by Wendy Alec
‘Look at me when I speak, Nazarene!’ he bellowed. He screamed instructions in a guttral angelic tongue to his militia, raising his other hand, which held a cat-o’-nine-tails tipped with jagged glass and serrated iron.
He lifted Jesus’ head up, in line with his shoulder, but Jesus’ eyes remained lowered, intent on Dagon’s reflection.
Then Dagon swung his cat-o’-nine-tails, aiming straight for Jesus’ neck.
Jesus swung His lash towards Dagon’s whip and sent it clattering to the ground. The demonic horde laughed raucously.
‘Butcher the Nazarene!’ bellowed Dagon, lunging for Jesus with his sword.
Jesus swung His lash a second time. It tightened around Dagon’s brawny neck. He pulled it tighter, till Dagon staggered to the floor, retching for breath. Jesus raised His gaze, and Dagon clutched his eyes with his hands, screaming in agony. Then Jesus turned to face the fallen rebels as the packs of snarling black yellow-eyed jaguars leapt ferociously towards Him, their black fangs snarling.
Jesus signed towards them with one deft movement. The jaguars fell backward as one, whimpering, slinking away through the throne room gates.
‘The Nazarene’s sorceries!’ shrieked Mulciber.
Jesus gazed beyond the altar, past the dark sanctum, towards the chamber of the Black Necropolis.
Dagon followed his gaze. ‘Loose the hellhounds, Menelik!’ he screamed, writhing on the ground. ‘He seeks the Ark of the Race of Men!’
A skeletal creature with vampiric fangs released the lock on a huge iron cage, and fifty black hellhounds, each with five heads breathing fire from their nostrils, raced towards Jesus with bared fangs.
Jesus raised His hand. The snarling hellhounds sprang at Him, thrown back violently by the invisible shield surrounding Jesus. They fell, stunned to the floor, yelping.
Dagon clutched blindly for his sword, one hand still over his eye. ‘I shall destroy you, Nazarene,’ he snarled.
Jesus bent down and grasped him by the scruff of the neck, holding him off the floor till he screamed for breath. ‘You and your master, Satan, have no claim on Me!’
Jesus flung Dagon to the ground as Lucifer’s legions burst through the doorway. A thousand of Lucifer’s dark minions stormed towards the robed figure, brandishing their blades and snarling obscenities.
Jesus raised His right hand, and a scorching sheet of flame rose from the floor and descended onto the renegade angelic host.
‘The consuming fire!’ Ramuel screamed, flailing at his blistering hands.
Nerve-jangling screams resounded throughout the chamber as the fallen were caught by the scorching, consuming waves of fire, to fall, burning alive, onto the ground. Their weapons clattered uselessly on the lapis floor.
Finally, the great and terrible Dagon knelt, trembling in dread, before Jesus. He removed his helmet and held it at his chest, his head bowed. ‘We the fallen are conquered by You, O Nazarene.’ He held out his sword.
‘We are conquered by You,’ thousands of dark voices echoed.
Dagon raised his head in terror to where Jesus stood fierce and silent, His head bowed. ‘Not the Abyss, Nazarene!’ Dagon whispered, his hands shaking uncontrollably. ‘We beg You, Nazarene, not the Abyss!’ Tortured wails resounded from all across the chamber. Jesus raised His head.
A great thundering erupted towards the terrorized fallen horde. A split second later, they shattered like glass, disintegrating into dust. Vanished, transported to the core of molten fire – the Abyss.
Jesus surveyed the empty throne room, then strode past the black altar, through to the portal of the Black Sanctum. His eyes narrowed; it was unguarded.
He pushed open the massive doors.
* * *
Lucifer’s monstrous stallion beat the air frenziedly with its colossal black wings as they ascended past the unending penitentiaries, upward past the penal colonies landing just lengths away from the entrance to the massive iron gates of hell, when an earth-shattering shuddering shook the ground beneath them. Lucifer dismounted, trembling, mesmerized by the horrifying sight before him.
One of the immense iron Gates of Hell was collapsing before his eyes, ripped from its monstrous foundations by the giant battering-rams of the Angelic legions of fire and the White Knights. He watched as, almost in slow motion, it crashed to the ground, pulverizing a legion of Shaman-Ogres and fifty legions of the damned beneath its crushing weight.
