by Mark Carver
Master Ko placed a firm yet gentle hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Your Holiness, you are the new messiah. You have the protection of God’s angels and the Holy Mother herself to shield you from harm. And I can assure you that everyone here serves God and the Holy Mother as devoutly as I do.”
Julian furrowed his brow and he glanced around uneasily. He didn’t like the feeling of suddenly being surrounded by strangers. Master Ko recognized the doubt in his eyes and knew he had to act fast.
“Your Holiness,” he continued, his voice low and serious, “the fact that I was able to assemble so many people in just a matter of hours is in itself a miracle, and miracles have been the hallmark of your new empire. Look around you, Your Holiness. The Vatican lives again! The images of blasphemy and idolatry are being torn down as we speak. When the priests and bishops arrive, the glory of St. Peter’s shall shine once more. We need these people, Your Holiness. Without them, we will have nothing but ruins to begin your new empire.”
Julian was so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed Master Ko’s use of the word “empire.” After several moments, he nodded slowly, though his face remained stern.
“All right,” he agreed, “they can stay, but only until proper staff can be selected. I want to be informed of everything – is that clear?”
“Absolutely, Your Holiness.”
Julian nodded again, then turned to the shapes huddling around him.
“All of you,” he announced loudly. Several faces peeked up at him. “This place is the house of God. Make it worthy of Him.”
A droning chorus of “Yes, Your Holiness” arose from the kneeling figures, then they rose to their feet in unison and hurried off to complete their tasks.
Julian turned to the elder. “Find me someone who knows how to operate a video camera. There is a broadcast room located in the palace of the Tribunal. I want to address the world.”
“Yes, Your Holiness,” Master Ko said with a bow as Julian swept past.
“And find someone who can swing a sledgehammer,” Julian called over his shoulder. “The video room is locked.”
Master Ko bowed again, then looked down at a man cowering near his feet.
“Get up, worm,” he growled.
The man glared at him with eyes that glowed red as coals before cooling into a normal gray-green hue. With a defiant snort, he rose to his feet and shuffled away.
Master Ko stood motionless, his chin raised a little bit, daring any of them to make eye contact with him as they moved past. He could feel their hunger, and his soul lashed out at them.
Try anything, he challenged, and you will feel her wrath.
He hoped his threats would give him courage, but they didn’t. He felt like a sheep surrounded by wolves, protected only by a flimsy cage.
A cage that could vanish at any moment.
****
The news anchor stared at the camera with eyes that were puffy and red with exhaustion. She had been voted Italy’s most beautiful anchorwoman for the last five years, but now she looked haggard and disheveled.
She licked her dry lips and glanced down at the sheets of paper in her hands.
“Authorities are still working to establish communication with the terrorists who occupy Vatican City, though they are proceeding with caution in light of yesterday’s tragic and…unbelievable events, in which an entire garrison of soldiers was reportedly slaughtered by what eyewitnesses describe as ‘fire from the sky.’ Considering the incredible miracles we have already witnessed, this is perhaps not as shocking as it might sound. Scientific, religious, and political leaders are still trying to understand what, or who, caused the inexplicable darkening of the sun two days ago, when Christian and Satanic forces clashed violently in St. Nero’s Square. After the Christians overpowered the Satanist mob, they rushed into the Vatican and proceeded to loot and plunder the historic site of its treasures and relics. It is believed that most of them have fled back to their homes, but the man whom many are calling ‘the Master of the Sun’ remains inside. There are unconfirmed reports of additional activity within the compound, but these cannot be corroborated as of yet. Authorities find their resources and manpower stretched thin as skirmishes have broken out all over the city, with aggressive Christian mobs swarming the streets and attacking Satanists in broad daylight in defiance of a curfew that Sindaco Vellecinno has put in place. Rome has called on Carabinieri reserve troops to assist in restoring order but the city remains gripped in chaos.
“Earlier this morning, Premiere Bertonelli had strong words for the terrorists that threaten Rome and social order.”
The broadcast cut to a video of the Italian leader sweating and looking as red as a tomato as he scowled at the camera.
“To those who seek anarchy disguised as religious retribution, I say this: you are scum. You are dogs. You are vermin, and we will exterminate anyone who uses violence in the name of God, Satan, or any deity! I call upon the monsters who perpetrated the slaughter at the Vatican to surrender and hand Vatican City over to the city of Rome, where its fate will be decided with fairness and objectivity.”
The premiere wiped a river of sweat from his furrowed brow, then looked away as he took several deep breaths.
“I understand,” he said with a gentler, more sympathetic tone, “that emotions and tensions are high on both sides. The cross and the pentagram have been waging war for centuries and there are many wounds that may never heal. But I beg you, end this violence. It will solve nothing, and when it is all said and done, we will have nothing but blood on our hands and more hate in our hearts.”
His eyes narrowed and his eyes seemed to look right through the camera lens.
