by Gene Stiles
“This will not end well for anyone.”
Anak cautiously watched the four Black Guard as they surrounded him.
“Do not do this. Someone will die.”
“And it will be you, creature,” they snickered.
Putting himself between the men and his beloved, Alcmene, the eleven-foot monstrously muscled Nephilim saw the heavily armed Atlanteans reach for their weapons.
With the speed of a serpent, Anak spun and kicked. The blade of his foot crunched bones like powder. The guardsman fell to the ground, a high-pitched wail echoing off the walls around them. Anak sensed the other Aam reaching for the long knives scabbarded at their sides. Not stopping his movement, he cut the Black Guard down like a scythe through ripened wheat, his monstrous fists shattering skulls and spines in an avalanche of loosened rage. Three corpses kicked out their dying moments on the smoothly pebbled walkway before their steel even cleared leather.
The last man ran toward the shouting mass of people rushing into the street. “He attacked us for no reason,” he screamed. “Kill him!”
“Kill the Nephilim!”
The angry mob surged forward, drawing swords and knives from their waists, cursing and cussing as they raced toward the melee.
“Run,” Anak bellowed, shoving Alcmene in front of him as the crowd surged forward. “Run!”
About The Author
International author, Gene Stiles, a Michigan native, moved to Simi Valley, CA in 1963. His first publication was at age eleven when the Los Angeles Daily News (then the Valley News and Green Sheet) and the L.A. Times both wrote articles on a young poet selling his work to buy a Mother’s Day present.
His interests include mythology, world religions, archaeology, geology, paleontology, lost civilizations, science fiction and the 2012 phenomenon which are the basis for his Colony Series of novels, Colony - Atlantean, Colony – Neander, Colony – Bloodkin and Colony – Seeds of War.
Growing up an outcast in his family, he lived much of the story in his first novel To Walk the Winding Road – A Story Of Abuse And Survival.
At age seventeen, he started a three-state wide non-profit organization called Teens, Inc. in the hopes of helping other troubled teens like himself. As an adult, he continued his devotion to kids by opening teen-oriented businesses including two arcades and three teen nightclubs - which are the sources for his book Phenomenon - The Xenon West Story.
He is also a martial artist and major karaoke junkie.
He lives in Missouri on the land he and his late wife, Dianne, cleared together and in the house the two built alone and with their own two hands. She promoted him, believed in him and without whose inspiration none of his books would ever have been printed.
Colony
Nephilim
Written By
Gene Stiles
Other Books By Gene Stiles
The Colony Series
Colony – Atlantean
Colony – Neander
Colony – Blood Kin
Colony – Seeds of War
Biographical Fiction
To Walk The Winding Road – A Story of Abuse and Survival
Phenomenon – The Xenon West Story
Brotherhood Of The Bike
Dedicated to my lovely wife, Dianne, who gave me so much support, who brought me pots and pots of coffee while my head was buried in the computer. For believing in me and my goals and who made all my dreams a reality. I miss you, my love.
A special dedication to my nephew, David and my niece, Burgendee, for giving me ideas, being my sounding board, helping me with artwork and for being my editor.
I love you both.
Thank you.
Copyright © 2018 By Gene Stiles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
ISBN Number 978-0-359-14078-7
Cover Art By BoBooks for Gene Stiles, Copyright © 2018
Author’s Forward
What If It’s True?
If you heard the same story from ten different people who did not know each other, would you believe it? How about fifty different people–with no Internet access–from different locations around the world? How about hundreds?
There is a theory that we as the human race or not native to this earth but, rather, are a colony planted here long ago from another world. Not a new concept and scoffed at by most rational adults. But what if there is recorded documentation around the world that proves that such a possibility exists?
There is. Thousands of documents.
As I stated in the previous Colony forwards, there are literally millions of links between ALL religious and mythological writings from ALL around the world. Many events and even specific names mentioned in the Bible, for example, can be found in ancient mythology. Did you know that there are over Five Hundred stories around the world of survivors of a Great Flood? Hell, the underworld in Christian religions is also Hel, the underworld ruled by the goddess Hela, in Norse mythology. The Tree, so predominant in the Bible, is also referred to in Norse mythology as Yggdrasil and is found in many other writings as well and in Great Flood stories as the receptacle of survivors instead of the Ark (also made of wood).
As I continued my researches into the unexplained, lost civilizations, UFOs, archaeology, geology paleontology and history more and more links became obvious, tying these areas of study with religion and myth.
Many others have written extensively on these subjects. Some of the best researchers are Erich Von Daniken in his book and movie, Chariots of the Gods, which chronicles possible visits by extraterrestrials to the earth in ancient times; Joseph Campbell in his studies of mythologies; Graham Hancock’s studies in lost civilizations and the origins of humanity such as ‘Fingerprints of the Gods’, ‘Keeper Of Genesis’ and many more; Michael Cremo, author of ‘Forbidden Archaeology, the Hidden History of Mankind’ and many more writers too numerous to mention.
