapon for the United States government, watched as politicians used him, not for the good of their country, but to the greater glory of their own power. Politicians who saw it fit to send his brother and other soldiers to fight for democracy, when it was actually a way for them to spread their perverted version of ‘freedom’ to all ends of the earth.

Amongst many other tragedies, he saw the final threat. He had seen the persecution of his Faith. Slowly, God was being driven out of every aspect of society in the nation—forced out. The freedoms, which once were perceived to make this nation mighty and true, began to falter. Slowly—and for the people’s own good—the government took rights away from the populous. Slowly—and to prevent persecuting others—they took God from people. Slowly, they enslaved the people and they did so with the help of the people. People were misled by the propaganda that spread like a disease, harnessed and manipulated by a government which was supposed to protect them and be their shepherds.

Slowly was the genius of it all. Time and patience—two of the most dangerous attributes of the Devil—to watch puppets drown out goodness. The slower these rights are removed, the fewer questions get asked, the less resistance they receive and are allowed to be set in motion without question. Mathias, however, had questions. Mathias had resistance. He had refusal to accept the answers given. He asked questions to himself, he asked them to God. He needed answers. Some things he could turn a blind eye, overlook. The denial of his Lord he could not. The persecution of his and others’ freedoms he could not. He prayed many nights for answers on how to redeem this unholy world. One night, not knowing what he should do, he stared into Heaven at the twinkling stars for hours and asked and, as plain as the bright stars set in the fineness of the black blanketed sky, he received. It was then that he realized the root of this evil began with the power of the one ultimate betrayer of God—Lucifer. To cure this world, Satan’s puppets must be stricken down. Through the powers that rule the most influential nation in the world, hell was being unleashed. Restoration, he saw, was the only answer to solve this dire problem the people faced. All the malevolence that had been brought upon this earth was at the hands of the government he so much despised. It became clearer by the minute—their disregard for human life, their desire to rule solely, their desire to falsify the idea of freedom, their desire to wipe God from Earth as Ruler of all and, finally, their desire to be God. They were Satan’s spawns. It was at that moment Mathias no longer existed alone as himself. He now shared two entities—one of his own being, another created from a fire within. The Birth of the Warrior had come.

The past mingled with the present and fury took Mathias over. The prominent red haze fell upon his eyes. His face fell to a fierce consternation. His golden eyes became black as the night sky. Teeth glistened as he bared them in a pitiless scowl. Enraged with anger, his fist slammed against the steering wheel, sending a resounding thud through the cab of the car and a flicker of a flame ignited in his eyes.

Damian jumped out of his relaxed sleep. What was that? He glanced to his left, eyes glazed a bit from his slumber. He saw his friend and the fire that now engulfed his eyes.

Mathias, not in the usual soft tone which Damian had been accustomed to of late, but in a sheer, deep, resonating voice announced, They will not succeed. Evil will not triumph. The freedom of the people will not be taken and God will not be forgotten. As long as I breathe they will be punished.

Damian stared at Mathias in astonishment. His sleepy eyes widened and his mouth hung open-jawed. He did not know whether to speak or sit silent. Then, as the fiery look in Mathias’ eyes dwindled, Damian roused him from his hypnotic state. Mathias?

Coming back to the current, Mathias asked, Did you sleep well?

As he stretched his arms out in an attempt to fight off the drowsiness of his nap, Damian answered, Somewhat… He yawned as he sat up in the seat. Bad dreams really.

The car sped down the highway passing a sign that read Washington D.C. 50 miles. Mathias sat up fast in excitement. His back arched forward, his eyes grew more attentive to the road before him. Well, my friend, wash away the dreams and wipe the sleep from your eyes because it is almost time. Shortly, the day will bring forth a new era. When the sun rises, it will be a whole new ballgame.

Damian stared, afresh, out the window at the stars above the tree line. He knew Mathias was right. He knew it would be a whole new ballgame. He felt a grinding pang in his chest as nervousness began to fuel his heart. It raced with a disquietude that people only dare to imagine. His foreboding had returned.

Chapter III

The Restoration

Damian, terror-stricken at this point, began the customary chewing of his nails. He stared amiss in his fragile state, eyes wandering as he began to play out possible scenarios of what could happen to them if they failed. Thoughts plagued his mind: thoughts of being simply on the run, hiding out for the rest of their lives, lifelong imprisonment and of course the worst case… death. Nonetheless, no matter how much he was worried about these possible outcomes, his heart belonged to this crusade. His heart belonged with his friend. No corollary in his mind would ever allow him to stray from this noble cause, for nothing would permit him to abandon Mathias. He had no need for justification. Regardless of fear, he needed no assurance. All he needed to know was that his friend was there. Together, he and Mathias would go to their last days. Together, they would tread dreadful waters. Together, they would fight the good fight. Together, forever in the unity of true amity, they would stand side by side, for they have always been together as would they always.

