The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  As they all weakened, the whining, whirring, crackling sound crescendoed, obliterating any chance for speech, clouding Reese’s mind and disorienting his judgment. Barely able to look, Reese saw Claire, his beloved wife and lifelong companion, as her mouth stretched open in a scream of agony and frustration, a scream he could not hear above the cacophony. Their eyes connected. In them he could see that she was on the verge of giving up, surrendering to the barrage emanating from Lucifer, and releasing her grip. He knew that she saw the same look from him. As they stared into each other’s eyes, while standing only several inches apart, Reese felt his love for her within himself. Although always there, it was now distilled, distinct, identifiable. For Claire…for Melissa…and for Matthew, Reese plumbed to the depths of his being and somehow found more strength.

  It was not enough. For, although love possessed a power greater than a hundred thousand men, Lucifer was tapping into a reservoir he had been patiently filling for tens of thousands of years – a vast, black ocean of desperation, hate, envy, malice, pride, resentment, jealousy, malignity, hopelessness, and malevolence, carefully siphoned off from the millions who had erred by allowing him into their souls.

  As the last vestiges of strength faded within him, mercilessly sucked out by the vortex of Lucifer’s hunger, for the first time in his life, Reese felt defeated. Overwhelmed by the sheer power of Lucifer, unable to apply his trusted resource – his intellect, Reese suffered a feeling foreign to him; he knew no options. There were no other choices. He could not release his grip, leaving his wife and children attached to this monster. And it was now obvious, as he remained firmly, voluntarily locked into this channel of destruction, that they would not prevail. Unbidden, his new destiny flooded his mind. A fate without hope. A providence of despair.

  Realizing that his eyes had again closed some moments ago, Reese became aware of the interior of his very being as it was scoured by Lucifer. He felt a nearly indescribable violation as Lucifer invaded him to his core, sopping up the remaining traces of Reese’s life force. His knees weakened, and he felt himself collapsing. He sensed the others around him doing the same. It was undeniable. The fight was over. Lucifer had won. In a flash, Reese suddenly knew he would take that thought to his death.

  A small part of Walter Penfield’s mind was fascinated as he observed the energy transfer from his own body, through Michael’s, and into Lucifer. Coldly, logically, he understood the process and knew that soon, within probably moments, the electrical charge needed to contract his heart muscles would be sufficiently disrupted to stop the operation. The normally automatic act of breathing already required his conscious intervention to continue. Every muscle in his body burned with pain as it competed with the overwhelming force for enough resources to maintain his grip and continue to stand.

  Craig McWilliams experienced the same sensations as Penfield, without the understanding of the physical mechanism. ‘I’m dying!’ he simply thought to himself. His determination to hang on, to give every ounce of his being, was unbowed. The return of his legs, the ability to feel fully human, was a debt he owed, even if the gift was only enjoyed for a few days.

  Doris Penfield foundered, the weight of her body falling against her already wavering husband.

  Mario Bonavente, gasping for breath and fighting the effect of the bombardment of sound – which seemed on the verge of ripping him to shreds – had a sudden revelation. Throughout his life, from the time he was a small boy, whenever the challenges he faced grew daunting, Mario knew he could always call upon the strength of God to help him. Even though Elohim had told him no help was given or, in fact, needed, he had always been certain that he had felt the gentle, loving hand of God, touching him and giving him the strength to prevail. Now, as he faced the greatest trial of his life, he could not call upon God for help. In fact, God was calling upon him for his help. It was time to repay. Mustering the strength to open his eyes, Mario looked directly into the snarling face of Lucifer, defiantly returning his malevolent stare.

  Melissa felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. Hopelessly searching within, she found no more to give, no hidden reserves to tap, and surrendered, her body falling limp under Michael’s arm.

  Matthew, feeling rather than seeing his sister slip down, was unable to help.

  Claire, enfolding both of her children within her arms as she continued her grip on Michael, sobbed with despair, also too enfeebled to react.

  Nicholas Reynolds dropped to his knees before Michael, sliding his contact with the angel down to his leg as he wrapped his other arm around Melissa, holding her upright.

  Bill Burke, having given more than he believed he had to give, slowly slipped away from consciousness, crumbling downward, yet somehow he managed to preserve his contact with Michael.

  Margo Jackson somehow stood rigid. Her mind flashed back to Marine boot camp, remembering her own determination not only to compete with the men but to prove that a lesser set of standards for a woman would never be needed. A Marine was a Marine, she thought, man or woman. With a long practiced and never forgotten determination, her mind did not entertain the possibility of failure. She ignored the sensation as her knees trembled beneath her.

  The Rabbi could not believe the pounding inflicted upon him. The din, having risen to the magnitude of thunder, shook him as if he were at the epicenter of an earthquake. The depletion of his energy, streaming out of him through his arms and hands, was fierce. His eyes still open, he saw the malignant countenance of Lucifer before him, unrestrained ecstasy twisting the hateful face. As his own anger grew, Leo used it, tapping into the fury, and spat directly into Satan’s face.

