THE DELIVERANCE OF PATIENCE
In the deep and oppressive darkness of the underworld, Patience's cries echoed through the endless caverns. His voice, raw and hoarse from days of torment, rose above the groans and howls of the demons around him. Bound in chains that bit into his flesh, the iron shackles leaving bruises and burns, he fell to his knees and wept aloud, tears mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. The stench of the underworld was suffocating, the heat of the fire rivers scorching, yet his heart refused to turn from God. Though he had strayed, though pride had once clouded his judgment, now every fiber of his being longed for the mercy and protection of his Lord.
"Lord," he cried, his voice breaking, "if you are still with me, deliver me from this darkness! Protect me, Father! Save me from Apollyon and his legion of evil!" His words trembled in the empty void, a feeble yet earnest prayer amidst overwhelming peril. The demons of Amaddon circled him hungrily, their eyes glowing with malice, their claws scraping the jagged rocks, testing his endurance and relishing his suffering. They whispered venomous taunts into his ears, reminding him of his fall, of the wealth he had hoarded, of the power he had abused.
But Patience's spirit, though bruised and battered, found courage in his memories of God. He remembered the teachings of Steadfast, the guidance of Christian and Christiana, and the virtues of the Generals of Christ. With a trembling hand, he pressed to his chest, whispering confessions and repentances, acknowledging his pride and rebellion. "Lord, I have sinned. I have turned my back on You. I have relied on wealth, on titles, and on the praise of men. Forgive me. Cleanse me. I return to You, Father, with all my heart."
As he repented, a faint glimmer of light, invisible at first, began to stir in the far distance, deep within the blackness of the underworld. It pulsed gently at first, then stronger, as though responding to the pure cry of his repentant heart. Apollyon, sensing a shift, descended in fury from the higher planes of darkness. He came as a mighty old dragon, scales black as midnight, eyes burning like molten embers, wings vast enough to blot out the sky above the underworld. Smoke curled from his nostrils, and his breath ignited the air around him, leaving trails of flame in its wake.
With a thunderous roar, he landed, the ground quaking beneath his immense weight. As he touched down, his form shifted and twisted, his scales hardening into a monstrous beast, his talons sharp and glinting with dark fire. His eyes, fixed on Patience, gleamed with merciless intent. Around him, the legion of demons of Amaddon knelt in submission, ready to do his bidding, their twisted forms shivering with anticipation.
"Bring him out!" Apollyon commanded, his voice a rolling storm of malice and power. Two of the largest demons seized Patience by his arms and legs, lifting him effortlessly from the prison floor. Patience struggled, weak and exhausted, but his muscles screamed against the unyielding strength of his captors. His body swung helplessly in the air, the chains now dangling like mocking reminders of his entrapment. He fought to breathe, his lungs burning from the acrid air, but every struggle only delighted the demons.
Patience's eyes searched desperately for any sign of hope, and in that instant, he remembered the faint glimmer of light he had sensed while repenting. He lifted his voice, trembling yet earnest, and cried out, "Lord, I am Yours! Deliver me now! Let Your mercy shine upon me!" His plea cut through the dark like a blade of fire, striking the ears of all who lingered in the shadows.
As he cried, the light began to grow, brightening in intensity until it became a radiant beam descending from the heavens above, piercing the gloom of the underworld. The demons recoiled, shielding their eyes from its brilliance. Apollyon, caught off guard, hissed in anger, his sharp claws scratching the rock floor as he roared a fury that shook the cavern. The light intensified, pure and holy, burning away the shadows that had long lingered in this place.
Patience's captors faltered, releasing him as the light enveloped him. He fell to the ground, weak and trembling, his chains clanging and falling apart as if the touch of heaven itself had undone them. Flames that had licked his skin moments before receded, leaving the air crisp and clear. He collapsed fully to the floor, panting, his body covered in bruises and wounds, but his heart lighter than it had been in years.
Apollyon, enraged beyond measure, advanced with the demonic sword he had drawn, a blade forged in the fires of perdition, black as midnight with edges that dripped smoke and flame. His intent was clear—Patience's life would end here, and his soul would belong to darkness forever. He raised the sword high above his head, the weight of centuries of evil behind the strike, and prepared to behead Patience in one swift blow.
At that critical moment, Patience screamed—not in fear, but in desperation, in hope, in faith. "MERCY! LORD, HAVE MERCY!" The heavens responded. A light so brilliant that it could not be described in words descended, brighter than the sun, hotter than any fire, purer than the finest crystal. It struck Apollyon directly, shattering the shadows around him. He shrieked in agony, the roar of his anger swallowed by the overwhelming brilliance. The sword slipped from his grasp, vanishing as the light engulfed him.
The demons around him wailed, covering their eyes, their forms disintegrating under the power of the divine light. Apollyon screamed, a sound that shook the very foundations of the underworld, and then he, too, disappeared, along with his entire legion of darkness. Silence fell over the cavern, broken only by Patience's heavy breaths and the soft glow that remained in the space around him.
Patience knelt in awe, tears streaming freely down his battered face. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt the warmth of protection, the reassurance of God's presence. He lifted his gaze upward, and there, descending slowly from the heavens, were Christian, Christiana, and Steadfast, their robes shimmering with celestial light, their presence radiating authority, wisdom, and love. Steadfast held a glowing robe in his hands, Christian a sword and shield of brilliant white, and Christiana a book that pulsed with divine knowledge.
Patience's lips trembled as he whispered, "Father…," and tears of both relief and joy streamed down his cheeks. Steadfast smiled, his eyes full of both love and stern rebuke. "Son," he said gently, "you have strayed and disappointed God, but today, He has not abandoned you. You have been given a second chance. Do not waste it, for it will not come again."
Christian extended the shining sword and shield toward him. Patience hesitated for a moment, still trembling from the ordeal, but Christian's voice reassured him. "This is not to destroy you, but to protect you. You will need it, for many battles lie ahead. Stand strong, and be ready."
Christiana handed him the book, and with her words came purpose. "Within this lies your next assignment, the path that has been set for you. Study it carefully, for it will guide you back to the way of the Lord."
Patience, humbled and grateful beyond measure, accepted the gifts. He knelt in reverence, and with the support of his celestial mentors, he rose. He put on the glowing robe of comfort, took up the sword and shield, and tucked the sacred book beneath his arm. For the first time in years, hope filled his heart. His body was battered, his spirit weary, but he knew that he was not alone. God had not abandoned him.
He whispered a prayer of gratitude, lifting his gaze toward the heavens, and felt the chains of fear and despair fall away. Though he had been captured, tortured, and brought to the brink of death, Patience had been delivered. And in that moment, he understood that his journey had only begun.
The light faded slowly as Christian, Christiana, and Steadfast ascended back to the Celestial City. Patience remained kneeling for a long time, his body aching, his heart pounding, but now filled with renewed determination. He had been given mercy, and he would not squander it.
With the first rays of dawn breaking over the jagged horizon, Patience rose to his feet. The trials of the underworld had not broken him—they had strengthened him. Clutching the sword, the shield, and the book, he whispered, "I will not fail again. Onward, Generals of Christ. Onward, for the glory of the Lord."
And thus, the deliverance of Patience was complete, not by his strength, but by the mercy and power of God, who had answered the cries of a repentant heart.