Damian’s eyes ceased to wander as they caught the orange neon glow of the digital clock on the car stereo. They focused sternly on the time. He knew the time was growing near. Approximately thirty minutes would mark the point of no return. His hands trembled with nervousness as he massaged his temples. He could feel small beads of sweat building upon his brow.

Mathias took notice of this and he—now in a state of jovial excitement—made an attempt to relieve the pressure that was amassing within Damian. Excited yet? Mathias’ tone was energized.

Damian, removing his fingers from his temples, whipped his head over toward Mathias. Their eyes locked. Mathias smiled at him cheerfully. Damian’s eyes fell downward. He had witnessed many forms of this feature. Mathias smiled a lot, but with different insinuations. Not everyone knew the differences. Damian did. He had come to know the smiles by their different meanings: disdainful, sarcastic, humor-filled, cautious, etched with curiosity or loving and compassionate. He knew them and it had been so long since it gave the impression of pure elation—a true smile. Damian was glad for this change.

Thrilled by this knowledge, Damian raised his eyes. Mathias winked then raised his eyebrows as he often would to try and coerce Damian into doing something of which he was unsure. Damian shook his head and lay back against the headrest, he, too, smiled and even laughed, quietly but purely. You know, Mathias, you really scare me sometimes.

Still smiling, Mathias stared ahead at the never ending road. I try.

Damian laughed again, louder and more comfortably. I believe it.

Damian cleared his laughter.

We’re really going to do it aren’t we? I mean… Damian paused, drew a deep breath and scratched his head. He stared out the passenger window and was mesmerized by the stars. His voice fell soft. I never even pondered the thought of actually going through with this. All the time we spent perfecting this plan, all the hours we spent in preparation, still, I honestly never believed—maybe I didn’t want to believe. I don’t know. It always seemed so imaginary… like one of my video games.

Mathias listened attentively as his friend set free his hidden thoughts that he now, so willingly, shared.

"Never in my wildest imaginings would I have foreseen us going all the way. Yet, now, I believe. Now we’re moments away from unveiling your masterpiece to the world. Will it work according to your vision? I don’t know. I do know, however, that we will find out. Together, we’ll find out and through this chaos I will remain your friend. Damian’s eyes began to tear up at these words and through his tears, still marveling at the starlit sky, he continued, We have done a lot together, been through a lot together. To the end we’ll go together. My faith in you brings me to understand my very being. My faith in you makes this mission all the easier to bear. Knowing your desire and dedication to do what you set out to do gives me hope. I consider myself fortunate to know you as my friend. You truly are incredible."

Damian wiped away the tears from his face and turned to Mathias, who was already looking at him. Mathias wore the afore-mentioned humor-filled grin. No. I am better than that. Both men began to laugh simultaneously and Mathias, again, relieved any tension flowing through Damian’s body with few words. Mathias was good at that. He was a master of consoling speech.

Damian, still laughing, remarked, To answer your question: yes, I am excited.

Mathias replied with an enthusiastic burst, Good! And that quickly his voice returned to its dry tendency. It is time.

He reached out his hand to Damian. Damian, in turn, reached out with his, grasping Mathias’. With a small fire burning in his eyes, Mathias clenched his friend’s hand tightly and stared into the eyes of Damian. Until the end, my friend, we ride together. Until the end.

Damian nodded in acceptance. Let’s do this. He reached to the floor board, grabbing a small suitcase. He set it in his lap and lifted the top open. He first pulled out a small hand-held radio and passed it to Mathias. Next, he pulled out a laptop computer and a small satellite dish, carrying a tail of wires. Damian commenced assembling the two.

When it was complete, he rolled down the window and reached out with the dish in hand. He could feel the coolness of the air as it rushed over the skin of his arm. He took the small dish and placed it on top of the car. He opened the laptop and pushed the power button.

Impatiently curious, Mathias stared at Damian. Are we set?

Shortly—I’m booting up the computer.

The computer screen flashed and the inside of the car was illuminated. The computer was now operational. Damian reached again into the case carefully and removed a disk. This disk was labeled in black ink, it read: ‘Got Stone?’ Reading the name, Damian chuckled.

