by Brian Godawa
And yet all of them, every single one of them, were gone. Bound in their pride in Tartarus by the archangels. Molech alone was left. He had played his game with craftiness and savvy. He had survived them all. The fools. Now, I spit on you. He hocked with his throat to gather a clump of mucus, saliva and worms, and spit on the ground as if on their graves. He lifted his chin with pride of status and took in a deep whiff of the pleasant scent of child sacrifice now burning on his altar.
On my “low place,” he mused to himself with a smile. The altars of the gods were usually called high places, being situated on mountains or other artificial elevations in order to connect them with the heavens. In his case, sacrifices were made in the lowest parts of valleys, in order to connect with the underworld. His servants had even placed piping from the altars that would direct the blood into the recesses of the rocks to filter down to his abode. An added benefit was that the southern portion of Gehenna opened up to meet the Valley of the Rephaim, where the last of the giants were wiped out by the messiah king, David.
It made Molech grin to think how the fate of the Rephaim connected to the fate of the gods who were bound in the deepest part of Sheol. Those pompous blowhards who bullied Molech had finally received their comeuppance.
Molech’s signature achievement was his tophet altars where worshippers “passed their children through the fire.” They were usually bronze statues of himself with a bull’s head, seated with outstretched arms to place the child over the flames. It was so bold and brilliant that Ba’al had stolen his idea and used it for his own altars. The muscle-bound brute didn’t have an original thought in his puny little skull.
Molech made himself invisible to his worshippers, as the Watcher gods typically did in these latter days. In primeval days, the days of Noah, they had walked amongst men and engaged in the open. It was almost as if the growth of knowledge and technology had the deleterious effect on humans of blinding them more and more to the spiritual world around them. It was just as well. The gods could achieve things through hiding that they could not through visible means.
Molech achieved much as the underdog among deities, which was worthy of his pride. He had managed to burrow his home into the Valley of Hinnom, called Gehenna, right under the walls of the holy city itself. What other god came as close? Asherah had seduced her way into the high places of the Israelites with her Asherim, or wooden cult objects, and teraphim, which were little statues of her depicted as the consort of Yahweh. “Yahweh and his Asherah” was the phrase. Ba’al gained much ground through the vices of the Tyrian princess Jezebel who had been married to King Ahab of Israel. She instituted Ba’al worship in Israel, with a temple and altar in the capital city of Samaria, a worship that had plagued the fanatical Jewish priesthood for generations. The northernmost tribe of Dan, near Panias, never freed themselves from the grip of Ba’al’s golden calf worship ever since the early days of the divided monarchy.
But Molech, he had wormed his way right into the heart of Israel even with his so-called detestable practice. Ha. Several kings of both Judah and Israel certainly enjoyed his “detestable practice,” without complaint. Ahaz and Manasseh were his favorites. They made their own sons to pass through the fire. Manasseh, one of the longest reigning kings of Judah, had been so effectively won over to Molech that the Jews were exiled to Babylon as a punishment for his misdeeds. Because of that exile, they had lost their Book of the Covenant that had contained the very words and instructions of Yahweh.
He was proud of that victory. What other god had such a resumé of achievement?
And they call me the “mole god.” Pftah. If it weren’t for that self-righteous godlicking prig, King Josiah, after the exile, I’d be sitting on Yahweh’s throne right now in the heights of the north, above the very stars of god.
Josiah had found the lost Book of the Covenant and instituted massive moral, legal and cultic reforms. That evil, scheming iconoclast tore down all the high places, the statues of Ba’al, the Asherim, and idols of all the host of heaven. He defiled Molech’s own main tophet at the confluence of the Kidron and Hinnom valleys. He spread the bones of the dead over the valley to make it ritually unclean for sacrifices. It was a great setback for Molech. The prophet Jeremiah had even pronounced Gehenna as a “Valley of Slaughter” for the Day of Vengeance.
Thanks to Molech’s fires of sacrifice, combined with Josiah’s desecration, Gehenna had become known to the Jews as a metaphor for fiery judgment, a reference to the destruction of the wicked. So be it, he thought. I can turn that fear and revulsion toward my benefit.
His worshippers were now few and not as bold. They hid in the crags of the rocks and engaged in their abominations in the dark, as opposed to the good old days when they did it in broad daylight. But it was still a foothold, a talon into the heart of Israel. And thanks to Belial’s Rome, the Jews were not allowed to punish “idolaters,” as they called them. They could shun them socially, but they could not harm them as they could under the Mosaic law of oppression. Those hateful, bigoted worshippers of one god, were forced to be more tolerant and inclusive in their treatment of other deities and their sincere believers. One day, they would also get back to allowing pedophilia love and the beautiful acts of passing their children through the fire.
Then Molech could breathe free and reign again.
Molech’s breathing suddenly constricted, as if a boa were tightening around his neck. He saw two figures on the walls of the city, looking back down at him. Even from this distance, he knew who they were.
Archangels.
He shivered. He looked nervously around the valley. There. Down the northern part of the Hinnom, he could see two more figures approaching on horseback.
