Gabriel tossed and turned in his sleep, the sheets and pillows and his hair all drenched in a cold sweat. He could not lie still and was left to writhe in pain and cry out fearfully into the air. His hands contorted like gnarled claws and scratched at his face, controlled by some unseen force to gorge his own eyes out. He rolled from the mattress and landed heavily on the floor, but the impact took nothing from his bluster. He flailed and shouted more, his words had become incoherent almost the moment he'd started speaking. Images flashed through his mind and filled his every perception with lances of pain and fear. There was death everywhere, a landscape of decay and famine, where the countryside had been scoured by fire and flattened by the rolling treads of tanks. Bodies littered the streets of crumbling cities and dark, twisted mutations of survivors hid in the shadows, scavenging and fighting amongst themselves for power and life.

There were ramshackle buildings erected on the sides of highways and roads where the sick and crippled convened to sit and wait for death?s embrace. Here, there were three men who were all healthy and able-bodied. One was tall and strong, with heavily muscled arms and a lean, athletic build. His hair was short and a golden blonde and his eyes burned with fire and passion. He spent most of his days outside these hovels of wood and scrap, watching the roads for any sign of threat. The second was equally tall, but infinitely more lithe and graceful. His hair was black and long, flowing like dark water over his shoulders. He had a kind heart and a matching countenance and spent most of his time amongst the ill, easing their pain and healing what he could with what he had. The third was shorter than the first two; his hair was brown and his eyes blue and often looked off into space. His mind was rarely with his body and he suffered for it, with weak muscles and fragile bones and a low constitution. He spent his time in a chair beside the first, though his eyes turned to the stars. He often spoke to himself but it was usually too quiet for his companions to hear and when they did, it was in a language unknown to any of them.

Their names were Michael, Raphael and Gabriel. They were brothers, though they all were born of different beliefs and families in different countries on the world. When their paths had converged, some five years ago, a bright golden light filled the sky and flooded their vision. They felt warmth and their hunger was satisfied and their thirst quenched, though they ate nor drank any food or water. Their weariness fled their bones and they grew strong and energetic and then a voice spoke. It was the voice of something greater than they, something possessing an intellect beyond the understanding of anything else in the universe. This being was the creator, the maker. It was the one true deity in the universe, all other lesser gods bowed away at its presence. It had no name, it had no face, it was a presence that was impossible to explain away, and it filled their hearts with joy whenever it spoke. It was everything.

"Michael," said this god, this divine being. "You are my arm. The Sword of God, Fist of the Maker. You are my warrior, my knight, and you will protect your brothers and protect this world, Earth, which I created during the time before time, when all life was but an inkling of imagination in the recess of my mind. You are the ultimate warrior; you command fire and light and can survive any wound that would slay a lesser man. You are my sword, Michael. You are my commander, the leader of my army and the herald of my will."

Michael did not answer, he could not speak. All he could see was the light and all he could feel was the warmth and he was overwhelmed with the joy and safety of this presence and he vowed to dedicate his life to exercising its will. This being needed no words from Michael, it knew all the man felt and thought.

"Raphael, so kind and gentle. You have a compassion for the living that rivals all else I have seen, and you are my healer. I deem that you will follow Michael and heal those who are weak and sick and good spirited and hearted. You will keep your brother alive and healthy and you will lessen the pain in the world through your love and generosity. You are immune to sickness and disease and you can heal any ailment that plagues a man, you are Michael's shield."

Raphael, like Michael, had no words to offer the maker of life and the universe. It needed nothing, though, and graced Raphael with these divine gifts before flooding Gabriel's mind with his words next.

"Gabriel. Honesty is your truest virtue, your greatest strength. You perceive that which has yet to come, you see the seemingly inevitable, and you know how best to counter it. You are not strong and you are not possessing in the kindness of your brother, but you are wise and you are cautious and you will be their mind. I bestow upon you the gift of prophecy. You will know what is to come and you will prepare your brothers for it and keep them safe of what harm the future has to offer. You are their mind, their voice of reason, and their truth. Guide them, Gabriel, on the path of the righteous, and this world may yet be saved."

And for a third time, a man was rendered speechless. Gabriel tried to speak in answer to his new master, but he found that no sound would emit from his throat. He accepted his task gratefully, devoting himself to the prophecies of truth he would see from then on out and swearing to keep his new brothers on the right path.