Secret History Scripture: First Disciple

  People fought wars over any hint that our Lord could be weak, and whispering such words would get your tongue removed instantly. Yet I witnessed that day and saw how fragile our Lord was, weeping in my impotence to help Him. Yet He was there, and He saved our Lord where we did not. It was always my secret shame.

  The Second Passage from the Seer

  He sniffed the ground; still, there was no food even here. A fresh scent on the wind mixed with random rot—maybe food? He looked in the distance and saw many burning buildings. He knew it was best to avoid that area; things could hurt him. Yet still, his stomach tightened, pushing him closer to death. He was thirsty too, but had drunk a day ago. Food, though? No food in a long time.

  A bit of dizziness overcame him. He tried to focus; he knew the beast liked weak prey. Showing: He showed strength, even in his weakened state. Left with no other choice, he went toward the smell of rotting food, hoping it might be among it. If not, he could run away. The distance passed slowly as he tried to reach that location. The ground gradually changed, surprising him. He was used to death, but this spot seemed more excessive; so much rot and darkness flowed there. He ignored it, finding a random bit of flesh among the ruins of buildings, and ate it, feeling a little better.

  In the distance, he noticed a painful light shining. Instinct urged flight, yet he watched a shadow slowly retreat from expanding light. He wasn’t sure what to do. Finding: He found a rock after looking around. He knew what it was like to be weak, and out of a desperate desire to be needed, he wanted to help the shadow. He didn't know how to help; The intense light made him nauseous; he vomited.

  He no longer felt the shadow was worth helping, but now that he was closer, he felt it looking at him. As he looked back upon the shadow, he felt hope. It was life and promised more if he just helped. Resolute, he focused with his weak arms and took aim. He was used to trying to kill by throwing rocks, so his aim flew true. The rock hit the light, causing it to roll ever so slightly away. It allowed the shadow to relax; it still fled the light, but was no longer being eaten away by it.

  He tried throwing dirt to smother the light, but it just cleaned it and made it part of its soil. So he threw more rocks; few missed, but he pushed it a little more. The nausea came back, but he had nothing more to throw up. The sickness still made him collapse and black out for an unknown amount of time.

  He awoke to pain; the light was burning him. Charred flesh formed his arm. He pulled back as best he could from the light, weakly. He looked around and saw the shadow never stopped fleeing the light. It was not far away, so he dragged himself close to the darkness. He wanted to laugh; they were both so weak with nothing to show for it, and this light was slowly poisoning their home. He wanted to weep at the injustice. Why couldn't he just live and have food? He leaned in, studying the subtle details of the shadow, the way it seemed to ripple and shift with the breeze. The shadow was life; it was hope; it was home. That made no sense, but he felt he could die and have know peace if the shadow took him. His arm pain reminded him of his injury, and shockingly, his arm turned to ash. He screamed—not from the pain that was always there, but from the shock of his arm just being gone.

  After rolling and screaming until he lost consciousness, he awoke once more near the shadow. He felt… better. Perhaps it was just having to accept this was life, or maybe feeling kinship with this thing. He had hope, something he never knew he lacked. He tried to reach out to the darkness to touch it, but flinched. It felt perverse to dare try to touch this entity, so he forced himself to rise with his one arm. The light was still spreading, slowly getting closer; even now, he hated it.

  He stumbled but went to a random charred house and found a little more flesh. He wanted it for himself but felt it was wrong to welcome the darkness as kin yet deny even a scrap of food. So he went to offer what he could. The shadow remained impassive, showing no interest in the events unfolding before it. The creature's subtle movements, almost imperceptible, told him it was alive. He was anxious the creature might gobble him up instead of taking his offering; however, a strange sense of assurance eased his mind — wouldn't such a creature display its intentions more clearly?

  His meager frame, much like the sparse food he offered, wobbled as he kneeled on one arm. He was worn out, tired of struggling to stay alive, tired of scouring for sustenance, tired of pushing himself to keep going. His last hope, a frail shadow that seemed to mirror his own despair, prompted a desperate, whispered prayer. He saw in that shadow, long and ominous, a promise of escape from the inevitable death that loomed, a fragile hope blooming amidst despair. At least… it… would… be… free.

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  Thoughts, dark and chaotic, clawed their way out of the abyss, a tangled mess of emotions and fears. Once more, the light seared him, burning with an intensity that felt like the end of his existence, despite its promise of freedom. He scrambled away from the light, a searing white that filled his vision completely. Unable to concentrate amidst the chaos, he pushed himself forward, crawling towards freedom with every ounce of strength. Everything felt wrong, a formless void despite the searing light that consumed him, a light that felt like a thousand suns. He fought to escape, but the light pursued him relentlessly, a burning sensation consuming his essence. He fled forward inch by agonizing inch, but the light relentlessly followed, gaining ground each time as he moved slower and his breath grew shallower.

