Infinite Testament

by Greg Ness

  Moros took a deep breath. Everyone in the room was dead, except for his father, Michael, whose eyes were wide with disbelief. Michael pleaded, “Your son spent his life preaching about love… preaching about peace. He willingly gave his life to save humanity. We didn’t force him to die. He had a choice. We all have a choice. And this is what you’ve chosen?”

  He continued, “Jesus so strongly believed in humanity… believed in life… that he died for it. The people on Earth were taught what was important. And they got it. His apostles are spreading his word across the world. We’ve done what we set out to do. We can expand life across the Universe. We can live peacefully.

  “The light in you is gone, Moros. But I still have faith in you.”

  Moros snickered in disgust. “I’ll never be allowed in Raqiya again.”

  “I forgive you, Moros.”

  Moros looked at what he had done. The bodies of eight archangels were sprawled about like splattered red paint. “You say you’ve made an arrangement with The Most High. To keep me from destroying Earth. Well I made an arrangement too…. but it wasn’t with The Most High…”

  Michael gasped at the thought. “No, Moros. Tell me it isn’t true.”

  Moros’s stone-black eyes gazed into his father’s. “Do you think I would be standing here if it wasn’t? The others tried their best to stop me. They tried to kill me. But no one, nothing, can hurt me. I am now invincible until my natural death.”

  “Then you will be forced to watch Earth prosper until that time.”

  Moros held up the palm of his hand to his father. Michael treaded back, prepared to face his end. Moros paused and switched the position of his hand to a fingerpoint. “I will spare your life, Father. But you will remember what you did.”

  Moros pointed with his other hand. With both hands pointing, he burned holes clear through Michael’s wrists. Michael screamed in agony. Moros aimed downwards and did the same to his feet.

  “Now you bare the marks of my son. Goodbye, Father.”

  Moros walked away from Elpis, who he had shoved to the ground. His legs strained as he climbed the steep, grassy hill. Each step was strenuous. Moros used all of his effort and finally reached the summit. Dozens of people loitered around in the gloomy atmosphere. One woman in particular caught his attention. She was hysterically crying and a man held her in his arms, attempting to comfort her. The light inside her was extraordinarily bright. She must have been the woman Gabriel told him about. She was the mother of his son, Jesus.

  Moros’s eyes fixated in front of him on a wooden post that was rooted into the ground. His eyes trickled upwards, following the splintered wood that towered into the sky. Then, he saw him. Jesus cruelly, savagely nailed to a wooden cross. To add to the brutality, a razor-sharp crown of thorns was jabbed into his head. Blood poured onto his face. It was a sight that overcame Moros. He fell to his knees and embraced the base of the wooden cross Jesus was bound to. He held the wood and rubbed his face against it, without worry of splinters. He could not reach his son. He could not touch him. The wood of the cross would have to suffice.

  “Please come down,” Moros whispered. He knew Jesus would hear him. “You can save yourself. The people will still know your message.”

  “Face me,” Jesus instructed with what little breath he had.

  Moros rose from his knees and stood in front of Jesus. His eyes focused on the horrible pain his son was enduring. Iron nails were embedded through his wrists and feet. As he looked at the nails, Moros could only shiver at how much pain he must have forced himself through. He imagined the dull point of the nail being lined up on the wrist. And pounded through. One excruciating hammer swing at a time. And when that was over, it was done all over again on the other wrist. Then, the feet: the dull nail was driven through one foot. Then the other. Then bound to the cross. Unfortunately, those wounds weren’t even lethal. They were just a means to an end. Hanging on the cross, the suffering could last for days without end. When a victim begged for death, it simply wouldn’t come. All he could do was wait.

  Moros’s eyes filled with tears. “Come down,” he begged. “Please. Come down. Let me be your Father.”

  Jesus looked down at Moros, a broken man. Dying on the cross and resurrecting would be the ultimate lesson for humanity. It was the plan, after all. But he supposed his father had a point. If he came down from the cross and healed his wounds, it would surely have the same result as a resurrection, if not a better one.

