by Wendy Alec
The cyclones crashed through the gulf, their ferocious power unleashed on Jesus as generation after generation’s evil depraved ravings of the Race of Men and hell’s demons descended towards Jesus – a lewd wave of unending filth. A million, million blasphemies, the wicked darkened imaginings of the Race of Men resounded through the Place of the Skull.
‘Eloiiii!’ Jesus screamed, his voice drowned out by the discordant, raging profanities, ‘Father ... Fa ... th ... er...’, His agonized scream rang out through the darkening skies as His body jerked with violent convulsions.
Moloch and his slayers watched from their chariots in exhilaration.
* * *
The Catacombs of Ichabod fell silent. Nothing stirred. Finally Lucifer lifted his head. Then raised his hand.
‘Release the Maladies of Ichabod!’ he cried. Instantly the eighteen Shaman-Ogres pulled the second mammoth gate open. A grisly spine-chilling shrieking of a million, million harpies erupted from the Catacombs. There was silence for a full minute, then an infinite horde of purple bloodied harpies spewing hot sputtering aids viruses and living writhing cancers, erupted from the yawning cavern. Millions of leech-vampires of Infirmities, with eeled bodies, scaled wings and bat-like heads writhed in the seething cosmic tempests, disgorging plagues and leprosies from their ulcerated pale grey mouths. An evil smile lingered on Lucifer’s lips as they surged up through the cupola of the Black Palace, their translucent wings flapping frenziedly through the Skies of Perdition, headed straight for the Place of the Skull.
* * *
The bloodied harpies and leech vampires descended on the centre cross like a violent seething shroud, their pincers and talons ripping into Jesus’ limbs. Their ulcerated lips leeched onto His chest expelling their infected viruses until His skin became a mass of purpled bloodied welts, a living writhing mass of rotting flesh. Leprous nodules covered His lips and eyes, swollen thrice their size, swelling cancers multiplied and spread across His abdomen and chest, a white film covered His eyes until Jesus stared ahead completely blind. Gabriel lowered his eyes from Jesus’ hideous disfigurement.
* * *
From the First Heaven, Xacheriel stared in horror at Jesus. ‘Every plague and disease Lucifer has conjoured up in his sweltering crypts of Perdition he now visits on Christos...’
‘He bears the full brunt of Lucifer’s malevolent maladies calculated ahead to destroy the Race of Men.’
* * *
‘Eloi ... Eloi...’ (‘Father ... Father...’)
Jesus’ blood-curdling cry reverberated to the revelator eagles gathered on the eastern horizons, to the angelic companies gathered in formation on the vast onyx plains of the mount of the congregation, to the ancient elders of Yehovah lying prostrate in the Gardens of Fragrance. ‘Eloi...’ (‘Father!’)
Jether knelt inside the rubied entrance, his face raised to the throne. The chilling scream echoed down the deserted corridors of the Tower of Winds, through the seven chambers of the labyrinths of the seven spires, through the vast, stormy whirlwind that blew from the entrance of the great rubied throne room, to the great, blazing cloud of fire and lightning – resounding before the Great White Throne of incandescent light descended in the Holy of Holies, until it reached the One whose unspeakable brilliance of His being shone as the blinding radiance of a million, million suns. The Ancient of Days.
His agonized screams resounded off the throne room walls.
Jether raised his head from the jacinth floor, his eyes red-rimmed from weeping, and stood.
‘Jesus of Nazareth comes forth from the land of men bearing the darkness of Perdition, bearing the Iniquities of the Race of Men.
And then the being seated on the white throne spoke. His voice resounded through the incandescent white light, through the labyrinths, and out to the entrance to the Holy of Holies ... Filled with sorrows. Full of compassions.
‘Open the doors.’ Yehovah uttered.
Michael turned to his Generals and, trembling, raised his sword.
‘Yehovah’s Judgements commence!’ he cried.
* * *
Fifty of Michael’s battalion pushed the colossal Rubied Door that soared thousands of feet. A league down the nave of the throne room, in front of the altar, blew a fierce stormy indigo whirlwind of thunder and lightning, and out of the whirlwind burned a great blazing cloud.
