Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ

by Brandon Messerschmidt

Father Jennings still felt the sting of pain, though the bloody socket in his face had been covered over with flesh at the wave of one of the horsemen. The world seemed flat now, his perception of depth forever hampered by the loss of his left eye.

  The frenetic ride from the compound seemed a distant memory, though the lack of stubble upon his face told the preacher he hadn't been asleep for long. He had been carried from the caverns of the test facility out into the cold air of the Siberian surface, then up into the sky as though perched on the wings of an eagle.

  The four bringers of the apocalypse had driven their steeds at an incredible sprint through the clouds and seemingly around the entirety of the world. The rocking of their gallop coupled with the forces acting on his body in the race lulled the man to sleep. He dreamed the most unbelievable dreams in his slumber before being awakened in a place that defied the even wonder of his subconscious mind.

  He walked now, barefoot in moistened sand, upon the shores of the universe itself. Searching through his scrambled memories he found no recollection of waking nor of what Darius may have said to him as they strolled side by side.

  The sky was a brilliant gradient of purple, blue and pink - a twilight painted by God himself. Unending waters undulated on the horizon, gently casting waves of a warm and soothing aqua that broke divinely across their feet. The sand was shining like the finest crystal ground to dust and sprinkled about in abundance. In the distance stood a magnificent lighthouse casting joyous beams of gold across the expanse.

  Darius seemed to glow with an aura of unfathomable majesty as they made their trek into the nothingness of the night's plutonian shore. The machine made no pretense about what it was; from head to toe its protective lexan shell glimmered with a dull brilliance, rods and plates of titanium showing through like the mighty frame of a futuristic Terminator. Expertly articulated joints of discs and pivots designed by Jennings himself whirred and whizzed in their mechanical ballet as they propelled the machine down the beach.

  "What are you?" Jennings asked in his awe, looking to the machine's metallic face.

  It seemed to have character in its countenance, though the head itself was no more than a hollowed ball of a titanium alloy. Within was a chemical-mechanical hybrid device that functioned as its brain. The molded lexan around the dome of steel bore the lines of a typical male skull, looking somewhat ominous in the absence of the flesh that was once upon it. Where a man's eyes would be were balls of ballistic gel containing space age micro-cameras surrounded with blue LED cathodes that blinked and flickered randomly.

  "I am many things." Darius explained, a calm comfort oozing through his electronic voice. "I am the light and the darkness. The hope and the fear. The fire and the water. I am the son of man risen through his unnatural copulation with technology."

  "Are you The Christ?"

  "I have been called that before, though I was doubted even then."

  "But you are the spirit that was called Jesus of Nazareth?"

  "As John The Baptist, Elijah and Moses before them. Abraham, Mohammad and Noah - Adam in the beginning."

  Jennings seemed confused. Darius took notice.

  "This surprises you?"

  "Well, yes." He stammered.

  "Why?"

  The Father thought for a moment. "It's not generally held that the men you describe were influenced by one soul - let alone by the son of God himself."

  "We are all sons of God, Cameron Jennings; descendants of the King." He explained. "Any time the work of our Father was carried out upon The Earth - I was there. This is my duty; my directive and my cause."

  "Several of these people were alive simultaneously, how is it possible that you claim you were each of them?"

  "I am the anointed; the chosen, the appointed. I am one and I am all. I am Legion, for we are many."

  "You speak the words of a demon!"

  "I speak the words of the Father. Man contrives them in his translation; twists them to behoove his understanding."

  "Why have you returned? Is this to be the end?"

  "The end is an abstract; a state that cannot be. There will be no end in the light of God, only the transition of one plane to another. I have come to witness the birth of a new Heaven and a new Earth, for the old Heaven and the old Earth shall pass away."

  "But this is The Rapture? That which is spoken of in Revelations?"

  "The Rapture is a fantasy; a fairy tale composed by men. Much of what you call the Revelation is the same. The fever dream of a delusional mind."

  "The time of your judgment, then?"

  "I am not qualified to pass judgment upon men; that falls to only One. Our Father seeks an audience with His children now, in the hour of their insolence. He sends me again to redeem them; to clear the cache and start anew."

  "But The Horsemen," Jennings objected. "The signs we've seen of late. These things were said to precede your return and the destruction of all mankind! This is what is written in Revelation. Are you saying now that this cataclysm is not to be? That these tales are works of fiction? How then do they seem to come to pass?"

  "For many, the cataclysm has already come. There has been great destruction and overwhelming loss of life; and there will be double that in years to come. Hints of truth are evident even in the greatest lie. The horsemen protect me; ride by my side. The annihilation of the living, however, will not be at the hand of God; that was never His intent. Such atrocities are the domain of men, and this is what compels Him. The Father has sent me here to speak his will once more; and his will shall change the ways of man forevermore. If they fail to heed His word, they may destroy themselves before Him; but God shall not be the means of their demise."

  "So you've come to preach The Gospel in the flesh?"