  Suddenly, a man in soldier’s gear ran toward Jesus and stuck him in the side with a spear. The blade flew deep into his body, drawing blood from his side. Moros clenched his fist, watching with disgust at the laughing soldier.

  This was humanity. Torturing one another. Creating vile ways of death. They were not worth saving.

  Moros lifted his arm and faced the palm of his hand at the soldier. One simple swipe through the air would teach these soldiers a lesson. Moros squinted, ready to strike.

  “Father…”

  Moros halted his execution and looked at his son.

  “Forgive them… For they know not what they do.”

  Moros hesitantly lowered his hand and clenched it into a fist.

  A voice from the crowd yelled, “Come down from the cross and save yourself!” Jesus heard those words well. If that was what the people wanted, that’s what he would do.

  The fingers in Jesus’s left hand bended. They curled around like a spider, gaining life. He gently slid his left wrist through the nail, bringing it forward to the base.

  Jesus turned his head as he pulled his other wrist forward. But in front of him, he saw the holy spirit, Elpis, coming into view as she climbed the hill. Her head rose above the horizon. She was anguished to see him on the cross. The torment on her face told him that much. But through her inner pain, Elpis smiled at him.

  Jesus pulled his right wrist forward, against the base of the nail. He looked out again at Elpis. Suddenly, something didn’t feel right. The strongest sense of déjà vu came over him. Jesus looked at his surroundings. Elpis, standing in the distance, smiling at him. His father, Moros, standing below, grieving in his suffering. His mother, Mary, with his beloved disciple. A crowd of onlookers, some full of sadness, others taunting. Everything he looked at, everything he saw, he had seen before.

  Surely, everything that was happening had already happened countless times before. The Universe repeated itself. Jesus knew that. But somehow, a flash of the future appeared in his mind. He had gotten off the cross before. It was what he had done every time. He pulled the nails out of the cross and came down. And every time was met with horrific results.

  There was no escaping from the cross. Jesus looked into his father’s eyes; his light was dimming. By staying on the cross, Jesus would save the world. But his father would slip into darkness. Moros would be destroyed. If Jesus got off, he and his father would live out their lives happily, but Earth would be obliterated by the archangels. Jesus had a choice: his loving father or humanity. In his angst, and facing an impossible decision, Jesus yelled with all of his might, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

  Jesus dropped his head on his chest. No matter his choice… suffering would endure. Jesus thrust his wrists back against the cross. He accepted his impending death.

  Jesus changed the course of the Universe.

  Moros gasped. Jesus wasn’t coming down. “No,” he muttered. “No!!!”

  The clear day of the sky transformed into darkness. Every direction was pitch black. It was still the day, but it appeared as night. People standing near the cross marveled at the sky, mumbling amongst themselves. The ground rumbled. Moros fell to his knees and braced himself.

  Elpis fell to her knees. Her eyes unconsciously slammed shut and a series of blurry images flashed in her mind. She saw the original course of the world. Jesus removed himself from the cross. Hugged his father… his mother. Elpis and Moros held hands, happily in love on Raqiya. But without the resurrection, the light didn’t spread. People
rejected it. The darkness maintained its stranglehold. The committee was forced to start again elsewhere.

  Earth was destroyed.

  Elpis snapped out of the visions. She had just witnessed the Universe as it had always been. But somehow, Jesus had changed it. Now, things would be different.

  The ground continued to rumble, tossing people to their feet. Someone in the distance yelled, “Truly, this man was the Son of God!” Moros gripped the grass and dropped his head. The pressure on his heart was too much to bear. He screamed in agony. Jesus was not the ‘Son of God’. He was Moros’s son. And Moros loved him.

  Jesus rested his head on his chest. “It is finished.” Jesus closed his eyes and died.

  The ground stopped rumbling. All was silent. A woman fell to her knees next to Moros and wept. Moros looked at her. It was Mary, the mother of Jesus.

  Father and Mother knelt side by side, mourning the loss of their son.

  Moros whispered, “I’m sorry for the loss of your son.”

  Mary looked into his eyes. Moros was nearly blinded by the light resounding within her. They were right; this woman was pure. Mary responded, “Thank you. It was God’s will.”

