The bottom of the cross dragged along the ground, the scraping sound a steady constant as Yeshua carried it over his shoulder. One end of the crossbeam stuck out like a shark fin, and Jenny followed quietly, feeling as though the dark emptiness of the world had brightened immensely since she’d told him everything.

Hissing and shushing in the language of angels, she’d spoken at length about the Survival Challenge. About the angels she’d fought, the people she’d seen die, the nightmarish scenes she’d stumbled into. She'd described the blue-colored angel who’d become Desecrated and about the babies that had followed her around. She’d spoken about her brother, about Ms. Monique and the others, and Susan. She’d said a lot about Susan: her kindness, her bravery, her abilities, her sacrifice. Yeshua looked a little amused when Jenny described Susan’s blue hair.

“A girl with blue hair? I’ve never seen such a thing among humans,” he’d said. He’d spoken as though he was trying to lighten the mood. “You must care greatly for this friend.”

“Yeah... as a friend,” she’d said, unsure how to explain how she really felt. And she was about to let it go and carry on describing her tentacles, but then she couldn’t help herself. “I think... I think it’s more than just as a friend.”

“I see,” he’d said, stroking his beard. Jenny thought he’d admonish her, denote her feelings as sinful and condemn her, but he was smiling. “Love is truly a radiant thing,” he said after a moment. “Blessed are the ones who love, for they bring warmth to the worlds and shall receive love in return.”

His words resounded like a prayer or a sermon or something, something more than just a mere phrase, and Jenny felt a sense of weightlessness. It felt good. It was nice listening to him speak, but the feeling faded as quickly as it had come. Jenny fumbled her next words as she described everything else. She told him about Eve and the promises it had made, how she’d used Severed Spirit, and about Miriam.

She described the weird memory of life as an angel, the darkness on the cafeteria floor, about how she’d pulled everyone through the light. How they’d avoided the end of the Survival Challenge. How there was no true victor. How she’d brought about the apocalypse.

Then she told him about giving birth to Eve, and Yeshua was quiet again. For a while, the only sounds were Jenny’s chewing, finishing up the foot he’d given her. She’d crunched through bones and toenails and veins, not wasting a single bit of flesh, and it wasn’t till she’d finished that she realized she’d eaten all of it. Her hand went to her stomach, thinking she’d be sick, but her body made good use of the meal. Strength returned to her muscles and limbs, and she felt satisfied. She felt restored.

She’d eaten.

That was when Yeshua stood up, his purple robe billowing about him as he twisted from side to side. He looked at her, a faint smile on his face, and said, “Follow me.”

He hadn’t said another word since. Jenny trailed along, sometimes a few paces behind him, watching the wooden beam bounce along the dark sand, watching the muscles of Yeshua’s broad back roll as he lumbered forward. He kept a steady pace despite the apparent weight of the cross. Jenny wanted to help him, but he’d given her an intense look earlier when he’d struggled to hoist it over his shoulder. It was a look that said: this is my burden to bear.

Sometimes she walked beside him, thinking about all the stories and sermons she'd heard about “walking with Jesus.” How Jesus carried people during their hardest times even though most people assumed they were alone. Forsaken by God.

She wasn’t sure where they were headed but she didn’t mind the quiet. She’d spoken for such a long time that her throat hurt. With a small flash of golden light, she made a water bottle for herself. Don’t forget to hydrate. Susan’s voice floated through her thoughts, and it brought her warmth.

Love is a radiant thing, he’d said. Why wasn’t that in the old texts? Why wasn’t that written and expressed everywhere?

After a long while of walking, the pillars came into view, and Yeshua spoke in a strained voice. “I have been thinking very hard about what you have shared with me. I would like you to know that I am very sorry for your loss. I too have lost many, and it was my fault, for I had asked them to follow in my footsteps.” He kept walking forward, his sweat-drenched hair bouncing, his robe fluttering around his knees. The cross only seemed to get heavier, and he hunched forward a bit more.

Jenny didn’t respond. She knew all the stories of the apostles and how they’d died in horrible ways. She knew of the persecution, and then she thought of how their words reached the eastern edges of Asia. How there’d been turmoil as her ancestors either rejected the faith or embraced it, and the bloodshed that followed. She didn’t know what to make of that.

Yeshua continued. “My eema liked to say that all things have their time. And then she’d say, ‘If not now, when?’ And for a long time, I did not understand. But she was a very strong woman, and I think you are like my eema.”

“Eema?” echoed Jenny. This word wasn’t spoken in angel tongue. It wasn’t hissed through teeth. It was said lovingly, in a language she’d never heard before, but even though she’d asked, she already understood what it meant.

“My mother,” he said. “My mother, Myriam. The First Mary.”

At his words, a shiver tangled itself around Jenny’s spine. Miriam?