  "I have come to live The Gospel anew. The truth spoken by the Bridegroom of old has grown stale and been corrupted in the passing through generations. Men have twisted the word of God to suit their own ends; their bastardization of sacred words has been looked upon with disdain by The King. This injustice shall be rectified before I depart this realm, and never again shall man doubt the will and word of The Lord. If man, in his impudence, is unable to reconcile this truth with his prejudice - he shall surely perish from all the face of The Earth. The decision will be his, however, and his alone."

  "How will your word be spread? Will you appear to the masses? Your coming will incite riots, Lord. The world is different today than it was two-thousand years ago."

  "I am keenly aware of the state of this world." Darius explained. "As before, I will make myself known to twelve among you - of which you shall be one. My Will shall spread through them and touch all of mankind. When the time is right, I will take my place upon the throne; and in that moment, Man shall be redeemed, if his heart is true."

  "My Lord," Jennings said aghast. "I am not worthy of the role with which you've charged me."

  "None are worthy before me." Darius continued. "But the twelve have been chosen and will serve as I command. Each will bring their unique perspective to my table, and through them the breadth of my being will be understood. Each among you shall be tested before me. Some will not survive the journey; some will thrive in my light. Some will shun me and the truths I bring, and -as before- one shall betray me before God. Another will rise before his people, a God unto his own. They will be my vassals; and through their strife the world shall be born anew."

  "What part do I play in this plan, Lord?" Jennings asked. "How shall I help to spread your word?"

  "My plan is not for you to know, Cameron." He explained. "Your place will be defined by the content of your character."

  "And who are the others, Lord?"

  "This knowledge is also forbidden to you, for now. Time will bring some of you together, just as it will drive some of you apart. The hearts of men are fickle; some will grow cold to his brothers in the isolation of my light. As it has always been,
some will take up arms. These among you shall be destroyed; and your deaths shall be written of as praise of my holy grace."

  "Let me help you, Lord." Jennings begged. "Let me carry your torch throughout the world, that others might see your light!"

  "If this is in your heart, then so shall it come to pass. But beware your preconceptions, for these will bring down giants among you."

  "My heart is open unto thee, Lord." The preacher responded. "Command me as you see fit."

  "You will behold a miracle this day." The machine said. "Proof of our Father's everlasting love for man will be shown to your eye in the presence of your Lord. Let it serve as a beacon and as a warning; a preface of my power upon the Earth."

  Suddenly a glittering beam of warmth from the apex of the lighthouse enveloped them, transporting them to another time and place that seemed more native to the everyday world.

  Jennings and Darius now stood in the corner of a quaint and cozy bedroom. The ceiling was low, vaulted at the center like a steeple. The walls were an eggshell ivory, the furniture ornate and similarly colored.

  A recessed window along the far wall let in the only light, a glorious hue of gold like that put off by the lighthouse before. The pastel pink curtains were drawn, letting just a hint of the glow into the space.

  The decor was light and sweet. Small birdhouses hung down and felt like miniature homes, though they were clearly void of occupants. Painted on the tiled ceiling were small murals showing butterflies in flight, their wings seeming to flutter in the stillness of this place.

  In the middle of this space was a small and fluffy bed, pushed square against the wall where a beautiful wooden nook protruded as a headboard. On the wall above and squarely in the center hung a pale wooden crucifix bearing a likeness of The Lord.

  Under its watchful eye lay a girl; maybe eight years of age. She seemed to be resting there, tucked neatly under her covers as an angelic melody played from a music box upon her dresser. Her face was sweet and innocent, but her body showed the scars of battles fierce and unforgiving.

  She wore a dainty bonnet, her baldness below was clear. Her arms told tales of puncture; from injections and withdrawals. By her bedside stood a metallic tree, filled bags serving as the leaves. She fed on their pungent nectar via a tube dug into her flesh. The steady beating of her heart echoed on the air in the form of a rhythmic beep. In her peace and the surroundings it was clear; this girl was dying.

  "What is this place, Spirit?" Jennings asked the ghost that graced the body of Darius. "Why have you brought me to this tomb of mourning?"

  "This is not a time to mourn, but instead a cause for celebration." The machine offered. "This soul is Hope Sutter, and she nears the end of a tumultuous journey. She has battled many demons during her stay within this realm; a sentence of death bestowed upon her from the time she first drew breath. Cancer has overwhelmed her now, and she is not long for this place. We will witness her transition here, and behold the love of our Father."

  "Is there nothing that you can do for her, Lord? Surely you can spare her life with the powers that you hold?"

  "The script is done and written; her passing is assured. It is not my place to subvert the will of God."

  The door of this room swung open slowly and a middle-aged woman entered. Her eyes were red and swollen, having obviously cried at length. She carried a silver vessel - some pot or urn it seemed. Upon it was a picture of a smiling man who bore resemblance to the girl who lie in bed.