This simple disk contained the blueprints of the mastermind’s strategy. Its contents were a year’s worth of genius. What was on this disk was put together by remarkable minds—minds that, when united, compiled a plan that was so incredibly amazing and ingenious that it would change the course of history. On the disk was a program that would make or break everything they had come so far to accomplish. The moment of truth was coming. If the program ran successful they would proceed, if not, their travel had been in vain.

Damian slid the disk into the computer. Disk in.

It was Mathias’ turn. Thoughts assaulted his mind. All that was the essence of Mathias was about to be known. Everything that he despised was about to know him. Years of torment and torture plagued his subconscious and a scowl in the shape of a cunning smile swept over his face. He pushed a button on the side of the hand-held and a beep called out, signifying the channel was open. Horsemen acknowledge, he said with a fierce deepness.

The Horsemen he referred to were his Generals—the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. One was riding in the car with him. The other three were in the entourage behind them.

Damian turned to his friend. War, ready.

Mathias grinned in exhilaration as he held the radio with great anticipation. Another beep blurted. The channel reopened and he received the replies he had been awaiting. Beep. Pestilence, ready.

Another beep. Famine set to go.

Another beep. Death is ready.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death.

Mathias pushed the button. Horsemen, fall back with me. A short pause and he continued with his orders. Commanders, maintain course to your locations and radio in when you reach your coordinates. From here on out, we no longer are who we were but who we have come to be. Strike names only over the radio. Dominus vobiscum. Apocalypse, out.

Mathias slowed the blistering wheels of the Trans Am and the engine roared as he down shifted. He pulled off the side of the freeway and eased the car into a cut in the woods. He was followed by three Humvees. They pulled into the darkened shadows of the trees, parking behind the Trans Am. All lights went out, leaving them in the bitter darkness where shadows go to die. Even the stars were ensconced as they sat hidden by the clutter of trees. The only light shone from within the Trans Am.

The blue glow of the laptop accented the waiting faces of Mathias and Damian. No words were spoken. No engines were running. Silence took over. The two men sat in the car, waiting. The chirping of crickets filled their ears, followed by the breeze, gently pushing its way through leaves of the towering trees.

Riding on the coattails of the gentle breeze, amassing over the chirping of crickets, blending with the sounds of the dark surroundings, Damian heard Mathias take a deep, drawing breath and his own order follow. War. Run the program. At that instruction, Damian lifted his finger and stared at the Enter button. The point of no return stared viciously at him. Everything rested on the simple task asked of him. He knew that it was not solely up to him—if he did not do it Mathias would—but it was asked of him.

Damian breathed in acutely, almost dreadfully, for he knew the simple push of a button would forever change his life. There would be no chance of returning to the life he knew as his own. The only life would be that of War—Horseman of the Apocalypse. So be it. He pressed the key and the computer came to life. Program’s running.

Mathias listened as he watched out the driver window, stroking the coarse hair on his chin.

Damian stared at the computer and called out, Seventeen percent complete. He paused. Twenty-nine percent. Damian’s breath grew slightly. Forty-one. The pace of his breathing accelerated. Fifty-five. Sixty-seven. Eighty-two. He began to gasp for air, heart pounding almost out of his chest, all the while Mathias rested his head impatiently against the window, ears focused entirely on Damian’s words. Ninety-five!

The next few seconds seemed eternal to Mathias as his life passed in front of his eyes—a life that would be forgotten shortly, for shortly it would not exist. Then a joyous word hit amongst the drum of his ear and he smiled as the chill of bliss flowed to every region of his body.

Program completed successfully! It’s done! Damian sat, heart wrenching, wanting to escape from his chest. It was too late. The point of no return had come and gone, bypassed them that quick. Damian, partially wanting to smother and die, held his breath. He had, to a degree, hoped that Mathias would have stopped the program, retreated from the night and abandoned this noble crusade. He listened.

Mathias proclaimed, So it is that a new day begins. So starts The Restoration.

Damian exhaled. It did not happen. He did not smother, the program was not stopped and nothing was abandoned. Everything continued. He would surge forward, together with his friend, on this noble crusade. He stared desperately at Mathias, who sat, head still lying against the window, smiling and marveling at the magnificence of his magnum opus.

Chapter IV

The Flame of Mathias

Mathias opened his door and stepped out onto the soft ground. It was covered with old leaves which were lightly dusted with dew, giving them a crunching and squishing sound under Mathias’ footsteps. He closed his eyes and inhaled the crisp sweetness of the earth that swirled in the air. He stood up straight; the tail of a black leather trench coat raked the leaves. He raised his arms in glorified triumph. He held them high for a moment as he stared to the bit of starry sky that managed to show through the thickness of foliage. He smiled magnificently as the realization of his destiny pulsated through his veins. It had been initiated and now, he was beginning to see, for the first time, the energy that drove him.

