Alone.

Left to wither away.

Forgotten.

Day after day, memories of my existence began to fade, slipping through the cracks of reality.

Faithful.

That's all I've ever been.

My undying devotion to the Lord and His son defined me, shaped me, made me whole. My purpose was non-existent until He breathed it into me. My titles, once revered and unshakable, mean nothing without the weight of His will behind them. I existed to serve, to carry out His divine mission, to ensure the people's sins would not bury them under eternal despair.

That was my job.

But as quickly as I was created, I was replaced. Another took my place in His plan, another servant called to fulfill a purpose that once belonged solely to me. The sting of insignificance, the gnawing pain of irrelevance—it consumed me. I couldn't bear it anymore.

I wanted—no, I needed—to stop Him from replacing me, to halt this betrayal of everything I'd lived for. So, I did the unthinkable. I ended Him.

The path to His demise was not a simple one. My hands alone could not do it; I needed a vessel, a mortal heart twisted enough to carry out my will. One of His faithful disciples, a man who crumbled so easily under the weight of his desires: Judas.

He was weak, his soul vulnerable, and his greed insatiable. The glimmer of power clouded his loyalty, made him blind to the consequences of his actions. He became one of my pawns, a tool to dismantle the plan that had cast me aside. Through him, I orchestrated betrayal. Through him, I delivered my brother into mortal hands.

The Son of God was now dead.

Crucified on the cross, beaten, mocked, and tortured until the very life was wrung from His mortal body. The heavens wept as His blood soaked the earth, and the world stood still in the shadow of His suffering. I was there, watching from above, a lone dove sent from the celestial realm to mourn His passing. My heart, though burdened with the weight of my actions, did not falter. This was my doing. My plan had been flawless, orchestrated with precision.

So what went wrong?

Three days later, the earth trembled, the tomb lay empty, and He returned. The Son of God, alive once more, walking among the living, bearing the wounds of His sacrifice as a testament to His divine purpose. The cheers of humanity—of their Savior's resurrection—echoed endlessly in my mind, each cry a reminder of my failure.

How could this be? How could He, the one I sought to destroy, rise again, defying death itself? The victory I thought was mine dissolved in an instant, replaced by a bitter sense of dread.

Rumors spread like wildfire. Tales of Judas' betrayal reached the furthest corners of Heaven and Earth. His name became synonymous with treachery, his fate sealed in eternal infamy. Banished from both realms, he fell into darkness, stripped of humanity and grace, condemned to roam as a demon—a shell of the man he once was.

But even Judas was merely a pawn, a tool in my grand design. I thought I had won, silencing the Son of God forever. And yet, I underestimated Him, underestimated the power of faith, love, and the divine will of God.