What I have done in the Colony series is not an attempt to duplicate the work of so many great writers. It is instead a fictionalized story from the perspective of the people who may have lived it. It is an attempt to put into words the hows and whys of what happened long ago. In each novel, I attempt to explain reasons for many of the events and symbols in myth and religion as well as scientifically factual occurrences. In the forward of each book, I lay out what the story will include so you, the reader, can understand how these events tie together. I ask for your patience and indulgence in getting the full story as the information I’ve gathered over fifty years of research is monumental. For more specific detail, I suggest you read the works of the previously mentioned authors with an open mind.
Colony – Nephilim
Questions:
What led to the Second War the Gods?
Where did Cro-Magnon come from?
Why were the Nephilim hated and hunted?
Why were the Pyramids built?
Where were the great cities of Atlantis?
Is there geological or hard scientific proof?
You’ll also find a few other little ‘inferences’ tossed into the mix for good measure, some fact and some whimsical.
The truly scary part is that things are happening today, right now, that show the events of the past are repeating themselves. From global warming and worldwide changes in weather and tectonic activity to political unrest and even war and terrorism. Will there be another ‘War of The Gods’? The Mayans predicted the next great change and possible destruction of civilization as occurring in 2012. Could they have just been a few years off? Are the events of today leading to this very conclusion?
Read on and decide for yourself. And be prepared.
Prologue
From The Diary of Zeus
I did not hate my father, Cronus, Lord Father of Atlantis. In fact, I admired him. He saved the People of Atlan and gave them a new world at great personal cost. He tamed a savage land, erected a shining city of gold and built an empire.
I also pitied him. He lost the planet of his birth. The ancient society he grew up in was dead. He was forced to kill his own father to ensure the survival of his race. Cronus and his Atlanteans were entombed beneath a mountain for millions of years while their descendants became something else, something apparently bestial and savage. For so long after he awoke, only he knew that terrible secret.
To add to all that, there was the Prophesy; the dying word of Uranus, the father he loved so much. It said his own son would rise up against him and repeat the cycle of death. Of course, he feared and hated me.
Though we did not meet in my growing years, a part of me even tried to love him. My mother, the bitter Lady Rhea, did her best to poison my heart against Cronus. She filled my head with his savagery and the brutal tactics he used upon the Izon, bloodkin of the People. He killed his own people if they opposed him, using his vicious Black Guard. The vile monster raped her, beat her and stole her children away – my own brothers and sisters – and swallowed them up into the earth. And for what? For the good of the People? No. Only to save his own life and protect his power.
Thankfully, I was not raised in her custody. My true mothers, Adrasteia and Ida, daughters of Haleah of the Izon, were kind and loving. They taught me to see all sides of a story. Adrasteia, especially, told me of the deep and abiding love Cronus had for Rhea and the People. She showed me holos of the great romance they shared and the gift of life he bestowed upon all of Atlantis. She read to me the histories, proving how much my father had sacrificed and at what cost to his soul. Adrasteia made me see him as not the god of legend, but as only a man. She showed me the strength and greatness he once had in his heart and how the burden of guilt and self-doubt twisted him into something malignant and barbaric. Along with her sisters, Lady Haleah and their father, the mighty Morpheus, she taught me that to listen solely to Rhea would send me down that same dark path.
And I tried. Creator knows I have tried. My mother, Rhea, warned me one day my evil father would seek to destroy me and I did not believe her. I thought that if I only stayed far from his grasp, I could live a long and peaceful life. This world is vast. Surely, I could build a simple home with a loving family where he would never find me nor fear me. I was wrong.
I still do not wish to kill him. Even after the horrors, tortures, agonies and destruction he has rained down upon me and those I love, I would not see Cronus dead. No. That would be too easy. With the hatred now burning in my breast, I do not seek the savage vengeance he so richly deserves. I seek justice. He will suffer as no man has ever suffered…and it will be at my own hand.
His Prophesy will come to pass.
Chapter I
Eriktis was one of the lucky ones and he hated himself for it. He knew it was coming since his fourteenth birthday almost a year ago and he dreaded every one of those days. He knew it as he grew taller, stronger than the majority of his peers. His chest was massive and rippling with sculpted muscle, his legs like the trunks of young oak trees, his arms bulging, his tendons standing out in stark relief against his sun-burnish skin. His face was artistically rendered and square, azure eyes on both sides of a straight nose and wide, tan lips that often spread in a warm and caring smile. His wavy, gold-streaked, blond hair flowed down his back to his narrow waist like mist over a waterfall. His young mind grasped both mundane and complicated problems with equal ease. He was an elite even among the Nephilim and it was horrible…for Loren was neither.
In one week was the Ceremony of Decision where the naming of Clans would be assigned to this year’s batch of children by Commander Nephilemus. Here in Valley Diefilli, or Valley of the Children in the Izon language, hundreds were born of the Breeders every year. About twenty percent of them were obviously Izon and remained at the far end of the compound with their kin until they were old enough to be shipped to work camps to live out their sorry days. The rest were moved to the Enclosure in the central valley nestled between the twin spines of the snowcapped Northern Mountains. The Mothers raised them in communal homes, teaching them language, arts and sciences. Fathers taught them woodsmanship and combat, discipline and respect…usually in harsh, painful lessons not easily forgotten.
