The Antichrist has Friends: The Makers of Dystpoia, #2

By Nathaniel Sheftfield

Ashes keep getting in the food, part of her spoon is made from the finger bone of a former neighbor. Meat is meat, mosquito, rodent or deceased stick figure. There is no proof either way of a favorite squirrel being Chex mix. The gray winds are swirling, that's when the gas smells are the sharpest. Seems the sun is a thing of the past, so are people sightings. Everything is damaged or gray, didn't Revelations contain some sunshine? Boils and sores make up the human body, darkness comes at noon. Despite people being lined up against the wall and shot, none of them died for five months, then after that, everyone died. So much for those two world leaders and their Ted Talks. Those voices in the head never stop, they just keep talking: repent, repent. Whatever that means. This is an accompanying story with The Beast Within, of the Antichrist and False prophet. Horror-fiction dystopia with biblical elements.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathaniel Sheftfield
• Release date: Apr 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201223144

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Original Staan

The Robe

AN APPRAISER WAS INVENTED for old furniture, not old people. And these same people assign value to old and shabby things. A square or rectangle with a signature in its creation has more value than the nature that gave birth to it. Some of this furniture has titles and European ancestry more famous than some of its owners. Rare is in season and has a season all its own, and there is an eccentric personality assigned as its keeper. This shop, is in an old brick building made a long time ago, and is representative of its contents, in age, and significance to history.—It was a place of sacrifice.

There is a section on a floor with several displays; a wheel barrel scene, an old bedroom, several dressers, and a very long wooden table. There are even several bodices in a glass case on display. Sections of the floor are pieced-together cobbled stone, the rest, solid ground. The old wooden pews and partially covered fireplace are a clue to the building's hidden past. For some odd reason, the proprietor kept the haunted portrait of the dark-haired mystery woman wearing the scarlet letter and a loose around her neck. From time to time, she stares into the eyes of the sad history of this raven who could not change back and escape her accusers. The meticulously varnished armoire has been placed in the back for safekeeping as the proprietor questions her decision to mark the item down. The rarest thing in this antique shop seems to be the people. Neither the new age crystals nor the cinnamon-scented candles have drawn any attention.

She's wearing her old Oxford sweatshirt, blue sweat pants, and unkempt hair under a scarf. She's studying that set of new porcelain dolls, with fret being apparent. It was an expensive purchase, maybe not such a good idea now as she rethinks her financial position. Her pale fingers are trembling as she examines one closer, then she hears the bell clinging.

Mom! There is a man named Stan at the door.

Hoping today brings a sale, mom quickly makes her way to the front of the shop. Standing there is a well-dressed man with brown hair and amber eyes. Youthful in appearance and offering a warm smile. She notices his suit is expensive, so is his fragrance and wristwatch.

Hello, her voice being eager, almost desperate. She clasps her hands together and returns a warm smile.

Hello, his voice being pleasant. You have a little sweetheart here," as he pats the little girl's head.

Thank you, she says as her eyes leave him for just a second. She appears to be a little alarmed when she looks her daughter's way. The little girl is holding one of the forbidden porcelain dolls.

I was, enjoying a rummage sale... just down the street and saw your shop, interrupting her gaze. I figured, why not, Staan says.

Well, I'm glad you stopped by, the proprietor says.

Would you mind if I looked around? Staan asks.

No, no, go right ahead. My name is Thana, if you have any questions? she says.

He offers this smile as her name reminded him of someone. Lovely name, Staan says.

Thank you, Thana responds.

He nods, starts to casually walk, swaying a little. Using etiquette from previous characters in history, he places his hands behind his back while observing a mom offering a soft scolding to her hatchling.  Walking slowly and examining items, he notices he has company, the little girl. He turns and offers a playful smile for his little companion. He knows a question is on her mind.

Why do your eyes look like that? an innocent question.

From eating too much candy when I was growing up, he says.  This gets a hopeful chuckle that the fairy-tale statement could be true. How old are you, sweetie?

Seven, she says.

So candy is your thing? Staan smiles.

She nods yes with the most eager of faces.

