"Bud Webster - Christus Destitutus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Webster Bud)

with blood.

The Messenger appeared in front of him.

"Oh, this is a good one, all right,― the old man muttered. “Uriel in the urinal. What are you doing
here, Messenger?"

Something about the angel's bearing betrayed uncertainty.

"You left after your resurrection. We watched you walk away from your disciples, leaving them
frightened and puzzled, full of questions. You did nothing to answer those questions."

"That was Paul's job, and he was welcome to it. Hell, he wrote most of the New Testament and let the
rest of them take the credit—or the blame. I just wanted out.― He leaned his head back against the
wall. “I'd had enough of the cult, enough of the adoration and the praise. It's not what I wanted, ever."

"You went to Hell."

"Heh. Yeah, I went all to Hell.― He closed his eyes. “I was furious. I wanted to kick ass and take
names. I couldn't take it out on the poor bastards who hung me up. They didn't know what they were
doing. So, I harrowed Hell."

"The marks remain. The gates have never been rebuilt."

"Yeah, well. Milton was impressed. What's your point, Uriel?"

"Where did you get such power?

The old man glared. “I had it. Not that I wanted it. When I let Him ... recruit me, He charged me like
a battery. There was plenty left."

"Even after He had abandoned you?"

"Look, He set all kinds of shit in motion that day. Earthquakes, an eclipse, storms. It doesn't just
dissipate. Once you manifest on the physical plane, you have to deal with physical laws. How much
power do you think it takes to rise after three days? Just because He turned away doesn't mean He
turned it off like some kind of heavenly circuit breaker."

"You could have used the power to search for Him."

"And then what? Reasoned with Him? Begged Him to take me back? Beat the living shit out of Him?―
The old man reached behind himself and flushed. His hand trembled. “What you are to Humanity, He
is to me; there's no common point for discussion.― Eyes closed, he slumped wearily against the back
of the toilet.

"Ah, God, I'm so tired ... so fucking tired. Why are you here, Messenger? I didn't ask for you."

The angel was silent for several minutes. “There is an imbalance. It must be corrected."

"What kind of imbalance?― the old man asked dully.