  No, Moros thought. Not God’s will. His Father, Michael’s will. The will of the committee.

  Moros leaned over and kissed Mary on the cheek. “May your heart be strong.” He stood up and looked at the sky. Total darkness. As he turned around, he saw Elpis, standing at a distance from him.

  Moros walked down the hill toward her.

  “Is this what you wanted?” Moros seethed.

  Elpis stood, staring at him. “All I can tell you is that I’m sorry.”

  “Well it isn’t enough,” Moros shot back.

  Elpis swelled with sadness. Moros looked at the girl he loved with his broken heart. Relenting, he threw his arms around her and hugged her. Elpis rested her head on Moros’s shoulders and bawled with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

  Moros squeezed tightly, pressing her body against his. “I will always love you, Elpis. No matter what.”

  Elpis backed her head from the comfort of his shoulders and peered into his eyes. They were dim with light, but no doubt there was light. She smiled through her tears.

  Moros said, “I need you to do something. Kiss his mother. She deserves to see her son once more.”

  Elpis nodded. They separated as Elpis walked toward Mary, still kneeling in front of the cross.

  Moros watched Elpis climb up the hill. His nerves were calming when a soft whisper rang out, “Kill them. Kill all of them.” Moros’s eyes darted around. He spun, looking for the location of the voice. Must’ve been hearing things, he surmised. “They killed your son. KILL THEM!” the voice screamed at him. Moros panicked. The voice was coming from directly in front of him. But no one was there.

  A figure appeared in front of him. It was his father, Michael. He held out his hand. “Take my hand, son. We’ll kill them. All the archangels. We’ll kill all of them. They did this.”

  Michael disappeared. In his place, Gabriel appeared. “Your son didn’t deserve to live.” Raphael appeared in Gabriel’s place. “I can only wonder what the nails felt like as they were driven through his wrists.” Raphael’s eyes squinted as he grinned at Moros.

  Moros held his hands over his eyes. “Leave me alone!” Moros was losing his mind. The voices rang in his head. “Kill them. Kill them. Kill them!” Moros flailed about, trying to get rid of the voices. A hand gripped his shoulder and he slapped it away.

  Elpis asked, “What are you doing, Moros?”

  Moros snapped out of it. The voices disappeared. He stared at Elpis. The weight of Jesus’s death began to sink in. “They killed my son,” he muttered. Elpis approached him with outstretched arms, offering console. Moros forced himself away. “No. Get away from me.”

  Elpis dropped her arms, worried for the man she loved. “Come with me.”

  Moros gazed at her. He had a choice. But at this time, at this hour, he wasn’t thinking clearly. “No.”

  “What will you do?”

  “When I am ready, I will return to Raqiya. I will kill everyone in the committee. Then I will destroy this disgusting planet. The people of Earth don’t deserve our help. I’m going to put an end to it.”

  “It’s not about Earth, Moros. It’s about the entire Universe.”

  “Then we can start again somewhere else.”

  Elpis stared at Moros. The light in his eyes was gone. He was in danger of completely slipping into the darkness. Elpis said, “I hope you reconsider, Moros. I know who you are. You are not a man of violence. You are caring. Kind. And I love you. When you are ready to return to Raqiya, I will be waiting for you.”

  Elpis, not wanting to re-awaken his anger, smiled and left.

  Moros stood alone with his thoughts.

  Moros stood in front of the Pythor in the forest. It was the same forest Stephen and Bruce had terrorized Mr. Ixley in many years ago. The same forest where Elpis recruited Bruce. Blue backpack in tow, Moros looked down at the X-circle and held his palm toward it. A circle of flames erupted.

  “Where do you go when use the Pythor?”

  Moros turned around and held up his hand to the unexpected intruder. Staring back at him was Elpis, standing on a log and garbed in a button-up shirt and jeans. Her blonde, curly hair blew with the wind. Moros coolly said, “Not to Raqiya.”

  Elpis hopped off the log and approached Moros. “Nice backpack. Someone special must have given it to you…” Elpis smiled, “Have you missed me?”

  “Of course,” he responded truthfully.