Roughly twelve percent of these children became those known as the Nephilim, named for the Commander, indistinguishable from pure Atlanteans. Gifted with the looks and mental acuity of their Atlantean mothers and the strength and endurance of their Izon fathers, they would move to the city of Pettit at the eastern end of the valley for a few months awaiting transport to new families throughout the Atlantean Empire. They would live out their lives in comfort, peace and happiness, their true origins hidden from the masses.
Those left behind would be deemed Mags, a derogatory Izon word meaning man-things that the cruel Aam guards had picked up. These half-breeds were neither of the Clan nor of the People. They would be shipped to smaller cities and outposts scattered around the world. No one actually told the children what they could expect, but rumors abounded of slavery, whoring, torment and a lifetime of hard labor and abuse.
During that ceremony, Eriktis knew he would lose Loren and this he would not do. He did not know when he came to love her so much. She just had always been. She walked with him, talked with him, shared her dreams and listened to his for as long as he could remember. Even among the hundreds of children that surrounded them in the Enclosure, Loren stood out not just for her graceful movement and stunning beauty, but for a mind as intuitive as his own. Her dark brown eyes twinkled with mischief, a little quirky smile always on the edges of her small pink lips. Curls of woodland brown hair encircled an oval face full of kindness and empathy. The two were inseparable. Until now.
The Mothers, knowing what would happen, tried to keep them apart this last year. They saw Loren become stunted in her growth, her body bulking, her skin darkening. They saw her brow ridge thickening. Not as much as an Izon, but not as smooth as an Atlantean. She would never make one of the elite and, in their kindness, they tried to ease the heartache to come. Yet with so many under their care, they could not keep the two apart. Now it was too late.
Yes, Eriktis knew himself to be blessed, but it came at the cost of his love and everyone he ever knew. Even among the Nephilim, he was special. Only one in a hundred was as gigantic as he was. They were the elite. He hated himself for what he was and for what he could not do for his friends. As he received his ‘reward’ upon the podium, Eriktis promised himself he would find a way to change this and save his companions and all that came before and after them. This he swore before the Creator no matter how long it might take. He would find Loren and together they would build a life for themselves far from the horrors of this place. He promised her and he would keep that promise.
“How can a place so depraved and repulsive hide beneath a veneer of such incredible beauty?” Tethys wept as her cinnamon eyes gazed down at the tranquil scene below, her dark brown hair whispering around her bowed head.
The summer sun shimmered high in the azure sky between the twin ridges of the Northern Mountains. A multitude of streams and babbling brooks trailed like blue veins from the snowcapped heights on either side and flowed into the headwaters of the mighty Serpent River that rumbled through the deep gorges leading the way to the eastern seas. Nearly impenetrable forests topped the cliffs embracing the river, pressing tightly against the foothills to the north and hiding the almost imperceptible southern entrance to the broad, green valley that lay between the mountains.
A perfect place for a prison.
Oceanus, Tethys and the six Aam that accompanied them stood atop the white-rocked butte south of the river gorge. The deep green of the woodlands flowed down the foothills before giving way to the narrow veldt that ga
ve ingress to the valley floor. A barely visible dirt road hid among the trees and grasslands ending at the row of blue-tipped spires that blocked the passage. A large, squat building hunkered next to a wide gate guarded by a squad of alert, well-armed Aam. The glowing wards continued along the edge of the woods, along the base of the cliffs and across the river to the mountains. On the other end of the valley, hundreds of miles to the west, a like row of sentinel wards barred entrance to the grasslands with guards stationed to keep out intruders…and to keep the prisoners within.
The Valley Diefilli, nestled between the peaks, was divided into sections. Near the large lake that gave birth to the turbulent waterway rose spires of glass, crystal and polished metals. This was the city of Pettit. Wide streets of smooth granite sheets swarming with a strange variety of peoples wound through brightly colored storefronts and office buildings. Only a scant few sleds of various sizes floated along the roadway carrying crates, boxes and cages. Other than that, it could have been any thriving Atlantean city.
A quarter of the way through the valley to the northwest, another set of wards and guard barracks split the landscape. The largest portion of the valley, this section was filled with dormitories, schools and playgrounds. There were hundreds of children ranging in age from infant to early adolescent under the care and watchful eyes of Atlantean women. From their earlier forays around the valley perimeter, Oceanus and his scouting party knew this group appeared to be made up of Atlantean People. Strangely at first, there were few men present except for Aam soldiers. Those men that were seen came and went with large groups of children surrounding them for training.
Split from this section by wards and gates, the western and last section of the valley was filled with Izon men, listless Atlantean women dressed in drab browns and grays with drooped heads, barely paying attention to the multitudes of children of the Clan running and playing around them all under heavy guard. Huge stark buildings of cold, plain stone lined the mountains on either side. Campfires glowed in red angry piles, dotting the landscape like the packs of feral beasts furious at their confinement. No joy or laughter tinkled in the crisp, cool air, only a sullen, dejected acceptance of a hated life.
