too well. The ass kicking Balzuzu gave was one he’d remember. Rebel, meanwhile, was coordinating and commanding others in his pack and making shredded wheat out of the zombies. They didn’t need my help. The best thing I could do for any of them was to finish the job we started. Balzuzu needed to die. I need to choose the best weapons from my arsenal to make that a reality.
I haven’t been down here in a while. It takes me a few minutes to re-familiarize myself with the layout. I scan the room; handheld pistols, machine guns, flamethrowers—Martaan should have grabbed those—, knives… finally I spot the truly explosive stuff. It took four missiles just to knock the wind out of Balzuzu’s sails. But since I can’t carry a RIM-116 rolling airframe missile launcher on my back, I need something portable, yet even more effective.
I turn to Father Miguel, “Talk to me. Tell me everything you know.”
“That would take years. I’ve spent a lifetime studying them,” Miguel says sardonically.
“Cliff notes. Start with fuckface. What’s a Nephilim?”
Miguel paces a moment. I could tell it was a big story and he was figuring out how to condense it down to size. He gets there and begins. “Many millennia ago a group of watcher angels were dispatched to Earth to watch over humanity.”
Normally I tune out at hearing religious stuff like this, but I’ve seen enough in the last few hours to keep my trap shut.
Miguel continues. “However, instead of simply watching us, they decided to do more . They chose to guide us in their ways, teaching us things we would have been better off not knowing. They taught us the art of war, the use of weaponry and sorcery for untoward purposes. They also desired us, procreating among us. They bore children. Their offspring, the end result of this unholy union between god-like beings and women, were the Nephilim, a race of giants brimming with savagery and power who followed no laws but their own. The children of the watchers became our conquerors. Araqiel was one of the first Nephilim. Balzuzu is one of his sons.”
“Still alive after all this time?” I question.
“They are not like us. They do not abide by the laws of God. They are immortal. Eventually, God had enough of their destructive ways so he directly intervened on behalf of mankind, something he rarely does. He banished the Nephilim from Earth with a great flood. Sent them to another realm.”
“God banished them to Hell?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” answers Miguel. “Hell is merely the space between. Do you believe in souls, Silas?”
“I don’t think too much about it,” I say.
“And yet you are one of the purest souls I have ever encountered. I have known that since I baptized you. Balzuzu noticed it the moment he lifted you off the ground in the graveyard. I could see it in his eyes. He let you live so he could taint you.”
A wry grin crossed my lips. “Forgive me, Father, but I’m pretty fucking far from being a saint.”
“Yet you confront evil every time you encounter it, with a bravery few men have ever shown.”
“Well someone needs to kick them in the balls,” I shrug.
“That’s an accurate, but most ineloquent way to put it,” he nods. “All living things have a soul, Silas. It’s what defines us… what makes us who we are.”
“Even werewolves? Even zombies?”
“Even Balzuzu,” he responds. “But theirs are captured souls. When a human is born he or she is gifted from God a perfectly pure soul. It is a thing of utter beauty, utter perfection. As that person grows, their actions color that soul. When they sin-and I’m talking about true sins that come from bad intentions; deceiving, stealing, murdering—their souls become tainted. When that person dies, their soul leaves this realm and travels to God’s kingdom. And I mean truly travels from our plane of existence into the next. If that soul is still pure enough, it will return to God an untouchable invisible light along a
I haven’t been down here in a while. It takes me a few minutes to re-familiarize myself with the layout. I scan the room; handheld pistols, machine guns, flamethrowers—Martaan should have grabbed those—, knives… finally I spot the truly explosive stuff. It took four missiles just to knock the wind out of Balzuzu’s sails. But since I can’t carry a RIM-116 rolling airframe missile launcher on my back, I need something portable, yet even more effective.
I turn to Father Miguel, “Talk to me. Tell me everything you know.”
“That would take years. I’ve spent a lifetime studying them,” Miguel says sardonically.
“Cliff notes. Start with fuckface. What’s a Nephilim?”
Miguel paces a moment. I could tell it was a big story and he was figuring out how to condense it down to size. He gets there and begins. “Many millennia ago a group of watcher angels were dispatched to Earth to watch over humanity.”
Normally I tune out at hearing religious stuff like this, but I’ve seen enough in the last few hours to keep my trap shut.
Miguel continues. “However, instead of simply watching us, they decided to do more . They chose to guide us in their ways, teaching us things we would have been better off not knowing. They taught us the art of war, the use of weaponry and sorcery for untoward purposes. They also desired us, procreating among us. They bore children. Their offspring, the end result of this unholy union between god-like beings and women, were the Nephilim, a race of giants brimming with savagery and power who followed no laws but their own. The children of the watchers became our conquerors. Araqiel was one of the first Nephilim. Balzuzu is one of his sons.”
“Still alive after all this time?” I question.
“They are not like us. They do not abide by the laws of God. They are immortal. Eventually, God had enough of their destructive ways so he directly intervened on behalf of mankind, something he rarely does. He banished the Nephilim from Earth with a great flood. Sent them to another realm.”
“God banished them to Hell?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” answers Miguel. “Hell is merely the space between. Do you believe in souls, Silas?”
“I don’t think too much about it,” I say.
“And yet you are one of the purest souls I have ever encountered. I have known that since I baptized you. Balzuzu noticed it the moment he lifted you off the ground in the graveyard. I could see it in his eyes. He let you live so he could taint you.”
A wry grin crossed my lips. “Forgive me, Father, but I’m pretty fucking far from being a saint.”
“Yet you confront evil every time you encounter it, with a bravery few men have ever shown.”
“Well someone needs to kick them in the balls,” I shrug.
“That’s an accurate, but most ineloquent way to put it,” he nods. “All living things have a soul, Silas. It’s what defines us… what makes us who we are.”
“Even werewolves? Even zombies?”
“Even Balzuzu,” he responds. “But theirs are captured souls. When a human is born he or she is gifted from God a perfectly pure soul. It is a thing of utter beauty, utter perfection. As that person grows, their actions color that soul. When they sin-and I’m talking about true sins that come from bad intentions; deceiving, stealing, murdering—their souls become tainted. When that person dies, their soul leaves this realm and travels to God’s kingdom. And I mean truly travels from our plane of existence into the next. If that soul is still pure enough, it will return to God an untouchable invisible light along a
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