Tartarus: Kingdom Wars II (29 page)

Noble. Think on these things.

The comments seemed to have a natural pairing.
Noble. Think on these things.

Then I remembered.

It was from a list. At the time I thought Abdiel was cautioning me to think twice before agreeing to enter Sheol. But he knew I’d already decided to go. Unlike me, he didn’t trust Belial. He knew I’d be facing opposition. Abdiel wasn’t questioning my judgment, he was instructing me on how to defend myself in Sheol!

Think on these things, Grant.

The list was from the book of Philippians.

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, think on these things.

Three darts hit me in quick succession. One on the side of my face. One on my hip. The third on my wounded leg. That’s the one that brought me down. I slumped to one side, covering my head with my hands and arms. My face was inches from my sword. My black-bladed sword.

It was a witness to my downfall. I wanted to shove it away, to disassociate myself from it.

No—on second thought, I wanted to change it. Before I died I wanted it to be silver again. If I was going to be found dead in Sheol, I didn’t want to be lying next to a black sword.

I remembered how Abdiel described the Divine Warrior doing battle against Lucifer and the forces of evil in the world. He was aggressively good in the face of wickedness. He gave sight to a people blinded by Lucifer’s lies. He gave hope to the hopeless. Slapped and whipped, He did not strike back in return. A victim of power politics, He chose not to defend himself, but to sacrifice Himself for those who hurt Him and deserted Him.

I wanted to be like Him. Not like Semyaza. Not like Belial or any of the black-sworded beings assembled here. I wanted to be like the Divine Warrior.

Think, Grant. Think!

Under a barrage of fiery darts, my teeth clenched against the pain, my eyes clamped shut, I sided with the truth—that regardless of what happened to me, Lucifer’s efforts were doomed. I sided with nobility. Forsaking my anger, I admitted the futility of revenge. With all sincerity, I thanked the Father for putting the professor and Sue Ling into my life. I even thanked Him for Abdiel.

When I opened my eyes, my sword was silver once again.

There was one last thing to do. Show it to my enemies, that they might know that they could kill me, they could make a demon of me, but they had not conquered me. They had not succeeded in fashioning me in their image.

With blood streaming down my brow, running into my eyes, streaking my cheeks and arms and hands, I summoned as much strength as I could find.

The fusillade of darts stopped.

The crowd hushed and became silent.

My legs trembled. With sword in hand I maneuvered my feet underneath me and pushed myself up.

“That old shtick, Grant?” Semyaza bawled. “This isn’t like on the towers. A desperate act of defiance will impress no one.”

I wasn’t listening to him. I was on my feet, a miracle in itself. My shoulders were slumped. I pulled them back. My head was bowed. I raised it. The only thing left for me to do was to lift my sword.

“Do you realize how pathetic you look?” Semyaza said. “Do you really think you can stand against the assembled forces of hell?”

I gripped and regripped my sword. There was no strength left in my arm. My vision was blurred with blood and sweat. My lungs were on fire. At any moment I could swoon. The sword in my hand was as heavy as an anvil. Yet, somehow, I managed to lift it. My chest burning from the effort, all that was needed to raise it over my head was one final—

“Take him,” Semyaza ordered.

At his signal, thousands of demons dropped from above like a swarm of bats so thick I could not see the crowd through them.

They hit me with force, slapping the sword from my hand, pelting every square inch of me, knocking me off my feet and onto my back. They penetrated my chest and head and arms and legs, screaming obscenities in my mind, tearing at my insides, clawing at my soul, as though they were trying to rip it from my body.

I couldn’t fight them. I had no strength left. They crammed my mind so full of their shrieks and taunts and obscenities there wasn’t room for a single noble thought. Unable to resist even on a mental level, I surrendered to my fate.

But Semyaza wasn’t ready for me to die.

I felt myself lifted by invisible hands, suspended above the pillar, my arms and legs stretched out at my sides, pulled by Semyaza on one side and Belial on the other, hanged on an invisible cross.

As he had in the high school office on the day I’d learned my longtime nemesis was an undercover angel, Semyaza burst into brilliance. Belial, likewise, lit up. It was as though I’d been caught in the gravity fields between two suns.

The effect was tantalizing torture. Ripples of pleasure emanated from them, flowing over me like honey, while thousands of demons scrabbled for it like ravenous dogs, scrapping over every morsel. Each delicious sensation ended with a snarl and a bite.

Then the brilliance reversed itself. Instead of shedding glory, Semyaza and Belial fed off me, sucking all color, all joy, all light, every pleasant and happy thought or memory from me, leaving behind a bottomless chasm of hopelessness, a black pit into which the demons descended, making room for more of them to possess me. Upon hearing New Testament accounts of possession, I’d wondered how a legion of demons could occupy a single human soul. I wondered no longer.

There comes a point in a man’s life when fight and stubbornness and craftiness give way to reality, when the realization dawns upon him that there are forces in this universe far greater than any one man. Bravery, perseverance, and resourcefulness have nothing to do with it. One man cannot stop a tsunami.

I’d reached that point. All I wanted now was for it to end. For the pain to stop. But it wouldn’t stop. I knew it would never stop. Pain was my destiny. I was condemned forever to dwell in misery. There was no exit. For me, eternal life was a curse. The sweet relief of nothingness was but a dream.

And at that moment, I understood.

I understood.

But it was too late. Understanding had come too late.

Just then the flash of a flaming sword severed the tether Belial had on me; a second flash, and my connection to Semyaza was broken. He was hurled aside like a rag doll, howling like an animal at the disruption.

