It’s all the planet was left... Just a scorched land of ruins and destruction. Then again, the Apocalypse that God destined for Earth wasn't supposed to be pretty or subtle in the least.

Made one hell of a show, though. That much could be agreed upon.

Only one being was left alive amongst the carnage, suffering with the permanent presence of death. Upon a hill overlooking a half-destroyed mountain was that said being, an armored bipedal. The armor the being wore was a plated chainmail, heavily dirtied with splashed blood and spots of mud caked with dust and dirt, but undamaged.

The human slowly turned his head, surveying the land. It was once part of the land he lived and enjoyed living in. But as he leaned on his longsword, embedding it further into the crusted and burnt soil, the events that led to now changed that drastically.

The being breathed deeply and sighed. Silently lamenting with his eyes at the destruction and waste of all that had been, all because of simple disobedience. Thus brought a never answered question, "Was it worth it at all? To bring ruin upon all that is and had been to correct such a simple disobedience?" Such questions had been debated within the his mind, but it never came to a conclusion.

As he pondered, he lifted his sword and after a quick, fanciful swish to his left, and sheathed the stained sword. The last human started to descend the hill, to go closer to the mountain. For what reason, even he didn't know. He got as far as to reach a deep, blood-red river that recently came away from a turn not a few miles out before it would become a "blood"fall into a gorge that was made by a former living daemon that cleaved the land before it was killed.

The human shifted, hiding a face of disgust behind his helm, but his throat felt parched and ached for something to soothe it. After a few moments of hesitation, he decided to risk sating himself with the river, as it once had been water but was cursed to turn into blood some time ago. While he wasn't a stranger to drinking it, as he had to many times, just as every other human had to; but the taste of the thick, viscous copper was almost impossible to get used to.

"4th General."

The last human immediately stopped as he heard the old language of Hebrew. A bright and harsh light shone behind him as he slowly turned to face it, his hand moving to rest upon the hilt of his longsword. He turned to face an angel, the holy being with twenty four wings beating the fetid air, slowing to a stop before extending completely out. Its armor glowed brilliantly with the physical symbolism of greater splendor and of incredible holy nature, letting the armor the human wore seem little more but cheap knight armor. Normally amongst the other humans, the presence of such Authority was overwhelming enough to make many drop any will of resisting while the more determined would be sluggish and just as quickly subdued under the weight of it. However, to the human who had spent much time with other angels, including this particular one, the angel’s presence merely blinded his eyes slightly and gave uncomfortable warmth, akin to wearing winter clothes in the midst of a hot summer.

He faced the angel with caution, "Archangel." His voice a gravelly rasp, as if he hadn't talked for the longest time. He didn't know the intentions of the fellow yet holy armored being, and tensed as if to prepare for a fight.

The Archangel paused and extended his arms in a peaceful manner, "I am not here to fight you, but to deliver unto you a message."

The human relaxed slightly, before answering again in a rasp, "We're listening, as we've always done so ... . Where is the chariot that we asked for; to grant us peace from our long existence?" He asked.

Just before the final series of sieges and battles began, the human had asked the Son to call for a ride to the Gates of Heaven, which he had long since been denied, ever since he began that terrible and long road of death and blood, that even Death itself did not approach him during the long line of violent inheritance.

"He has denied your request," The human clenched his hand upon the handle of his sword in anger, but before he could retort and demand why the angel continued, "He already knows of your anger and what you would yell, but calm yourself and listen. You have been denied to His Kingdom, but He has granted to you sleep. A sleep that has been equally denied to you as to see the Gates." The angel stepped closer, placing its hand upon the being’s shoulder, "Was that not something you have wanted?"

Sleep... It was a blissful but empty word to the long immortalized human. Yes, sleep was good. It was something he had longed for. But within the confines of the human's mindscape, the confines of the collective minds that had collected together and became legion, sleeping and dreaming were long, forgotten memories. But to be barred from the Gates, and to be kept as a sole and only exception from the dooming fate from the Lake of Fire, and to be simply granted actual sleep of all things?

The being didn't accept this and in frustration, he brushed the Archangel's hand off, "For what? Thousand upon thousand we slain both Fallen Angel and their despots, along with the idiotic men and women who followed them like sheep considering hungry wolves their mother, by his order alone we followed and laid siege and massacred Inferno itself, and we are rewarded with sleep!? There is nothing upon this earth to sleep for! Father has condemned Earth to be doomed and destroyed! Had He not done so, we would have gladly taken it. But in what end, are we to sleep outside his Gates for? Unless we are being spared from watching the destruction? What is the point of sleeping of all things when there's nothing to wait and wake up to see?"