To the south, two more. Coming his way.
The two on the walls had disappeared. They would be at the city gates in seconds.
He spun around to see a seventh wraith high above him on the ridge.
He was surrounded. Seven archangels. There was only one reason why they would be here.
But he had been preparing. He was not going to let that happen. He was going to gi --.
He was suddenly tackled to the ground by the angel from above. The attacker had moved down from the perilous height with surprising speed.
Mikael wrestled with Molech to get control. This was the strongest of the archangels. Molech would not ordinarily have much of a chance. But the god had just received sacrifice and was stronger at the moment than Mikael could be.
Molech kicked Mikael off him and launched him into the air.
The angel hit the bronze statue of Molech with a clang. The large eight foot tall metallic image fell to its side. The remains of the sacrifice scattered to the ground. Mikael shook himself out of his dizziness, to see the deity escaping into the rocky crag of a cave entrance.
He picked himself up and ran after the coward.
Mikael saw a large stone rolling across the entrance from inside some special groove. He only had a second or two before the stone completed its roll, blocking off the hunter from his prey. He dove and made it through the opening, just as the huge stone slammed shut. He was locked inside the cave with his nemesis. By the time the other angels arrived and moved the stone, Molech would be long gone. Mikael had to go it alone. He bolted off into the darkness of the underground tunnel.
Molech had the advantage. This was his turf and his dwelling. He had spent much of his time over the millennia below the surface, which made his skin pale white and his eyes unable to see well when up above on the surface. But down below, he was the god of the underworld. He could see better than even Mikael’s preternatural night vision.
Mikael didn’t know what he was running into down here.
He arrived at a fork in the small tunnel. He looked at the dirt and could see that his adversary had gone to the right. Mikael followed.
The tunnels were quite small, only big enough for the bulky eight foot deity to move, with little leeway. For Mikael, there was more room because he was smal
ler, but not by much.
He stopped again. Another split. But this time, three options. He took the middle way.
Mikael figured that by now, his comrade archangels would have moved the stone away and were on their way to join him.
He felt his pathway was circling back. When he saw another crossroads, he realized what he was now inside: a maze. The mole god had burrowed out a complex labyrinth of tunnels that seemed to Mikael a web of confusion. The rock was harder and the dust sparser, making it even more difficult for Mikael to follow his prey’s foot prints. About the only thing he could follow now was the creature’s stench.
He heard the sound of footsteps in the dark, not far from him. He picked up his pace, trying not to make as much noise as the clumsy brute was making.
He turned a corner and saw the deity jump down into an opening in the rocky floor. When he reached it, he saw it was an opening that led deeper still, to a lower level.
He heard the voices of his comrades in the distance, shouting for him. He decided he would take this one time to give some direction, even though it would also warn Molech. But he needed his comrades.
He shouted, “Down here, Angels! There’s an opening to a deeper level!” Then he jumped.
He landed twenty feet below. Before him, a new opening to a new maze of tunnels. He thought, This has been one busy little mole. He followed the smell. His opponent now knew how close he was.
Mikael turned another corner and saw the god waiting for him, before bolting down a pathway.
Mikael responded instinctively to the sight of the fleeing divinity. It wasn’t until he was almost upon the pathway that it registered in his mind that he was being led into a trap. He slid to a stop.
It was too late. He heard the sound of a release being tripped and rocks shifting.
Above him. A triggered cave-in crushed him beneath a ton of rock. He was completely immobilized. He could not get to his weapons. He could only see through a thin crevice of some rocks as Molech walked up to him, laughed and spit at him, before disappearing deeper into the network of twisting tunnels.
Within minutes, the other angels followed the sound of the collapsed tunnel and found Mikael’s location. They were able to dislodge enough of the rock and pull his broken body from the rubble.
He had been severely crushed.
Gabriel held him. “I can bring him back to the surface to heal.”
Raphael said, “That leaves five. We can split up and try to surround the mole. He can’t hide here forever.”
They heard the sound of a howl.
“Dire wolves,” said Uriel. “We can’t chase him here forever.”
Dire wolves were vicious, fanged black hounds of hell almost as tall as a man.
Raphael said, “He must have bred them down here. There could be dozens.”
“Or hundreds,” said Uriel.
The angels could kill dozens of the wolves. But hundreds was another matter altogether. Several of them had almost been overwhelmed by a hundred dire wolves in the days of the giant King Arba, while rescuing Abraham and Sarah from the clutches of the Anakim in Kiriath-arba. They were rescued by a hundred archers. But they didn’t have a hundred archers down in this dungeon of dread darkness.
“Take Mikael to safety,” said Uriel. “The rest of you draw the wolves back up to the surface.”
They looked at Uriel with fear.
Gabriel said, “No, Uriel. We can do this together.”
Uriel grasped the leather harness of the special weapon strapped to his back. “I must do this alone.”
They all knew what it meant. Uriel had the most sensitive senses. He was the best tracker of all of them.
Gabriel protested more, “I will not let you.”