“And to the Master of the Sun, I ask for a meeting with you, face-to-face, in a location of your choosing. I want to you know that I recognize your power and I give you my word that I will not have you detained. I simply want to talk and see if we can reach a peaceful resolution to this – "
The newscast abruptly cut away from the Italian premiere and the anchorwoman stared into the camera.
“We have just received word that a message is being transmitted from the Vatican. Let’s go live to the broadcast now.”
Julian looked up at the camera, his face grim. Dark circles ringed his eyes but there was undeniable power in his gaze. Behind him was a black velvet curtain embroidered with a gold cross.
He stared into the camera for nearly a full minute before speaking.
“I am Julianus Secundus Christi. I am the second messiah, blessed by God to liberate His children from the tyranny of Satanic rule. Some have called me ‘the Master of the Sun’ but I am master of nothing. I am simply God’s humble servant and I heed His voice alone.
“The events of the past few days have been chaotic, terrifying, even shocking. I can scarcely believe them myself when I think about what miracles have taken place before our very eyes. But they did take place, and God has made His presence known to all who have eyes to see and ears to hear. This world does not belong to the Prince of Darkness; it belongs to the King of Light, our Father in Heaven.”
Julian paused for a moment, inhaling a slow, deep breath.
“This is what I have to say: the Christian church shall no longer be a flock of lambs. We are lions, and we shall decimate the strongholds of Satan. To those who serve the enemy of God, I give you this ultimatum: you have three days to surrender any churches, cathedrals, shrines, chapels, mosques, temples, or any sacred places that were seized after that abominable day called ‘The Manifestation.’ Any continued occupation or possession of these properties will be met with severe and swift aggression. These places were taken by force, and they shall be reclaimed by force. Any government, military, or police intervention will be met with aggression as well, and we shall show no mercy.”
His eyes seemed to smolder as he glared at the camera. Then his expression softened somewhat, though his gaze remained stern.
“And to those who follow the path of our Lord Jesus Christ, I sa
y this: take heart, do not be frightened, and rise up together. Take back that which is yours, and have faith that God will give you the power to fulfill your purpose. The time for prayers and petitions have passed; now is the time for action. Satan and his followers are the enemy of God, and as such they are damned. We shall send them all to the hell they deserve.
“To the leaders of God’s children, the priests, bishops, and cardinals that have the courage to make their way to Rome, I bid you godspeed and make haste. I shall convene a special council in two days where we shall address your concerns and lay a foundation for this new age of God’s kingdom on earth. Bring proof of your leadership position, for we will deal harshly with imposters.”
Julian paused once more. When he looked at the camera again, his expression had become warm, even gentle.
“I am not a monster or a murderer. I am simply a tool in God’s hands. I go where He leads me, and I am proud to follow His commands. Those who wish to open their hearts to Him will be welcomed with open arms. But those who refuse will face His judgment here on earth and in the life to come. I am Julianus Secundus Christi, and this is the dawn of a new age.”
The broadcast ceased abruptly, and after a moment of darkness, the news anchor reappeared, looking visibly shaken.
“Well…you saw it for yourself… The terrorist who led the uprising that stormed the Vatican calls himself ‘Julianus Secundus Christi,’ which in Latin means ‘Julian the Second Christ.’ He has been identified as Julian Rossa Monte of Venice. Little is known of his life except that he joined a monastery when he was a teenager, though authorities are baffled as to why he would resurface after all this time, and how he wields such incredible power. One thing is apparent, though: he has no intention of handing the Vatican back over to the authorities, and it appears he intends to reestablish a Christian papacy. He has called for the leaders of the Christian church to assemble at the Vatican in two days, and he has promised severe retribution for those who assault or molest the visiting clergymen. I suppose all we can do now is wait. It is going to be a long two days…”
****
Father DeMarco switched off the television and turned to Patric, who was seated on an ancient upholstered chair. The priest had translated Julian’s address into French, and now his face was drawn into a grim mask of anxiety.
Patric opened his bandaged hands in a questioning gesture.
“So what do we do?”
Father DeMarco rubbed the back of his neck where a spike of pain was beginning to grow. He didn’t know how long he could function with these fluctuating pain attacks.
“We wait,” he said. “In two days, the church leaders will convene, and we will go to the Vatican to join them.”
“But I'm not a church leader.”
“No, but you are the half-brother of the man who assassinated the Voice of Satan, and you were publicly crucified for this reason.”
Patric looked down at his hands.
“And then what?”
Father DeMarco exhaled loudly. “And then I will speak the truth to whoever will listen.”
“And if no one does?”
The priest was silent for a long moment. “That is up to God. I cannot change anyone’s heart.”
Patric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Father, I need to be honest. Do you really think you can change anything? I mean, this man, Julianus Sec..Second…this new Christ can do miracles. Real miracles. People follow what they see and hear and feel, and they’re not going to like it if someone interrupts their party and tells them the man who they look to as their savior is actually in league with Satan.”
“I know,” Father DeMarco answered impatiently as he began pacing around the room. The pain was getting worse. “But I have to try.”
“Why?”
Father DeMarco turned and looked at him.