I bet you know all kinds of candy secrets? Staan says.

Me and candy like each other a lot, she says.

Ever seen one of these before, as he pulls out a blow pop. Before the snake charmer can extend his hand, she's reaching with starving candy eyes.  Question, does your mommy have any clothing items like a really big shirt or a robe, perhaps? She thinks about it for a moment, then nods yes. He stoops down, Can you tell me where?

In the back, she says.

Sweetheart, would you go get mommy? Staan asks.

She goes in the back, moments later, mom appears.Yes? mom inquires.

A thought occurred to me about something my sister mentioned. Do you have an old robe? Staan asks.

Yes, how did you hear about that? Thana inquires. 

My sister attends St. Ignatius Cathedral with a friend of hers, Catherine something, Staan says.

Catherine McAfee? Thana says.

I don't know, I guess, as he throws his hands up.

What's your sister's name? Thana asks.

Tamar, he says.

The new girl, she's so sweet. Tell her; I said hello, Thana says.

Thank you; I will, he responds.

It's in the back; let me go get it. A few moments later, she returns, It's kind of dusty, as she unfolds it.

Looks like the stitching is kind of old, he says.

My husband said the same thing; it's a rag to him. It was in one of the boxes at the church, Thana says.

Looks like it's been around for a while, Staan suggests.

It was there for years, no one knows where it came from, Thana says.

Is it for sale? Staan asks.

No, I'm not sure who it belongs to, if anyone. It's not really part of the antiques, so I would feel guilty about selling it. He nods with a solemn look, blinks twice. There is a crash in the back, causing mom to turn around quickly. My valuables, slips out; she's thinking about those dolls. Without a thought, she sits the robe down and runs to the back. The sound of fearful panic ensues, What did you do?

I didn't do anything, mommy.

I told you not to touch the dolls... you broke several items.

But mommy, I didn't; it just fell.

Now you're lying to me; what did I tell you about that. The little girl comes running to the front with tears in her eyes.

I believe you, honey. It's okay, Stan says as he stops her.

You look strange, she inadvertently says as she looks up at him.

I'm unique.

You’re Stan.

Yes, sweetheart, I am Staan. But I'll tell you a little secret... Staan is also interchangeable with Santa. I'll make things okay between you and mommy, don't worry. Dry those little eyes. She does and smiles. Now, do me a little favor... pick up that robe. She does. Thank you. I have an amazing sucker for you as a reward. He pulls out a fluorescent-like sucker that has this strong candy smell, unwraps it gently as her mouth opens for the delivery. This is the most delicious piece of candy she has ever tasted. He watches intently. Please, put that robe in that plastic for me?"

Okay, she says.

She bundles it up and starts to put it in the plastic. He stops her quickly, blinks, and gives her back the previous sucker while taking the other. She doesn't remember the fluorescent sucker as he sticks the first one in her mouth. He wraps the sucker and puts it back into his pocket. She puts the robe in the plastic and closes it. A few moments later, a frustrated mom appears.

How did the robe get into the plastic? mom mumbles as she looks at it.

What was broken? Stan says, snapping her from her train of thought.

Nothing, mom says.

It's okay; what was broken? Staan insists.

Several dishes and the porcelain doll that I cannot afford to replace, Thana says, shaking her head dejectedly.

Not a problem; how much? Staan asks.

What? No, you don't have to, Thana says.

How much, give me a deal and do me a favor. Include this robe here in the purchase and give me a price, Staan insists.

I would feel so dishonest, as she shakes her head.

Just consider me taking advantage of you and let me feel dishonest, as he pulls out a wad of cash. Her eyes light up, mom candy. I mean, if you don't want my money. I could just give it to some other antique dealer. But you know, I was really hoping to buy some wonderful little girl a doll of her own, he says.

But it's, so expensive, mom says as she shakes her head in awe. About $1,200.

Don't be so shy. He pulls off $1500 plus an extra $300 for the porcelain doll set for the little girl. This, is for her and you, as he smiles.

Thank you, thank you so much, Thana says.

