“Let me guess. They had kids. Freakishly tall. Bad teeth,” I said as a light bulb went off in my head.
“Correct,” he replied with the ever so faint glimpse of a smirk. “The sacrilegious union of angel and human resulted in an abomination. The nephilim. A cursed collection of hybrid beings. The literal birth of a race of giants amongst other creatures of an unnatural persuasion. A scourge upon the Earth, they devoured all that man had sowed, reaped, and nurtured until nothing remained. Then they turned their appetites upon mankind itself.”
Removing his hands from his pockets, he straightened his jacket and began to casually stroll to my front. Raising his hands in a lecturing gesture, he said, “Unfortunately it did not end there. The Watchers’ insolent disobedience worsened as they purposefully revealed and spread all facets of the Forbidden Knowledge. All too eager to stray from the ways of the Father, mankind embraced all that the fallen ones bestowed upon them. A contagion of immorality and violence swept throughout the Earth spurned by the twisted hearts and corrupted souls of men. The Father’s great creation was forever tainted. Stained in blood and smothered in turpitude.”
“Where the hell were the other angels in all of this? Where was God?”
“The Father was outraged at both the Watchers and man, alike, for entering into this unspeakable transgression. His precious creation had devolved into the most unholy of sacraments at the hands of his very own sons. When mankind could no longer endure this fate they cried out to the Heavens for deliverance and the Father responded. He dispatched the archangels to restore the Balance. And he dispatched the flood to raze the Earth.”
“The flood?” I asked. “The Great Flood?”
“Yes, the very same,” he casually replied. “The Father commanded Uriel to warn Noah that the Earth was to be rid of its wickedness and the human race reborn by his seed. He commanded Gabriel to wreak havoc and confusion amongst the nephilim, thus turning them upon each other in murderous fury. He commanded Michael to bind and condemn the fallen Watchers to Tartarus where they would suffer in sadness and regret until the day of Judgment. And he commanded Raphael to bind Azazel to the solitary prison of Dudael to suffer in dark isolation, estranged from his fallen brothers.”
Stopping and looking directly at me, he said, “For the sins of Azazel were of the greatest offense to the Father. To him alone, the Father ascribed all sin of man. Finally, He sent the wrathful waters to cover the Earth and wash away the iniquity, only to start anew.”
Astonished by this revelation, I was still having trouble with one small detail.
“So if the Watchers and the nephilim were taken out by the archangels more than six thousand years ago, how are they still hanging around?” I asked with what I imagined was a somewhat puzzled look on my face. “And why the hell is Azazel strolling around masquerading as a Serbian extremist in a ten thousand dollar suit? He should be locked up in a cave somewhere strapped to a boulder, right?”
“And here I was thinking you weren’t paying attention,” he said with a coy smirk.
Why the hell does everybody think I’m not paying attention? Damn government education.
As the smirk vanished and the statue-like stoicism returned, he said, “I cannot answer that question for I honestly do not know.”
“What?” I scoffed. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know?”
“The means of Azazel’s liberation is uncertain. What is certain is that at some point after the flood, he shed his bonds and has subsequently managed to freely roam the Earth for millennia, assuming various human identities.”
Beginning to slowly pace again, he said, “In the Earth year of 1998 you know him as Goran Petrovich, however it was he that instigated my mortal death at the hand of the Sanhedrin in the year 32.”
“The white robed man at the stoning,” I muttered as a vision of the crimson eyes flashed through my head. “That was him.”
“That is correct,” Stephen replied nodding. “It was also he that ruled the Roman Empire with an iron fist from 306 to 312 as the Emperor Maxentious. Within the walls of Rome, he secretly bred an army of nephilim, which he planned to unleash once more upon mankind. Had he succeeded, the path of human history would have taken a radical divergence.”
“But then you showed up.”
