The Apocalypse Of Judas - Chapter I
The Apocalypse
Of Judas
Story by John Charles Galvin
Art by Dennis Waldron
Chapter One: The Harrowing
“Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet at thy coming” – Isa. 14:9
Vision?
Nightmare?
Fever Dream?
I know not.
Whether madness bound or truth-to-known I cannot say but this; mine eyes do not lie, nor my ears deceive. During my abysmal harrowing my senses seemed unified; thrice as sharp as Charlemagne’s blade. My curse… For if I had been blessed mine ears and eyes, nose, tongue, and touch surely all would have melted from my form.
From turbulent seas of Chaos Black mine consciousness did explode. I flew, like Simon Magus, through a pallid sky devoid of warmth and life. Charging over churning seas of boiling blood and past long beaches of broken glass I descended upon a blooded field of pitch grass blacker than a heretic’s heart.
Soul to ankle I sunk, embraced by chilling mud. Long fingers, rotted and gnarled, wormed to the surface with rancid rancor. The Gordian Knot itself seemed to swell deep within my arid throat as I invoked the Lord’s name. Turning to flee I found my steps halved by clinging mud and tempest winds. Behind me demonic laughter echoed unknowable words in fractured and inverted Latin. Ahead of me, partially enshrouded by cerise mists, stood some twisted structure, a grey silhouette against the sanguine haze before me. Whether sanctuary or sanitarium I cared not. Fighting Earth and Air with tooth and nail I battled through the thick and swirling crimson miasma.
Bulbous imps, burnt and skinned, hunted me with fangs of flame and blades of blood. The pounding within my chest exploded as I tore through fogs congealed and shadows blurred. Fiery breath seared my neck and snapping jaws bit my heels. Mine flesh, cocooned in perspired fluids, rippled with burning ice as sword-sharp hands tore the robes from hence mine form. As sallow skies broke through bloodied veil I was struck to the ground by hands unseen. Putrid air, as from an inflamed charnel house, assaulted this nose. Mine body did stiffen, preparing for death; a most slow and certain death by demonic claws and satanic swords.
A death which never came.
Glancing backwards with mud-caked visage I found neither devil nor demon but empty nothingness; the Realm of Oblivion. Here, now, I stood upon a bleak and hoary place low upon a tall hill. Mine eyes did focus upon the twisted structure scarcely perceived. With trembling hands unsure I reached, grasping some dead and twisted roots of a long forgotten tree. From root to branch this tree did grow lifeless and cold but stood it did. Elegiac tears shook my attention, pulling me back toward this undulating landmark even as I did attempt to turn away, back to the Realm of Oblivion in wake of me. Fail to flee I did, beckoned ever foreword by this song of tears. Breaching the apex I beheld a sight of cursed visions and vexing reverberations. There, before me, I beheld the valley beyond this hellish hill. There a bridge did stretch before me, immense in width and thrice three times in length. Not of stone nor planks, vines or rope --- But of men! And of women! Children I tell you as well, all cast as naught but castigated masonry. Wretched headless bodies strained and stretched long and thin were bound by flesh and bone. Now nix but twisted dermal cables of hopelessness, cursed with continued consciousness. A desolate roadway of wan faces, skinned and stressed, reached out with broken moans toward the dry and cracked horizon. Towers of flesh-gnawed bones bore the wretched conduit over a maze of moonless midnight. Above the pitch pit rested a cascading waterfall of golden star dust and silver moonbeams flowing up, away from the writhing bridge of flesh.
“The Bridge of Good Intentions,” An ancient voice, tired and burdened, shattered my focus and strangled my attention. “Eventually all begin here, as pavement or pedestrian...” Entombed within the shadow of twelve unseen mountains sulked the low crown of a withered red bud tree. A noose of silver, stained deeper than Macbeth’s palms, coiled around the broken neck of a dark young man --- thin of beard and long of hair. “...None stay.” His glacial words sliced the mind like a butcher’s cleaver.
My tongue turned from the name upon my lips as the slug turns from salt. “Judas Iscariot!” With name now upon the winds the noose of silver did uncoil its serpentine constriction from around his neck, emancipating the Disdained Disciple from the red bud tree. As Judas did plummet from his dead-man’s branch thick of prickly barbs did rise up. Thorns tenfold thrice tore through the tatterdemalion. Neither squeal nor scream escaped the Betrayer’s lips; only a slow sigh --- more from aged eyes than torrid throat --- fled his foul form.
