Free Fear that man by Dean Koontz

Christians were destroying the machinery that maintained the Shield. They were planting new bombs to do what Sam’s first one didn’t have a chance to do.
        A second explosion rocked the floor even more violently…
        And the Shield blinked…
        … was gone…
        Breadloaf screamed a piercing scream, a thing that he had only half finished with when the black bird with the forty million eyes and the claws of brass swept from the vacant spot in the wall, swooped out on the cold winds and descended on him. The room had expanded, it seemed, to the size of a dozen galaxies. The room was erupting on the way to becoming the macrocosm itself. Yet all of it was filled with them and this thing from beyond their dimension so that it seemed, in another and confounding way, that the chamber had shrunk to the size of a small closet.
        There was no up or down.
        The stars had lost their glitter and consumed themselves.
        With a tongue of sequined pebbles, the darkness ate the light.
        Sam was tumbling around within and yet without God, smashing against the pinions of the tremendous feathers, caught alternately in winds as cold as ice and as hot as volcano hearts. On and off, as he fought the crushing expanses of blackness that clutched at him with a million oiled talons, he saw Alexander Breadloaf. He saw him first without skin-peeled and bloody. Next he saw him blackened and a thing of ash. The ashes became other dark birds that bored into the belly of the omnipotent black bird and revitalized it with their frenzy. He saw lightning flashing from Breadloaf’s charred nostrils and worms eating the man’s black tongue. He saw him undergo all the punishments of all imagined hells. And he feared greatly the moment when God would turn on the rest of them, come with claws and with fangs to eat out their livers with His silver-plated teeth.
        Feathers sprouted from Breadloaf, black feathers that were oily and bent. With His beak, the thing that was God plucked the feathers from the man, leaving gaping holes that seeped yellow…
        There was no warmth; neither was there cold.
        Everywhere was fear.
        Then, abruptly and without announcement, there were words in his mind. They were Hurkos’ familiar tones: Listen. Listen to me. I can see Him. I can see God!
         I can see Him too! Sam thought-screamed.
         No. I mean, I can see Him with my psionic powers. There is nothing to Him! He’s so damned small!
         Clarify yourself! This was from Gnossos.
         He is puny. He is not large and forceful. The room is not expanding. Breadloaf is not being charred or eaten by worms. God is trying to frighten Breadloaf to death. Fear and illusions are the only weapons He has left. He has lost His greatest powers. Perhaps from centuries of confinement and the last surge of energy needed to create Sam. He is drained.
         But all this, Sam thought.
         A damn fake! I’ll send you the true picture. I’m looking, directly through His illusions and delusions. I can see. I’ll broadcast.
        In an eye blink, the room was normal. Breadloaf was uncharred. But he was dead. His eyes were blank, fish-belly things. His hand clutched his chest above his heart. The tiny transmitter in his heart would be yelling for the medics. He would be reached in time-here in the city-to be given a new heart before brain damage occurred. He would live again.
        “Where?” Gnossos asked.
        Then they saw it. It was poised on the rim of the Shield itself. It was a small, pink, formless thing. It had not refrained from transferring itself simply because it was too big. It had sent Sam first for the simple reason that Sam would be more effective than it would have been. For a moment the dreams surged back, but Hurkos used his own, greater powers to fight them away. Then the Mue raised a chair, smashed it into the pink slug. Again, again, and again. He mashed with a fury