“Then the Father sent me,” he replied abruptly turning his gaze toward me. “It was the faith of Constantine — the actions of man — that ended the reign of Maxentious and liberated Rome. Not I.“
“With this sign you shall conquer,” I muttered under my breath, looking pensively at the Chi-Rho sitting squarely in the center of the ominous doorway. “Constantine didn’t have a vision from God the night before the battle. He had a visit from you. You drew that symbol in the dirt on the floor of his tent. The Chi-Rho. The symbol of Christ.”
“While mankind has assigned many meanings to the symbol, it has but one.” Turning his attention from me to the doorway, he solemnly said, “Balance.”
“Restore the balance,” I muttered thinking out loud. Turning from Stephen and beginning to slowly pace, I said, “So, Azazel is about to monkey stomp mankind with the power of the Roman Empire backed with a new generation of giants, you show up and issue a heavenly beat-down with that whole flaming sword montage thing you do, Constantine rolls in and mops up with Chi-Rho’s painted on his men’s armor and bingo — Christianity is off and running. Good guys win. Balance restored.”
“Horribly simplified,” Stephen dryly replied pensively gazing at me. “But accurate.”
“Ok, So what next?” I asked feeling rather pleased with myself. “What happened to Azazel after the smack down in Rome?”
“Rome was unfortunately just the beginning,” he replied somewhat ignoring my twentieth century interpretation of the events. “It was the first of Azazel’s many well conceived assaults upon mankind. Throughout history he’s assumed several prominent human identities and was responsible for instigating countless acts of war and bloodshed. As quickly as he becomes visible to our Sight — he simply vanishes, only to resurface years later. Each time more powerful than the last. He is somehow warded from the all-seeing eye of the Heavens — which should not be possible. He and all those that bear his mark, the Maradim, operate under a veil of secrecy. We fear he’s receiving aid from within the Realms. A traitor in Heaven.”
Not sure what to say, I simply stood there speechless for a long moment, studying the intensity of Stephen’s face. After a painful string of silence, he said, “The nephilim that I encountered so many years ago and those that have plagued the Earth since, are from Azazel’s seed. Throughout the generations he has persisted in rebuilding the condemned race. His hatred of man is boundless. It is matched only by his hatred of the Father. He will not desist until his fallen brothers are freed and the Earth is once again plagued by the darkness that prevailed during the reign of the Watchers.”
Overwhelmed, frustrated and thoroughly confused, I started shaking my head. Making direct eye contact with Stephen, I impatiently asked, “Why tell me all of this? Why the dreams? What’s any of this got to do with me?”
“Come now, Dean. I believe you already possess that answer,” he said as a hint of disappointment flashed across his face. “Whether or not you understand your predestination begs a greater question.”
Taken aback by his response, I turned to my left and blankly stared into the vast landscape. Beginning to slowly pace back and forth, I thought hard about the inconceivable knowledge Stephen had revealed to me and replayed the various scenes from the dream in my head.
Thinking out loud, I muttered, “Bastard sons of heaven — Treachery — Restore the balance — Bestowed with great power.” Abruptly stopping and quickly turning to face Stephen, I said, “You referred to yourself as the Father’s wrath. Please explain.”
“Ah, a proper question, he said with a nod as his mouth stretched into a stern grin. “The true reason we are here.”
As he placed his hands back in his pockets, a mild
iridescent glow subtly formed around his shoulders and casually flowed along the outline of his body creating a spectral silhouette. Within the blink of an eye the brilliant light gracefully faded as his suit jacket violently morphed into a menacing black cloak, forcing the surrounding air to visibly ripple with palpable energy. For a long moment he just stood there perfectly still like an ominous statue cast in a shadow of dark reverence.
Didn’t see that coming. Holy shit.
“Do I get one of those?” I asked completely taken by surprise, as I took three ungainly steps backward and clumsily shielded my eyes.
Treating the whole magic cloak thing like it was no big deal, he stoically replied, “You have worn the Deacon’s cloak your entire mortal life, Dean.”
“I have?”
