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"THE YEAR IS 2015.

Jesus Christ has patiently waited for over two-thousand years for his people to complete His Great Commission command: finally, the paradigm was reached, and the world was overcome with the Gospel of salvation.

Satan has watched the long years pass, while Hell filled to bursting with the souls of the wicked, the unsuspecting, the unscrupulous, and the unresolved. His campaign has been bittersweet success.

He has indeed managed to influence some of the accursed humans into his lair; they would share in his doom, which now was illustrated in the fiber of his being.

His campaigns of religion had been successful at dividing the children of God. His Inquisitions had been the most sterling representation of what could be done in the “Name of God.”

His forging of Auschwitz, and the others, had warmed his heart. The many wars, families, pestilences, and catastrophes had driven many toward him—and they were about to share in his whirlwind.

In these latter days, he even had his own “church.” He would never stop imitating—it was the best way he knew of to try and hurt God the way he himself had been hurt. In his insanity, he blamed God for his station—choosing to forget that it was his will which created it.

He no longer strove to win; he had been unsuccessful at untying the “Gordian knot” of prophecy, which constrained him to the quantum reality of loss, instead of escape. He simply functioned from the depth of his hatred now to take as many with him as he could.

Demon and human alike.

The twice-accursed born-again Christians had snatched many from him which could have served him well. This PARRC Research was particularly despised, for it had begun the shift in understanding of the Great Commission, and ultimately set the ball rolling toward his eventual doom.

He hated them most of all.

Their numbers now grew each day, and their activities—because of the replication of the discipleship that PARRC taught--matched his own in fervor.

Their knowledge had been increased, and the many secrets of the Book had revealed themselves. It evened the playing field for the humans. This terminal generation was supercharged with His Power—a power that had been held back until they showed themselves ready; a power which Satan only now dimly was beginning to grasp.

He oppressed them still; they simply prayed harder. He persecuted them; they merely raised their voices even louder in praise to God. He assaulted them with doubt, fear, despair; at the end of which, they stood up straight again, determined to go on faith if nothing else.

Worst of all, they turned their will over to God—and not to him.

They were unstoppable.

Their knowledge had led to technology—technology which enabled their images to traverse the globe with the word—and he knew that soon, this planet would be blanketed with it—and the active disciples to carry it all the way through.

Then his time would be up.

Even as he sat, he could sense the quasar of power approaching from the north; he could feel in his wicked insides the sure approach of the Righteousness of God—severely wounding him.

He knew that he would soon be here; he knew that He could come at His own pace, and in His own good time. He did not know exactly when—no one but the Father did; but with eyes that overmatched any human’s, he could SEE Him coming.

And he knew His arrival would be very soon.

He grimaced and wailed, exhorting his demons to frenzied and futile actions of oppression, possession, and torment—trying fervently to gather negative etheric energy for strength. On they battled—and on the Christian battled back, fueled by faith in God, and powered by His Holy Spirit, which continued to restrain him from his most horrific notions.

He saw these Christians; saw their impenetrable armor; saw his mightiest bolts bounce off into space. He was it—but it was invisible to mortal eyes, since Adam. He railed against it, but his mightiest, hate-inspired efforts failed now to even dent it. It was a covering from head to foot—and it was invulnerable, as Adam used to be.

Without it, he could blast them to spiritual atoms in a microsecond—and their souls would be his. But for him, possessing these Christians was impossible. Make them sick, yes; affect their mentality, even; but not destroy them.

He sat, commanding his demons to do what they could, and watched helplessly as these Christians saved person after person; created disciple after fervent disciple, evangelizing all who would listen. The mathematics went forward like a wave, overcoming the world the way it could have done two-thousand years ago.

He watched as they snatched person after person away from him; atheists, cultists, even trusted soldiers melted before the fury of the Gospel carried by these disciples.

His calloused, fingernail-like talons rasped and scraped the rock on which he sat.

He knew that he would have one more chance—at the end of the Millennium, for a little season. God was frustratingly fair, if anything; it was frustrating and maddening to Satan because in his hatred he did not want anything given to him; he took what he wanted.

As he had tried to do at the throne on the day of transformation, and banishment.

He would have one more chance to defeat Him and gain his freedom from destruction in the Lake; even now, however, he knew of the impossibility of the task.

Still, his hatred drove him on, even in futility.

Till then, and before this Second Coming, he strove in this evil campaign, warring against these Christians with his principalities, and with his powers. Till the end he would strive.

Till the bloody end.

As he sat, he remembered the world of God from time immemorial:

“Do thy worse, and look thou ever forward to the day of reckoning. Look thou ever forward, adversary of Man and God, and remember: the day is coming when thy chains having been forged complete, and the named ‘defeat” written upon your forehead, will bindest thou forever in the living evil thou representest. Until then, Satan.”

Thunder again crashed around him as he leaped to his feet and spun a crazy circle of insanity as the pain of remembrance represented torture supreme. Looking upward, seeing the lightning that approached from the east, he knew with agonized recognization that the ‘then’ was very, very soon to be now.

With fear and trembling he screamed, a wail that reverberated throughout his unholy lair….echoing into the darkness to return to him filled with desolation, emptiness, abandonment, and promise….

The Lake approached, and called to him a siren’s song of destruction…”

The Gordian knot of prophecy--which was written so that the end could not be undone--promised his doom...

He covered his ears as the roar of his destiny approached, coming to claim him; coming to chain him...

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