The Archangel shrugged, throwing the human for a complete loop at such a gesture from Michael, himself shrugging, "Is anyone to truly understand the Lord of Lord's plans? That, and a resting place is all that I am to deliver. Come with me." The angel extended a hand to the human, who looked at the hand before shifting to look at the Archangel. He stood and waited for a long time, before the human decided to reach out to the hand.

The land around them exploded into light before fading, revealing a crafted and heavily detailed cavern, the walls were as tall as a single story house, lined and written in writings and pictures, almost akin to the Egyptian tombs and obelisks. But the human paid little thought to the walls and inspected the center of it all. There was a throne, flushed into the ground and with the back of the seat forming as part of the many pillars within the cavern. The chair was up a flight of stairs, leaving the chair to be in the complete center of the place. However, as the human inspected the pillar, its was crafted where ten large wings, which were similar to the Archangel’s impressive set. The human continued to look at their “bedchamber” while the Archangel stood near what seemed to be the doorway, waiting patiently for them. The etched wings were extended completely while they were joined at the center of the chair. The chair itself was detailed in an almost forgotten design...

Gothic, as they found the memory... How cliche.

The chair itself was, more or less, boxy. While made in stone, it was colored black, with rich detail of lions faces and manes carved into the armrests to the ground, ending with the front legs showing. The sides themselves held no detail, other than meshing in with the pillar that supplied as the backing of the throne, as well as the ground.

The human turned to look at the Archangel, "When was this made?"

"Shortly after Lucifer perished in the Lake. Father was very specific about what was to be put in." The human gave a soft "hmph" as they continued to look around at their "bedroom."

"This seems more like our tomb to die in rather than someplace to sleep, Michael... What in His name is He attempting with this?" The angel seemed to hesitate, which was not lost to the human, "He's sealing and imprisoning us, isn't He?" He whispered, turning to face the Archangel, one foot near the throne chair while the other was one step down from it, "That is our fate then ... Is it?"

The Archangel was quick to speak before the the armored human began stewing in betrayed anger, "No it is not! He has told me this much, but he's not abandoning you to this!"

"Then what?!" The being roared, "Has our curse that had been forced upon us makes us deserving of being sealed?! Or was it the acts of spilling blood that doomed us?!"

The Archangel almost hesitated again before immediately retorting, "Did I not tell you even I don't know! I am as deep in the unknown as you are! All I was ordered to do was to tell you of your standing in the End and to bring you here!" The human subtly flinched, but still felt angry at their situation. The silence between the two lengthened to an uncomfortable amount.

"How long?" The human asked.

"I don't know." The Archangel responded.

"Should we expect anything? Something to wake up to?"

"I don't know..."

"Then what do you know?" He yelled at the angel. The silenced lengthened again before he scoffed, "Father is everything but explainable, Him and his cryptic antics, we guess ..." He turned to face the throne once again, deep in thought. The Archangel shifted, almost being prepared for any reaction from the armored being, which drew his attention again.

The armored human drew a second deep sigh before un-belting his sword and placing it to the right of the chair, which caused the Archangel to shift in surprise, "So you accept this?"

"What point is there not accepting it? We're not as blind as the rest of humanity was, you being the messenger is all the proof there is. If we didn't, your next orders were to subdue or kill us.... And that silence is evident enough, Archangel Michael."

The human moved where his legs were just touching the chair itself, while the Archangel slightly looked away, "For once, I'd wish your perception wasn't as sharp as your skill." The being merely laughed, the sound akin to clanking gears. He then leaned backwards and sat unto the throne with a huff, placing their arms and hands on the armrests, the hands barely reaching the lions.

As Archangel Michael approached slowly, the being their head back and quipped, "Might we have an alarm clock? Would prefer not to oversleep when the time comes."

They shared a light laugh before the Archangel was in front of the armored being, "Sleep well, 4th General." He raised a hand and through an unknown power, the armored being was encased in stone. As the stone crept from the legs up, the human sighed for the third time that day, before closing his eyes as he waited. The feeling of being petrified was ... Disturbingly numbing. It was like taking sleeping gas, except the effect was incredibly slow and decided to go from foot to head instead of everything at once. It wasn't until his physical body fell completely asleep whilst his mental landscape remained active when the stone slid over the human's head.

Author's Notes:

Being self-taught is not a good thing, but it gives you a start, in the least.

I might end up taking a little long on some chapters... Fair warning, so don't start believing I'm dead so quickly.

Would you believe me if I said this is not only my first MLP fanfic but I'm also doing a MLP fanfic with barely any knowledge of the MLP plot entirely? (Plot means story line, get ya dirty minds outta the gutter.)