From its epicentre a great and terrible roaring filled the throne room chamber. Deafening peals of thunder resounded from the walls of the chamber, as though the very atoms themselves were pulsating. Blue lightning bolts, shot through with burning white fires, brilliant as the orbs of a thousand suns, flashed from the magnificent throne that was now faintly visible through the glare, more than a league down the great nave. Seven blazing torches burned in front of the throne as seven flaming columns of white fire, and in the midst of each torch glowed the coals of the spirit of Yehovah.
Jether walked slowly into the blazing cloud of the whirlwind. ‘Behold the lamb of God, slain for the iniquities of the Race of Men awaits the Judgements of Yehovah.’ He collapsed to his knees.
* * *
Gabriel stared up at the bruised and battered figure on the centre cross from under his blue cowled hood. Jesus’ eyes were dull, His hair matted and bloody. A strange darkness was descending down on the city, towards the Place of the Skull. Gabriel gazed, transfixed as the thunderous churning indigo skies forked open directly above the stark knoll. Ferocious blue bolts of lightning swirled furiously above the yawning gulf.
‘The Judgements of Yehovah,’ he uttered in horror. Jesus raised His face in dread to the swirling violet whirlwinds of Judgement of the First Heaven that raged overhead.
The whirlwinds crashed through the gulf, their ferocious power throwing Him violently against the splintered wood of the cross as the first blue bolt of lightning struck Jesus’ body.
* * *
‘Christos bears the Judgements of Yehovah for the iniquities of the Race of Men,’ Maheel whispered, frozen.
* * *
Gabriel watched in horror as a second bolt of light and wind struck Jesus’ body, then a third, His back arced back and forth against the jagged wood in agonized pain, sweat pouring from His pores. A terrorizing sound erupted of the torment of a million, million damned souls, souls that rejected Yehovah, the screams from the penetentiaries of hell. Demented, wailing chilling screams resounded from Golgotha’s skies. The blood-curdling screaming of a thousand, thousand future generations destined for the Lake of Fire echoed across the Place of the Skull.
* * *
‘He takes the place of the murderers, paeodophiles, adulterers, all that enact the darkened deeds of the Race of Men...’ Jether shook his head in wonder. ‘That those of the Race of Men who would accept His sacrifice may go free.’
* * *
Moloch caressed his cat-o’-nine-tails, his mind racing back to his encounter with the Nazarene over Lazarus, gripped by a strange unease. Then as another cyclone came raging towards the cross from the darkening skies Jesus began to scream. A chilling, tortured, agonized screaming. A slow evil smile of understanding spread across the butcher of Perdition’s features.
‘He is separated from Yehovah. Butchers of Perdition – prepare the Nazarene’s chariot!’ he roared. ‘He is ours!’
‘Eloi ... Eloi!’ (‘Father ... Father!’) Jesus’ agonized spine-chilling scream rang out through the Palestine sky. Moloch and his butchers cackled with demonic laughter as a fourth and fifth whirlwind of judgement erupted from the throne. Jesus screamed in agony as the whirlwinds struck His temple with an intense ferocity.
Gabriel pushed his way through the violent winds until he reached the very base of the cross, his face just inches from Jesus’ mangled, lacerated feet. ‘Eloi...’ (‘Father!’) Jesus screamed frenziedly in agony. ‘Eloi ... lama sabachthani?’ (‘Why have You forsaken Me?’)
‘We are here, Christos...’ Gabriel whispered, his hand clutching the wood of the cross. His entire body trembled uncontrol
lably. ‘He has not forsaken you...’
Jesus’ eyes flickered open momentarily. A single tear rolled down His cheek.
‘That they, too, may know Him...’ Then Gabriel laid his head onto Jesus’ feet, sobbing wretchedly, his long fair locks mingling with Jesus’ blood.
Then as suddenly as the whirlwinds had erupted, the Place of the Skull fell silent.
* * *
The Rubied Doors closed with a shudder.
* * *
Jether stood to his feet and staggered towards the secret passageway to the Tower of Winds. ‘I make haste to Golgotha.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
The Veil
Jether moved swiftly through the thinning crowd towards the knoll, staring up at the figure on the centre cross, from under his cloak, his gaze unwavering. The rain lashed down on his cheeks, the furious winds blew his cloak almost from his shoulders. But his attention remained steadfastly on the figure on the cross before him as the strange and terrible darkness descended like a shroud across the city of Jerusalem.
