Progeny

by Shawn Hopkins

  P R O G E N Y

  B O O K I

  second edition

  A Novel

  by

  SHAWN HOPKINS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either a work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2011, 2012 Shawn Hopkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means without the written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Special Flikr thanks to Dr. Stephen Dann, Jo Naylor, coreburn, NOAA Photo Library, DOH4, xlibber. “Chimera of the Crystal Skull” ©Rik Friday Xneotek.com

  ISBN-10: 1463557159

  ISBN-13: 978-1463557157

  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-4392-9031-6

  RECOMMENDATIONS

  If you enjoy this story, the author recommends the following novels: Antarktos Rising and The Last Hunter series by Jeremy Robinson, The Atlantis Legacy by Thomas Greanias, Domain by Steve Alten, Angelology by Danielle Trussoni, and The Mayan Apocalypse by Alton Gansky.

  And be sure to check out the excerpt of Shawn Hopkins’ action thriller, The Solomon Key at the end of this book.

  DEDICATION

  For Wynn and Verity

  Always pursue the Truth, whatever it may be. It is not afraid of being discovered… though Comfort and Power would have you believe otherwise. However, never put the Truth you pursue above Love. Knowing everything is pointless without Love giving it power. Love you both with all my heart!

  —Daddy

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  On a warm, Southern Cali night in 1998, I sat in a college cafeteria with my laptop and attempted to write a story. By the time I noticed that the CD I was listening to was over, I had a prologue typed. A National Geographic team stationed on an island in the Pacific gets attacked during a tropical storm by unseen, beastly creatures with long claws… and when no one hears from them, one of the family members — a Navy SEAL, of course — goes after them. I called the story, Strange Soil.

  That’s as far as I got before scrapping the whole thing. What came out of the next effort was an island story that combined every weird thing I could think of: aliens, the Bermuda Triangle, Nephilim, and ancient mythology. That book was published as Noahic by Tate Publishing in 2005. And, just in case any of you think I’m borrowing from some of today’s popular shows and themes… this was well before LOST and way before Nephilim were challenging the vampire scene. In fact, when I wrote Noahic, the only material I had on the Nephilim was a commentary on the Book of Genesis and Alien Encounters by Chuck Missler and Mark Eastman.

  But as my next book was in the hands of an agent, I really had an urge to go back and make Noahic something better. I loved the premise of the island story and thought I could do it better justice. So I started looking around and was actually surprised to find material related to my topic. I grabbed The Nephilim and the Pyramid of the Apocalypse, a book that served as a portal into a fascinating and mysterious realm I knew nothing about prior to its opening. Indeed, it sparked an obsession, and I started getting everything I could on these strange topics (see the bibliography at the end of the book for the most influential materials used). Needless to say, the rewrite of Noahic, with this new world of information I’d just discovered, ended up being something far deeper than I ever expected. I tried to include as much of the information as I possibly could without turning the story into a textbook (which I may or may not have succeeded in), because the information, at least for me, is the most fascinating part of this story. I encourage you to Google the things mentioned, especially any images you can find. Reading about the giant stones at Baalbek and seeing a picture of them are two completely different things.

  Oh, and you should know that in trying to tone down the amount of information used, I was forced to leave out about 95% of all the things I studied in preparation for this. So if certain things within the novel fascinate you as they do me, check out the bibliography and dive in! Just be aware that this stuff can serve as a gateway into a smorgasbord of different realms, from New Age Occultism to conservative orthodoxy and everything in between. It all depends on the authors’ worldviews. And while most of these amazing things find no answers within mainstream avenues, you should be discerning. The facts are there, interpret them how you may! I just don’t want to hear that my book led you to try channeling the souls of the lost Atlanteans or anything like that!

  And so now I give you the freshly edited, second edition of Progeny, which is a totally different story than Noahic but with enough shared similarities that I thought you might like to know.

  And depending on what happens (see epilogue), hopefully I’ll be bringing you Book II soon!

  Enjoy.

  Shawn Hopkins

  3/16/12

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Very special thanks to Douglas Dorow (who I could not have made this eBook version without), Ryne Douglas Pearson, Jeremy Robinson, and Alton Gansky, a few great authors who spent some of their precious time answering my questions and sharing their thoughts. Thanks guys! Adrian Rodriguez for always being my tech support. Matt Friedman for being awesome on so many levels, from helping make this story fun to write (it would have been difficult to thread this together without our shared fascination in things bizarre sparking such crazy ideas) to working on the booktrailer and everything in between! I owe you! And thanks to Noelle Wayne for her gracious work in helping me place those commas in the right places! Thanks to Bill Little, maybe the nicest guy on the planet! Always giving more than you have and mostly in the shadows! Your reward will be great! And to Matthew Biehl, my long-time friend who has always been there to help me out with all things computer. And to my mom, also my English teacher (take it out on her:)Thank you all so much. I needed all of you to bring this story to life.