  “I miss you every day,” Elpis said, struggling to maintain herself. “Are you close?”

  “Very,” Moros responded, “It has been an interesting battle of wits with you.” Moros turned to the Pythor that was patiently waiting for him. “I suppose I should leave.”

  “Wait,” Elpis pleaded. “Don’t go.”

  Moros turned and faced Elpis. After a slight hesitation, she leapt into his arms and forced her lips onto his. Moros welcomed this expected gesture. His hands caressed her face as they aggressively kissed. Elpis closed her eyes, reveling in the love she longed for. “I have waited two thousand years for this,” she whispered.

  “How is life on Raqiya?” Moros asked, holding Elpis in his arms.

  “Not the same without you.”

  “And Father?”

  “He misses you. The committee is… secretive, as always.”

  Moros shook his head in disgust. He joyously peered in her eyes and said, “You know, I see you.” Elpis tilted her head, not understanding. “You appear to me. In my dreams. In everything I do. You haunt me.”

  Elpis caressed his cheek. She couldn’t help but laugh; she was too elated. “I think of you always. So I suppose you haunt me as well.”

  Moros smiled. There wasn’t any girl like Elpis. Her selflessness and love was unbounded. “Did you ever find the box I made for you? The one with your name on it?”

  Elpis sighed. “No. I lost it long ago. I will find it someday.”

  “And what about what you finally put inside? What was it?”

  Elpis hesitated. “You will see when I find it.”

  “It’s no matter. I got something for you.” Moros reached into his pocket, pulled out the E.M. ring, and flashed it in front of her eyes. Elpis’s eyes grew wide as she stepped back. A terrible feeling grew inside of her. “What have you done?”

  Moros smiled devilishly.

  The realization was too much for Elpis to bear. “It was you! You killed Sara, didn’t you? How could you do that?”

  “Not just her. Bruce is dead too. Sorry, Elpis. Your plan to stop me has failed.”

  Elpis couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You killed Bruce?! How could you?!” Elpis slammed her fists on Moros’s chest. He grabbed her wrists and attempted to calm her down. She sobbed at the news of Bruce’s demise.

  “Stop it, Elpis. I didn’t persona
lly kill him. Bruce was just in the way.”

  Elpis tried to pull herself away from Moros, but he wouldn’t let her free. “The darkness has turned you into a monster!”

  “All I can tell you is that I’m sorry,” Moros whispered. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

  Elpis looked into Moros’s eyes. The darkness had completely overtaken them. There was no trace of light. This filled her soul with sadness. Moros was a good man. But the loss of his son was too much for him to handle. The committee never should have selected him.

  Elpis, despite the pain Moros had caused her, smiled.

  Just then, Moros pointed three fingers to Elpis’s stomach. And shot her. Her insides were instantly dismantled. Elpis held her stomach and fell into Moros’s arms. The physical pain inside her was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. Nonetheless, she fell to the forest floor as Moros guided her on her back. There would be no healing for Elpis, not from the darkness.

  Moros looked at the face of the girl he loved. She was dying, leaving forever. An enormous sense of guilt grew inside of him. “Come with me,” Elpis had said on the day of Jesus’s death. He could’ve. They would have spent the rest of their lives together. Instead, Elpis lay inches from death. Moros looked into her dying eyes and began to weep. What had he done?

  Elpis, whose face was growing pale, lifted her hand to Moros’s cheek. “I will always love you, Moros. No matter what.” Elpis closed her eyes and peacefully accepted death.

  Moros cracked and burst into tears. “No.” Disbelief surrounded him. He keeled forward and brought Elpis’s limp body close to his. “I love you,” he said to her unhearing ears. Visions of her smile resonated in his mind; her beautiful blue eyes, full of light, full of happiness. She was always cheerful, always energetic. “I love you, Elpis.” Moros put the E.M. ring on her finger. When she first received it so long ago, she loved it. Elpis had hugged him in the fields, in the blue grass, her favorite spot. Moros now rocked with her dead body grasped close. All he had now to serve her memory was a flimsy, old blue backpack. He would hold on to it and never let go. He whipped back his head and let out a screaming cry.