He Descended into Hell

  “Where am I?”

  He was wearing the same robe as at the Last Supper. Not a tear, not a stain. His wounds had healed, yet red scars still covered his body. He felt no pain—but the invading memories tormented him. Each heartbeat whispered the return of the hammer, the nails driving him back onto the cross.

  “Immanuel? From Nazareth? The one they call Jesus? Is that you, son?” asked an unearthly voice from the bottom of the stairs.

  “God is my father,” he replied, but the voice mocked him.

  “Sure, and I’m the Pope of Rome,” it ughed. “We’re not brothers, you know. Yahweh’s your grandfather—he’s my father, and father to the other angels too. I know exactly who you are, Son. Come down.”

  As he descended, a figure nearly eight meters tall loomed above him. It had enormous white wings—at least six. Its marble-like face was pale, and a glowing white mark shone on its forehead.

  “Morning Star?” Jesus asked the angel. “Is this Hell? How did this happen?”

  The angel bent over him and stroked his head. He didn’t know when he began to cry, but he saw himself again—overturning the dove-sellers’ tables, chasing the merchants from the temple with a whip.

  “For that?” he asked.

  “Why you're here? Why not beside Judas, who’s waiting for you in Paradise, in vain?” the angel replied.

  “What happened?”

  “No man loved you more than that poor Jewish boy,” Lucifer said. “But Peter was jealous. So he betrayed you. He told the others Judas did it. He gave Judas thirty silver coins—they found them on him. Peter was supposed to use the money to pay for the supper, but cimed he had other business. Someone had to found a religion in Rome in your name—and neither of you would’ve let that happen. But now, Son, you’re home. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

  Jesus's world colpsed. He knew he was facing the prince of lies—but he also knew he shouldn’t have ended up here.

  Unless… he truly belonged.

  “No, that’s not true! That’s impossible!” Jesus protested.

  The archangel let out a mechanical, distorted ugh.

  He awoke.

  Bck walls surrounded him. A terrible dream—just a dream. But then he heard deep, rhythmic breathing and metallic footsteps. Three figures in bck entered the room. Small lights blinked near the door.

  The central figure wore a terrifying, deformed mask and stood taller than the other two. A floating orb rose beside him, tipped with a syringe, its lights pulsing in sync with the lights on the figure’s chest. The masked being spoke in a harsh, mechanical voice.

  “Now then, Your Highness… let’s talk about the location of the Rebel base.”

  The End

  2025.04.06

  Transted by ChatGPT, based on the Hungarian original by Bérces Mihály

  2025.05.06.

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