‘Have mercy, God!’ A petrified woman shrieked behind him as she ran to catch up with the last of the stragglers leaving the hillside, racing vainly against the darkness.
Out of the falling gloom, in front of the cross, Jether could faintly recognize the shadowy forms of the virgin mother and her faithful consolers.
And one other.
The tall figure was peculiarly dressed. Swathed in a great emerald chequered velvet cloak of exceptionally fine cloth, his features hidden under a wide-brimmed, pea-green suede fedora, the hat of a style not seen anywhere in the world of men. There was something about his manner, his bearing, that Jether found disquieting.
Lightning struck again, and this time its bolts reverberated with such intensity on the Place of the Skull, that Jether thought the entire knoll might collapse in two. A third strike illuminated the sharp, bony features of the cloaked form. Jether recognized him instantly.
It was Charsoc, the grand magus, Lucifer’s dark sorcerer, watching with pale, sightless eyes through his evil twisted spirit as only a fallen angelic being could. He tipped his hat to Jether in passing acknowledgment and continued his incessant staring at the Nazarene nailed to the cross.
Jether wrapped his cloak tighter and, mustering all his strength, thrust his body step by step against the ferocious gales until he stood only a pace away from Charsoc.
‘Could your carrion’s heart not even leave Him alone until His last?’
Charsoc smiled faintly.
‘Ah!’ he said, his eyes not leaving Jesus for a second.
‘Your discernment is accurate, as usual, revered Jether. We await the pickings of the slaughter eagerly. But today I am, you could say, the controller of the proceedings. It is my responsibility to ascertain the second His last breath in our domain is extinguished. I shall immediately verify my findings in the courts of Perdition; then He is legally our property. Our prince of carnage awaits in his chariot.’ Charsoc motioned to where the sadistic and menacing Moloch stood, his craggy face raised. Leering from the thunderbolt.
‘The butcher of Perdition – it is a moment I shall greatly relish.’
He gestured towards his own white gaping eyeballs.
‘It may have escaped your memory, but I have the Nazarene to thank for my eternal sightlessness. And after our little tête à tête in the seventh chamber, have no naive expectation that my mercy shall exceed my vengeance, Jether.’ He caressed his scarred bony fingers.
‘I am thin-skinned.’
Jether lowered his eyes.
‘And what are your procedures?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
‘The second the Nazarene breathes His last on this planet, Moloch and his butchers have orders to seize Him. He dies on this planet, with defiled blood, as one of the Race of Men – therefore, we the fallen have jurisdiction over His body. He is ours. And our emperor, Lucifer, is His sovereign king. He will make a grand bargaining chip with Yehovah, I don’t doubt. But don’t think, Jether, even for a moment that He will be returned to the First Heaven in the same pristine condition in which He left ... His torture of today is but a pale shadow of what awaits Him in the Penitentiaries of the lower vaults of Perdition...’
Still Charsoc’s eyes never left Jesus’ form.
‘There is already revelry in the vaults of the damned, awaiting His arrival. He shall be exhibited on the gates, but first Moloch shall lash Him to the black altar with barbed cords and torture Him with the hellhounds until He renounces Yehovah.’
Jether said, ‘Your fall from grace has almost surpassed your master’s, it would seem.’
Charsoc smiled slowly. ‘The Nazarene fades,’ he observed dryly. ‘The life forces of the Race of Men ebb from Him swiftly.’
Jether stared at Jesus’ lacerated veins, the gaping wounds from the recent scourging which were already turning gangrenous, the bruised and broken body, so bloodied it was marred beyond recognition.
Then, through the raging pain, Jesus lifted His head.
Charsoc followed His gaze, noting that He looked straight and deliberately towards Jether. For a fleeting moment, Charsoc could have sworn that a strange and exhilarated triumph lit the glazed and bloody eyes.
Then the voice that stilled the waters, that calmed the raging storms, that commanded satanic princes to be still, that opened blind eyes, and shattered the bowels of death uttered its last.
‘Tetelestai!’ (‘It is finished!’) Jesus screamed in exhilaration.
‘Tetelestai! Tetelestai!’ He cried. ‘It ... is ... finished!’ He screamed, screamed until His voice was hoarse. Screamed until the last of His life force ebbed from Him in total exhaustion. Screamed until He expelled His final agonized dying breath.