“Why what?”
“Why do you need to try? Why not just leave all this behind, go off into the mountains, start a little country church somewhere?”
Father DeMarco frowned, then pulled up a chair and sat down, facing Patric. He threaded his fingers together, and Patric noticed how strong they looked.
“Patric,” the priest said, “have you ever known anyone with cancer?”
Patric was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“Then you know that when one part of the body is afflicted, it will spread until the body dies. This is what is happening to my beloved church. There is a cancer growing, and I have to do whatever I can to stop it, because it will not stop on its own. It will poison the entire body and in the end, the body will die.”
Patric considered this for a moment, then spoke with a cautious tone.
“Don’t you think that might be the best option?”
Father DeMarco’s eyes popped wide as if Patric had struck him full in the face.
“You mean…let this cancer kill God’s church?”
“Hear me out,” Patric said, motioning with his hands as if patting out a fire. “All of this, everything that’s been going on lately has been the result of religious bigotry, hatred, and vengeance. If there’s going to be peace in the world, maybe the first step is removing religion altogether.”
Father DeMarco rose to his feet. Despite his small stature, he seemed to tower over Patric.
“First, I will never, ever surrender my beloved church. It is God’s light in this dark world and I will die before I see it destroyed. And secondly, this cancer that threatens her is not a neutral element. It is straight from the depths of hell and is just as ‘religious’ as Christianity, Islam, or Judaism. There is no middle ground; it is either us or them. Those who claim that they stand in the middle are just deceiving themselves.”
Patric’s eyes fell to the floor and he was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, there was an unwavering strength in his voice.
“All right, Father, I’m with you. I don’t really know why, and I know I will live to regret it, but I trust you. It’s better to believe in something even if it leads to your death than to trust in a comforting lie.”
Father DeMarco stared at him with piercing eyes. “So whose side are you on, Patric?”
Patric held his gaze, though he could feel his heart clenching inside him. “I can’t say for sure,” he answered, “but I do know whose side I’m not on. Throwing my hat in with the devil was the biggest mistake of my life. I know I can’t hurt him directly but I’m going to give him as much hell as I can while I’m still alive.”
He raised his bandaged hands. “I’m going to have quite a story to tell when this is over.”
Father DeMarco smiled wryly. “I used to question my decision to lock myself in a monastery, wondering if my destiny lay elsewhere. This is what I get for being curious.”
“Me too,” Patric said with a chuckle. “I never thought I would be working together with a priest to take down a false pope. A few weeks ago, I would have applauded the genius of it all. What could be more diabolical than to trick the Christians into bowing before a man they think is their savior but who is actually a puppet of the devil?”
Father DeMarco nodded, his face serious again. “You’re right; he is a puppet, but I don’t know if he knows that he is. Judging from the news broadcast, I think he really believes he is blessed by God. But you said so yourself that you saw the demons surrounding him in the square.”
“When I was being crucified,” Patric added.
“Well, even if your mind was playing tricks on you, I know what I saw. And this message only confirms it. He openly defies the laws of man and tells the Christian church to seek vengeance against the Satanists. He has no Biblical foundation – he only has emotions and grudges. And unfortunately, that’s what most people have as well, which is why they will listen.”
He turned his attention to the window, marveling at the mosaic of color in the sunset skies above Rome.
“It’s been building all these years. Our churches were taken, families were torn apart�
��we were reduced to second-class citizens. Refugees even, in these latter days. It’s natural to want to lash out at those who have oppressed us...”
He whirled around and stared at Patric with sadness and anger.
“But we are not animals,” he said, as if countering an argument. “We don’t follow our base survival instincts. We are children of the living God, and we seek our strength and solace in Him, not in ourselves!”
He paced in front of the window, occasionally squeezing his eyes shut and wincing in pain. But his voice lost none of its strength.
“This is the devil’s most devious plan yet. He knows that when you challenge an enemy head-on, you risk them coming together and supporting themselves against you. But if you plant a poisonous seed inside their ranks, they will never know what is eating at them until it’s too late.”
He stopped and his mouth fell open as he stared into space.
“That was what happened to Tourec,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before. Somehow the enemy got inside his head, poisoned his mind, corrupted his heart...”
Patric didn’t know why he spoke up, but he felt he had to. “You’re right, Father.”
Father DeMarco looked at him with questioning eyes.
Something stirred inside Patric’s soul, begging him not to slander his brother. But he turned a deaf ear to the pleading voice. Tourec was the reason he was in this mess, and he had even tried to kill him. He didn’t owe his brother anything.
“I told you before, I can hear something when demons are close. And when I saw Tourec after he killed the Voice, I heard it then too. And I saw his eyes. They were completely black.”
“What does that mean?”
Patric shook his head. “I can’t say for sure, but every time I’ve seen people’s eyes like that, it meant they were being controlled.”
Father DeMarco frowned. “Controlled by demons?”
“I think so.”
The priest was silent for several moments, then he sat down heavily on a chair. “Tourec...possessed...”
