Lucifer was stunned.

The look in the eye of Jesus flustered and confused him. He was just about to swoop in to take possession of that soul but hesitated, wondering what had gone wrong. That look said it all. It was a look of triumph, a look of power and authority. It didn’t make sense.

But then, all of the warnings he had not heeded came rushing back into his mind like banshees screaming for attention.

“Overthrown,” Jesus had said.

“It is finished,” he had declared on the cross.

Why had he not listened? With a sinking sense of dread, Lucifer realized that he had seriously miscalculated. But it infuriated him to no end that he didn’t understand why.

Gabriel and Michael took the opportunity to unveil themselves in that moment of hesitation one on each side of the cross, their glory as brilliant as the morning sun, their swords unsheathed and ready for battle.

“Aaaargh!”

The scream of frustrated rage came not from the throat of Lucifer but from Tundrac. Lucifer watched in frozen admiration as his captain flung himself at Michael in a fit of uncontrollable anger at their intrusion. Obviously Tundrac thought that the two archangels were there to prevent the final demonic revenge upon Jesus, the Son of the Living God. Only Lucifer suspected, glancing again at Jesus, that the issue was deeper and far more complex.

Tundrac was already attacking. The demonic army at their backs did not stir. They were a passive, muttering audience to this great spiritual drama. Michael also did not move but Lucifer could see a smile forming upon his lips as he watched Tundrac attack.

Tundrac was a powerful demon but now he was reckless with rage and simply plunged himself headlong into the battle. His mighty wings beat the air furiously as he poured all of his energy and power into one great, quick thrust into the very heart of Michael. He did not expect to live; he merely wanted to take that accursed archangel with him.

It was suicide but Lucifer almost respected him for it. Was that all that was left? A last defiant attempt to destroy and be destroyed? But he did not have time to think, only watch.

Still Michael did not move until it was almost too late. It was a question of split seconds, the battle over in minutes. The attack was ferocious and swift but Michael was ready and, with one mighty beat of his great wings, he leapt into the air turning head over wings to land behind Tundrac ready for the next attack.

Tundrac stopped his headlong rush into nothing and turned, a bit more caution entering his raging mind but still determined to destroy Michael. He renewed his attack with vicious skill, rushing toward Michael without a pause, weaving from side to side in a useless attempt to confuse him, his sword slicing dangerously, powerfully through the air, his red eyes bulging with frustrated anger.

Michael met him halfway and the clash of their swords rang loudly throughout the spiritual realm. Mercilessly, Michael drove him backwards until Tundrac’s back was almost against the cross, only a few feet away. Lucifer willed him to greater effort, to fight back, to overcome good with evil as they had done together for so many years. But it was the cross that broke his concentration. He could feel its presence and it unnerved him.

The cross had a spiritual power that seemed to draw Tundrac to it step by step. Lucifer could see that he feared it, glancing anxiously over his shoulder to keep it in sight. Lucifer could also feel that strange drawing and sucking of his evil into the vortex of the cross, like a black hole swallowing entire galaxies in its voracious hunger. It sought to embrace them, to accept their evil and destroy it, to strip them of their authority and so defeat them.

Tundrac was trapped and Lucifer found that he could not breathe. His eyes darted from Tundrac to Michael and then back again to Tundrac. It was as if he were there with Tundrac, locked in a battle he could not win. He watched as Tundrac fought on and not one of his captains came to his aid. They knew that he was doomed to die.

Finally Michael found the opening he needed and, with a light parry and a lightning quick thrust, he sent his sword deep into that evil heart. Tundrac let out a great cry of agony and then fell to the ground and withered up immediately. With a final sulfuric wisp of smoke he was sent into the Great Abyss.

Michael turned back to face Lucifer and the demonic army with his sword ready, a silent challenge to anyone else who wanted to try their skill with him. But no one moved.

Gabriel deliberately sheathed his sword and turned his back. He moved up to the cross to separate Jesus from his body and carry him down, his strong arm around his back.

Lucifer took note that Jesus seemed weak and in need of help, but he did not understand why. Why? But it gave him the courage to protest and he did, the sound of his voice louder than he intended.

“He is mine,” he said. And then again. “He is mine, I traded for him.” That was said with more conviction, the ring of authority returning somewhat to his voice.

But for a long moment nothing was said. Jesus didn’t even bother to look at him. Finally, Gabriel paused in his work and turned his head and explained it to him, as if he were a child who understood nothing at all.

“No, he is not yours and never will be.”

Gabriel turned away, his arm still behind Jesus’ back, holding him and supporting him in his weakness and began to walk away. Michael walked behind them, facing the demons, his sword in his hand, acting as the rear guard.

The garden graveyard lay in that direction and he could already see a number of the dead walking towards Jesus and joining him in a joyous procession into the very gates of hell and death. And behind them, in the physical realm, went the body of Jesus, laid upon a donkey, and the disciples who would bury him in a rich man’s grave.

Lucifer wanted to protest, to get angry, to fight back but he was so confused that he wasn’t sure what to protest about. What had happened? Apparently his authority was in question but that was impossible. God would not, could not ignore the Law, or his holiness and justice. It couldn’t be done.

He heard a disturbance behind him and whirled around to see Sundor arriving to make claim to the beloved thief who had also just died. But Lucifer had reached the limits of his patience and, sensing an opponent that he understood, he rose into the air with deadly intent and unsheathed his mighty sword and spread his dark wings.

“Flee or die!” Lucifer said but he would not let him go. He would destroy him with pleasure.

Sundor ignored him completely as he made his preparations to carry Daniel’s soul away and this so enraged Lucifer that he screamed out his hatred with vile blasphemies and attacked immediately and ferociously.