The sand is white against the pale gray sky. An endless, boundless desert without warmth. There is no sun in the sky, no shadows on the ground. And yet there is no darkness. There is no color to be seen. Only a man as he walks through the shifting sand, lost in thought. His shoulders are bent forward, his head hangs low. Round glasses sit on his nose. Short white hair and a hint of a beard, but he is not old, only about mid-thirties. Tired face with wrinkles of anger and despair. Tattered shirt and pants. Dark boots sink into the sand as he struggles to take a step. The great dunes of white sand shift and push him back down. It has been a long climb. Finally, he reaches the top. But the only thing to see from there is more sand. Everywhere you look - endless dunes of white sand and a sunless gray sky. The man falls to his knees. He stares up at the empty sky that offers no comfort. He buries his face in his hands. Seemingly defeated, he lies down in the sand. The sand slowly begins to move and shift. Grains, as if alive, crawl over the man. Slowly, the desert prepares to devour another victim.

          The sand takes notice of another. Someone else is crossing the desert. This person is different. The sand fears this one, who rides a black horse with dark metal armor. Spikes cover the front and sides, down to the legs and back of the sleek metal. The animal itself is no ordinary horse, but a nightmare. A mane of blackish smoke and eyes of red ember. The rider of this horse is equally bizarre and mysterious. Long black robes hide his figure. A black mask on his face resembles that of an ancient pharaoh. The black-gloved hands keep a firm grip on the reigns. They do not seem to be in a hurry.

The rider pulls on the reins, sensing that something is near. He changes direction. The horse gallops easily, the sand is as firm as stone under its hooves. It stops having brought the rider to the presence he sensed. Half buried in the sand lies a man.

"This one is still alive." He speaks in a low, quiet voice.

The horse neighs in response. The loud sound causes the man to move. Sand falls from his head and shoulders as he moves to look up at the tall, dark figure before him.

"Are you death?" the man asks.

The rider laughs.

"No."

The man bows his head.

"Are you disappointed? Did you want to die?"

The man looks up again.

"I'm pretty sure I'm already dead. But I don't know how I got here. There was a bright flash of light and I was here when I woke up. I know I must be dead, but I didn't think I'd be all alone. Surely the others would be here with me."

"How many of you were there?" asks the rider.

The man bows his head.

"A great many. Millions, maybe more. I don't even know how many people there were in the world."

"How can a whole world die at once?" The rider asks curiously.

"There was a disease going around. I was trying to find a cure for it." Said the man.

"So you're a doctor then?"

The man shook his head.

"I studied many things, including medicine. Inventions and engineering were my real talents. But things got so bad that anyone with an education was forced to research a cure. I, like many at that time, was out of my depth. Things weren't getting better. Everyone was desperate. And then He came to me in a dream. He told me how to put an end to it all. At first, I didn't believe it, but when I tried it, the results were incredible. It was like a miracle, people got well again. "The man recalled with a faraway look of amazement on his face.

"I'd see Him again. Always in a dream. He'd tell me things, and show me visions of machines and devices that would make people's lives better. That was all I ever wanted. "He let out a heavy sigh.

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"For a while, we had a better life, but then other countries came and tried to steal it. the inventions I made. My friends turned against me and stole my designs to sell them for profit. Wars were fought for them. We needed weapons to defend ourselves, so He showed me visions of how to make them. In the end, it was my designs that plunged the world into chaos. Into war." The man lowered his head and looked at his own hands.

"The things I made. The things He showed me. I realized too late that I had been deceived. I tried to stop it. I tried to destroy the weapons and the factories. But it was too late to stop it. They were too widespread, and too many people had learned how to make them. It had gotten out of control. And then they finally built one that could wipe out the whole world. I never thought that would happen because of me... all because He showed up," the man covers his face with his hands, but the tears slip past his fingers and fall into the sand. "He destroyed the world, and he used my hands to do it."

"Who is this deceiver that lied to you and killed your people?" asks the rider,

"His name is ... Arayoch."

The rider laughs, but it is a sound devoid of joy. An eerie sound that makes the Desert shiver. The man looks up at the rider, surprise, sadness, and hatred in his eyes.

"That's a name I have not heard in a long time." The rider speaks again.

"You know him?" he asks, surprised.

"Know him? I have never met him in person. Yet I despise him." says the rider. "I can sense that you have no love for the mad god either."

"God?" the man is taken aback, "You mean Arayoch is a god?"

"You didn't know?"

"I knew he had powers that no mere mortal possesses. But a straight up god?"

"Yes, the god of chaos, madness and debauchery. The god who rules over legions of demons and holds dozens of worlds in his corrupting influence."

The man lowers his head again, looking defeated.

"Then I suppose there is no way to avenge my people and the injustice they have suffered. For I am not sure what someone like me could do against a god. But I will never forgive him."

"Perhaps I could be of use then." Says the rider." I sense you have a strong soul. One that has managed to escape death and make its way here."

"Then this place is not death?"

"No. It is a path of sorts." The rider explains, " one that can lead to many places."

"Even if I make it out of here, I'd still be dead, would I not?"

"That could be easily fixed." Says the Rider." All you need is a new body. One without a soul."

The man lowers his head, thinking.

"I would not know where to find one."

"Let us make a deal." Says the Rider." I'll take you to a place where you can find a new body. Start a new life in a new world."

The man stands up and looks into the black eyes of the mask.

"What's in it for you?" he asks.

The Rider laughs again.

"You do not have to worry about that right now. I am glad to meet someone else who shares my hatred. " He reaches out his hand to the man. "Tell me your name, stranger."

"My name is Ripley." He says, taking the black-gloved hand.

The rider drags him onto his horse.

"Well then, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ripley."

"And what shall I call you?"

"I lost my name long ago. The mad god took it from me. To most, I am simply the Black Rider."

The horse gallops forward. Endless white sand and gray sky blur together. The wind howls loudly and then vanishes. The sky is black now, tiny dots of stars littering its blackness. The trees bend in the wind. The smell of smoke is in the air. An orange fire glows in the distance.