Angel of the Apocalypse

by Hansen, Magnus

  Michael stood stone faced, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I have nothing to say to you, Devil.”

  The Devil genuinely looked hurt. “Aw, Michael. We used to be such good friends.” He then turned to God. “Really? Using an archangel as your chauffeur? Real classy.”

  “Cut it out,” snapped God. “I want to know how you stopped the Rapture.”

  “Yeah, sorry that didn't work out for you,” the Devil replied. He paused to savor the moment, and looked at his fingernails in a bored fashion. “It wasn't that hard, you know. Whatever you create, I can destroy. Isn't that why you made me? To take care of all the nasty business that you didn't want to be associated with?”

  “What are you talking about?” replied God.

  “I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.”

  The two deities looked at each other with contempt. Likewise, Orville looked at Michael with feigned contempt. “Don't even think about trying anything,” commanded the short, bald demon.

  Michael looked at the diminutive demon dismissively. “Try what?”

  “Uh...anything!” replied Orville, with his arms folded across his chest. “I don't want to have to kick your ass.”

  Michael was easily three times the size of the small demon. “Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Yeah, that's what I thought,” replied Orville, triumphantly.

  “Boys, boys, behave yourselves,” said the Devil. He then turned to God. “What am I talking about? Prophecy, that's what. What made you think that I was going to play by your rules? It was rather short sighted of you to have all your little prophecies written down in the bible. At any time I could have stepped in and put an end to all of that nonsense. And why not? For thousands of years humanity struggled to understand your message – trumpets blaring, censers being thrown down, ten headed beasts. Seriously, who has time for any of that nonsense? To top it all off, you gave no sign of your presence or authority to your followers for those thousands of years, and yet they still adore you. Well, the Christians at least. To Hell with all that, I say.”

  The Devil paused to study the reaction on God's face, which was contorted into a scowl. “Now, now. What happened to the God of love? The God of forgiveness?” said the Devil. He then stepped forward and pointed a finger in God's face. “You made me the Destroyer. What else was I going to do? You made me just as powerful as you, so I could take care of all the dirty business that you didn't have the stomach for. The natural order of things was always life and death. Love and hate. Good and bad. You didn't want to be burdened with all the 'bad' stuff, so you made me. I was to take care of the evil side of things, so people could see you as the God of love and everything good. You didn't want the responsibility of dealing with the bad, as well as the good. So you consigned all the undesirable crap to me, and you expect me to play by the rules? I am the Destroyer, and I will destroy you.”

  God's demeanor softened. He realized that nothing productive could come of this meeting. He shook his head and said, “Son, I didn't make you the Destroyer. Pride destroyed you.” He turned and walked back to the limo. Before opening the door, God turned around and addressed the Devil. “If it's a war you want, a war is what you will get.”

  With that, God and Micheal got into the limo, turned around, and headed back down the crooked road. The sound of millions of demons laughing, followed them to the edge of Hell.

  Chapter 4 – The Antichrist

  Due to the enormous number of people dying from disease, Pastor Abrams was not able to secure a funeral service for his wife. All the funeral homes in the area (in fact, all across the world) were simply too busy to take in any more business. Instead, the pastor made all the arrangements himself. And since many of the people in his congregation also had the same problem with deceased family members, the pastor decided to make one large, all-encompassing funeral service to accommodate all the people who were left behind.

  On a somber Friday afternoon, with dense clouds looming overhead, twenty-three coffins were lined out in the field behind the Covenant Church. The coffins were covered in flowers. Gospel music gently played from the church organ. Nearly the entire church congregation sat quietly in fold-out chairs, waiting patiently on the pastor to start his eulogy. From time to time, soft cries were heard from the small crowd, from family members mourning their loss.

  Pastor Justin D. Abrams walked towards the podium that was situated in front of the twenty-three coffins. He paused for a moment as he passed by the coffin of his wife Sarah, and briefly touched the edge of the wooden casket. He then got behind the podium and look at his congregation with sad, weary eyes.

  He could see his son quietly sitting in the front row. Isaac was slightly bent over in his chair, looking at the ground. The pastor didn't think his son understood the full weight of what had happened to his mom...or the rest of the world, for that matter. The rest of the congregation looked expectantly at him. The pastor cleared his throat.

  “What is a life well lived?” asked the pastor. “We are born painfully into this chaotic world. We are born helpless and screaming. It is only through the love and grace of our parents that we eventually find our place in this life. The guidance of a father, the love of a mother, the hope provided by a son or daughter. It is family that first binds us to each other.” The pastor looked into the eyes of his congregation, who were so desperately looking for words of comfort.

  “Our families then reach out to friends, and the community,” the pastor continued. “And the community and our friends become our second family. It is these interlocking relationships that bind us all together, that make us one.”

  The pastor paused for a moment, as he heard one person from the congregation burst into tears. “When one of the people in our family dies, whether it's our biological family, our family of friends, or even a member of our community dies, death takes a part of our soul with them. We physically and emotionally feel this loss within ourselves. In the last week, our community, our family, lost twenty three souls. That leaves each of us with twenty three empty rooms in our heart. Rooms that were filled with love and laughter only one week ago. They were souls that were taken away from us too soon, and left us with unanswered questions.

