Kickoff written by WillMorgan

When He Returns

What if it was true, but we just misunderstood it?

"Most assuredly, I say to you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God; and those who hear will live. For as the Father has life in Himself, so He has granted the Son to have life in Himself, and has given Him authority to execute judgement also, because He is the Son of Man. Do not marvel at this; for the hour is coming in which all who are in the graves will hear His voice and come forth -- those who have done good, to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of condemnation."

Mick spat on the ground at the words. 'Can't believe preachers are still peddling that crap. We're twenty years into this goddamn war, and there ain't no sign of no judgement. All I see is blood on our swords.'

The clink of metal beer mugs rang through the filthy bar.

Jones squinted over his sixth mug. 'Hey, so I got a good one. An atheist, a preacher, and Hitler's resurrected demon corpse walk into a bar. Bar keep says, what do
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you guys want? The Atheist says 'another chance', the preacher says 'an explanation', and and Hitler says 'I'll take a shot'. Barkeep squints at Hitler, horns and all, and says, 'Damn son, I thought just the one would have been enough for you!'

The guys chuckle.

'Be funny if he didn't kill half our squad.' Mick sighed, slurping another mouthful of warm ale.

Jones shrugged. 'Armies of the undead. Legions of the antichrist. Demons walking the earth. What can you do? Still funny though.'

The others laughed a little.

It was crazy to think that in such a short time, everything could have gone so wrong. Who would have guessed that the Second Coming of Christ would end in an all out war. But yet, here he is. Be nicer if he could pick up a sword though, get in the thick of it like the rest of the soldiers. But no. Can't do that. Hands too clean to get blood on. Supposed it's only fitting that the Atheists get tarred with that brush. The good Christians end up as spiritual advisors - immortal
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freaking spiritual leaders who parade around, safe from any harm, giving advice and guidance to us warriors. All the real sinners, the bad guys, they got their place, just where they wanted. Satan to the left, Demons to the right. Hitler, Stalin, Gelesic, Pot, and Henry VIII, believe it or not. All among the ranks of the resurrected demon army. The scriptures said that it would be Jesus and God who would serve them judgement, not a hundred million Atheists fighting a war they never believed could even exist.

Mick scowled and tried to drown out the preacher by humming a tune he knew from when he was a kid. It didn't.

'Come on boys, lets get out of here.'

They all grumbled in agreement and left the bar that was assembled mostly from the rubble of other destroyed buildings.

Least the sky was the same, that old, comforting mix of red and grey. Bloody clouds, filthy ground. Legged snakes with bodies like rivers of tar scurrying between the bodies like hell spawned rats. When the crack in
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the earth opened up, it wasn't just Satan that crawled out.

Mick moved like lightning, the tip of his broadsword forged in the fires of heaven, handed out to each warrior by Gabriel himself, sinking into the soft palate of flesh behind the snake's skull.

It squealed as Mick twisted it with abject pleasure.

'Don't torture the fecking thing,' Jones groaned, covering his ears. 'Not his fault he came from where he did.'

'Not my fault neither,' Mick smirked, twisting again.

The snake fell still.

'So what's the plan, where we going? We're not on duty til two days time. Wanna raise some hell?'

Mick pursed his lips and wiped his blade against the leather covered chain mail on his thigh before shoving it back into his scabbard. He shrugged. 'Sure, guess we could roll some heads, pass the time.'

Jones grinned excitedly. 'Cool. I'll find us a ride-'

'Wait,' Mick hissed, narrowing his eyes and looking towards the charred and smoking ruins of the city skyline. 'You hear that?'
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