“Myriam was a common name in my time. I had many friends who went by that name, and they even adopted the name Mary.” He chuckled a little bit, pausing to catch his breath. A raspy wheezing sound had snuck into his voice. A bead of sweat trailed down the side of his head, clung to his beard, and dripped off. His arms and legs were shaking, but he turned to smile at her over his shoulder. “It was the cause of much confusion. But Mary wasn’t just a name. Mary was a title bestowed upon my eema. Mary, Mother of God they called her. But as you can see, I am just a man.”

He fell quiet again. Jenny got the sense that a lot of heavy emotions and memories were going through his mind, and she felt similarly. Questions burned holes in her thoughts, but she listened patiently, just as he’d listened to her.

"My eema was the victor of a Survival Challenge. Like you, she was sought out by a voice. Ushered. Guided. And she slaughtered endless numbers of angels and humans alike. She was young too, and she recognized who the voice belonged to. Whose will had taken root in her mind.” Yeshua sighed deeply. “At first, as many of us would be, she was ecstatic to be host to the Lord. After all, how many generations of her family had prayed to Him? Had begged Him for guidance? And now there He was, in the midst of hell, guiding her. Granting her the strength to fight. Pushing her forward when she wanted to collapse. She believed she was chosen. Blessed. Acting out the will of Adonai. El Shaddai. Elohim.”

Jenny slowed her steps. She remembered that train of thought, remembered how she’d felt when Eve had shown her visions of powerful people. Victors of past Survival Challenges. Of Gods and Goddesses and their many powers. Eve had promised her that strength. It had fueled Jenny with want. With need. If only she could be so powerful, then she’d solve all her problems.

But Eve had only used her. She’d just been a means to an end. And as Yeshua went on, she learned that his eema had been similarly used.

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“Why she was chosen, we will never know,” continued Yeshua, sweating more and sounding upset. “But in the blood and horror, as she herself became powerful, she realized what He was. He wasn’t a force for good. He wasn’t what her fathers and mothers had prayed to. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t love. He wasn’t truth. He was nothing but despair and anger. My eema made many mistakes. She’d hurt people. She’d slaughtered so many... Because of His presence and promises, she’d prioritized victory and His will over all else. He’d declared everyone else sinners, that she was exacting divine justice.”

He stopped, breathing hard. He gently straightened up, placing the cross down before letting it go. She wasn’t sure if it was an ability or something, but somehow the cross stood on its own, and Yeshua stumbled forward.

Ahead of them were the pillars, the misshapen things that stuck out of the ground like a bizarre forest. Was this the same areaJenny had been before Yeshua pulled her toward him? She wasn’t sure. All the pillars looked virtually the same. Does Yeshua know what they are?

“The Deaths,” he said as if reading her mind. He wiped his brow and bowed his head, his wet hair falling forward. “This is the world where it all began. With Death. This was why my eema made her sacrifice.”

Jenny tried to speak but the words felt too thick. She cleared her throat, unease slowly unraveling in her belly as she eyed the pillars. “What happened to her?”

“My eema had a very powerful ability,” he said, straightening up and raising his face to the sky again. Red lightning flickered across his arms and down his legs. “A healing ability that even He could not stop. She emerged from her challenge after seven nights, returning to her home covered in blood, her belly swollen.” He turned to face Jenny and held out his hand.

She blinked at it in confusion. The sheen of sweat had vanished from his face. The strain of carrying the cross was gone, and he had that healthy glow about him again.

“Take my hand,” he said. “Allow me to show you my eema.”

“Okay?” whispered Jenny. She hesitated, but that earnest expression on his face made her want to trust him. Besides, if he'd meant harm, he wouldn't have let her sleep in peace earlier. She reached out and placed her hand onto his much bigger hand.

He closed his other hand over hers and shut his eyes. For a while, nothing happened. She only felt the warmth of being encased in his hands, but then he uttered one word.

“See.”

And everything, Yeshua, the pillars, the dark sand, and the cross, faded away from view. A series of images filled Jenny’s mind. It reminded her of the visions Eve would show her, but this was different. She lost all sense of self. She was a disembodied viewer observing as a young woman with brown skin and long dark hair stepped into view.

The girl wore red and golden armor. She carried a helmet in one hand. A long feather stuck out of it, but as she stumbled forward, the cracked parts of her armor, around her legs and her shoulders, broke away and fell. She was covered in dried blood, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was Mary.

As people in flowing robes rushed to help, others pointed and shouted at the cluster of collapsed houses behind her. Her challenge must’ve involved a bunch of homes, not just one building like Jenny’s high school. But Mary fell to her knees, her eyes wide with fear, and a blood-curling scream tore through the vision.

The imagery stirred, and Mary was in a private room, lying on a bed on her back, her belly so big it looked like a whole person had crawled inside her body.

Women fretted all around. Priests in dark robes chanted as Mary shrieked at the top of her lungs, clawing at the sheets and the blankets, kicking aimlessly with her feet. Her legs were spread open, her tunic stained completely with blood. Red lightning flashed violently between her thighs, flickering over and over as the midwives and the other women cowered, as the priests tried chanting louder and louder, shaking sprigs of various herbs and sprinkling holy water.

