Proof of Life

I am Lazarus of Bethany.

I died in 33AD and was resurrected by Yeshua of Nazareth, who you know as "Jesus."

He was my friend.

The Romans nailed him to a tree because he knew the truth. He could see them for what they were.

You did nothing, but watch him die.

Now, you call him "Savior."

Too little. Way too goddamn late.

I'm not sure if this is worth my time.

No matter how often I try to get through, no one listens. And now, they've wiped me from existence. There's nothing left of me. I have no history. It's gone. They took it. That's how powerful they have become. They erased my name and turned it into fiction.

"They" are demons.

Demons are real.

I know it isn't popular to believe such things in this modern world. The new millennia came and went without as much as a blood red moon. The prophecies are more imaginary and the likelihood of a Second Coming...

Yeshua. My friend. He brought me back from hell, saved me, and before I could thank him they nailed him to a tree. I watched as they replaced his face with some long-haired pussy boy and all I have is my own memory, and it's not as good as it used to be. The mind can only retain so much, and I have lived too long.

But this is what they want. This is the world they're building. And they're safe, because you won't believe your own eyes. You won't listen to that voice telling you the world isn't right. No matter how insane the thought, there is something in control and it is not you. It is not your government, military, or police. Your criminals, gangsters, bangers, rapist, and molesters are nothing to fear. They're just instruments. They are tools. Puppets. Hosts for something worse and older than even me.

I don't know how they got here, but I know what they want, to take our world away from us. They've come close more than once and you've been lucky. You fought them even though you had no idea what you were raging against and I stood beside you. That stranger who had your back. The lucky shot when you needed. I was the "accident" happening miraculously at the right time.

It was easier back then. You knew evil when you saw and felt it. Then the demons got smart. They opened your books and changed your definitions. They turned the Golden Rule to brass. Mixed black, white, and gave you gray. And now...? Now you pay someone $20 an hour to tell you how and what you should feel. And that person gets their information from a book, and that book is written by...?

I'm going to try reaching out to you. I've been fighting this war too long by myself and I'm afraid of what I'm becoming. The longer I live and kill the less I give a damn. What will I be when this is all over? Where will I go if I win this war? I can't die, but I'm not living, and I want to live again.

I can't do this alone.

So, here's your first lesson. Demons are shape-changers and possessors. Nightmares made real. Outside a host, they can become anything. Inside a host, they are protected, but weaker. Inside that body they can't change, a transformation would destroy the host body and they are too precious. Not anyone can be a demon host.

All demons are different. All demons have one thing in common.

Red Eyes.