Inside Lucifer's War

by Smith, Byron J.

  Inside Lucifer’s War

  Copyright © 2014 Byron J. Smith.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, or as specifically allowed by the U. S. Copyright Act of 1976, as amended, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in association with Creative Enterprises Studio, A Premier Publishing Services Group, PO Box 224, Fort Worth, TX 76095. CreativeEnterprisesStudio.com.

  Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV). Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984. International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Smith, Byron, 1971–author.

  Inside Lucifer’s war / Byron Smity

  pages cm

  ISBN: 978-0-9911889-5-6

  1. Christian fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.M5539157 2014

  813'.6–dc23

  2014020973

  Cover Design: Dugan Design

  Interior Design: Inside-Out Design & Typesetting, Hurst, TX

  Printed in the United States of America

  14 15 16 17 18 MG 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Preface

  It is often said that God works in mysterious and wonderful ways. This book is a living testament to that. When I first started writing, this was not the book that I wanted to pen. I had started writing a different book. While I was writing the other book, though, God put the concept of Inside Lucifer’s War in my head. He made the opening chapters very clear to me. Still, as I often do, I resisted Him, and I continued writing my other book.

  My other book’s endeavor ended in June 2005 when my wife and I relocated from Texas to a small town in the Pacific Northwest. After almost a year of getting settled, I decided to work on my book again in my limited spare time. When I tried to find the book in my computer files, it was gone. Fortunately I had printed off a copy and saved it with some other personal documents in a box. I went through every paper in that box, but my manuscript was not there either. For a while I was frustrated and disappointed that I had lost that book. God, though, was not. With a gentle nudge, He pushed me into writing this book instead.

  It took more years than I can recall to finally finish Inside Lucifer’s War. Often I would go months without writing, while at other times I would write with disciplined regularity. I hope potential writers take encouragement from knowing that. If you have an idea and you have some spare time, don’t give up on your book. Whether you write a paragraph or several chapters, don’t stop writing.

  I’ve been asked, “What kind of emotional state were you in when you wrote the first several chapters? Surely, you were in a bad place.”

  Interestingly, I was never in a dark place when I wrote those chapters. God put those chapters in my mind, and I found that they flowed relatively smoothly. Having said that, I confess I did not enjoy writing that piece of the book, and I often found it difficult to sleep at night after writing sections of those chapters. To be more transparent, I was probably in darker places when I was developing the love story in the book, and writing about the relationships was therapeutic for me.

  What I enjoyed most about writing this book was its forcing function to draw me closer to Jesus. As you will certainly note in the book, I weave biblical verses into the story. It was important that the verses flowed with the story. To make this work, I had to spend time in the Bible trying to identify the right verses, their biblical context, and how I might be able to leverage them for my purposes.

  The book also drew me closer to Jesus by causing me to rely on him. I look back upon it now with laughter, but while writing the book there were several moments of frustration for me. I felt as if Jesus was directing me in certain aspects of the story line, and as I pursued those paths, I came to dead ends. I had no idea where to take the story from there. At those moments I prayed more, and although the solution did not always come immediately, it did come in a perfect fashion.

  In closing I will leave you with my favorite verse, Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

  Byron J. Smith

  Acknowledgments

  There are many people who helped build the foundation in my life that culminated in my writing this book.

  First, I would like to acknowledge my wife, Carla, who has never wavered in her belief that I can achieve anything. She is a constant source of strength and encouragement for me.

  Second, I would like to thank my kids, Meredith, Bethany, Henry, and Sydney, who inspire me to want to do more with my life.

  I would like to thank my parents, Jerry and Norma Smith, who see only the good qualities in me.

  Finally, I want to recognize Pastor Matt Boswell, whose biblical teaching was instrumental for this book.

  There are also those individuals who helped me specifically with the book. It is important for me to thank all of those folks at Creative Enterprises Studio who assisted with this book. They helped me create a book I never thought possible. In their work, you can see their creativity and professionalism.

  I would also like to thank my friends Bret and Sky, who read an early version of the manuscript, provided excellent feedback, and encouraged me to have it published.

  CHAPTER 1

  His Lair

  Empty, cold, and afraid, I hear a chanting in a tongue I do not recognize or understand. It sounds like a chorus of people repeating phrases. Then I hear an evil laughter over the chants, a laughter that sends a chill down my spine. Fear encompasses me, and then I hear an incredible, deep boom. It is not a boom of explosion but the boom of a thunderous voice:

  In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright Morning Star. I am the way and the truth and the life.

  The words seem to originate from all around me but from somewhere beyond where I am, and they awake me from my haze. They reverberate through my whole body. Those who have been chanting now hiss and scream, making an awful noise that sounds like animals being tortured.