  “These are truly difficult times, and in these times it might be easy to raise your fist at the sky and scream at God, 'Why? Why would you do this to your children?' But the souls of the twenty-three loved ones behind me were not yours to keep. They are God's souls. They are His to give and take. And even though it is sometimes beyond our understanding, we must have faith. For it is in His greater purpose that he called our loved ones back to Him, and it is in our greater purpose to remain strong in our faith.

  “It is thought that these are the end times, and I have heard whispers of doubt. 'Why were we left behind?' I have heard people say. 'Why are we forsaken?' As believers, it is our duty to remain strong, to be God's soldiers. If these truly are the end times, then now more than ever before, it is our duty to remain strong in the face of doubt. It is our duty to remain strong in the face of evil.”

  The pastor stopped his speech and glanced over his right shoulder, looking at his wife's coffin once again. He then looked at his congregation. Sad, weary eyes looked back at him. He could only wish that he was able to provide a brief glimmer of hope to those who were left behind. “Let us bow our heads and pray.”

  Arrangements were made to bury the bodies in an open field, out in the country. At this point, nearly ten percent of the world's population was decimated by the disease. Cemeteries were overflowing with bodies, so local governments across the country made plans for designated burial sites.

  Normally, funeral homes provide comfort and guidance to families that were dealing with loss. Unfortunately, since all the funeral homes were booked for months, families had to take it upon themselves to bury their dead. It was the most difficult of times. Just as people were burying one family member, another would come down with sickness.

 
Still no word on where the disease came from, and scientists still didn't have an answer as to how to cure the infection. Riots broke out in many major cities across the world as food, water, power, and sanitation services were disrupted from lack of qualified workers. Despite assurances from the government that everything was under control, the economy crashed, causing millions of layoffs.

  Emergency supplies, medical aid, and food were provided by local and national government agencies, but many areas of the county were in desperate need of help. Police used militarized force to try to keep order, but some areas were too far gone. Armed thugs prowled the streets, stealing food, money, supplies...whatever they could. Most cities initiated a curfew at 9pm every night. Loudspeakers across each city urged citizens to stay indoors. The National Guard policed most major metropolitan areas, patrolling streets in armored Humvee's. Conflicts between the National Guard and armed thugs often broke out into bloody gun fights. Dead bodies littered the streets. Society was on the fringe of collapse.

  Pastor Abrams tried to keep some semblance of sanity by offering meetings every evening in his church. Whoever needed help, not just the members of his congregation, but anyone that needed a shoulder to lean on were welcomed with open arms.

  After a few weeks, the pastor received a call from channel 9 News. They were doing a news story on the end of times, and wanted the input from a minister to have a debate with a scientist about what exactly was going on in the world. Channel 9 News wanted pastor Abrams to argue the religious side of things, while the scientist would try to offer a more logical explanation as to the nature of the disease that was decimating the world's population.

  With a bit of hesitation, Pastor Abrams accepted the offer. If I can provide some small comfort to someone out there...it will be worth it, he thought.

  That night, the pastor studied his notes on Revelations, and tried to think of answers to possible arguments the scientist might present him with.

  After studying for nearly four hours, the pastor walked to his son's bedroom and tucked him into bed. “Tomorrow's a big day, Isaac. You're going to see your daddy on TV.”

  Isaac looked at his dad. The pastor appeared older, with weary eyes and graying hair. In the distance, the boy could hear the muffled sound of the community loudspeaker that was blaring a few blocks down the street. “It is now 9pm, all citizens are required to be in their homes. I repeat: for your protection, stay in your homes.”

  “Are things going to get better, dad?” asked Isaac.

  “I sure hope so, son.”

  “Why is God doing this?”

  The pastor hesitated. He almost answered his son with scripture, but at that moment he felt such a response was inappropriate. He put his hand on his son's heart and said, “I don't know, son. I don't know.”

  That night, the pastor had another dream. Seven archangels stood before him, each with flaming swords pointed at his chest. One of the archangels spoke in a commanding voice, “You are an abomination to His glory.” The archangel raised his sword high into the air, and slashed it downward toward the pastors head. The pastor woke, drenched in sweat.

  The next day, pastor Abrams woke up early and made breakfast for Isaac. Food was getting scarcer now, and no milk was available for cereal or pancakes. He made his son toast and bacon, while he drank coffee and went over his notes.

  The pastor made arrangements with a neighbor to take care of Isaac while he was at the debate. After saying goodbye to his son, he got in his car, looked at the directions he scribbled down on a piece of paper, and drove to the news station.

  * * * * * * *

  The Devil reclined in his high-back leather chair and threw his feet up on the mahogany desk. He was watching a newscast on a giant high-def TV that was mounted on the wall in front of him. Two figures were arguing about the cause of the pestilence that was decimating the world's population.

  The scientist was an older gentlemen with a balding head and a quick mind. He argued that the disease was most likely caused by the overuse of antibiotics in cattle and chickens. For the last few decades, the scientist argued, antibiotics became stronger and stronger due to livestock developing an immune response. It is theorized that 'super-bugs' developed to counter the overuse of antibiotics.