No, thank you, Staan says. It’s of a middle Eastern design, from somewhere near Africa as she stares at it. It's the one. I like to spread the Christmas cheer, Staan says, breaking her train of thought.

I am so thankful for you, she says.

I'm feeling in the spirit. Would you mind giving me a little receipt, the IRS, you know, he says.

Oh, yeah. No problem, she responds.

And since our little helper here is such a wonderful little saleslady, would you like to help? Stan says. The little girl nods yes quickly, so he hands her his briefcase. Click the buttons like this, here and here, as he instructs her like a game. Now, place the robe in. She does as she happily helps him close and locks it. Thank you, sweetie.

I should be saying that to you, a happy mom remarks as she gives him his receipt. You have a Merry Christmas, mom says.

And you have a blessed holiday, he remarks as he leaves.

Staan meets with Harry, Eddie, Bel, and Buddonner.  Listen closely... I will be called upstairs in a little while. I will be gone for a period of time. Find me.

What happened? Buddonner asks.

He looks at him, Why did you pick that name? and he frowns. I have the robe, as he holds up the suitcase. I put enough poison in that sucker to kill an army of elephants.

That's a problem, Donner says.

I will receive attention momentarily. From now on, you will be me. Your name is now Staan.

What! Why not me? Bel complains.

Shut up! If I wanted the world destroyed tomorrow, I would have named you Staan. He is more qualified, and you will respect him as you respect me. Is that understood, gentlemen?

You'll get no problem out of me, Harry says.

Staan looks over at Eddie, who simply nods. Bel!

I get it, I get it, Bel says, shrugging.

Good. Now here are my instructions. You will have problems with Nimrod. There are other complications; this is what you need to do. He gives them his list of responsibilities that must be addressed, people that must be sought, and what to do when the antichrist and false prophet first show up if he's not back. After talking to them for a while, he sends them away quickly. I'm going to take a walk in the local park, and he's off. Just as he anticipated, here they come. What do you want? Staan says.

You're wanted upstairs.

Arab Spring

MANY YEARS LATER: SEEMS there is an uprising in the Middle East. Should we address the situation, Mr. President?

No, Mr. Defense Secretary... let's see what happens. The winner is the one we're looking for.

The uprising is being watched via satellite by the Cabinet. One of the staff notes an oddity, Look at that guy right there in the corner. He has to be the luckiest guy on the planet. Bullets are flying everywhere, and he hasn't moved or been hit.

Syrians, such small people who cause such big problems.

Riots have been appearing in the Middle East as if seeds were planted, a cloud of fertilizer fell to the ground, and the canal opened just enough to flood the plains. Someone or something is inciting people, just like the spirits of Nephilim old.—Nothing just happens. Bullets are taking census, and they know the names of everyone they choose. Rock throwers, cocktail users, and masked vigilantes all have a common objective; anarchy, being opposed to anyone giving them orders. People flee through the streets for safety, being that no one is considered innocent. Explosions take refuge in buildings as large potholes are born instantly. People scream, and the blood flows, even among those in uniform, even though every uniform is not recognized.—The politics of life. Whoosh! Something zips passed as a mother comforts her children. This strange man, one of a peculiar nature, stares into the eyes of this desperate woman as he casually walks into the middle of the street and pulls them to safety. 

You are safe; no one will harm you, Syrian or otherwise.

For some reason, she takes comfort in his words because he is somehow different. The fighting is nothing unusual because the world fights everyday.—Life is meant to live and die. What makes this time different from others is that leaders in Arab countries are falling like dominoes. There is a ruling family, a very unjust clan, just like in the neighboring countries. They fail as regimes do, but it's not time yet.

There is a bandanna and a kerosene bottle; bodies lay in the street dead. There’s no time for a  funeral and distraught families. He watches calmly as a Syrian tank rolls by, they being determined to quell the citizens' voice. All of the changes lately as the world watches because no one is sure when World War III will start. There has been modest help in some countries from NATO forces. Who do you side with because you don't know what next group will take power? They may actually be worse than the regime they just replaced, especially since most of them do not like Israel; it shouldn't exist.

What are you thinking? the man with the emerald eyes ask.