  ‘It’s over.’ Though he fought against it, the thought forced its way into Reese’s mind. Despair and sadness swept over him. As much as by Lucifer’s touch, he was wounded by the reality of his own failure. For, not only was he dying, his beloved children, his own recently proven to be flesh and blood, were dying with him as was his soulmate, Claire. It was all because of him. The repercussions of his errors added to the onslaught he suffered as he felt the last of his strength slip away.

  Reese, as if in slow motion, began to collapse. Falling forward as his knees buckled, he felt himself fall against Claire and the others. His ability to discern reality also failed, not able to distinguish the various sensations he felt as he collided with other bodies. In his confusion, no longer certain if his perceptions were real or hallucinations, Reese suddenly felt a firm grip on his upper arm. He also sensed a flow of warmth, of power from the grip. A new source. A fresh supply. It was trickling into him, as if he had suddenly connected with a recharger. Somehow, he was actually able to feel some of it pass through him, moving on to augment the weakened flow which combated Lucifer.

  Convinced he was dreaming yet hoping he was not, Reese felt a second hand grasp his other arm, more energy merging with the flow into him and through him. Then a third. Obviously not a dream, not an hallucination. He felt himself slowly recouping strength as he forced his knees to straighten. Turning, he opened his eyes and saw that it was a stranger, a bespectacled, middle-aged man, who was holding his arm. Another stranger, a woman, had gripped his other. From behind them, coming through the mouth of the alcove, Reese saw the mass of people who had gathered. They were all surging forward, arms outstretched, willingly and eagerly offering their own energy, their own lives, their own souls in this conflict with evil.

  As the new arrivals spliced themselves into the circuit, the original twelve combatants experienced a gradual, slight revitalization, benefitting from the flow of energy through them, before passing it on to Lucifer. Although it did not seem possible to Reese, he heard the maelstrom of sound grow even greater as the battle was joined by the new recruits. He saw Melissa, still held by Nicholas, open her eyes and stand up. He rejoiced in once more looking into Claire’s eyes, seeing a renewed resolve tighten her jaw as she benefitted from the influx. Matthew, too, opened his eyes. He turned to look at his father and managed a weak smile.


  The throng extended from the alcove, down the steps, and into the sidewalk and street. They all pushed forward, connecting with those before them, adding their individual might to the fray. Only those who had been near the alcove had heard the words and knew the reason for this confrontation; those behind only sensed the need for their help and the importance of the need. As the communal force grew, attracting those on the street and in their cars, others began coming out from their offices, their apartments, their homes. The pool of living energy spread out over blocks in all directions.

  Walter Penfield, once again able to focus, to think, observed the air around them as it began to glow, and immediately comprehended the magnitude of the energy flux, within which he was at the epicenter. The air itself was ionizing, the first step, he knew, in the creation of a plasma field. It was a phenomenon only attainable at the heart of a star or in the nanometer-sized focal point of a mammoth particle accelerator. The visible manifestation of pure energy was swirling around them. As the power intensified, the velocity of the rotation increased, giving physical proof of the vortex they had all felt.

  The Archangel Michael, more acutely than the others, felt the turning of the tide as the mass of humans arrived to repay a timeless debt. His purely positive energy, which had been almost completely nullified by Lucifer, like the arcing between the poles of a battery, was returned from the brink of nonexistence when Matthew had touched him. As the others had offered their own stored energy to him, they individually paid the cost of their entire being, purchasing with it a few more moments of opposition against this evil. Michael had sensed a faint galvanization at first, which was quickly exploited by Lucifer, who seemed to have the ability to tap into a limitless supply of his own negative force. But with the addition of the multitudes in the streets, Michael, with excruciating slowness, felt himself regain strength.

  Lucifer, also aware of the newfound resistance within Michael, reached deeper and farther, summoning every stored and each available portion of power. His human form, Preston Bennett, was not fit to serve as a conduit for such forces. The very atoms comprising his physical being reacted to the energy field by shedding electrons, moving to different states of being, and disrupting the properties of the molecules they made up, which then killed off the cells that comprised Preston Bennett’s body.

  Michael, Schmidt, and Bonavente observed the physical manifestation of this disintegration first as they felt Bennett’s flesh soften and turn powdery beneath their fingers, the muscles and bones underlaying the flesh collapsing as the collagen and calcium lattice supporting structures failed catastrophically. The fierce turbulence of the air around them opportunistically attacked Bennett, carrying away the powdery residue. Mario Bonavente, defying the intense brightness, was still staring directly into the face of Bennett as he saw, like the faces carved into Mount Rushmore after suffering through a million years of wind and rain, the features erode, exposing his skull. The soft tissues ensconced within the protection of the skull, desiccated and descended to their constituent parts, were sucked out by the wind, scattering. The flesh and the organs of his body suffered the same fate, as Leo and Mario found themselves fighting to maintain their grips on handfuls of powder. The empty skull was itself slowly losing its mass in the whipping gale. The wind, passing over the empty eyeholes, resonated as would the blowing of breath over the top of a bottle, adding a mournful, clarinet-like double-tone to the cacophony of sound.

