I rose to my feet as the Tribus entered my tent after the battle, but she failed to greet me by name or attempt an introduction.
"You defeated the Machines, David, but Satan lives on," said The Tribus coldly.
"But Satan was only a figurative representation of the Machine leader," I replied.
"As I was the representative of the warrior archangel, St. Michael."
The Tribus ignored my reply.
" St. Michael and Satan exist as living entities."
"What do you mean?"
Tribus shook his head, his face red with anger.
"The battle for supremacy between the Machines and the humans was more than a contest between two rival species; it was a battle for the spirit of the universe.
You were born in another place, but when you were still an infant, we sent you to Earth. The woman who took the role of your mother knew nothing of your origin. We appointed an agent, a former nun, to watch over you and report any threat from your nemesis, Satan."
"Yours was the essence we have guarded against the enemy as you matured and became capable of assuming the mantle of the champion of the Good in the war against Evil. You were not David, assuming the role of leader of the Heavenly Host; for the duration of the battle, you were the true embodiment of the Warrior Archangel Michael. Graced with the Divine Sword, your duty was clear. It was a fight to the death, and you failed to kill Satan."
The repeated name of Satan released a flood of guilt that shook me to my core. My self-imposed fiction of life began to crumble, and I felt tears well up in my eyes as I forced myself to face the truth.
I should have killed him when I had the chance.
"It would have been so easy to turn the sword a foot to his left and stick him straight through the heart. Instead, I ran him through the side, a clean cut, in and out, and before he knew what had hit him, he fell to the ground. The sword glittered in my hand, the executioner's sword, but I had allowed him to live. Had he once looked away from the vainglorious reflection he saw in my shield, he would have realised that I would not have carried a sword cast in a commonplace furnace to bear against one so formerly exalted.
"But in his hubris, he thought himself invincible, knowing that a weapon tempered from the elements of the physical universe could not harm him. Opening his robe and baring his chest, he taunted me to strike, and I could not, in honour, refuse.
Thrusting my sword into his body, the flesh parted like ripe fruit, and his blood ran red. In his shock, he felt no pain and lay still on his uninjured side, not trying to stop the flow. In mercy, I ripped off the hem of my robe and threw it down to him, but he did not stir. He was staring with transfixed eyes at the red blood of a human, and I saw he was crying.
He knew it was over.
"Sheathing my weapon, I dismounted and, picking up the cloth, pulled him gently to his feet. He offered no resistance, and I sealed the sword wound with the white linen of my gloves and bound a makeshift bandage around his body with the hem of my robe.
He looked at me once before casting his eyes down in acknowledgement of defeat, but even then, there was an arrogance about him. Mounting his horse with difficulty, he wheeled around to face his followers, who had assembled behind him in a silent array.
His eyes scanned the mounted ranks, searching for signs of dissent and, finding none, set off at a gallop towards the eastern horizon.
"Loyally, his massed army turned their mounts' heads eastwards and pursued him. A great cloud of dust gathered behind them as they swept across the plains like a swarm of locusts stripping the goodness from the land.
When the dust had cleared, he was gone, and the great plains were silent and empty, draped in dark clouds, not in mourning, for he still lived, but as a sign of my inner disquiet at my failure to act decisively.
The clouds were a sign of the turbulence to come, and in the twilight, a gentle wind arose, sending rivulets of sand skittering across the surface. Then it became stronger, gusting in powerfully from the west, scattering rocks and stones before it, transforming the desert into a shifting sea of dust.
Wave after wave of the abrasive sand raced across the surface and banished all traces of the horsemen. When night fell, the great plains became an empty wilderness shrouded in black clouds, and a deceptively gentle wind sent rivulets of sand skittering across the surface of the desert floor.
I stopped.
The vision vanished from my mind, and I lowered my head, all strength gone from my body.
I listened with my eyes closed as the Tribus revealed the awful consequences of my failure to do my duty.