“It is as much a part of you as you are a part of it. Have you not felt its presence every time you entered combat? Every time that inexplicable sensation augmented your perception — your agility — your strength? Unfortunately, until this very moment you have not possessed the knowledge to understand its purpose nor its consequence. There are few that do.”
Shifting his gaze from me, he slowly began to stroll toward the door with the signature cloak boldly flowing about his body. It elegantly shimmered with what seemed like a will and presence of its own. Reaching out with his left hand and tracing the outline of the bold symbol in the door’s center, he said, “Tell me, what do you know of divine retribution — the left hand of God?”
“Ah, not so much,” I awkwardly replied still wrapping my head around his cloak comment.
“Very well,” he said locking eyes with mine as the steely smirk briefly appeared on his face. “From the beginning then.”
As he turned from the door to face me, an ethereal gauntlet-like glove of translucent material manifested around his left hand and slowly crept up his forearm. In a spectral flash, it took full physical form and was covered in a subtle layer of white flame. Maintaining steady eye contact, he purposefully strolled toward me, and said, “It is time to See the evil in the world of man. Time to understand that which you already know but do not yet believe.”
Stopping directly to my front, he carefully raised his flaming hand to my forehead and pressed his palm gently against my temple.
Now, circumstances not withstanding, I typically wouldn’t be too jazzed about some dude thrusting their paw all up in my face. On fire or otherwise. But for some unexplainable reason it felt right. Like it was supposed to happen. Like perhaps it had happened before. Like I was waiting for it to happen again. As his hand graced my forehead, I instinctively closed my eyes and felt the fervent warmth of the inexplicable otherworldly flame slowly overtake my body. It didn’t burn. It embraced.
Standing in a welcomed daze of euphoric wonderment, I felt the memories begin to flow into my mind like water pouring through a funnel. Slowly at first. Then, like the bursting of a dam, they slammed my subconscious. All of them.
In a transient moment of perfect clarity, my eyes forcefully flew open and it made sense.
Everything.
Chapter 9
Time was a lost concept.
Minutes — Days — Months — Years. I literally had no sense of how long I’d been here. I was never hungry. Or thirsty. Or tired. The sun never moved. Night never came. With exception of the swirling clouds diligently patrolling the blue sky and the bubbling stream steadily flowing through the center of the sweeping panorama — nothing changed.
Pensively gazing at the striking profile of the distant mountains, I stood alone atop the green hill with the doorway to my back. The millennia of forbidden knowledge infused into my mind weighed heavy. An infinite volume of uncorrelated data and obscure concepts from the beginning of time raced through my thoughts. Unfortunately, I lacked the ability to string it all together. Stephen filled in some of the blanks but left the good majority for me to work out on my own. A regular biblical Yoda that guy was.
In life I was a soldier. In death he presented me with a choice. An opportunity to continue the fight. To combat a divine treachery. To balance the scales. To wield an immeasurable power entrusted to man by God himself for he’d long ago lost confidence in angels to do his bidding. A mantle of power created for one sole purpose. To maintain the Balance between mankind and the bastard offspring of heaven — the nephilim. Hybrid beings resulting from the blasphemous breeding of angels and humans. An ancient race of giants that nearly devoured the human race. Literally.
I had two options.
Option A — I accept my mortal fate, take my rightful place in a duly appointed Realm of Heaven, and go on about the everlasting peace that apparently waited for me in the afterlife. An early retirement of sorts. He even said I’d get a pair of shoes out of the deal. Nice shoes. Very tempting.
Option B — I step up to the plate, join the cause, and accept all the potentially horrific shit that came along with eternal servitude as one of God’s hit men. The Deacons. Not quite human and not quite angel. Blessed and cursed with the power of God’s Wrath. Touched by the left hand. Conceived of mankind but no longer a part of it.
For most logical human beings I’d think the whole ‘happily ever after in eternal happiness’ gig would win hands down. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my style. I evidently still had work to do.
A duty to uphold.
A new mission.
Angels — Giants — Evil Clown Guys. Bring it.
