THE FIRST TRUMPET:
The Trumpet Sounds in Spain
Spain was full of fear.
The fearful "people" of Madrid stood still; as did everyone else in the New World. They all remained as still as statues, frozen with the expressions of horror in their faces. As time stands still, only one Being can move.
Dio descended upon Spain.
As Dio's feet touched the street, He saw the defining element of Spain: contrast. In the streets were starved laborers, toiling for their gluttonous managers. These laborers were eating a bone-dry mash of whatever collects on the floor of the kitchens, where the corpulent politicians feasted on Quality 5 roasted meats cooked to perfection by the finest Spanish chefs. The clothes of the working class were merely tatters of old sheets and washcloth, painstakingly sewn together at a desperate attempt of decency, where the ruling class wore fine cotton and leather garmets with gold buttons and embroidery.
With utter disgust present on His handsome face, Dio proceeded towards the home of Kartalon.
When the time came to a stop, Kartalon was counting his money at his desk in his exuberant sty. His hooves, firmly taped to a quilled pen, were recording his profits from the last fiscal quarter. They were disproportionately larger than that of the average laborer, as well as that of the average manager. Kartalon had successfully gamed the system to launder money. When Dio saw this, He extended the pointer finger of His soft, yet powerful right hand, and touched him on the forehead.
"H-huh? Where am I? Who are y‒ DIO!!" screamed Kartalon, who collapsed when he saw the glorious figure bathed in grey light.
"Yes, it is I, Kartalon." spoke Dio.
Kartalon then scrambled to hide the contents of his desk, in an effort to hide his profiteering from the Almighty. He dipped his nose into his inkwell to stamp a few documents with his signature as he hurriedly hid them in the drawer of his desk.
"Muda da*," said Dio, looking disappointed. "I already know of your capitalist ways."
"Are you here to kill me? Does Pakistan wish for an end to my life?"
Dio ignored this, as it is not Kartalon's place to know his intent. "Come with me, Kartalon."
Dio and Kartalon walked out of the sky and into the streets of Madrid, still paused as though captured in a photograph. "Do you see this, Kartalon? Do you see the polarity of Spain?"
"What do you mean?" asked Kartalon.
Dio then pointed to a Spanish man in an alleyway, bundled up in soiled blankets. "This man's name is Al-Khwarizmi. In west Catalonia, born and raised, in your sweatshop is where he spent most of his days. Working hard, toiling, breaking his back, making his guns in exchange for snacks..."
"What of him?" inquired Kartalon, obviously recognizing him.
"This man has done everything he can for you. What have you done to repay him?"
"I... feed him. I give him the clothes on his back, the blankets wrapped around him! Those are my payment to him!"
"Where does his family live, Kartalon?"
"Where does his family live?"
Out from the ally appeared Al-Khwarizmi's wife, a striking young woman with the hands of an old farmer. In these hands was an infant, no more than two months old, wrapped up in a page of La Voz de eRepublik.
Kartalon knew about Al-Khwarizmi's family. Every day, he would come to work with a smile on his face, warmed by the happiness of his wife and child. Kartalon was very jealous of this happiness and made it a point to disturb his otherwise peaceful day at the sweatshop.
"I didn't know he had a child! Dio, I swear it!"
Dio continued walking down the street. Kartalon, with an expression of guilt plastered on his face, quickly trodded behind him.
Dio and Kartalon now stood next to El Oso y el Madroño**. They were in the heart of Madrid.
Kartalon quickly and nervously asked Dio, "Dio, why are we here? Why is time frozen? What are you going to do with m-"
Just then, a piercing sound rang across Madrid. It was the sound of a trumpet.
Al-Khwarizmi appeared behind Kartalon, with a silver salpinx in his hand. He slowly walked towards Dio with his family, his smile more handsome than ever before.
"Thank you, Dio," Al-Khwarizmi said. "I knew in my heart that this day would come."
Dio smiled back at Al-Khwarizmi, and then looked up in the sky as The World descended from the heavens.
The people of Spain feared no more.