Marduk appeared out of the gloom at his side. He bowed deeply, then grasped Lucifer’s arm with his long pale fingers. ‘My Emperor, I come with tidings from the Black Murmurers of Jerusalem. They report the veil ... in the temple is torn,’ he trembled, his yellow eyes gleaming evil concern. ‘...torn in a strange manner,’ he added nervously.
‘In what manner is the curtain of the Holy of Holies torn?’ Lucifer asked, his face ashen.
‘The curtain is rent in twain from top to bottom, Your Excellency,’ Marduk replied. ‘The Black Murmurers report that it was rent in two at precisely the time as the Nazarene exhaled His last breath at the Place of the Skull.’
Speechless with horror, Lucifer finally drew his gaze away from the collapsing gates to Marduk.
‘It is as the Wort Seers foretold.’ He pushed his dishevelled hair out of his eyes.
‘The veil is a message. I, the lightbearer, am banished from His face forever,’ he muttered, ‘but He would give the Race of Men direct access to His Presence.’
He stared, bewildered, as the vast armies of the First Heaven stormed through the entrance, decimating his great mercenaries of hell. To his right and left, thousands of his own savage Black Horde screamed in terror, beaten back by the ferocious company of white winged lions. Fleeing the tearing claws and bared teeth, the hordes of hell fled, flinging their weapons down, to the sanctuary of the lowest crypts of the shadows.
His giant gorgons lay wounded and bleeding, dying on the ground around him. He raised his face to the heavens; the eagle revelators circled overhead – the new owners of hell’s skies. He walked unsteadily a few paces forward. ‘No longer separated. Direct access ... but how?’ he murmured.
Michael stood in the midst of the ferocious fighting outside the gates, his gaze fixed on Lucifer, who stood less than a furlong away from him, well within the gates ... unaware of Michael’s gaze.
Michael slowly removed his gauntlets and threw them to the ground, never taking his eyes off Lucifer.
He unsheathed the Sword of State, feeling for the golden dagger in his boot. Then deftly pushed three long razor-edged stiletto knives into his military sash behind his back.
He dodged behind the lions and sprinted forward, just out of Lucifer’s view, through the right of the razed gates until he came up directly behind Lucifer. He grasped his arms from behind with his great strength, holding his dagger at Lucifer’s throat.
‘Prepare to meet your end, Lucifer.’
Lucifer stared ahead. Caught completely off guard. His mind racing. His face implacable.
‘My devoted brother...,’ he murmured, not a muscle moving. Then with one violent thrust he extricated himself from Michael’s grasp.
Lucifer kicked his jackboot savagely into the back of Michael’s unprotected calves shin, the razor-sharp jagged edge of his spur ripping Michael’s flesh almost from the back of his knee to ankle. ‘You would have your pound of flesh...’ Lucifer hissed. Spinning around.
Michael stood in agony, the blood gushing from his calf. A terrible blackness clouded his eyes.
‘You know the angelic law. You are not on holy ground here, Michael.’ Lucifer smiled slowly. Merciless. Michael swayed, his sword clattering to the ground. Reeling in pain.
‘One clean thrust, and your head shears from your shoulders,’ Lucifer unsheathed his monstrous black gleaming sword of hell, ‘...and you are banished to the Abyss.’ He raised his gleaming broadsword high above Michael’s neck. ‘Farewell, brother – till the judgement!’ he cried.
Marshalling all his iron discipline, Michael reached
back into his sash and grasped the three stiletto-like knives he had hidden there, and with a last herculean effort, he drove them straight through Lucifer’s neck with a single, brutal lunge.
Lucifer’s face contorted in agony. He clutched his neck with both hands, ripping the three stiletto-like knives away with one great thrust. The blood spurted from the three great holes, spurting over his hands and flowing down his torso. He sank slowly to his knees, his broadsword fallen to the bloody dirt.
Michael kicked the broadsword away out of his grasp with his good leg.
Lucifer rent his robe, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he wrapped it around his neck to stem the bleeding. His head fell to the ground. With intense effort, he turned his face to Michael.
‘The Nazarene is butchered,’ he gurgled through the gushing blood. ‘He lies bloodied – dismembered in the molten core,’ Lucifer stared up at Michael, a strange malicious elation in his glazed eyes, ‘...burning in hell.’
Incensed, Michael picked up the Sword of State and held it over Lucifer’s head.
‘And you, brother, go to the Abyss!’ he screamed. A slow evil smile flickered on Lucifer’s lips.
