The other night, I spent a while working on an allegorical presentation of Christ as conqueror and Savior. Frankly, I don't feel like this is a very good essay, but I thought I would go ahead and post it just to see what people thought. Constructive criticism is welcome! I've never tried to write in this genre before, so... here goes nothing.
The dust, stirred by the tramp of tens of thousands of feet, hung heavy in the air. Air, thick with smoke, blew grey and black across a sea of sand, heaped here and there with the bodies of the fallen. Here and there, a bright banner, fallen to the ground besides its owner, gave change to the bleak landscape.
Here had been the stand, and behind that, stood the last defenders, a valiant few. Outnumbered, outarmed, these last few men stood, forming once again the ranks they knew must stand against the onslaught once more of their bloodthirsty foes. Across the gently undulating field of blood, stood the foe, whose vicious charge they knew would come again.
Across the stricken field, clearly visible, stood the enemy. The dragon, black scales glistening with the blood of those who could not stand his onslaught, eyed the line opposite him with disdain, looking back at the rows upon rows of evil behind him. Hate emanated from their ranks, burning rage stirred like a sea around them. What chance had any against such vicious hate?
With seasoned scorn, the dragon stalked across the field, tail dragging through the blood of his enemies as he walked. As he approached the field of men, so close he could see their faces, he stopped, and released a roar of such rage and vindictive power as to make men cover their ears. He roared, again and again, allowing the fear to build in the line of enemies.
He could see the men, these weak fools who dared stand against him, mere men who stood against their betters. He paused, scanning the line. He could see the weakness, the quavering knees, the empty, tired eyes, the exhausted arms. No, they could not stand against him a second time. His repeated assaults had weakened them, leaving fewer and fewer of them on the field each time.
What a fool the Creator was to place such a battle in the hands of mere men! The dragon spat the name out in his mind. What idiocy to place such affairs of the universe, the culmination of years of hate, the battle of light and dark, good and evil, in the hands of such weakness!
The line wavered, fear building at the monster before them. Who could withstand such hate? What power was there to stand against him? A few turned and ran. To fight was to die, a cost too great to bear. To run was to live, for the moment at least. As the beast stalked the field, back and forth before their lines, the fear broke their resolution.
But a few stood. Not that fear had any less effect on them, but because they clung without fail to a promise they had not heard, to a Creator they had not seen, a hope they dared to risk all for. And as the dragon blasted the air with roar after roar of pure rage, they clung tighter and tighter to their only hope as all other confidence grew faint.
The dragon’s rage grew. These men, these mortals, dared, they dared, to stand against HIM! He could see the exhaustion, the fear, the crippling anxiety, the despair in some, yet the stubborn resolution did not fail them in the hour of need. He would prove, to them, to the cowards who ran, and to the Creator Himself that these men fell far short of the mettle needed to defeat him, Him! He reared his head back, monstrous jaws snapping already in expectation of the waiting battle.
A few more ran, using the precious seconds before the beast’s onslaught to flee, to save themselves. The ravenous monster would not be stopped, and all knew that none would survive his furious attack. He came on, fury building, pouring itself into every beat of its black heart and every stride of the monstrous, clawed fought. The foul breath poured from its nostrils as it neared the frail line of resolute, but quavering men, when deliverance struck.
A mighty roar, with power to break the heavens and exuding the fury of a thousand warriors, sounded across the sky, when, with a crash resounding like an avalanche and a flurry of wings like a torrent of rain, the Intercessor appeared. The white dragon, crashing from the heavens, air resounding with the fury of his cry, had come. The booming crash of thunder resounded across the stricken field at the pure majesty of the being’s assault. The promise was fulfilled. The very air tingled with energy, the epic end of a millennia of war and violence.
A ragged shout went up from the beleaguered men, as hope flashed through the sky toward their adversary. Righteous indignation burned in the eyes of the new arrival, fury and raw, heart-stopping power raged through ever motion of the enormous body as it arched through the heavens to smash with earth-shattering force into its opponent, crushing it into the very dust beneath its clawed feet, the force knocking the armies to their knees. The promise had been fulfilled.