  The room, if it can be called that, is dark and stinks. The stench is almost unbearable, making it difficult to breathe. My vision is blurred, but I sense there are things, live beings, in the room, though I am not sure who or what they are. I hear them breathing, and I can tell they are watching me. I have no idea where I am or how I got here. I try to recall something, anything, but nothing comes to my mind.

  A voice, different from the booming voice, speaks, but this time closer to my ear, with venom pouring out: “You have long since forsaken those words and the book upon which they are written. That’s why I have chosen you. Tell me, Dr. Fields. Tell me what you believe. When darkness falls around you and has you in its clutches, who will rescue you?”

  This voice makes me cringe and recoil. I feel hatred pouring over me.

  “The answer is before you, Thomas,” the voice continues.

  Something about the voice and the thing next to me doesn’t seem human, but I know that is ridiculous, so I try to block it out of my thinking. Instinctively, I try to stand, but my head begins to swim. I fall hard on my knees, and I realize how rough the ground is. My knees shoot with pain. My body seems to weigh twice as much as normal, and my strength is half, if that much. I steady myself and try again to stand, only to collapse again. I vomit on t
he floor. I scoot myself farther away from the vomit and the voice and lie still. Darkness swirls around me. Soon I lose consciousness.

  When I awaken, the room is silent, but something the voice said triggers my brain to function. He called me “Dr. Fields.” My memory is returning. I am a writer and a philosophy and political science professor at the University of Texas. I have published several books and articles. I am famous in certain circles. I am well known. People will wonder where I am. Somebody will look for me when I don’t show up to class. But what day is it? Where am I? My long-term memory seems to be coming back, but my short-term memory is failing, which makes me wonder if I have suffered a concussion or some other injury. Things are still a blur, but I am slowly, ever slowly, losing the fog in my head, and my vision is clearing.

  The room is still dark, though my eyes are adjusting to the lack of light. Things scurry about me but are silent. The stench is still present but doesn’t seem as bad. I am lying on hard ground, mainly rocks and dirt. I realize I am naked, and I feel ashamed and embarrassed. I look about and realize that I am in a cave, a very large cave. It looks like there are passageways. Where do they go? Corridors? Other rooms? I can’t see beyond the room where I find myself.

  Then it hits me hard. This is no dream. I had thought that, at any moment, I would wake up and find myself at home with a hangover from too much bourbon. I try to put the pieces together. How could I have ended up in this place? I have no sense of time or short-term memory. I can’t remember what day it is or where I have been.

  I try to reason it out, though clarity of thought is still beyond me. I must have gone out last night and had too many drinks. Some gang must have jumped me and thrown me into this place. They probably took my wallet and clothes and ransacked my condo while I lay here. All the stuff with the voices must have been a dream. I am alone in this cave with some rats, bats, and other creatures. Even if I can’t remember everything, at least this story makes sense. Now, I have to pull myself up and get out of here. Naked or not, I can’t stay here. Once out, I will call the police, or someone will call them for me when they see a naked man running down the road. The police will take care of the people who did this to me. I’ll make sure of it. I wish I had my clothes. I feel stupid and ashamed sitting here naked. I wonder why they stripped me. Terrible thoughts go through my mind.

  I suddenly feel a presence that shatters my newly created reality. It is the sinister voice. I know it by the fear that grips my body. I can feel it. It is something more evil, more grotesque than some kids taking advantage of a drunken professor. The fear engulfs me like a wet blanket tossed over me, and I begin to weep. I sink down and hold my hands to my face and sob. My body aches as if I have the flu, and my teeth grind uncontrollably. I have never felt anything so terrifying, as if all hope has been suddenly torn from me. Fear and emptiness fill my heart. Weakness overtakes my mind and body as I feel the voice peer at me, almost through me. This is more than I can bear. I realize how foolish my ideas of escape are.

  “They are all like this when they arrive, but you are luckier than most,” The voice whispers through me. The voice physically appears to be several meters across the cave from me, but its words seem to originate next to me. When it speaks, my body trembles. All I ever was and all that I have ever known are so distant from me. Here and now is all that is upon me, and it makes me uncontrollably ill.

  “Great kings and queens, powerful men, fragile women, and even famous writers such as you . . . it makes no difference to me. You are all weak and unworthy, a wasted creation. They have all wept in the spot you find yourself. They have soiled themselves and vomited out any pride they once had. They are all humble and weak before me, until I replace their weakness with hate.”

  As quickly as the voice appears, it disappears. I know other creatures are around, still making noises and moving in the darkness, but I also know for certain that the most evil of things has left. I manage to get up and sprint to an opening in the cavern wall. I run wildly, not knowing where the tunnel will lead. I only know I can’t stay in that room. As I run, I hear nothing but my heavy breathing and the pounding of my feet on the hard ground. My feet hurt, but a primal urge drives me on. If the creatures are following me, I am not aware of them.