Besides, Stephen let it slip that consuming mass quantities of beer was heavily frowned upon throughout the heavenly Realms. That, I’m afraid, was a total deal breaker.
Eternal peace … My ass.
Unfortunately, volunteering of my own free will was only the beginning. Despite the fact I was destined to perform this divine service and the path of my entire mortal life seemingly led me to this very moment, I had yet to prove worthy. There was a qualification process. Trials.
The first of which was sacrifice. I had evidently completed that one by having my head kicked in by a fallen angel and subsequently surrendering my life in protection of innocents. Arguably not my best moment but apparently good enough. Before his departure, Stephen advised me that the second trial was forthcoming. He vanished some time ago as abruptly and mysteriously as he arrived. Amidst one of our endless training barrages, in what seemed like several months ago now, I turned my back for a split second and he was gone. Just like that. The guy could seriously make an exit.
Despite the lengthy time we spent together, I still had much to learn. But not from him. He was clear about that. There were others. The Guild. He said they would find me if I was successful. He was mum on the topic of what would happen if I failed. Although he didn’t tell me where I was going nor what I had to do, he said I would know when it was time to go. The Balance must be maintained.
Yet again, I found myself standing alone atop the green hill with the door to my back. Completely lost in thought, I yearningly gazed at the distant mountains. Many times throughout this period of solitude I made valiant attempts to reach them. I’d lost track of how many journeys across the landscape I’d made. Each one a distinct failure in its own right. Regardless of how far I walked, the mountains remained a mere silhouette against the sky. Taunting me. A destination I was forced to look at but could never reach. Interestingly, it only ever took three steps to get back to the hill. It was infuriating.
Although I never slept, there were distinct memory lapses where my mind seemed to slip into a state of hibernation. Not quite a total shutdown. More like sleep walking. Like I’d been awake for too long and my brain was at the point of melting down. As I stood there motionless for an undeterminable period of time, I felt the mental switch subtly flip to the off position and instantly drifted to a state of void. A vision of Stephen filled my head as his words rung in my ears.
“Again, Dean. Focus.”
“I am focusing,” I shot back with clear irritation in my voice. “It doesn’t frigg’n work!”
“Then focus better,” he sim
ply replied equally irritated yet always the stoic. “Remember, the cloak is the source of our abilities. The literal embodiment of the Father’s Wrath. To truly embrace its power you must first will it into physical being. You must call it with your mind — a clear mind.”
“I don’t understand,” I muttered while trying to massage away a splitting headache. “How the hell do I do that exactly? Say please? Buy it a drink?”
“It is a part of you — anxiously waiting in the deep shadows of your soul to be summoned — summoned by a Deacon. Your birthright grants you this authority.”
“You talk about the cloak like it’s alive,” I grumbled, feeling like my head was about to explode and wishing like hell I had a stiff drink.
“Not alive — aware” Stephen replied in a sober tone. “It is the dark rage of the Father removed by his very hand for he vowed never to wield it again upon mankind. Do not underestimate its influence. Summon it with anything less than a pure heart and the consequences will be dire. It seeks one purpose — to dispense the Wrath of the Heavens. It must be bridled. Focused.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I muttered shaking my head.
“You must, Dean. It is our purpose. We alone possess the strength of will to control the Wrath and maintain the Balance. The fate of mankind is ours to preserve. Now, clear your mind. Focus. Again.”
The sound of the stream churning in the distance broke my momentary trance and my eyes again focused on the mountaintops. “Again,” I muttered to myself as I instinctively began the short walk down the hill to the streambed to continue my lonely training regimen.
Alone on the hill I stared blankly into the boundless sky as my mind wove in and out of active consciousness. I was getting close. I could summon the unimaginable power but I could not command it. Once it manifested, I was at its mercy. My will was not yet strong enough. As my thoughts continued to wander, I drifted into a not so distant memory.
Rise of the Giants: The Guild of Deacons, Book 1 Page 9