  He was surprised to feel only a dull ache where the searing pain had been, a startling change that felt like freedom itself. Above him loomed a giant, hulking ogre, its shadow engulfing him in darkness. He tried fleeing the beast even as it was throwing rocks, chasing the light from him. As he desperately crawled away, the strange, detached feeling of his flesh intensified; it was as though his body wasn't his own, a paradox of nothingness and everything. It was then he noticed why the beast seemed so big; he was small, like a puddle. It was enough to break his mind, or so he thought, but he had a calmness instead as he observed the beast.

  He watched as the beast randomly tried different ways to fight the light. Though relieved it wasn't hunting him, he still wondered why. He kept watching the giant/little beast fall, defeated by the light. That surprised him, as he was no longer just trying to survive, fleeing the light or the beast. He could see it was not an ogre like he thought, but a little goblin?! Yet it gave its life… for him? That moved him—devotion. That meant a lot to him, and this meager beast devoted itself to him. He watched as the light ever so slowly clawed its way forward, once a more endless source of hate trying to kill all it touched, even him.

  The goblin’s arm was searing away before his eyes, and it lay unmoving. "MOVE," he willed the creature to life. He refused to watch it burn to nothing after helping preserve his life. He watched as it stirred to life, weak like him but still trying to fight. It fled the light, but one of its arms broke apart into ash. He realized was still in the creature, eating away at its existence. He knew it as he watched the goblin with the arm slowly fading to ash, so he willed once more, "NO. HEAL."

  It should have been absurd to believe all it took was a willingness of thought to defeat the light that consumed even him, but he felt defiant. That thing gave its flesh for him; he would not let the light take that which he believed in. The goblin screamed from the pain and lost consciousness, yet the light still crept forward, inches from it once more. It awoke shortly thereafter. It tried to reach for him and flinched, as if fearing his touch would be no different than the light, and instead left for a place unknown.

  He thought maybe the creature abandoned him, not worth the effort. He did not judge the beast; it tried, and he offered it nothing. Could he blame it for seeking something more? He turned his attention to the cursed light. He felt he loved it before, yet the only memories that came were the burning pain of death. Why would he love such a thing? And even if he did, the moment it was displeased, it turned on him with no recourse.

  He vowed to be better. If given the same power, he would allow a choice. A failure deserved to rot; he agreed, but he did not fail—the light failed him. He knew it in his core; he was betrayed. Breaking his thought, the goblin was back once more and offered him flesh. He was touched—broken, pitiful, weak. Yet with its last breath, it gave to him. That should be rewarded. "I will not betray you like the light betrayed me."

  watching the goblin, and it seeing the flesh was untouched, gave up to die. It lay down to let him devour it, or the light consume it; either way, it wanted an end. He knew he was formless; even this puddle was more of a manifestation than a real form. The light's relentless advance consumed their beings, a slow, creeping horror; ignoring the burning sensation, he crawled to the stump and joined his essence with the goblin's severed arm.

  He felt its life force—so frail, a slow ember of life, fickle and close to fading. He embraced it, not to consume but to preserve, and willed a truth: his first true blessing, his first follower. "YOU ARE MINE; MY WILL IS YOURS. LIVE, AND WE WILL RISE TOGETHER, MY FIRST DISCIPLE." He never let go of it, soul wrapped deep within his embrace. He merged with the beast, not in consumption but in unity. Although: Though he felt part of it, he knew he remained whole and could be elsewhere. But for now, he slept as the beast as it was—now him.

  Hunger, confusion, pain—it all faded away with the blessing. He felt free for the first time in his whole life. He knew no fear, no hunger, no pain. It was beautiful, and he wept. He could think now, really think, and a wave of clarity washed over him. Not like a slinking rat, its fur matted and its belly rumbling with hunger, but as one who knew God's will, God’s truth, radiating a quiet confidence.

  He looked over at the vile light, still wishing to burn him. It was close, and he felt if he stayed, it would succeed, so he got up and left. As he pulled himself up, he noticed he had two arms again. Amazing! All black: His flesh was entirely black. He had never thought about it. Yet now he could think. He knew things whispering in his mind, telling him things, showing him things beyond. It was knowledge. Power. Ecstasy…

  God chose him, and as the first, he knew God’s will and what must be done. So he walked the broken land, free from all, and sought a powerful beast. Our Lord needed a guardian first before we built; he must be watched and safe.