  The passage breaks off into more passages. Are there even more passages off of these? I blindly try different avenues, but they lead me to more passageways. It is a labyrinth of tunnels in the darkness. I can see no more than a meter in front of me, and I find myself bumping against walls as I search for a way out. Soon my wild sprinting turns into a hurried walk. My hurried walk becomes a stumble. Finally, I sit against a wall and begin to cry again. When I look up, I find myself in the original room in which I awakened, and the voice has returned.

  The voice speaks again, “Welcome home. You might want to get used to it.”

  With those words and without physically touching me, the voice throws me against a boulder. A powerful blast of air or a sound wave thumps against my chest. It takes me a few seconds to recover my breath and sit up. Then I see a wretched, hideous creature sitting atop the boulder. Its face is almost human, but the body is that of a ragged dog, with the tail of a rat. The eyes remind me of a wolf. Protruding from the body is a face straining to get through the skin. It opens its mouth and a long forked tongue shoots out at me, creating a horrible hissing sound. I stumble backward to the raucous sounds of other creatures.

  It is then that I utter words that have never crossed my lips before: “God, help me.”

  “Ah, yes, the final call for help. I’ve heard it many times. If only you had heeded the words, ‘Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will also acknowledge him before my Father in heaven. But whoever disowns me before men, I will disown him before my Father in heaven.’ You call for him now? For forty years you have ignored him, even outwardly campaigned against his existence. You were on my side. You did my bidding without so much as a nudge from me or my disciples. Now, you call his name for help. Yet, deep down, you still do not believe. You scream in the dark like a child, hoping that someone answers. Why not call on me for your salvation?”

  The voice is silent for a moment, but it seems to be carrying on a conversation with someone or something, though not in a language I have ever heard. For that brief moment, I feel a sense of peace. I am strangely aware of a lamb and the protection it is providing in this moment. It makes no sense to me. But when the voice turns back to me and speaks, the peace is shattered.

  “Under different circumstances, I would not have allowed you to utter such words. The pain I would have inflicted on you would have lasted an eternity. Don’t fret, though. Even in this darkest of places, you are protected. I am simply sifting you. That is my agreement with the Lamb . . . for now.”

  The voice turns away from me and says, “His love for you humans makes me sick, but it will be his demise and my ascension.”

  The thought of a lamb brought me peace, and I find comfort in knowing that for now I have some sort of protection. The hope that was completely absent a moment ago has now crept into my heart and mind. I begin to think more clearly, though my brain is filled with questions.

  Why would this creature not want me to speak God’s name? What is this beast before me? How does he know me? Who is the Lamb, and how or why would it protect me? How is it all connected?

  Calmer now, I am finally able to look at the voice. It is difficult to see, not only because of the darkness, but because its bodily form does not hold steady. It is as if I am watching a blurry television. It seems solid for an instant, but in the next moment it is as if it were a ghost in that spot and a solid shape a few inches over. I have a hard time concentrating on it. It seems masculine to me, so I apply that gender to it, not knowing for sure.

  “Who are you and what do you want with me?” I ask him.

  “Who am I?” His voice pierces my head. The pitch and frequency of his words cause me to squint in pain. “You have known me your whole life, and now you ask, ‘Who
are you?’ His pitch settles such that it no longer hurts to listen. “Didn’t you see me at the bottom of the bottles of bourbon you drank? Wasn’t I with you when you destroyed those girls who looked up to you? Who do you think laid the groundwork for your fame and fortune and drove you to that treasure without regard for anyone or anything? Have you forgotten our most beautiful moment—when you told your father you were ashamed of him?”

  “You know nothing about my father or our relationship,” I yell in anger.

  As soon as I say this, he moves over and around me. He seems to be all around me at once. His face is no more than a few inches from mine. Though I try to recoil from it, I can tell that he is smiling at me. I find it hard to breathe, as if something is crushing my chest.

  “Oh, yes, child. I do know all about it. I know more than you could ever imagine. Let me take you where you are afraid to dwell. Let me answer what has preyed upon your conscience. Yes, child. You killed your father with those words. The cancer that ate his life those last fifteen months began on the day you told him those cherished words. No, you didn’t cause the cancer, but you destroyed his will. His body and spirit had no strength left to fight off the disease, thanks to his loving son ripping his heart out. After that day, he longed to die.”

  I lower my head.

  “Yes! You know what I speak is the truth. You should be proud of that moment. You took what was rightfully yours—your destiny. I found him shameful as well, but we will revisit your father later. I do enjoy it so. You asked a question, though, and I fear I didn’t answer it properly.”

  He moves back as he says those words.

  “Who am I? I go by many names. I am Lucifer, Satan, the Prince of Darkness, the Accuser, the Wanderer, the Destroyer, the Deceiver, the Evil One, Beelzebub, and the Dragon. For our time together, you may address me as Prince, Teacher, or Master.”

  CHAPTER 2