A look behind the curtain.
He was assigned the task of subverting an important soul. A soul that belonged to the leader of a superpower. The last hope of a socialist, elitist, utopia rested with this pile of animated mud. Again, he sighed, looking up with regret at the Baal of the moon. How could he have been so deceived as to follow after the pleasures of Lucifer? But alas, Jailtor would complete his assignment. What else could he do? Apollyon would accept nothing less than perfect obedience.
Apparently, it was time to draw all nations to war again. It was decided long ago. Of that he was sure. Yet the evil master in his hatred for the image bearers of the Maker, always played directly into the plans of the Maker. From everything Jailtor had seen over 12,000 years, it was inevitable. The Maker always triumphed.
His task was now complete. The world leader, whose finger was on a thousand warheads, was easily deceived. The mans awe of Jailtor's glorious appearance, coupled with the delusions of grandeur the dust-born dolts always displayed, made it child's play.
Fluttering off on silken wings, Jailtor sighed yet again. He was uncomfortable in this state.