“You have no choice.”
They heard the sound of wolves getting closer.
“And I have no time to quibble with you, Gabriel. Leave — all of you. Draw them after you.”
Gabriel teared up. What Uriel was going to do was akin to suicide for humans.
Raphael said, “He’s right.”
They agreed silently.
Gabriel went and grasped his friend in a bear hug that he didn’t seem to want to let go. “My brother.”
“Stop your pouting, Gabriel. It’s only until the judgment.”
Gabriel pulled away with an angry look in his face. It softened, and he said with a smirk, “You will finally outdo me, little friend.”
Uriel gave him a dirty look. Little friend. There was still time to tease.
“I outdid you a long time ago,” said Uriel with a grin.
Gabriel added, “But there is still Armageddon. You don’t know what I might be capable of.”
Uriel said, “Go. We’ll have all eternity to debate that.”
They turned to leave. But their delay had lost them time.
The underworld dire wolves were upon them. Fifty glowing eyes locked on them, approaching slowly, ready to pounce.
There was only enough room to fight against one or two wolves at a time through the narrow passages. Gabriel stood at the back, carrying the broken form of Mikael, who was starting to heal, but not able to fight yet. The other four approached the wolves in single file.
They would hack their way through the assailants one by one and climb over their dead bodies to the exit.
Uriel launched into the darkness after Molech. He wasn’t hard to follow. Uriel’s olfactory senses were highly attuned to the deity’s rancid odor. Unfortunately, he was too attuned. Uriel gagged. Revolting, he thought. But he kept moving on, cautiously prepared for more snares. He had to give the other angels enough time to fight their way through the wolves to the surface before he could achieve his intended goal.
The angels killed their way through the twenty-five dire wolves, one and two at a time, with sword, axe and arrow. It was not without its cost of exhaustion. Could they take on hundreds?
When they reached the end of the slaughter, they saw another hundred glowing eyes racing their way from several other passages.
The archangels ran toward the surface.
Uriel knew he was near his quarry. Or was it the other way around? He couldn’t help it. He had to make a crack.
“Molech, you really need to take a bath. You smell something foul.”
To his surprise, a voice echoed back from one of the tunnels. “I will give you a bath in my excrement, godlicker.”
Uriel went down the tunnel toward the sound.
The archangels reached the twenty foot ledge they had taken to get down to this level.
Raphael said, “The wolves will not be able to climb this. They will turn back toward Uriel.”
Gabriel let Mikael hang on his back and began the ascent. “Uriel will do his job. Just climb. We don’t have much time.”
Three of them climbed. Remiel and Saraqael faced the wolves that had reached them first and cut them down.
But the wolves kept coming.
Remiel shouted out, “I wish I had Uriel’s signature move right now!”
He was referring to Uriel’s special skill in handling two swords.
Remiel jumped up a good ten feet and reached his hand down.
Saraqael was barely able to keep back the onslaught of chomping wolves. How could he stop to make the climb?
“Saraqael, come on!”
Saraqael slashed and stabbed. The bodies piled up. If he stopped, he would get pulled down into their fangs and claws.
Finally, the bodies were so high, it took a moment for the next wolf to climb over to jump at the angel.
Saraqael spun and threw the sword at the beast, piercing it. He turned to leap upward.
The next wolf jumped over the mountain of flesh.
Saraqael grabbed Remiel’s hand.
Before Remiel could pull him out of harm’s way, the lone wolf jumped and latched its teeth on the angel’s ankle.
Saraqael yelled in pain.
More wolves came through the opening.
Saraqael pulle
d a dagger from his belt. He reached down and sliced the wolf’s spinal column.
The creature yelped, released its bite and fell to the ground on top of the other wolves just below.
Saraqael scrambled up out of the jumping reach of the dire wolves. The angels looked down at the monsters now gathering below.
It didn’t take the intelligent creatures very long to understand their predicament. One of them howled. The wolves turned their sights away to find a more achievable prey.
“Uriel,” whimpered Gabriel, looking down the precipice with Mikael safely at his side.
Uriel entered what appeared to be a sanctuary of some kind. It wasn’t huge, just a hundred foot square stone cavern. He saw Molech at the other side. He glanced up to make sure there was no net or trap above him. Nothing.
Without even thinking, he threw his javelin at the deity.
It caught the god before he could exit the subterranean den. Molech cried out. But then he stepped aside, and a file of dire wolves padded their way past him into the den.
Uriel heard the sound of snarling growls behind him. He glanced back and saw other wolves filing in.
He drew his two swords and prayed a prayer to Yahweh.
The wolves surrounded him, maybe sixty or so. Others waited outside in the tunnels.
Their eyes glowed green. Their teeth showed through their snarls. They prepared to spring upon the angel and bury him in a pile of claws and fangs.
They began to pounce.
Uriel engaged in his signature move that the other angels had been so envious of. He held his swords out like windmill blades and twirled around with blinding speed. He became a kind of fan of death that sliced up his enemies as fast as they could approach him. Within seconds he had cut them all down.