Saruviel the Dreaded Antichrist
‘Yes, Lord Jesus Christ. It is I. The dreaded beast, the lord of the fowl, the unholy one himself, the 7 headed, 10 horned, beast of the Devil. Beware my wrath.’
Jesus continued munching his pork sandwich, chewing away, staring at Saruviel.
‘Your wrath, hey,’ commented the Christ child.
‘Yes, my wrath,’ said Saruviel, all dressed in dark black.
Jesus finished off his pork sandwich and started on his apple juice. He munched away, looking at Saruviel who walked around the room, making dreadful poses of a classic ‘Antichrist’ while Krystabel, sitting at the couch next to Jesus, just smiled, as she knitted away.
Jesus was amused.
‘So, Sar. What is the Mark of the Beast?’
Saruviel stared at him. ‘You shall address me as ‘Your Most Dreadful Lord Antichrist.’
Jesus took another sip. ‘Sure. Your dreaded lord antichrist. What is the mark of the beast?’
Saruviel continued groaping around the room, picked up a skull from the book case, put it up in the air and said ‘Woe, woe to men. Woe to men,’ being as dreadful as he possibly could. He stared at his opponent. ‘The mark you say?’
Jesus took another sip of juice. ‘Yep, buddy. The mark.’
Saruviel, wrapping his large black and red cloak around him, sat down, on the couch, and smiled. ‘Mmm. The mark of the beast. Uh, I have an artline marker pen. Perhaps I could scribble three 6’s on everyones hand.’
Jesus took another sip of juice.
‘Could take a while, though, Sar. Couldn’t it?’
‘Yes. I guess so.’
‘Still, what are you going to do, huh?’
And he groaned, and Jesus took another sip of juice, watching the entertainment, and Krystabel finished her row and exclaimed as such.
The End