‘No, Michael!’ Jether roared. ‘It is his fabrication! He would escape the First Judgement!’ Mustering every bit of his strength, Lucifer lifted a shaking finger towards hell’s gates. His features contorted with a vicious hatred.
Jether and the twenty-three elders of the heavenly council stood in the crystal corridor, just inside the gates, their white ceremonial robes blazing with light. Jether hurried over towards Michael.
‘Leave his head intact,’ he instructed quietly. ‘He must face the First Judgement. Eternal Law must be fulfilled.’ Xacheriel passed Obadiah a small vial; the youngling raced over to Michael and poured it onto his lower leg which was instantly restored. ‘Shackle him!’ Jether commanded.
Lucifer rose unsteadily to his knees from the ground, clasping the robe to his neck, struggling towards Jether, then collapsed, only a few paces from him. ‘Jether!’ he spat through the blood, his eyes glazed as Raphael and Ariel shackled his wrists and ankles, ‘Hell is my territory!’ He struggled for breath, ‘You transgress Eternal Law.’
Jether circled Lucifer slowly, then stopped. ‘You have not yet guessed?’ His voice was dangerously soft. He looked down, staring directly into Lucifer’s eyes, silent for a long moment.
‘Jesus of Nazareth’s father was not Joseph.’ Jether’s voice was crystal clear.
Lucifer stared up at Jether, momentarily confused.
‘His body was created as the first, Adam, not replicated as is the manner of the Race of Men,’ Jether said quietly.
‘Joseph...,’ echoed Lucifer, bewildered.
‘There was no conception by the Race of Men, Lucifer. Christos’ seed was conceived by Yehovah.’
‘Yehovah...’ Lucifer stared blindly around him in horror, then dragged himself desperately through the dirt away from Jether. His robe fell from his neck onto the pitch.’ He cannot ... He breaches His own Eternal Law...’, he gasped.
‘Two thousand years ago,’ said Jether quietly, ‘on Mount Moriah, a covenant was sealed between Yehovah and one of the Race of Men – one named Abraham, willing to sacrifice his son. Yehovah, in turn, was lawfully released to sacrifice His own son on your planet. There is no breach of Eternal Law – Yehovah’s conception of Christos’ egg stands lawfully sealed by the High Courts of the First Heaven. It would have served you well to pay heed to the pathetic Hebrew rituals you so despise. Jesus of Nazareth’s blood is undefiled!’
‘Un ... defiled...’ Lucifer echoed, falling facedown into the lava, his blood draining from his body and mixing with the dirt.
‘There will be no hellish trophies, no dancing in the streets of the Damned.’ cried Jether. ‘He has shed undefiled blood on behalf of the Race of Men. He met the claim – fulfilled Eternal Law.’
Michael knelt directly over Lucifer. ‘His soul exchanged for the souls of the Race of Men.’ He reached down and grasped Lucifer’s tangled hair in his fist, twisting his head to his, looking fiercely into his clouding bloody gaze.
‘The highest point of Mount Moriah – its summit is called Golgotha.’ He let go of Lucifer’s head; it smashed to the dirt. ‘...brother!’
‘...Golgotha...,’ Lucifer hissed, choking on his blood, his shoulders heaving with fear and rage, the awful dreadfulness of Michael’s words slowly sinking in.
Jether rose and turned to Lamaliel.
‘Stem his bleeding with medicinal gossamer,’ he instructed. ‘He will heal slowly – the iniquity he carries impedes the healing process. But heal he will. He must face the First Judgement.’
Michael stood, grim but triumphant. ‘He is no longer lawful ruler of the Race of Men. We will now commandeer the Ark of the Race of Men and transport it back to the First Heaven. From this moment Lucifer is their usurper king. Our King awaits us in the Black Necropolis!’
* * *
Facing Jesus outside the Golden Gates of the Black Necropolis stood a hooded, hunched figure dressed in pale garments of shantung. Beyond the gates lay the great golden Ark of the Race of Men, chained to the Black Sepulchre with massive iron manacles.
Thousands of flickering black tapers flamed from the Unholy of Unholies, exuding their soporific perfume of black frankincense into the chamber.
The figure spoke from under his hood. ‘The veil to the Unholy of Unholies is torn from top to bottom. It signifies a breach in the regions of the damned.’
He stepped back.
‘You are not welcome here, Nazarene,’ he murmured.
‘Nisroc...,’ Jesus said.