  The preacher, a handsome but weary man in his late thirties, argued that the pestilence is the first among seven plagues that marks the beginning of the Tribulation. The preacher, Mr. Justin D. Abrams, argued that six more plagues would follow, including the oceans and rivers turning to blood, the world falling into darkness, and a great earthquake...among other things.

  The Devil casually played with the Gary Busey bobblehead from his desk while the news cast continued. “What would Busey do?” mused the Devil, as he looked at the small toy. “What's that, Gary?” the Devil held the bobblehead up to his ear, as if listening to sage advice. “The Antichrist? Now? Why, I think that's a fantastic idea!”

  The Devil put his feet down on the floor and leaned forward in his chair. He pushed the intercom button. “Orville, Get in here!” he commanded. He then thought for a moment and pressed the intercom button again. “And bring me the Book of Souls.” He took his finger off the button, then had another though. “Also bring me a rum and coke.”

  The Devil could hear the scamper of running feet, as Orville sprinted down the hallway on stubby legs, fetching his master's book and drink. Impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk, the Devil finally saw Orville run into the room, carrying a large book under one arm, and a drink in his other hand.

  Huffing and puffing, the little demon unceremoniously slammed the book on the desk, and handed the Devil his drink. “Did I do good, boss?”

  Drinking down the rum and coke in one swig, the Devil casually replied, “Yes, yes...fine.”

  Turning the Book of Souls around to face him, the Devil opened to the first chapter of the book. “Let's see here...Abrams, Abrams...Ah! Here we are: Pastor Justin D. Abrams.” The Devil's smile broadened into a Cheshire grin as he read the short biography – “...a recently deceased wife, and...Ah! A son named Isaac. Perfect, absolutely perfect.”

  “What's perfect, boss?” asked Orville.

  “I think I just found the perfect host.”

  “Perfect host for what, boss?”

  The Devil ignored the little demon. “Justin D. Abrams...and do you know what the 'D' stands for? Damien!” The Devil threw his head back and laughed. “And just look at the name: Justin Damien Abrams. Each name has six letters! 666! It's perfect, absolutely perfect!”

  “I don't get it,” said the diminutive demon.

  The Devil closed the Book of Souls and ordered Orville to get him another drink. “It won't be long now,” he said with a devilish grin.

  * * * * * * *

  Pastor Abrams continued to answer questions on the news special entitled Science or Religion – What Caused the Plague? At the half-way point of the program, the debate was even. At least, as far as the pastor could tell. The scientist made several good points, and backed his positions with scientific data. The pastor did his best to quote scripture, and gave relevant reasons on why this might be considered the last days of Revelations.

  Stacey Kerbal, the interviewer for the news program, turned to the scientist and asked him another question. “Dr. Stevens, it is your position that antibiotics are to blame for the outbreak of disease. However, most of the infections around the world happened simultaneously. How do you explain that? Wouldn't such an outbreak occur at one location, and spread out from there?”

  The scientist looked rather uncomfortable. “Well, that's just one theory among many. We are working on several other theories to include-”

  Abruptly, Dr. Stevens was interrupted, as the pastor sitting next to him stood up and held up his hands in front of his face.

  “Oh my God!” yelled the pastor.

  “Pastor, is everything OK?” said Miss Kerbal in a concerned voice.

  “What? I don't...” the pastor looked frightened, h
e then doubled over in excruciating pain. “AAAaaaaargh!” He fell forward on the desk, his body spasmodically jerking in pain.

  “Is he...is he having a seizure? Is it the plague?” asked the scientist.

  “Cut the cameras! Cut the cameras!” screamed the interviewer.

  The entire news room froze as the pastor's fist slammed down on the table. “No, I do not think that will be necessary,” he said in a voice that was...not his own.

  The scientist and the interviewer wearily kept an eye on the pastor as he stood up, straightened his tie, and looked devilishly into the camera. “Sorry about that. Shall we continue?”

  “Sir, are you OK?” asked the interviewer. She then let out a gasp as she looked into the pastor's eyes, which now appeared to be bright amber in color, and had slits for pupils – like a cat's eyes.

  The pastor's skin was extremely pale, almost alabaster white. Wicked blue veins pulsed beneath the surface of his skin. “Well, I'm just fine. Thank you for asking,” replied the pastor. “Shall we continue our discussion?”

  The scientist and the interviewer were visibly shaken by his appearance. “I don't know,” said the scientist. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  “Dr. Stevens, is it?” the pastor casually looked at the scientist. “Why don't you sit down and shut the fuck up?”

  “Wh...What?” replied the scientist, who was still trying to process what had just happened.

  The pastor calmly took out a pen from his shirt pocket, removed the cap, and looked at the scientist. “Maybe this will be easier to understand.” With lightning speed, the pastor stuck the pen into the scientist's neck.

  The scientist would have screamed, if he didn't have a pen jammed into his windpipe. He slumped over the table, clutched his neck and made gurgling noises. The interviewer and the rest of the TV crew looked on in horror.