That you were right about everything. Almost like you planned it, as he turns to look at him.

This isn't my plan; I'm just part of history, Staan says.

So what now? he says as he watches the man walk away.

Pray, Staan says.

Staan, how do I find you if I need you? the Syrian asks.

Staan stops, Use the lullaby I taught you; it works wonders. The Syrian just nods.

Later that evening, as everything is set in place. There is a pentagram drawn on the floor; candles are lit. Special powder is spread around, and a goat is present. The Syrian goes off into deep meditation; he's chanting very dark words. He has two servants present who are terrified at the newly occurring lightning flashes. It's dark as the wind picks up; it whistles eerily as his eyes roll back. They huddle together as evil spirits appear and float around the area.

Why did they come out in the middle of nowhere? One of them thinks as one of the spirits turns and singles him out. He's terrified as he gets up to run; the horrible creatures pursue him as if it's sport. He runs behind the wall of old ruins as if the ancient language written upon it is a counter-spell to protect him. His master brought him here for sacrifice. The evil spirits quickly come round the wall and face him; he screams. They go through him and wrap around him as they lift him in the air. They're pulling his soul out as they drop the body—the other servant, too frightened to move, watches helplessly as his friend's spirit screams. The evil spirits take his spirit down into the flames of the lit fire.

Yes, child, the rich voice says from the fire that takes shape as a face.

I need to know what to say, the Syrian says.

When the time is right, I will put words in your mouth as I did in Germany, the fire speaks.

I will need protection, the Syrian says.

When you rebuild Babylon, you will add the hanging Gardens and the Ishtar gate. I will send you Horus, Anubis, Amunet, and Sekhmet of the Egyptians to protect you. They will come through the Ishtar gate, so you must follow my specifications to the letter. For now, I have people watching over you who will provide you safe passage, so do not worry, the fire says.

Thank you, great one, the Syrian says.

The flame flashes one last time and goes out. The stars reappear brightly as he looks up; one appears to be shooting across the night sky. He hopes this signal is meant for him.

Come on; it's time to get some rest. We have much to do in the coming days, the Syrian says.

My brother? so desperate a plea.

He is with many virgins now, the Syrian says.

Those did not look like virgins, the man responds.

Do not worry; I will retrieve your brother when I take authority. All power will be given to me, including the power of death, so rest easy and let's depart this place. They leave as he takes one last look at the empty shell of a body that was once his brother.

A few years have gone by; war is a constant, and he is part of that constant. He has a following of soldiers now who share in his vision. For some reason, he longs for the days of old Babylon where Nimrod ruled humanity. He also wonders what happened to the golden statue of Nebuchadnezzar, as is his desire for he searches for it.

The only way for us to be strong is to rebuild Babylon so that all of our people may be reunited. Others have ruled the world; now it's our turn. His fierce countenance emboldens his followers. He has been given a voice for authority, a persona of assurance. They believe in his greatness, his aura.We shall take control of the oil refineries.

Sir, the president wishes to see you. Your name is spoken among the halls of valor and ingenuity. He wishes to discuss our discrepancies with Turkey and Saudi Arabia.

Seems the time for a new strong leader has arisen; let's go depose the ruling elite, the Syrian says.

A slightly older gentleman with dark and gray hair greets them. Unshaven and a little heavyset, he appears to be rattled as he shakes the Syrian’s hand. The Syrian is examining him; that was a handshake of desperation. Invited into the special room of the ruling class, there is a man with a thick mustache, business suit, and headdress on, middle-aged. He's eating something as he shakes his fingers and wipes them on the handkerchief the female servant standing there is holding. He looks up at the Syrian momentarily and then takes another bite while waving her away. Come in, have a seat, as he offers a nonchalant gesture.

This is a room of rare artwork, exquisite statues, and seldom seen magnificence. Even the painted walls exist as some form of gold dust. Silk and velvet chairs from extinct countries are used for these kinds of meetings. This is that new glowing marble table just created by some obscure designer they are using.—The shadow of every signet ring shows on it. The capstone of this group is the one with the miniature golden horse statue in front of him, which seems to be a favorite of his. It is him who also speaks first.