The hooded figure nodded.
‘I have many pseudonyms, Nazarene. “The Pale Horseman,” “Death,” and “the Reaper” are the ones commonly acknowledged by the Race of Men.’
He raised his pale, hooded eyes to Jesus.
‘Your voice is familiar, Nazarene. It has resounded in my selpuchres once before...’
‘Lazarus...,’ Jesus answered softly.
The pale horseman nodded.
‘I, Death, could not hold him. One who held power and sway over my kingdom had spoken.’ He raised his hood. ‘One greater than I.’
Jesus looked long into his pale gaze.
‘I, Death, am subject to the precepts of prevailing Eternal Law and to Yehovah’s councils.’ Nisroc circled Jesus. Hovering. ‘What is Your claim, Nazarene?’
‘My claim, Nisroc the Prudent, is for the Keys of Death.’ Jesus declared. ‘And the Ark of Covenant of the Race of Men.’
The pale horseman nodded. At last he spoke.
‘Ah, the title deeds.’ He closed his hooded eyes. ‘Only the undefiled can claim the Ark. That one does not exist among the Race of Men.’
Jesus stood silent.
‘Your hands, Nazarene,’ he said gently. Jesus put forth His palms.
The pale horseman stared in horror at the large jagged wounds, then reached out his long, bony finger and thrust it into the bloody wounds in Jesus’ side.
‘Aah...’ He staggered, losing strength.
‘Your blood is undefiled...’ He stared up at Jesus in dread, his hand burning crimson as if by some peculiar holy fire.’ You are Christos!’ He uttered in recognition, falling, trembling, prostrate before Him.
‘If one undefiled from the Race of Men is willing to shed His lifeblood on behalf of the Race of Men...’ the pale rider murmured, ‘and become a substitute for judgement, the said Race of Men – past, present, and future generations – will be released from eternal judgement by the death of that one. A soul for a soul. This is binding Eternal Law...’
He rose.
‘For those of the Race of Men ... if they accept the great sacrifice.’
He took a ring of keys from his waist and unlocked the golden gate. ‘At Golgotha,’ he proclaimed, ‘all these You have secured.’
Michael strode into the throne room, his generals close behind, followed by Jether. They bowed low before Jesu
s.
‘Your Majesty...’ Michael removed his helmet and knelt before Jesus.
‘Lucifer is captured,’ he gasped. ‘He is in chains; his generals are incarcerated. The keys of hell are in our possession.’
Michael raised his head, catching sight of the pale horseman. He rose to his feet, fierce, and raised his sword. Jether placed his hand gently on Michael’s arm.
He shook his head.
‘He is subject to Eternal Law; he will face the great judgement,’ Jesus stated softly. ‘It is not yet time.’
Michael frowned. Jether stared at the old, wizened figure, his mouth open in wonder. ‘You have conquered death, Nazarene.’
Nisroc removed the ring of huge glowing golden keys from his waist. It was encrusted with diamonds and engraved with the seal of Pedition – Lucifer’s seal.
‘The Keys of Death and the Grave.’ Nisroc knelt and handed the keys to Jesus. As Jesus took them, the engravings transformed into the royal seal of the House of Yehovah. The pale rider bowed to Jesus, then lifted his hand in acknowledgment to Jether. Then vanished.
‘He was my mentor,’ Jether whispered in wonder, almost to himself. ‘Nisroc the Righteous. He fell with Lucifer...’
Jesus walked through the golden gates of the Black Sepulchre. Facing them, chained to the Black Necropolis, was the great golden casket with two carved gold seraphim on either side, the Ark of the Race of Men containing the title deeds to the planet earth and the solar systems.
Michael drew in his breath in awe.
‘This day justice is served in the courts of heaven,’ Jesus said quietly. ‘The Race of Men has been freed from the reign of tyranny. Commandeer the Ark, Michael.’ He turned to Jether.
‘Jether, faithful steward, prepare the chalice.’
Michael drew the sword of justice from its sheath and raised it high. ‘We return the Ark of the Race of Men to the First Heaven!’ he cried.
At the far door stood Gabriel. He bowed before Jesus.
‘Hell’s armies have surrendered, Your Excellency.’ Gabriel held out a scroll to Jesus. Jesus took it and read, then walked towards Gabriel, His hands outstretched. He clasped Gabriel’s hand in His and raised it, His voice echoing throughout hell, shaking the very core of the earth.