St George and the Umbravox
An AngloFuturism Tale
Image: Raina on X
Out of the dark night, roared a hooded figure. The pelting rain broke against his cape, rolling off into the soaked ground.
The storm crashed above the city. The sound echoing around the tall tower blocks, amplifying its power. Deep at its heart, flew an umbravox. A dragon-like creature, who’s voice crackled with electricity. It was the colour of midnight black with stars speckled across its underbelly.
The citizens had suffered for three weeks. As soon as the Sun set, the clouds multiplied and abounded, with lightning tormenting the buildings. Bolts blasted into the places of work and home. Gales of unimaginable speed threaded their way through the streets, causing incalculable damage to roofs and walls. The train network had ceased to function. The daytime was filled with repair work, mainly to the electricity grid, and clearing away rubble.
It was like the night was at war with the day. And the dark was overwhelming the light.
Even with its digital technology, this otherworldly repressive force could not be combatted. As soon as the day was over, the Internet went on the fritz. TV programmes were garbled and telecommunications were warped and became nonsensical.
Nothing was safe from the careering Umbravox. Huddled together, the people hid under dining room tables and in basements, unable to connect with their neighbours. There the faithful prayed for salvation, and even the faithless found a grain of hope. Everyone calling on the Heavens for help.
The cloaked figure ran towards the centre of the urban-scape. Here, the towering monuments to human civilization swayed in the high winds. Nothing was sacred.
He threw off his cloak, which gracefully tumbled to the ground. A lightning flash revealed a scared and worn face. An ancient visage, who had seen too many dragons. A soul who had fought these demons, across the whole landscape of space and time.
On his breastplate was painted a crimson cross on a white background. Though the rest of his clothes were unkempt, the cross gleamed amongst the flashes of lightning like the reddest of rubies.
Amongst the rubble in the main square, the saint knelt down on one knee. Bowed his head, drawing his right hand, he began to slowly make the sign of the Cross.
Instantly, lightning and thunder burst throughout the land, vibrating windows and causing the foundations of the city to shudder. Down swooped the umbravox, growling like a combustion engine. Landing a few yards from the praying saint. The ground cracked under its weight.
Unworried, the saint remained motionless. Then he stood, staring deep into the labyrinthine heart of the beast. The silent connection between the two persisted for what seemed like an epoch.
The erratic and snorting Umbravox whispered into the saint’s ear, “Mighty warrior, greatest among all heroes of the Divine One. Who can stand against you? By your command, the Vortexis water serpent, the Wraith Drakes and even the awesome Velum Lunar dragon, all cower before you.”
A bead of sweat formed on George’s brow. He felt pride growing in his psyche, crawling like a spider up his spine.
“Oh Wonder-Worker”, continued the frenzied Umbravox, “You could call a myriad of dragons to stand by your side. They’d listen to your powerful voice. We would all do your bidding. None could stand against you. Not even the Divine. All injustices would be settled throughout Creation and your judgement would bring eternal freedom to all.”
George blinked, as though waking from a dream, and took a deep breath. Resisting the temptation, he raised his sword above his head, and projected a scream. This terrifying sound was drawn from the depths of his experience.
He called forward the memories of every conflict he had had with dragons, demons and mischievous spirits. The energy of the Divine coursed through this vocal articulations. It was no recognisable word, but pure explosive energy.
The indignant Umbravox took its stand and roared as a jet engine in return. Surprisingly, for such an imposing creature, its voice (with the accompanying lightning) simply flickered like a candle.
In shame, the creature was silenced. It lurched back and rapidly flew to hide amongst the dark clouds above the city.
Suddenly, the dawn broke along the horizon. The sunlight glinted across the landscape. The menacing and shadowy clouds evaporated, and the beast was gone for good.
From where the Umbravox landed, the cracked tarmac yielded green shoots of new growth, eagerly breaching through the grit.
With the birth of this new world, moss bubbled up from the fallen broken concrete slabs and woodland trees sprung up amongst the fallen buildings. The city was coming alive, with flowers breaking out in bloom, all at once.
At the centre of the main square, an oak tree ripped through the scene, growing at a tremendous pace. As its tip rose, passing the once-towering skyscrapers, the branches spread out. They reached all parts of this urban realm, bringing a comforting shade.
St George picked up his cloak and anonymously retired from the city.
Eden had now returned.
Jerusalem had been builded.
The city had been saved.