So, you're this extraordinary man my people keep telling me about?

I'm sorry, but you took my opening line. Extraordinary is your title; my men get a little exuberant with their stories at times. They mean nothing by it. The Syrian watches intently; the fruit he's eating is keeping his hand from shaking. The ring is quite unusual.

You underestimate yourself, do not berate the good things they say about you. Your loyalty will go far with me. How rude of me, he claps his hands, bring my guest their heart's desire.

Your generosity is very kind but unnecessary. We do not have the rank to dine at your table; it would be disrespectful, the Syrian says.

Nonsense! You shall dine as I. Fruit and fish is brought in, and glasses are set.

How may we be of service to you? the Syrian asks.

I like that, to the point. I am hearing disturbing news coming out of Turkey and parts of Saudi Arabia. Seems they wish some authority over our territory and oil reserves. They think us to be helpless. I need you to express that we are not, the president says.

Would you like it to be in the morning paper? the Syrian inquires.

The president looks at him and lets out a hearty laugh. I like you.

The Syrian finally notices the mural on the back wall behind the little palm trees. It's the statue on the steps of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar. His ring bears the statue's facial likeness like it almost fits into something.

So... you will do this thing for me? the president says.

It will be an honor, the Syrian nods.

Take spoils, bring me back a little trinket when you go shopping, the president says.

Anything, in particular, Mr. President? the Syrian asks.

Shrugs, Surprise me.

There's a nod of deference. I will leave no evidence. They leave quickly to make plans.

Did you see the back of the wall? his favorite asks.

Every detail, the Syrian says.

Later that night, they strike off into Turkey first, destroying rebel camps and taking weapons as they move quickly under shadows. By morning only remnants of devastation are left, and no group has claimed credit. The next night it's the same thing as communications are blocked. The fighting goes through the night as they hit Turkish banks. This time they are not leaving without doing more damage. To close to the capital to turn back now. The next few days, the fighting is brutal; most of the Turkish air force was destroyed during the night. Communication and television networks have been disabled; the news of the conflict is only known to Israel.

What the hell is going on? one Israeli agent says to another.

Babylon is being rebuilt.

That's an old wives tale.

Then perhaps old wives are wiser than we think.

Are we going to preempt any future discrepancies?

This particular affair has nothing to do with us. I would suggest, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Yemen pay attention.

Maybe this will distract them as we begin to rebuild the Temple.

When that starts, the whole world will take notice.

Over the next few days, the onslaught continues. The Syrian seemingly cannot be stopped as he takes refuge in other countries. Just as the Israelis believe, he is going to realign the middle east to his image. So the wars continue without end as the rest of the world takes notice. Saudi Arabia wishes to come to some kind of agreement; family shouldn't be fighting. He's not convinced; part of the land is a show of good measure. Again he has set out to war against a surrounding nation; it seems as if his momentum is picking up as his people become proud. Some are even calling for him to take authority away from the ruling family. The president is listening to him make a speech about the greatness of their country as he watches it on TV, it was his speech, and he has been uninvited.

He's becoming too powerful, the president says.

Would you like us to eliminate the problem?

He clicks off the TV, Do it quick and quiet, blame it on one of our neighbors.

Unfortunately, the president doesn't realize that one of his men is a spy. During his next conflict, the Syrian is to be executed in battle. He's already aware as he sits alone waiting for the assassins.

He is somewhere in Iraq at night, by an Ishtar gate near some abandoned pillars, dust is settling.

This is where the ziggurat once stood, he mumbles as they approach. The silent killers approach; his back is turned. Gentlemen, I have been waiting for you. They stop and look at each other. He turns calmly and looks at them. The sky is darkening as he points upward. Lightning flashes as the killers nervously look at each other. I already knew you were coming, but I have come out here to give you an opportunity. I am destined to rule, and on this night, I will take authority of our country. I am not angry with you. You are loyal and only following your master's orders. I completely understand. You have an opportunity to serve a new master. The choice is all yours, but those who side against me will die tonight, the Syrian says.