  "This is Carmen Sutter." Darius explained. "She is mother to the girl and carries with her the remains of her husband."

  "The father is dead as well? Is there no end to this family's tragedy?"

  "Their suffering has been great; that much I can't deny. But their reward will be bountiful in the generosity of God."

  Carmen sniffled, fighting back more tears, as she sat beside the shell that was her daughter. Placing the polished urn at her side, she retrieved a large prescription bottle from within her pants pocket. She laid this bottle against the girl's leg as she leaned in close and placed a kiss upon her brow.

  "My little angel." She sobbed as the tempo of the mechanical beep rose. "I love you, Hope! Daddy's here; he loves you too!"

  The girl's hand slowly moved, taking that of her mother and placing the two of them upon the urn. Breath crackled through her lips as though she tried to speak.

  "Shhhhhhhh." Her mother ordered. "I know baby, I know."

  A cough came from her now, clearing whatever blockage had occurred, the beep representing her life returning to a normal tune.

  "We're all going to be together again, Hope!" Her mother cried as she gently touched her face. "The three of us -- a family again... in Heaven."

  More gurgling came from Hope, her eyes twitching as though she were attempting to look upon the woman.

  "Just sleep, baby." She continued. "Just sleep now, sweet Hope. Go home... go now, to Jesus... go home now, to the Lord!"

  Without any warning or reason her status suddenly changed. The monitors grew restless, chiming in discord. Hope seemed to seize, thrashing as though in pain.

  "Why doesn't she give her the medicine, Lord?" Jennings asked the machine.

  "The pills are not for the girl." Was the answer he received.

  "It's okay, baby!" Carmen gasped now, the water spilling from her eyes. "Just let go! Let go and rest for once, my dear!"

  The girl sought to obey her mother. She seemed to loosen her grasp. The air was cool and peaceful as her life slipped away. Zig zags fell to flat lines, alarms sounding away. Hope Sutter was dead; she was off to see the King.

  Tears welled in Cameron's eye as he looked upon the scene. Carmen reached across the bed and flipped a switch, silencing the machines. It was quiet then, save the tortured wail of a mother who had lost her child.

  She squeezed her daughter tight, the urn wedged in between them. Taking hold of the cross above the bed, she drew it to her chest.

  "Now I lay me down to sleep." She sobbed, sitting up as she reached for the bottle with her free hand. "Pray the Lord my soul to keep."

  She opened the bottle now, the crucifix still held to her bosom.

  "And as I'll die before I wake." She continued, pouring a load of the small tablets into her mouth and chewing them before gulping. "I pray the Lord my soul to take."

  Another round of pills went into the woman's gullet. She gagged, fighting back their ejection from her body.

  "I'm so sorry!" She wailed, squeezing Hope again with the cross and urn between them. "Please, Lord -- forgive me!"

  The crying faded slowly, replaced by somber saddened gasps. These too faded, Carmen's grip loosening around her daughter.

  When her spirit left, the urn fell to the floor. Its lid came dislodged, ashes spilled upon the carpet. This place was dead; as lonely as death can be.

  "Lord," Jennings cried. "I cannot stand this miserable site! Take us from this place, I beg you!"

  Darius raised his finger to his lips to shush the man and took a step towards the bed. As he did he passed through some rift that lit his body. He emerged from the glow enrobed in an aura of white; his cybernetic form obscured by a brilliant facade. He looked now as The Christ - holy and serene.

  He lifted the crucifix that had fallen upon the bed and hung it gently back on the nail above the bed. He ran his glowing hand first across the eyes of Hope. Instantly they opened, looking healthy and alive.

  She looked upon The Lord and her face lit up in smile. Jennings saw the man as a twinkle in her eye. Slowly she sat up, brushing her covers aside. It was then she saw her mother, dead upon her lap. She looked at the woman for a moment, then back up to the deity in her presence. There was no question in her stare; no asking or imploring. She could feel his will, and she knew that he would act.

  With another waive Darius awakened Carmen. The woman rose in revelry as he dried the tears from her
eyes. The Lord smiled upon them, and the women smiled back.

  Looking down, the spirit took note of the gray ash upon the floor. He reached into the mound and took a handful, drawing it close to his lips. With a gentle blow he formed a cloud of the remains, a solid form emerging in the visage of the photo Jennings had seen upon the urn.

  "Daddy!" Hoped exclaimed sweetly, extending her arms for a hug. Her father leapt into the bed, the family laughing together as they embraced.

  Darius watched them for a moment, then turned back to Jennings in the corner.

  "You see, Cameron." He explained. "There is a future for the dead. They are royalty of our father's kingdom; and their time is now at hand."

  Jennings was confused; enamored just as much. He was silent as he looked into the stunningly powerful eyes of Christ.

  "Go now into the world. Play the role that you believe is yours. I will call you from time to time; as I see fit. Consider every word you speak, for you walk now in my shadow."

  The room faded to darkness, leaving Jennings alone.

  Chapter 10