  The two men of God, finding themselves clutching only a skeleton, released the remains of the physical Bennett and transferred their touches to Michael, combining their contributions with the now mighty torrent of energy coursing into him, replenishing and replacing the positive force of the Archangel as it continued to be nullified and consumed by Lucifer. As the final bits of skeleton blew away in the tempest, the hands of the Archangel encircled a column of energy which was pulsating and flaring like the surface of the sun. Unencumbered by the limitations of occupying a human form, the negative force fought by Michael gained even more strength. The radiant vortex enveloping the alcove had steadily brightened from its initial glow to a directionless, intense beacon. The swirling of the ionized air around them intensified until it resembled a raging whirlpool, amplifying further until it seemed to be a tornado of light, with Michael and Lucifer in the center of the eye.

  From a distance, the spectacle shone under the clouds so brightly it illuminated them, revealing every detail of the tufts and folds, eradicating the grayness, with only an immaculate whiteness remaining. The staggering fury of the conflict filled the air with the roaring din of unabating thunder. Throughout the boulevards and avenues, thousands of people emerged from their buildings, curious and entranced, walking, then running toward the locus.

  Upon nearing…reaching the assembled mass, those who held within themselves a vestige of good, a balance of energy, merged unselfishly with the throng, willingly sacrificing their essence instinctively for the vanquishing of evil…for the long-awaited restoration of symmetry on the Earth.

  Still Lucifer remained.

  The reservoirs of evil, so inexhaustible in the world, were channeled and drawn upon to oppose the onslaught. As all the new arrivals melded themselves into the fray, adding their drops of virtue to the pool, Lucifer found yet another source of malevolence to thwart it.

  Ears nearly shattered by the thunderous din, eyes instantly parched by the cyclonic wind, Reese somehow succeeded in his struggle to see. Michael, once more standing erect, fierce determination transfiguring his face into a stony mask, was locked in his death grip with the pulsing column of Lucifer. Those around him, eyes squeezed closed, heads ducked, mouths pulled in tight grimaces, appeared engulfed in a never-ending explosion, their clothes and hair whipping madly, their very skin shaken by the buffeting of the forces.

  Then, in the nucleus of the mind-numbing tumult and chaos, Reese witnessed an impossible sight. Above them, amidst the tempestuous winds and searing light, Reese saw a lone white dove circling down, impervious to the storm. From its miraculous presence, Reese knew its name. Aloud, heedless of the countervailing pandemonium, he spoke, “Spiritus Sanctus.”

  He watched as the being, floating as if riding the currents of a peaceful sky, looped gently down, sweeping mere inches above the heads of the adversaries of evil. As it flew, threads of white light attached from the Holy Spirit to them. The burgeoning mass of filaments stretched, as the dove flew farther from Reese, and then gathered into a bundle. Swooping below the keystone of the alcove entry arch, the third part of the Holy Trinity careered left and right above the crowd, sending down a new strand to every person it passed.

  As more and more of the men and women were touched, Reese sensed a transformation within himself. A never-before-seen clarity supplanted his thoughts and emotions. Doubt was wiped away. Fear was expunged. A new strength, born from a purity of purpose, filled his heart and his mind. The complex of rationalizations and emotions, garnered through a lifetime, was distilled. The traits, impulses, and thoughts, always present and always contrary to the desired goals of happiness and fulfillment, were filtered and removed, leaving within him only the pristine essence of himself, uncontaminated by the vagaries of his experiences. He felt his resolve crystallize, his determination magnify, his fortitude expand a thousandfold.

  The metamorphosis, caused by the touch of the Holy Spirit and felt by Reese, occurred within each individual in the multitude. The impact of the change was immediate. The formless entity called Lucifer instantly felt the crushing wave of opposing polarity. For the first moment since the confrontation commenced, he experienced the feelings of panic and fear, for, struggle as he might, he could not summon a matching force to counteract the assault. He was unable to ignore that the fiber of his being was becoming steadily, inexorably neutralized, nullified. His energy, never to be lost in this universe, was instead becoming assimilated, diluted, dispersed. No single foe was crushing him with a mighty blow. Lucifer was being consumed by thousands of hungr
y mouths, like a lion eaten by an army of ants. He knew the lion would continue to exist, yet only scattered throughout the guts and the eventual feces of the insects.

  The slightest, almost imperceptible abatement of the deafening roar was felt, more than heard, by Reese and the others. Not at first certain it was truly happening, Reese received confirmation as the diminution continued. The violently whirling wind surrounding them also slowed. Bonavente, looking at the pillar of fire that was Lucifer, perceived a weakening in the inferno. Encouraged by the signs of an imminent victory, Michael and all of the others redoubled their focus.

  The seething light of Lucifer dimmed further. The cyclone continued to slow gradually. As the polarity shifted, as the equilibrium returned, the rotational force of the wind ceased only momentarily before imperceptibly beginning its circuitous route in the opposing direction. Once counterclockwise, it now accelerated in a clockwise course.

  As if the shift in the air was the final signal, the burning, ionized glare, which permeated the alcove and beyond, dimmed until it softened into a muted glow. The energy within Michael’s hold was no longer the tumultuous, flaring conflagration it had been just moments ago. Now it was a darkened, umber orb, confined between his hands.