Mathias lowered his arms and motioned toward significant forms in the confined area—they were those of the Humvees that followed the Trans Am into the woods. Simultaneously, doors opened and shadowy figures dismounted, the sound of leaves crackled and squelched under the assailing footsteps of those who leapt from the vehicles.

Mathias turned to Damian, who sat in the car stock-still. Mathias tossed his head sideways, gesturing with intensity and said, Come on.

The door opened and out stepped Damian clad in black cargo pants and black T-shirt. He walked around to the tail of the car where he met Mathias. The two walked together toward the figures which stood in front of their transports. Mathias’ coat flapped in the breeze and his flowing, auburn hair whipped about his face. He soon stood, along with Damian, five yards from the silhouetted figures. He stopped and stretched out his arm, stopping Damian.

Mathias stood, the men remained unmoving. Silence enveloped them—except for the cool breeze, whispering excitedly. Mathias, hair still whipping, cut his eyes as the faint sound of Damian’s pounding heart echoed in his ear. Call them.

Damian nodded. Horsemen of the Apocalypse! he shouted and waved. The long-motionless profiles of the men moved. They marched in cadence towards the man who had them hailed, for he was their leader. They, too, were dressed as Damian and nearly camoflauged by the darkness—they would have been absorbed by the blackness if not for the silver rays of moonlight that slipped through the defenses of the foliage and cascaded of their skin.

They neared Mathias and Damian, the dark shadows of men began to take shape and form, revealing the other three Horsemen. Mathias’ eyes adjusted and he saw his select. Faces he had known through his life became apparent; faces, illuminated by the moon, fashioned by shades of gray. Mathias’ penetrating stare paused on one of the three. His eyes were fixed on the man in the middle. Mathias’ eyes shone bright as the small fire returned to them. The man returned the gaze intently then smiled knowingly.

Mathias walked toward the man and grasped him, pulling him close to his chest. The man accepted the embrace. We have done it, Mathias declared delightedly. Reclamation of our rights has begun. The two stepped back, hands grasping each other’s shoulders. There was a distinct amount of loyalty shared between these two men; it could be felt by those around them. Mathias continued, It does me good to see you.

The Horseman replied, Likewise, playah.

This voice belonged to Jeremiah Prince, a longtime childhood friend of Mathias. He was now known, also, as the General Pestilence, Horseman of the Apocalypse. Jeremiah was a black man, a year older than Mathias. He was of average height, six feet tall. He had very short hair, all but shaven from his head. He had a round face, accented by a neatly shaven line of hair just above his jaw and his eyes were a delicate brown.

Mathias gazed at the features that made this man, he saw someone that meant a great deal to him. With the fire showing in his eyes, he stared at Jeremiah and his mind sought out memories.

Mathias had known Jeremiah longer than the General with whom he had ridden. They met and became friends in high school. Time passed, they grew closer after experiencing many trials of their adolescent years. The bond that began between them grew and deepened as their common realizations of Truth became apparent. They did not have the same fraternal bond that belonged to Mathias and Damian—Damian viewed Mathias as an older brother, someone to emulate. The true bond of these souls was deeper, greater than that of a brotherly bond. Their bond lay in spirituality. There was perhaps no individual—among the many who followed the Apocalypse—that desired the spiritual cleansing they intended to initiate more than this man. Jeremiah also had a quest for goodness. He, too, knew the evil of the world today. He saw as Mathias saw and this formed the marrow of their relationship and like Damian, Jeremiah would never leave Mathias and vice versa.

Mathias shook his head, fighting off the visions that had begun. He wanted so desperately to reminisce but he knew that now was not the time. He was simply glad his oldest friend stood there before him and would accompany him through the oncoming storm that was his destiny. Once again, they embraced.

Mathias turned his attention to the man on Jeremiah’s left. There stood a taller man, who was very stout and bulky. His hair was brown like that of Mathias’ but it was short and disarrayed. His hazel eyes gleamed and his face was accented by a trim goatee. He gave Mathias a keen gaze and a smirk that would not go away. Mathias began to smirk as well. Sly looks dropped over their faces like curtains. The Horseman began to snicker—he was quite the high-strung individual. He was the Horseman Famine, Rowan Fontaine.

Mathias addressed him. Our time is now. It is upon us. Are you ready?

Rowan, like Damian and Jeremiah, had known Mathias for quite some time and, like the others, he had his own bond with him. Rowan’s bond was not so much spirituality or belief in the quest or belief in Mathias himself.