With words spoken not through dry and cracked lips the Fallen Follower explained all through mind and thought. He had chosen me and induced my Self to be brought here to him, free from flesh. It was ordained that I be the recipient of some great and true sagacity; a demonic vison of Divine Dictation. Uncertainty flooded my thoughts and confused my mind.
How could I trust the Betrayer?
Yet had mine robes not been ripped and burnt from my very being?
Was mine hair not singed and torn from root to tip?
Could mine very ears themselves not hear the woeful laminations from this insufferable bridge before me?
Mine eyes beheld these horrors as the rancid stench of foul burnings crawled up my nose like a clawed snail.
And did I not fly?
How could I not trust the Betrayer?
We laid feet most fleet upon the Bridge of Good Intentions and transcended with long strides. Velvet moans of barren hope struck bare soles with each dreadful step sending long wails of terror reverberating through my flesh, bones, and organs all. Hesitation seeded my mind and took root within mine feet. The Thirteenth Guest did bide me not to give my attention to the Unjudged, for they are as children crying at the night. Ignore them I did until we came upon the median.
Before me twisted bodies and flattened faces found respite. More than many floated ‘tween brilliant cascade and darkest pit --- not salvation nor redemption, they sail toward wrathful retribution and the re-forging of their soul. Below me a great mass of souls plummeted ever further, far beyond eyes and ears, deep within the Labyrinth of Purgatory. Penance and pleading await those who discover The Queen of Hell, blind wandering for all eternity for those who fail to find the Black Mary. Above me gossamer halos, bright and pure, bewing gentle souls --- silent and few --- snatched from lightless labyrinth below and from the chastening forge of hammers ahead.
Deluges of hopeless moans and blissful hymns sieged my ears from all around. Burning brimstone and ravishing roses battled for dominance of my senses. Judas glided freely ‘tween barriers of brilliance and black while I was as a netted fish. Rebelling against ethereal fetters proved lecherous upon my mettle. Icy knuckles rode my wind pipe as fresh eels slid down my spine.
I was trapped!
I was Unworthy!
I was betrayed!
Despair crossed my heart like a pale boat to Sicily. Was this to be my punishment for living a life human?
“No.” Once again Judas’ voiceless words invaded my mind like some burning battering ram. “Choose.” With the hushing of moans and the whipping of winds I beheld two souls before me; a man and a woman. Both I knew... One I loved.
Her voice caught my ears before her face entrapped my eyes; a pleading tone and sinful visage. The jezebel, Judas informed me, had been beaten to death by a man possessed by Moloch whose sins are anger and rage. Even now her heathen bones burned upon a pagan pyre.
Then I saw his face and time, like my heart, froze. Before me floated the tall shade of a man I once knew well in life. Before me he drifted, hollow of eyes and black of tongue. The stars alone outnumbered my tears. In life he raised me and fostered me. It was he who showed me the Good Book and taught me of the Word. As inquisitor, and soldier of Christ, only Mathew Hopkins could boast more trials... and deaths. My mentor, my uncle, slain by midnight brigands was left to rot in unconsecrated grounds! Now, in death, he is rewarded by being herded along with the Unjudged!
With pious genuflection and steeple-pressed palms I beseeched Divine Intervention. A great pressure came to rest upon my brow as Last Rights poured forth from my lips like the Blood of Christ from the Holy Grail itself. Verse by verse the thumbscrews in my mind twisted tighter and tighter! Darkness washed over my pure, keen sight as cooling fluids drenched my filth-grimed frame. Mine eyes did boiled like a heated stew in a lidded pot. Paganini-like violins of violent speeds and maddening chords wracked my heart enslaving my veins to rib my flesh like Roman roads though pagan forests. Celestial thunder rolled across my mind like a dark and dangerous rogue.
Nothing.
Consciousness explodes, shattering my senses like an iron fist through stain glass.
I stood at the right hand of Judas.
Behind me lay the barriers of brilliance and black, before me a stood a titanic brass Hellmouth. This long and gaping wolfish maw spanned a pitch sea lapping up the souls from the Bridge of Good Intentions, allowing only the most unredeemable to fall deep with the Realm of Oblivion.
Once again the strings of fear pulled my legs. Before I could make good an escape, to where I know not, Judas called me by my true Name, compelling my return to his side. With bedeviled mind I approached the foul-breathed gate. Tear-swollen eyes and sob-broken wails beseech the Betrayer for hope and mercy. With fig in mouth and two in hand Judas did throw me headlong through the fanged maw.
Once again I thought I had died.
Once again I wished I had.
