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This is a short fictional story inspired by the biblical account of the angel of the Lord striking down 185,000 Assyrian soldiers in a single night, as described in 2 Kings 19:35.
The Angel’s Story: The Night of the Lord’s Wrath
I am Sariel, a messenger of the Most High. You would call me an angel, though I have no need for such titles. I have seen the rise and fall of kings, walked through the fire of the heavens, and beheld the might of the Almighty. But there is one night that I remember above all others.
The night the Assyrians fell.
You have read about it in your scriptures. You know of the 185,000 who perished without sword or spear. But I was there. I carried out the command. And I have come to tell you why.
I stand before you now, unseen by most, though you feel my presence. If you could see me, you might describe me as shining, yet shadowed; clothed in a radiance not of this world, with eyes that burn like embers, wings like the storm, and a voice that is not mine alone but carries the echoes of eternity. You would tremble, as men always do in the presence of one sent by the Almighty. But I have not come to frighten. I have come to tell you of the night the world learned to fear the name of the Lord.
The city of Jerusalem was a candle flickering against the storm. The Assyrians had come in a tide of steel and blood, their banners black against the sky, their war cries shaking the earth. Sennacherib, their king, had already destroyed many nations. Their gods had fallen. Their cities had burned. And now he stood before Jerusalem, ready to do the same.
But he did not fear the Lord.
He sent his messengers to the city walls, their voices ringing out like the hissing of serpents.
“Do not let your God deceive you! Did the gods of Hamath or Arpad save them? Did the gods of Sepharvaim, Hena, or Ivvah rescue their people? What god has ever delivered a nation from the hands of the great king of Assyria?”
The people of Jerusalem trembled, but they did not answer. Their king, Hezekiah, took the words of Sennacherib and brought them before the Lord. He did not summon more chariots. He did not fortify the walls. He fell on his face before the Almighty and prayed:
“O Lord, the God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, You alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth. Give ear, O Lord, and hear. Open Your eyes and see. Deliver us from his hand, so that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that You alone, O Lord, are God.”
And Heaven answered.
I was given the command that evening. It was not spoken in words as men understand them. It was written into my very being, carried on the breath of the Almighty, and I descended.
The Assyrian camp was vast, a sea of tents stretching beyond what the eye could see. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting shadows against the iron helms of the soldiers. They were mighty warriors, hardened by war, fearless in the face of battle. But they had never faced the wrath of the Almighty.
I moved unseen among them, passing between tents, through the ranks of men who believed themselves invincible. Some muttered in their sleep, dreaming of their spoils, their victories. Others clutched their swords even in slumber, prepared for battle at a moment’s notice. But their battle would never come.
A wind stirred the dust, though there was no storm. The air thickened, heavy with a silence that did not belong to the earth. And then, it began.
It was not fire that consumed them, nor blade that cut them down. It was not poison, nor sickness. No human force ended their lives. It was the will of the Almighty.
One by one, they ceased. Breath inhaled but never exhaled. Hearts that beat strong one moment, stilled the next. Their souls were called away, and not one remained to resist.
Some stirred in their last moments, their eyes opening in terror as they saw what they could not comprehend. Their lips parted to cry out, but no sound escaped. There was only silence.
By dawn, the once-mighty Assyrian army lay as still as the stones of the earth. 185,000 warriors, their strength undone in a single night.
When the sun rose over the battlefield, those who had not yet perished beheld the horror before them. The soldiers who remained fled, their swords forgotten, their banners trampled beneath their own feet. They did not look back. Even Sennacherib, the great king who had defied the Almighty, fled in disgrace. He returned to Nineveh, his pride shattered, his voice silenced. And there, in the temple of his god, he was cut down by his own sons.
Jerusalem was saved. Not by walls. Not by weapons. But by the hand of the Almighty.
You live in a world that mocks God as Sennacherib did. You are told to trust in power, in wealth, in the strength of men. You are told that faith is weakness, that the Lord does not see, does not hear, does not act.
But I was there that night. I tell you, no kingdom stands before the Almighty. No ruler defies Him and remains standing. No enemy of His people prevails.
Hezekiah did not trust in men. He trusted in the Almighty. And God delivered him.
Do you trust Him?
The sanctuary was silent. The air was thick, as if the presence of something unseen lingered still. Then, as suddenly as I had come, I was gone. But my words remained, heavy as the silence of that ancient battlefield.
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