An earthquake shook the village, and the people screamed in horror. Mothers covered their children with protection, pushing them to the ground and covering their heads as they cried. Men clung to the pillars of the worship house or the outer shop walls, and every head turned to the source of the terror. “The mountain!” someone screamed. “It’s Abaddon. Theos help us, he’s coming!”
Pale faces with fright-filled eyes found the Head Komer in the center of the crowd where he held tight to the side of the Alleluia House. His expression was steady, his gaze on Bethel unwavering. Raising his voice so the entire assembly could hear him, he reminded them of the Word passed through the obedience of their Agabus. “When the mountain shakes…get on your knees and pray. Pray together!”
He was the first to set the example. Komer Costa dropped to his knees in the dirt and raised his eyes to heaven, crying the name of his Lord. Like a responsive wave, the Koinonians fell to the ground and bowed their heads. Pleading for forgiveness and renewed protection, the people sought out Theos in one desperate voice.
The spirit of chaos drew back with a roar to match his master’s and released his grip on the Agabus. Andre dropped to the earth and landed hard on his right side, crying out in pain above the sound of breaking bone. The sweet taste of air filled his lungs as he gasped, pulled his crushed arm in close, and rolled over on the ground.
“Andre!” Jora darted out from her hiding place with a desperate cry and ran to his side. Her foot hit the handle of his sword where it had fallen, and she picked it up. “Dre?” she slid beside him, her face pale and glistening with tears. The terror of the trembling mountain and unseen Evil bearing down all around her, Jora was at a loss as to what to do. Watching Andre fall in a crashing heap upon the stone floor had driven her from the hold of Chesed’s protective grasp. She pressed the sword to Andre’s chest, searching his face franticly for any sign that he was alright.
Andre opened his eyes and blinked his vision clear of sweat and pain invoked tears. “Jora, look out!” Grabbing the sword with his good hand clenched tight over hers where she held it, Andre forced her to turn and raise the weapon as Havoc returned to exact his revenge upon the prophet while he was down.
Jora’s eyes widened in horror and she trembled at the terror which appeared suddenly before her eyes. A gaping mouth lined with pointed, dripping fangs and eyes that mirrored the deepest fears of her subconscious, it was darkness beyond imagining. Jora was paralyzed with her grip frozen on the vibrating steel of the sword.
“Hit him!” Andre yelled, thrusting her hand which clung to the sword forward. Jora broke free from her trance and reacted, driving the blade deep within the exposed ribcage of the Daimon. Havoc leaned into the piercing hilt with a growl rising from deep within his putrid being and breathed his stench upon the stunned face of innocence.
Andre gritted his teeth against the inhibiting pain and exhaustion that ripped through his body. Holding tight to Jora’s wrist, he wrenched down on the sword, slicing it through the shell of evil and ending its influence with a decisive stroke.
Jora fell back in stunned terror as the Daimon disappeared with a lingering howl, and Andre dropped to the ground in relief. The sword clattered against stone, and she abruptly turned to him with wide eyes swimming beneath unshed tears. “I saw him.” She could not control her quaking, in shock from the lingering aftereffects.
Andre searched for her hand and clenched it tightly in his to keep her steady. Gasping for air, he gestured with a nod to force her to turn and gaze upon the battle scene behind her. “Look,” he said. “What do you see now?”
Jora followed his direction and knelt in amazement at the impressive sight of the Panoplia in furious combat with the cowering Daimons who faltered under the loss of one of their most powerful cohorts. The sight was alarming as well as stunning, and Jora could not move or even speak.
Andre struggled into a sitting position beside her, holding his broken arm protectively to his side. At once, they both watched as Evil prepared to jump from his perch in blind fury over his pet being destroyed by the hands of the detestable mortals, Theos’s favored creation. Poised to leap from the side of the mountain, Abaddon was caught in the air by the entire force of the Panoplia and held back while writhing in his rage.
With the attentions of the Panoplia diverted, the dark army grew bold and focused their terror on the closest source of fear within their range.
Jora drew back in alarm at the horrific sight of advancing Daimons, and Andre rose to his knees and reached for his sword. Getting in front of Jora, he prepared to protect her even if it took everything he had left.
A great wind rose up from the sea and filled the rock shelf with a deafening roar. The prophet looked up, following the anxious glances of hell’s minions as a new opponent fell into their midst. From the four corners of the earth a heavenly army swooped in and scattered the disordered foe as they shrieked in fury and gnashed their bitter fangs, attempting to flee. The massive wall of Panoplia cloaked in a blinding array of color and splendor drew their collective swords and cornered the disparaged black army before throwing them from the island and creating a protective shield, a Panoplia Hupsoma around the island. Not one remained to join his master, and Evil was left stripped of his control.
“Abaddon.” A Panoplia of great height and impressive beauty landed on the stone floor before the band of his brothers holding Evil against the wall. “Hear the words of your Creator.” His massive bronze wings remained outstretched, and his voice rang like a gong which reverberated deep with the weak hearts of the mortals. Jora clung to Andre with her faced turned into his chest, overcome by the sight of something so powerful. “Your reign of terror here has come to an end. The test was permitted, and you are found failing. The people have chosen their Master, and He remains True. Return to your hovel and remember your Maker. Do not step upon this mountain again until you are called.”
Abaddon bared his teeth with deep hatred for his greater brethren, despising that he must follow the command and retreat. Surrounded by the Panoplia, he slunk back down the side of the mountain and disappeared in shadow. The hosts of heaven raised their weapons with a mighty yell. The earth shook, and the sky opened up with an outpouring of cleansing rain. Fear lifted from the hearts of the people, and Evil grumbled deep within his cave.