A Winding Path to Infinity:

Across the skies, bitter dark clouds form. Swiftly, they mass across the heavens into a single overwhelming shadow, a totality of dark from which not even the keenest of vision can discern where one cloud begins and the next of its dark brethren begins. In mere moments, everything is cast into a gloom that veils even the faintest hints of the eventide sun’s attempt to offset the omnipresent dark. For a moment, both fast-fleeting and eternal, this grim visage rests silent in the sky; its bloated and shadowed form strangely dormant. Silent and sad, the black veil hangs as a dark omen, draping itself across seemingly all of creation.

A lone arc of light, cruel and blinding, blazes across the heavens, shattering the deliciously painful sense of waiting that had hung palpably in the air mere moments ago. Awakened from its deathly sleep by this luminous harbinger, the shadow dips lower along the horizon, and a low reverberating rumbling drowns all other sound with its dirge-like roar.

A pitter-patter of rain begins to fall, growing in intensity and speed until solid sheets of icy water hail from the heavens. With such fervor does this grim storm begin that the rainfall drums like the marching feet of a hundred men, and the optimistic hope the squall will burn itself into oblivion in but a few short moments. But the downpour continues, driven in length beyond all hope and reason. Even as long hours pass, the mourning tears of weeping Gods continue to fall innumerable from the blackened skies.

Neither the bravest of souls nor the maddest of men would dare cross out into this supernatural gale, and the earth itself quails beneath the storm’s vengeful strength. Yet out in this storm, which neither Angel nor Fool dare tempt, a lone figure rushes.