Gabriel's Story 26 December 2019
After taking a short break for the Christmas holiday, I find the story remains intriguing, if incomplete. Let’s ring in the New Year with a few short entries into Gabriel’s Story.
“He’s too smug, master. That will be his undoing.” Blinded by his ambition, Abaddon had no warning and less defense when the back of Lucifer’s hand struck him in the face and sent him tumbling hooves over head across the grass. He wanted to lay there, motionless, wallowing in the pain his master inflicted. Fearful that too would be another misstep triggering his master to do permanent damage the next time, he dragged his scarred, cloven carcass across Gabriel’s lawn and waited at Satan’s feet for more punishment. Pain wrought by the hand of the Angel of the Morning was nothing compared to the erotic power of being touched by Satan’s hand – even the back of an angry hand.
“He’s not smug.” Legion’s voices were draped in a cloak of venom he felt for Pastor Sean. “He’s confident. He knows the depth of his faith. I’ve seen this too many times before to mistake the signs. This one’s faith won’t break.”
Satan turned angrily, but knew better than to treat Legion with the same contempt as the lower demon sniveling in a pile at his feet. Besides, his general was right. He had seen it in both men’s eyes when they met in the church vestibule. It was the same look he’d seen a million times before in the faces of some of the Father’s staunchest creations, but never more than once in a generation. He had been forbidden from touching the man named Gabriel, but the Father hadn’t made the same demand over the cripple. His eyes turned cold and black as he subdued his anger and retook a human-like form. When he spoke, not even Abaddon could mistake his order. “Then we’ll just have to break his spirit!”
Legion nodded and grabbed Abaddon by the horn, dragging the Prince without mercy. When he had traveled past the point Lucifer could see him directly, he stopped and dropped Abaddon in the dirt. “You can stand now, Prince of Desolation.” The derision in his tone was unmistakable.
Abaddon slowly arose, stretching and working out the kinks in his joints. When he felt he had asserted himself enough, he addressed his General. “What are your orders, my General?”
“Simple.” Legion put a nose in the Prince’s face, his many forms making it difficult for even Abaddon to discern which likeness was speaking. “Take his congregants one at a time. His faith won’t falter, but his spirit will fail.” Legion backed away slowly, turning to leave in dramatic fashion.
“And when it does?” Abaddon was still defiant with the General of Hell. “What then? He’s still untouchable.”
One of Legion’s more formidable visages stormed back. If they were visible, it would have looked as if a giant was readying for a fistfight with a minotaur. But Legion didn’t strike Abaddon – he laughed. “Maybe for you, prince, but not for us.”
---***---
Gabriel stared out his living room window into the dark of night. His neighborhood was a little darker these days. He attributed that as psychosomatic, now that he knew the extent of evil inhabiting his neighbors’ homes. Even on a night like tonight, with a full moon, the world seemed clouded in a dark shroud. It made Gabriel wonder what was happening when he wasn’t seeing with what he now called his “spiritual eyes.”
If he had, Gabriel would have seen Lucifer himself lounging on his wicker chair, feet propped up against his stainless-steel grill, smoking a Cuban cigar made by the hands of Fidel Castro himself. He may have wondered what kept the Devil at bay, not knowing that the Angel Gabriel and Archangel Saraqael stood silently behind him, arms crossed, swords sheathed. At one time Lucifer’s equals, the angels were keenly aware of the power he received through the praises of his deceived followers.
He would have watched, maybe in awe, maybe in fear, as Lucifer stood, puffed on his stogie like George Peppard portraying John “Hannibal” Smith, and challenged the angels. “Ready for a fight, boys?” Puff. Puff. Puff. “I sure as hell am.”