He can tell they are undecided, but one of the four men remains loyal to the president. We have a job to do. Be grateful; you die as a war hero, your legacy intact. The president will give you honors tomorrow.

Do the rest of you feel this way? the Syrian asks.

No, I think you should be leader, one man says as he walks towards him.

What are you doing?

Choosing a side, this man has rescued our country.

Get back over here!

No!

Another man goes over. He looks at him, Fine, but that doesn't change the outcome. Are you going to betray us also? he says to the last man.

No, I follow the president.

Are you sure, gentlemen? the Syrian inquiries one last time. They shake their heads in assurance as they raise their weapons. A lightning flash hits their guns as they drop them quickly. You're lucky I didn't kill you. I have decided you will die another way.

This turn of events was unexpected, so says their expressions. The Syrian gestures, there is a small sandstorm behind them. When it clears, they scream.

Arghhh! What is that?

That is Anubis, and the other is Amunet, from Egypt!

Those things can't be real; they just can't be.

Both creations move quickly as they approach their intended victims. They can't move; the sand has surrounded their feet and hardened. As the two large creatures tower over them, the two men scream.

The other two men are terrified also, How is this possible?

I am destined, and I am protected. Punish them, he orders as the two frightening looking creatures start to take them apart piece by piece. Blood, skin, and bone fragments are everywhere in a matter of minutes. Anubis, Amunet, it is time for us to go. Horus and Sekhmet are waiting for us with the president, the Syrian says.

When he arrives at the president's place, there are bodies everywhere. The two creatures were efficient in their destruction of the security. They screamed and ran while they were shooting; nothing stopped them as they destroyed everyone, children, and all. Now they stand over a terrified president as he shakes and trembles from what's before him. The Syrian approaches as they step over bodies. His assistant is now present with the other two men. They are even more appalled and in disbelief as they stare up at these two new creatures.

Horus speaks, It is time for your ascension to start, his voice being wicked, astringent.

He speaks? his surprised assistant says.

They all do, and they're knowledgeable, the Assyrian explains.

How is this possible? the frightened president asks.

This isn't the first time in human history that my friends here have existed. Why do you think the earth was flooded the first time, the Syrian says.

That's just an old story, the president says.

The Egyptian hieroglyphics were not there just for show. Other creatures were also created, and I intend to use this knowledge to my advantage. As for you, in a couple of hours, you will resign. I have no desire to hurt you or what's left of your family. The people already desire me, and you will make it legitimate. After that, you may go where you wish to as long as you start no trouble, the Syrian says.

Amidst the sweating, trembling, and nerve-wracking sight, this former president can only agreeably nod yes, The throne is meant for you. You have been plucked for this moment, the president says.

The ring, please, Syrian says.

By morning news has spread that the former president has resigned and turned authority over to the Syrian hero. The crowds are now cheering him in the streets as he makes an early morning speech. His next agenda is to lay siege to the surrounding wealth immediately. No one has attempted what he is doing as he strikes parts of Saudi Arabia first. He's strictly going after wealth, weapons, and the lands of former Babylon. Even those who fear him and make alliances with him are not safe. The wealthiest parts of the province are being plundered as he lays siege in Turkey and Iraq. He has even offered peace to Israel and promises the Palestinians will keep their place. A great treaty is to be signed between him and Israel as his power grows. Seems the UN is enamored with him as he makes deals with the European Union and the United States. Everything is falling into place quickly as he assures Israel they are safe to rebuild the third Temple. Some are now calling him the master of peace, Imam, Messiah. Time to rebuild old Babylon and the ziggurat as they rebuild their temple.