Strong, gentle hands lowered me onto the pedestal. The radiance of the one who cradled me was such that I could not look at him, neither could I make out his features. But there was great tenderness in the way he held me.

“Abdiel,” I said weakly. “I didn’t know you cared.”

My rescuer spoke and I knew it wasn’t Abdiel. His voice was the sound of many waters. He spoke not to me but to the demons within me.

“Leave him,” He said.

Such frantic skittering you have never seen. The demons stampeded wildly to get out of me. They did not ask the identity of the one giving the order, neither did they question His authority over them. They’d obviously encountered this voice before. Within seconds they were gone, and the silence within me was deliciously sweet.

My rescuer turned and placed Himself between me and my torturers. His robes were spotless, white, and radiant with glory. The light of His presence fell on the encompassing crowd, revealing them for what they were. Their faces were wrinkled with sin. Haughty eyes bulged. Their garments were stained with the blood of men.

Towering over me, my rescuer stood, valiant and mighty, with the unmistakable air of royalty. How could any of us have mistaken Belial, that comic impostor, for this Divine Warrior, the Son of the Almighty God?

He lifted His sword in challenge. Its blade as pure as crystal flashed with the colors of the rainbow.

Thousands stood against Him, yet none dared accept His challenge.

By this time Semyaza had gathered His wits. “Grant Austin is ours!” he protested. “He surrendered the mark of favor of his own volition.”

“That is true,” the Divine Warrior said. “But as usual, Semyaza, your interpretation of the facts is self-serving. You knew that the Father would not permit him to enter Sheol with the mark of favor.”

“It was his choice.”

“You lured him.”

“He willingly entered Sheol as a warrior.”

“That is true.”

Semyaza seized on this. “Everything Grant has suffered, he has suffered as a warrior.”

“Again, true.”

I didn’t like the direction of this argument. Semyaza had regained his swagger.

He said, “Then allow us to conclude what we have begun here.”

There was a pause. Too long a pause for my taste.

“Need I remind you,” the Divine Warrior said, “that Grant Austin has pledged his allegiance to the Father? As a warrior, he fights under the Father’s banner. And we have a sacred tradition in the Father’s army. We don’t leave our fallen soldiers behind.”

An army of angels appeared, numbering thousands upon thousands, ten thousand upon ten thousand, each one with a silver sword that flashed gloriously in the light. They encircled the company of rebel angels.

Semyaza and his crowd loved spectacles. The Divine Warrior was giving them one.

Surrounded, the crowd fidgeted. I’m no expert on angel transport, but from the nervous expressions on their faces it appeared all the exits were cut off. Semyaza was growing increasingly uncomfortable as more and more of the Father’s warriors appeared. Maybe he was thinking about how the last battle in Sheol turned out.

“Our work is finished here,” he announced.

“On the contrary,” the Divine Warrior said. “We have yet to hear from our guest of honor. The one who has brought us together for this occasion.”

All eyes turned to me.

I sure didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but right now I wanted to get out of here as badly as Semyaza.

“It was thoughtful of you to provide him this forum,” the Divine Warrior said. “Grant has something he wants to share with this assembly.”

That was news to me. I was no more than a lump on the ground with barely enough strength to lift my head. Besides, there was nothing I wanted to say to those who had put me through this. At least nothing that could be said in the presence of Deity and the heavenly host.

The Divine Warrior turned to me and for the first time I saw His face. Knowing, compassionate eyes looked upon me with a gaze that penetrated deep into my soul. When He looked at me I was known in a way I’d never been known before, yet I felt no condemnation.

“A revelation,” He said, prompting me.

It took me a moment before I knew to what He was referring. Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

With the task came the strength. Surprising myself, I managed to get to my feet. I must have looked a sight. My flesh and clothes were tattered and coated with dust. I was covered with red slashes. My face was swollen. I was probably the strangest after-torture speaker Sheol had ever seen.

The first words out of my mouth were raspy and choked, the aftermath of being trampled upon by demons. I swallowed and tried again.

“I came to Sheol, hoping to make passage to heaven and present a petition to the Father,” I said.

Laughter filtered through the assembled rebel angels despite their situation.

“Yeah, the joke’s on me,” I said.

I made the mistake of looking around. This whole situation was surreal. I was standing on a pedestal in Sheol, addressing the assembled force of Satan and the host of heaven with the Son of God serving as moderator.

“As…as many of you know—” I cleared my throat. “Um—one of the archangels…Abdiel…has been teaching me your history, including what it was like for you before the…the…insurrection.”

“It was a revolution!” one of the rebels yelled.

“We have legitimate grievances!” exclaimed another.

The Divine Warrior made no attempt to respond to them, or to help me out. He seemed content to let me stumble along on my own. I’d never been very good at public debate. He knew that, didn’t He?

“OK—” I said. “I won’t pretend to teach you your own history. It’s just that, whenever Abdiel spoke of the time before the hostilities, he always spoke fondly of many of you, especially Lucifer. It’s obvious to me he has great respect for Lucifer’s abilities as a leader. And I just can’t help but wonder why—if Lucifer is such a brilliant commander—why he can’t see that this rebellion is doomed to failure. You can’t win.”

“We stand against injustice!” a voice bellowed. “We
will
win! Concessions, if not reinstatement.”

The rebel angels rallied behind their compatriot. It was the confirmation I needed. They didn’t know.

“You’re being deceived!” I shouted over them.

They didn’t want to hear it. But then, deceivers don’t take kindly to being deceived. Semyaza was beginning to fidget.

“The throne of judgment awaits,” I said. “You have charted a course of disobedience and destruction. The Father’s justice is sure. Lucifer knows this. He knows you can’t win. Your destiny is eternal torment.”