THE DECEPTION OF DISUNITY
In the shadowed depths of the underworld, Apollyon reclined on his jagged throne. His eyes glowed like coals, reflecting the chaos that spread above in the city of Harmonia. The laughter of men and women, the clatter of the market, even the cries of children—all seemed trivial to him. His mind, however, was sharp, and his focus rested on one target: Patience, the son of Steadfast.
"Patience… that foolish boy," Apollyon hissed, his tongue flicking like a serpent. "He clings to his God even when the world mocks him. He suffers, yes, but he suffers with loyalty. His faith blinds him to the riches I offer. If I cannot take him with wealth, I will take him by the heart. Yes… by the heart!"
A shadow detached itself from the darkness of the throne room. It slithered across the obsidian floor until it stood before Apollyon. "You summoned me, my lord?" the figure whispered.
"You are called Disunity," Apollyon said, his voice like grinding stone. "Go to Harmonia. Go to Stiffness, the wife of Patience. Plant the seeds of doubt in her mind. If you succeed, the bond between them will break. Then I shall have my victory. Do you understand?"
Disunity bowed low, almost kissing the floor. "I understand, my lord. She will listen, and he will suffer. You shall have your victory."
With a swirl of shadow, he vanished from the underworld, carrying with him the malice of his master.
Meanwhile, on the banks of the river that ran through Harmonia, Stiffness was washing their modest clothes, the sun dipping toward the horizon. Her hands moved in automatic rhythm, but her heart was restless. Each scrub of the cloth seemed heavier than the last.
"Good afternoon, Stiffness," a voice called softly from the shadows.
Startled, she looked up. A tall figure, clad in grey and black, emerged from between the trees. "Who… who are you?" she asked, clutching the wet cloth to her chest.
"I am Disunity," the stranger said, bowing lightly. "I come to speak truthfully to you."
Stiffness narrowed her eyes. "Truthfully? You do not even know me. What would you know about my life or my husband?"
Disunity smiled, a faintly sinister curl of his lips. "I know enough. I have watched him, your Patience. He clings to his God even in the face of hunger, poverty, and scorn. He refuses wealth. He refuses ease. And you suffer for his loyalty."
Stiffness shook her head. "Patience suffers, yes, but he suffers for God. I chose to stand by him because I believe in the path of righteousness."
"Righteousness does not feed the stomach, Stiffness," Disunity said smoothly. "Righteousness does not keep the body warm or safe. If he refuses to bend, must you endure this endless hardship? Must you suffer because he will not compromise?"
Her hands trembled as the river water dripped from them. "What… what are you suggesting?"
"Merely that you consider your own life," Disunity said softly, stepping closer. "You could leave him. There is a city far from here, Vanity, where you could find comfort, wealth, and respect. You need not live in abject poverty forever. He will survive—he is strong—but you… you cannot endure endless suffering."
Stiffness closed her eyes, her mind in turmoil. For years, she had trusted Patience, followed him through mockery and hunger, prayed with him, cried with him, yet now her resolve wavered. Could she truly leave him? Could she survive without him?
"I… I must think," she whispered, almost to herself.
"Do not think too long," Disunity urged, retreating into the shadows with a grin. "Time is precious, and opportunity fleeting. Remember, the world cares not for the faithful, only for the practical."
That night, Stiffness returned home with her thoughts heavy and her heart burdened. The small hut was dark, the fire low. Patience entered moments later, exhausted from his day at the market, yet filled with the calm serenity of prayer.
"Stiffness," he said gently, "how was your day? Did you manage to sell anything?"
She looked at him with eyes now hard, edged with pain and frustration. "No, Patience… I cannot continue like this. If you do not abandon this foolish path, if you will not sell lies and deceit like the others, then I… I cannot remain with you."
Patience froze, disbelief and sorrow mingling in his gaze. "What… what are you saying? You… you would leave me?"
"I cannot endure poverty, humiliation, and scorn forever," she cried, her voice breaking. "I… I need a life. You cannot give it to me, Patience. You will not bend, so I must."
Patience fell to his knees, clutching her hands. "Stiffness, I beg you, do not let the world of men and demons separate us. I cannot betray God, I cannot abandon the truth. But I will do everything I can to provide, to pray, to hope, for our survival. Please, do not leave me!"
Stiffness yawned dismissively. "I have made my choice. Your truth will not feed me. Your God will not warm me. I must take care of myself."
The young man's heart cracked, spilling sorrow into the dim corners of their home. Tears streaked his cheeks as she turned and walked away, her small bundle of possessions clutched tightly to her chest. Patience could do nothing but fall to the floor and cry to God.
"Lord," he whispered through his tears, "give me strength. Comfort her wherever she is. Protect her. Help me endure this pain, for I am weak without her."
By the next morning, Stiffness had departed. She tried to make her way toward Vanity, but the journey was cut short. Dark winds arose without warning. Strange shadows swirled around her, and invisible hands held her in place. Before she could cry out, legions of demons appeared, their eyes glowing with hatred.
"No! Please, no!" she screamed. She struggled and ran, but their speed and numbers overwhelmed her. Claws and fangs tore through her, and in moments, Stiffness was devoured, her flesh scattered across the land.
Miles away, Patience felt her absence as an unbearable ache. His sorrow turned to fervent prayer, his heart breaking yet still filled with faith.
"Lord, save her! Protect her, my God! She is innocent! She is Yours!" he cried. Though her fate was sealed, Patience's trust in God did not waver. Even in despair, he remained a servant of the truth, a beacon in the darkness.
In the underworld, Apollyon laughed, his mirth echoing through the cavernous depths. "The seed of disunity has done well," he hissed. "Patience suffers now, and yet he still clings to his God. Soon, his trials will multiply, and I will have my victory."