A look behind the curtain.
|Jailtor, uncomfortable in his present state, had shifted this morning from the shape of a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing to that of an angel of light.
Silken wings, beautiful and diaphanous, trailed far behind him on the wind. While glorious to behold, especially by human swine, he nevertheless, hated the beauty of his physical being. It reminded him too much of the glories lost, never to be regained. A great sigh escaped satiny lips, prepared to utter lies and deceit.
He'd been 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. Decided long ago, of that he was sure. For, it seemed 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 now complete. The world leader, whose finger was on a thousand warheads had been 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, uncomfortable in this state.