Chapter 2

Life in Rome

AS THINGS STARTED IN Syria, they also started in a place of iconic statues and painted ceilings by the world's most renowned artists. —The Vatican, a combination museum, library, and mausoleum. So much of the world's history and existence lives in this spiritual palace—so many records containing the deeds of human history, its tragedies and triumphs. Spirits say the history of Roman Eden was written before the actual events took place. Specters say they are the cause of that history; doppelgangers, on the other hand, say that this history is a big misunderstanding and that it was someone else. Even so, areas of the ground are considered holy, doesn’t matter what graven image is buried in the sepulcher. Mural's exist everywhere as iconic images greet visitors at the door.—Some of these images are even designated to bless the drinking water. Costume dress is necessary for everyone who maintains this facility, so those not in the wear are considered souls for ransom. Endless decorated rooms salute someone of the past as different columns portray Roman aristocracy. So much detail and care should not exist in one structure, as to leave the world empty of such and dress it with only normal people. There is simply no other place on earth with such magnificence, in several forms.—Even the dead are impressive.

Every fantastic hallway leads the imagination to another world as impressed gawkers stretch their minds and imaginations, praising those who have this kind of vision as godsends. Tears often form when the doors close, and visitors must leave. A lone traveler is often pressed against the window with an overwhelming desire to get back in, comparable to busy guards kindly assisting visitors out the front gate. Every photograph taken is a monument in itself as people proudly remember their visit at the expense of those who asked what it was like. The doors have been closed as the Pope and a few of his cardinals chat about the day's events.

Your magnificence, a new class of priest, is about to graduate.

There's part of a gentle smile dedicated to some past remembrance. He nods slowly, Good. His right-hand motions, water is quickly poured into his goblet. Soccer! said almost to some inner verbal confrontation as he turns.

Ah, yes, stepping forward, you will be happy to know that the Santa Maria boys soccer team won one to nothing; it was so exciting, a cardinal says.

There is still some daylight left. Would you like to take a walk in the garden? another cardinal interrupts.

Suddenly the outside of the window becomes dark as voices go quiet, and eyes search for answers. It's a different kind of darkness, almost alive as some tremble; they can feel the malevolence.

Who are you? somewhat alarmed but seemingly expecting, the Pope asks.

There are many whispers and voices that answer, The unholy spirit! A couple of glasses drop as uneasy feet back away. The doors shut and lock tight.

Why are you here? a cardinal boldly speaks.

To announce his coming. To justify his existence. He will arrive within the hour, it answers. A few new individuals are without any understanding of what's going on, and it shows.

Are there any special ceremonies required to honor him? the Pope asks.

No, I will address the purge personally, the voice says.

Now several of them are looking at each other. After a couple of moments, the darkness is gone, and it's daylight outside once again.

What was that? terrified, a new cardinal inquires.

Nothing to concern yourself with, another cardinal answers.

What the hell do you mean nothing to worry about?

Relax, another cardinal says, you've just witnessed sin in its purest form.

I'm getting out of here, as he gets up to leave.

One of the cardinals presses a signal, and two guards come from nowhere. I suggest you have a seat, young man, and read the newspaper or something. Others are still shaking as eyes search for clues as to who is friend or foe.

Your magnificence, shall we alert the others?

No, we will hold a special meeting for that later. I wish to meet him first and see if he is worthy.

Some of the newer cardinals are thinking of exit strategies and trying to decipher who to trust with this particular conversation; they are in a dire moment and realize the world doesn't have a clue as to what's about to take place.

The Hour

IT'S COMPLETELY DARK outside; an electrical storm is brewing as lightning flashes over the Vatican. The smell of brimstone is in the courtyard as guards choke and fall over dead. A special dark cloud appears and rains acid over their bodies until they dissolve completely. It's almost volcanic as red and gold lightning flashes in the smoke. The demonic voice returns to announce his arrival: The power has arrived. Honor Abaddon, honor the Dragon.

Hearts are racing; bodies are trembling as Cardinals nervously fumble.

He's here, he's here! a papal servant boy shouts as he comes running in.

The pope is sitting in his special chair; his crown and kingly spiritual robes are draped on him. He wishes to see who is qualified to replace him; he is not dead yet. He signals to the boy to calm down as the lights in the room dim to that of a candle. They hear the creek of the double doors opening slowly; then, they feel a presence enter the room. The wind is whistling violently around the building; his arrival has just been announced. There are shadows of things moving in the corners of the room, demonic things that were not there before. Images of horror fade in and out as they get closer; the images pass through and around everyone in the room as their bodies shake and tremble. They felt malevolence pass through them; some it embraces, others it growls at and backs away. The creatures move back off into the shadows as the doors close and the light comes back on.

