TETELESTAI

Prologue “I thirst!” That was the mournful cry from the twisted figure hanging on the cross. Michael, Prince of the Angels, commander of the hosts of Heaven, watched in horror as the Son of God, Yeshua, uttered those words of eternal agony and despair. Across the vast space of the Heavenlies, the immortals of the Celestial Sphere, – Seraphs, Cherubs, Elders and Watchers, amongst others, peered through the parted sky, as they leaned on the clouds, their gazes transfixed on the Earth, where a cosmic drama was being enacted. They watched with growing disbelief and horror as the race of men hung God on a cross. All of Creation strained and agonized with the Creator, and wondered at the sheer audacity of mankind. Darkness, like great sheets was in several layers upon the face of the Earth; the sun had seen enough, and could not bear the sight any longer, – it could not hang in the sky and lend its light to this abomination on a hill outside the walls of Jerusalem, and watch as mankind crucified his Maker. Even the stars and the moon which usually sleep by day, and roll out their splendour and majesty only in the darkness of night had scurried off into their hiding places, and were absent in the dark sky, – they would not be witnesses to the pathos in His voice: The One who first called them into existence with the command, “Let there be light!”, now cried in tired agony: “I thirst!” As terrible as the utterance from the figure on the cross was, it was not the words alone that petrified Michael; it was what he saw next that stunned the senses of the Archangel. A dark spot had slowly cropped-up on both feet of Yeshua, and they appeared to grow even darker in intensity as Michael focused on them. Both spots grew larger, giving off strands of dark green tentacles which twisted and turned like twigs, as they grew even larger. Snake-like, these branches spread over Him like the threads of a million nets enclosing a prey; starting from his feet, and then to his legs and thighs. Next, the dark threads curled around his torso and clutched at His neck and head in a vice-like grip. The tentacles tore through his skin, – they burrowed through muscle and tendons like malignant roots, exploring every tissue. They wrapped their eerie leashes around His heart, and from there, through his blood vessels, they spread furtively to every corner of His body as if urged on by the beats of His weakening heart. “Impossible!” Michael whispered. “This cannot be happening!” Across the vast distance of the Heavenlies, Michael could sense the all-pervading presence of evil emanating from this ‘thing’ that latched onto the man on the cross, – wave after wave of a malevolent aura pulsated from this dark lattice as it continued to spin a web around Yeshua. Then, in a sudden flash of insight, his righteous heart realized what it was that wove a deathly grip on the Anointed One: It was Sin! The Son of God, Yeshua, was being made Sin! “Gabriel!” Michael called out, his voice, a trembling blend of authority and alarm. Even as he called, his eyes roamed across the vastness of their realm, to the very edge of the Celestial Sphere, to the Pethak, the portal, that connected the Heavenlies to the physical world, from where Gabriel watched. “Was that supposed to happen?” Michael asked, referring to the dark tentacles that had invaded Yeshua. “No!” Gabriel replied, the brevity of his response raising more questions than answers. “His death was supposed to be symbolic.” Gabriel continued. “His righteous blood, alone, was supposed to be a propitiation and ransom for mankind. He was not meant to carry on His person the weight of sin, let alone be made Sin.” “Any idea why this is happening?” Michael pressed. “I don’t know.” Gabriel responded in a pained voice. “He is being transformed into Sin, – into the very essence of Iniquity. How is this part of the plan?” Neither of the Archangels wanted to contemplate the implication of the Son of God being made Sin, – it was too terrible a thought to ponder, but they did not have to wait for long. Suddenly, the voice of the Anointed One filled the solemn winds of Heaven in a pang of pain, woe and alienation as none of the heavenly beings had ever heard in all of their long existence: “Eli! Eli! lama sabachthani!” “My God! My God, why hast thou forsaken me!” Michael trembled, and with him, Heaven and its Hosts trembled as well, – hundreds of millions of celestial beings staggered and lurched suddenly as Heaven itself was jolted by that cry of anguish. It was more than a tortured cry of desolation and angst. It was more than just a cry of pain or agony. It was a sword, – a death blow, struck at the heart of Creation itself, – the Son of God, was parted from his Father, – Yeshua, the only begotten Son of God was separated for the first time since the dateless past from Elohim. There was another massive jolt, bigger than the first, and this time it did not peter out completely, but was sustained as a continuous tremor. Michael steadied his footing, his eyes scanning the Heavenlies, his thoughts roving, – searching for answers in the events as they unfolded before him. He directed his sights again towards the Pethak, the doorway to the world of the race of men. Gabriel was still there, and apart from the trembling, nothing else seemed amiss. In the same sweeping gaze, he turned his attention to the scene beneath the parted clouds. Yeshua was still on the cross, – a dark, grotesque and bloodied mass, deformed beyond all recognition. Michael winced, – a fog of exasperation welled up in his heart; he smothered it, as he averted his eyes from his mangled Lord. What was the source of this constant trembling in the Heavenlies, he wondered? And, as if in response, there was a deafening explosion. The blast rattled through the ether in continuous waves rocking everything in its path. From the corner of his eyes, Michael saw Angels knocked off their feet, and those in flight, flung violently in several directions. Then, slowly, darkness, like a great shadow, spread across the landscape of Heaven.