One who tells of the coming of God
His head is a halo of white and purity, unmarked and unstained. His fingers steeple as he rests in his chair. The table is set. He shifts a single chess piece to the side, aligning it in perfect checkmate. The game has already been played and won and he knows it.
A faint beat lingers in the back of the air. A tick tock pulse of life. After twelve, he rises, and in a flash of green he is in another place and no longer alone. He speaks to the non-believer of his master. It is only a matter of time, he reminds her with a wave of the finger. The Messiah approaches.
Ten beats later, the sound of his life is interrupted by the scratch of a record. He flashes back to the door. He clears his throat as best he can, prepared to deliver his message once again.
One who refutes the existence of God
A flick of her hand and colours erupt from the end of a sliver of a wand. It takes seconds before lime blood pours from the wound she inflicted. Her feet planted, she spins, unleashing attack after attack. The field is stained a neon green and she scowls, wiping blood from her face.
She kicks a nearby limb to the side, flickering eyes staring up at the dark sky. A few moments later the sky itself shifts, a crack forming. A splash of colour in the sky to match the ocean of life at her feet.
In seconds she raises her middle finger, taking off herself in a spin of gears and light. She landed, shoes still stained and hands still tight fists. It might be her leader, her warden, but she didn't have to show respect. He is no Messiah, no - he is nothing but an ancient fool.
One who changes their path towards God
She isn't one for praising others. Power is something you are born with, something that is wielded to make those without fear you. And she was nothing if not made for power. The ruler of a kingdom, a fighter, a strategist. And all of it lost in a matter of a single battle.
The world is dust and dirt beneath her feet and she hates her new garb, and misses her kingdom. She scans the horizon, a white spec catching her attention.
It is only minutes before she learns of the Prophet and his Messiah, and although she does not first believe the stories, the power is something she can respect. The power she is given, too, is something that she appreciates and holds close. It is with a handshake and promise she finds herself back in her rightful place of power. The queen has a new place to reign.
One pack who follow under God
When people are different, yet hold one thing in common, it is not hard for them to form a group. Such is how the Disciples formed a group, keeping aliases of pool and heeding to the words of the Convert, who leads them in the absence of the Messiah or Prophet. They are an odd group, full of ticks and tricks and tocks.
But they keep their green hue proudly and shine it out, all the while defending their God to others and their turf against those who threaten them. Although they look similar to the Convert, they refuse to heed the words or tales, instead destroying the back beat of life as they go through the Messiah's home.
As a group, they are strong and talented, and keeping close their leader's words and goals, they strike together while apart against the threatening invader cloaked in midnight hats and suits.
One who travels far with the word of God
She understands that there are areas and worlds the Messiah cannot enter at the time the mission is given. There are rules to follow, guidelines, and sometimes she knows that means it is her job to go out and spread an empire - something she is well practiced with by now.
It isn't difficult to set out and embed herself far off, lurking and lingering words and hints of his power and his ideals. She creates storms of power and eventually overthrows what once was. She keeps in mind his promises and his powers, while herself trying to regrow what she once knew.
She had set out to carve a path and shine a light on those who did not yet know of his deeds, his power, and his might. It was not too different from ruling that she was not used to it. Spreading ideas came as second nature.
One who keeps the faith of God
He is the product of years of righteous tradition. Of face painting and dust and miracles. He is the victim of crisis and pain, and of wondering and questioning. He is all up and confused. But then it comes to him. The proof. The holy light of limes and peace and life and death.
He gets down, letting the mission spread through his pan as if it was already embedded, long ago. The questions ebb away, the pondering and fear of what it meant and who the Messiah really was. It became clear. He smiles, giving a single prayer up to keep the faith alive when he is alone with it.
With instructions in hand he begins to carve and blot out the words no one needs to see. He keeps close to what he has been sent to do by God. He creates paradise out of ash and belief.
One who is made in the image of God
It is not hard to travel through time, through passages and lives and from one hand to another. He has seen much with crystal, fake eyes. He has dawned the clothes of blue and oranges, of purples and greens, of smiles and laughs and hats and friendships. He has observed much, been both father and friend.
He created the Prophet, while being himself in the image of one greater than him. He exists without life, and yet with a power that extends beyond the reaches of time and life. His laugh is the steady rhythm of travel, in time with the ticking noise of fading nights and bright mornings. It shines off gold tooth and blue eyes at the same time, as gloved hands are placed around a neck.
The grin he wears is wide and the cheeks he sports the Messiah's. He is his own kind of holy creature.
One who is God
He spans all time and all life. He exists in the past, creating his legacy, forming his followers. He exists in the future, bursting out of the Prophet and his host. He is in the present, instructing his Non-believer to eliminate life.
He jumps. He is travelling to the beginning of life, to the end of life, to the next universe. He takes on the different enemies. In a second he blurs in, lime and flashing lights, tearing heads and screaming loud.
He sits and waits as the sun makes its mark on his own session. He attacks an orange man wielding a wand, as he takes a queen under his wing and an empress for his right hand. He watches his Missionary kill the Non-believer, as he teaches his Disciples and instructs his Devout.
His power is never ending and ever flowing. He is the highest pinnacle of existence.
One who isn't God
She floats through darkness. Her green hands curl, her white eyes search. It is a cold shiver that runs down her spine every time she checks over her back. Each time she passes through another bubble, she bids her new friends goodbye with a hesitant wave.
They are all going to die, and she is always just going to escape.
Planning is hard. Living in death is harder. She dodges in the shadows, haunting and quiet. He is looking for her. He is always around, always searching and disappearing through time. She does her best to hide.
It is hard. Many fear her because she is like him. But she isn't the same person. Not anymore. Instead she floats on as he tries to catch up. It is a tricky, clever business to stay one step ahead of someone who is almost omnipotent. Something only a Messiah's antithesis could do.