A man is standing there looking at them. His eyes are empty; no love is within him, not an ounce. Every nook and cranny is accounted for by death, hatred, and evil. Vatican City will change on this night. Under 6 feet tall: sharp-angled face with dark features, late '40s with straight black hair, and prominent features. Small cracks line his slightly reddened face, thinner frame, and lime eyes.

Welcome, the Pope says, studying his replacement. I didn't hear you come in, offering a smile that's not a smile.

The creature's look is serious as he surveys the room; he has yet to respond.

You are much younger than I thought, the Pope remarks.

I am from the Dragon, he says blankly.

Come have a seat; you are among friends.

Instead, I have sent for someone, he remarks as he stares at one of the new cardinals. His odd look is making them uneasy, even the ones who were expecting him. He has sent for the Executioner, a deformed Nephilim abomination straight from hell whose only responsibility is to wield an ax and behead day and night. A creation created without feelings and emotions and designed to castrate the human soul. Its first taste of blood was the beheading of its own human mother.—One of the women used for breeding. The new cardinal knows his spirituality is obvious; the demonic spirit that approached him felt it also as it backed away. They're staring at each other as the new cardinal stands.

Sit down! one of the older cardinals say.

He looks over at him for a moment and then looks back at the false one.

You don't think I should be here, the false prophet remarks.

I don't think you should exist.

Watch your mouth, boy, the pope says.

You will not serve me.

No, I won't. You are no prophet, only a bringer of death.

And yours shall be the first.

Before anyone can say another word, the creature vanishes and appears in front of the young cardinal. He places his hand on his chest and pushes his spirit out of his body; his body burst into flames and turns to ashes as everyone gasps. The demon spirits move in quickly, but a large image appears. Its light is glaring like the sun on a windshield as hands go up to block their faces. The demonic spirits move away quickly back into the shadows. The shining image and the false one are glaring at each other. The brilliant image forms a whirlwind as it and the spirit vanishes.

I must remember to cleanse the building of such creatures, he remarks, secure the Vatican, I will perform a ceremony at 3:33 AM. The room gets dark again, and he vanishes just like that.

The lights come back on, Guess we don't have to worry about getting his luggage, a cardinal nervously mumbles.

No one was prepared for that, especially the newer cardinals. Everyone is dismissed and told to meet in the special hall at 11:00 PM. The Pope and his two closest assistants talk.

Where did he go? one of them asks.

That's a good question. He could be here right now, the other one says.

No, I am the Pope, I would know.

Are you sure about this?

We have gone through so much to get to this point, have faith, the Pope says.

If he's taking your position, what office will you hold?

He needs an adviser. He may be supernatural, but he does not understand the human equation. He will need my expertise in convincing the world about what must be done and how humanity must be transformed into godlike creatures.

What about the others?

They will wish to live, the Pope says.

11:00pm

A FEW HOURS HAVE PASSED, it's time for the meeting.

Has anyone seen him?

No, we've checked everywhere; he just vanished.

He has to be somewhere; no one just vanishes.

Have you forgotten the business we're in? No one has seen the false prophet since.

I'm actually relieved. Maybe he decided on another profession.

The few that were present earlier mumble amongst themselves; most pontiffs seem unaware. Why has this special meeting been called? someone inquires.

Shhhh! as everyone goes in quickly and takes their seats.

The doors are quickly closed as a couple of cardinals mumble what they believe to be sealing prayers of protection. The Pope is about to address everyone. Some have been called in from other churches around the city. Others from hospitals and teaching positions, there isn't enough time to call others back from vacation.

There is a crowd, Why such a late meeting? as they inquire amongst themselves.

Order! the Pope's right-hand cardinal says.

The mumbling stops as heads turn. Some are sitting around the long table; most are standing. A lesser light is on as if they are in hiding. The Pope sits in full dress, mitre, and all with his personal staff in his right hand.

He speaks, There is a matter of great importance that must be discussed, now! his tone is urgent as