But the lightning, red and intense, only lashed out more dangerously. It flickered across the entire home, and Jenny thought it would shatter everything around them. That it would leave scorch marks and burn the women and the priests to ashes, but there was no fire, no damage, nothing. And it went on for what felt like forever, all the while the woman screamed, her eyes bloodshot, her face ghastly, sunken in. She almost looked like a tarnished angel.

The midwife fled. The other women ran away. The priests cowered outside the home where a desperate-looking man paced back and forth. He was angry and terrified and shouted at the priests. He was the only one brave enough to go back inside. He held Mary’s hand and stroked her sweat-drenched face as her body convulsed. As her legs kicked. As more red bolts of lightning erupted from between her legs. She only slept when she passed out, but the lightning continued to work. The man, who must’ve been her husband, brought her water and bread, holding it to her lips, trying to get her to eat. Lightning sparked up and down her entire body, and Jenny understood what was happening.

Mary was refusing to give birth. She’d emerged from her Survival Challenge, victorious and powerful, and she’d become pregnant just as Jenny had. But Mary had been stronger. She’d held on, using her ability to heal herself continuously, refusing to give birth to Him.

The images flickered with the light, and Jenny got the sense that days went by. Weeks and months and maybe even years. All the while, Mary struggled on the bed, screaming and screaming. Red lightning danced, her face contorted in pain, her legs kicked. She remained bedridden the entire time, her swollen belly rippling as the creature inside tried to tear its way through. The screaming. The crying. The pleading.

She could’ve given in. She could’ve just let it end. But she held on.

Why?

One night, Mary stopped screaming. She rose from the bed as though something had grabbed her by her swollen torso and lifted her up. The lightning flickered softly, and her husband called for the priests and the healers and the midwife. Anyone who might be able to help. But all they could do was watch as Mary’s body levitated. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Her belly rippled violently. It almost looked like she’d give birth, but something smoky, something shadowy, plumed out of her bellybutton instead.

It gushed out like the smoke billowing from a volcano during an eruption. Lightning crackled and sizzled and popped, and a face appeared in the smoke. A face that screamed and howled, as though trying to escape the smoke, but a wind blew through the home, and the smoke dissipated. The face faded away, and all at once, everything stopped.

Mary collapsed in bed. There was no more lightning. The priests and their dark robes looked in awe. The midwives rushed to her side. She cried out again and a deluge of blood gushed between her legs.

And there, curled up and red-faced and still attached to his mother by the umbilical cord, was a baby.

The images started fading as an exhausted Mary struggled, her eyes flickering to stay open, her body ragged and worn down and broken, her swollen belly deflated as more blood gushed from her insides. She held out her hand. One of the women wiped the baby down with a cloth. It wasn’t crying. It looked bright and alert, its little hands and feet kicking as it turned its head every which way.

Mary nuzzled the baby into her arms. Wrinkles had formed deep grooves on her face. Her hair had turned gray and ashy. And even though she was bleeding, her lightning no longer worked. She held the baby to her chest and spoke in a raspy, choked whisper, “Yeshua.”

With a shudder, Jenny came out of the vision. Her hand slipped out of Yeshua’s, and she took a step back. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Yeshua was smiling. “My eema was a strong woman. The First Mary.”

“Did I make a mistake?” whispered Jenny. She was shaking. “Did I make a mistake by giving birth to Eve?”

“I do not think so,” said Yeshua. “Eve and Adonai are not the same. Opposite forces maybe, but... we shall see. Our actions are irreversible. Right or wrong isn’t the question anymore. We must focus on what we can do now.”

Jenny sniffled, her heart torn by what she’d seen of Mary. “Does this make me... the Second Mary? I don’t know what to do.”

“You want to find your Susan, yes?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Then help me, Jenny Huang. Help me save Death and I will help you find your Susan.”

"How?" She looked at the pillars behind Yeshua; she couldn't look him in the eyes. Her mind still swam with images of Mary, pregnant and engulfed in red lightning. It was the same lightning that Yeshua had. And what was that shadowy face that came out of Mary? Was that... Him?

And am I really the Second Mary?

What does that mean?

Her hand went to her belly, her fingertips pressing against skin through the chips and cracks in her armor.

Yeshua took a deep breath. "You have told me of an ability, an ability so rare that I believe it is unique in its expression. Unique in the woman manifesting such power for I have never seen or heard of such an ability in the hands of a mortal."

Jenny wiped her nose and sniffled. "Do you mean?" She raised her hand and used Valescent Light. Colors flared to life around her fingers. A golden aura emanated from her skin, and Yeshua looked at it with his eyebrows raised.

His lips twitched with the hint of a smile, but he shook his head. "While that is a very beautiful and warm blessing, something I have not seen in such a long time, it is not the ability I am referring to. This power is all your own."

She shook her hand free of the light. She knew which one he'd meant, but she'd hoped she was wrong. Her insides twisted. Fear crawled along the back of her neck.

"I believe you called it Severed Spirit."