Jether stared, trembling. ‘His soul exchanged for the souls of the Race of Men,’ Jether whispered, tears mingling with the hot rain on his cheeks, his face raised to the heavens in wonder.
Charsoc watched, a strange uneasiness filling his soul. Mystified. Then Jesus’ head dropped onto His chest.
* * *
The heavy, glistening white veil of the First Heaven hung before the incandescent white throne beyond the Rubied Door, in the throne room of the First Heaven. Millions of angels lay prostrate. Unmoving before the throne.
Two resplendent great hands of light grasped the veil. Then with one movement, rent it from top to bottom.
‘That they, too, may know Me!’ Yehovah cried.
* * *
All at once, a great cacophony of the damned erupted from the bowels of the earth – a hellish din of triumph rising from the nether regions as the satanic shofar sounded.
And then, suddenly, from every quarter almost simultaneously, a strange, inexplicable silence fell. The infernal caterwauling subsided until there was no sound at all in the heavy, sweltering Palestine sky.
A subliminal roaring began that shook the trees and the three crosses above on the hill.
The earth underneath Charsoc shuddered and he was flung to the ground violently, the rocks sliding beneath his feet as he clung to the boulders about him. But even as Charsoc clawed the boulders for safe refuge, they split into smithereens about him. He lay face down in the dirt, the ground shuddering violently beneath him.
Jether watched in trepidation, the ground beneath him firm, seemingly untouched by the raging cataclysm.
‘This man was truly the Son of God!’ yelled a Roman centurion in terror, diving for safe cover.
Charsoc stumbled to his feet, levitated through the air, his jet black hair and beard blowing violently in the raging winds, until he stood next to Moloch in the chariot. He hung on to his strange broad-brimmed hat.
‘Call for the dark scribes!’ Charsoc cried, his eyes lit up in fervent exhilaration. ‘We verify the Nazarene’s death in the courts of Perdition.’
‘The Dark Watchers stand ready to deliver the findings to the First Heaven’s high council, to be witnessed in Eternal Law,’ Moloch growled.
&n
bsp; Charsoc clapped his hands in triumph. ‘Moloch, my wicked prince!’ He gestured to the now limp and lifeless body hanging from the cross.
‘Transport our master’s booty to your slayers for the triumphal procession.’ Charsoc turned deliberately to Jether. ‘Our master awaits us.’ He smiled a smile of the damned. ‘Escort the Nazarene to hell!’
* * *
Moloch’s barbarous satanic vandals wrenched Jesus of Nazareth’s spirit from the bruised and battered body on the cross. Instantly it took on the same form as the body it had inhabited, though it was of a different, more ethereal substance. Otherwise it was identical.
Moloch’s fallen host manacled Jesus’ wrists and ankles with heavy iron fetters that ripped cruelly into His tortured flesh. ‘Your sorceries are spent, Nazarene!’ Moloch leered. ‘Bind His mouth!’ he commanded. The butchers bound Jesus’ mouth with filthy cloth soaked in deadly nightshade, then brutishly hauled Him onto their shoulders, seizing Him in a vice-like grip.
Moloch raised his whip. Instantly, they were sucked violently downward as though by some ferocious centrifugal force. Downwards ... downwards, thousands of miles downward, towards the molten core of the Earth, the party of the damned descended.
Down through the mouths of seething volcanos. Through boiling seas of molten lava, until they emerged into the strange, churning violent world of floating continents and upside-down mountains that raged at 11,000 degrees Fahrenheit, the blast furnace that was the outskirts of hell.
* * *
Michael turned to the angelic legions. Ashen. ‘Gabriel meets us on the plains of Perdition. Christos commandeers the Ark of the Race of Men. We prepare for assault.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
Hell’s Gates
The massive iron Gates of Hell soared a thousand feet high into the hazy, bleak gloom of hell’s smouldering skies.
Six hundred gargantuan, jaundiced-eyed demonic seraphim nested on top of the colossal black iron gateposts of Perdition, their great scaled claws slashing at the posts. Red hot fires flamed from their nostrils and ears. Their black-veined webbed wings flapped like giant bellows as they patrolled hell’s skies, fanning the blistering blue flames of hell’s ‘Ring of Fire’. Hell’s sentries.