  PRAISE for PROGENY

  “Blending the real world with things beyond our nature is not an easy task, but Hopkins has done just that with Progeny. This is a meaty meal of thrills, but never skimps on the details that give the story a bite of reality, and, thankfully, freshness. This is a book not cut from the same cloth as other thrillers that tread similar ground. Highly recommended.”

  —Ryne Douglas Pearson, author of Simple Simon, Confessions, and screenwriter of the box-office hit, Knowing

  “[A] smart, action-packed thrill ride! In a story I can best describe as The DaVinci Code meets Stargate, Hopkins weaves fallen angels, the gods of ancient mythology, and the Bermuda Triangle into an intricate tale whose true focus is in the power of redemption… His proficiency in scripture, the Book of Enoch, and ancient civilizations makes this novel credible and a little frightening. Hopkins describes the similarities between ancient mythologies and Old Testament tales with academic dexterity and makes them central to the plot of the story. Where his skill lies is in pulling you into the disconcerting realities his research suggests and the sinister conclusions they hold… Progeny is equal parts religious thriller and action-packed roller coaster ride. Hopkins may write Christian-themed fiction, but he doesn’t play it safe: it’s a gritty, bloody tale that will make you think, question, and cringe from one page to the next.”

  —Christopher Starr, author of The Road to Hell: The Book of Lucifer

  “Hang on, this story will make you question what you believe! Shawn Hopkins has blended several stories, myths and legends from the past and brought them together into a believable adventure that will keep you up at night until you finish it. You'll question what you believe and want to learn more. Well researched and well written.”

  —Douglas Dorow, author of The Ninth District

  And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.

  —Luke 10:18
(KJV)

  How you have fallen from Heaven, O morning star, son of the dawn. You have been cast down to the Earth, you who once laid low the nations. For you said in your heart: “I will ascend to Heaven. I will raise my throne above the stars of God. I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds. I will make myself like the Most High.”

  —Isaiah 14:12-14 (NIV)

  And there appeared another wonder in Heaven; and behold, a great red dragon having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads. And his tail drew a third part of the stars of Heaven, and did cast them to the Earth. And there was war in Heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.

  —Revelation 12:3,4,7,9 (KJV)

  …And one from out the order of angels, having turned away with the order that was under him, conceived an impossible thought, to place his throne higher than the clouds above the earth, that he might become equal in rank to my power. And I threw him out from the height with his angels…

  —The Book of Secrets of Enoch 29:3-4a

  PROLOGUE

  1609 Anno Domini. 28th day of July

  For three days, the storm had wrapped the land in darkness, bombarding it with a violent fury that tried desperately to sink the whole island back from where it must have once come. Had there been any inhabitants, any natives of the island, they would have no doubt prayed to their heathen gods for merciful deliverance, sacrificing each other as some ill-thought means of appeasement. However, no such pleading had been lifted to the air, nor innocent blood spilled atop sacred altars. Such terror did not haunt the lonely speck of land, for never has a human being been there to exercise such fearful penance. But for the exception of the few birds that make their homes in the tall cedars and the tropical fish that skirt the pink beaches, the presence of a being self-aware is as foreign a concept to the tropical habitat as that of Julius Caesar and the present month that bears his name. And just as no one was there to tremble before the storm’s fierce judgment, there is also no one to appreciate the sun’s return when it rises as savior over the battered landscape, illuminating the hook-shaped island that rests alone within a tropical void of blue.

  Except…

  As the sun climbs and the shadows retreat from the rock-littered sand, a single set of footprints can be seen tracing back and forth throughout the island. With the storm passing just the day before, whatever being left the evidence of his solitary presence had done so since. In even measure they circle the whole of the island, disappearing and reappearing beneath the cool undergrowth of its interior. The sand is still wet, and so the prints — heel to toe — are well defined. They lead down a stretch of crescent-shaped beach and disappear at times through the encroaching surf. Whoever belongs to the feet that made them, feet that by all accounts seem perfectly proportioned and quite fantastic as human feet go, must have either just arrived or somehow survived the three-day storm. However, if he had indeed survived nature’s wrath, then the question immediately must be put forth as to just how long this person has been here and how exactly he appeared to be so, for no sea-fairing vessel has ever graced these peculiar shores. In fact, it isn’t just the world of mankind that this island is foreign to, but to all other worlds as well — save that of its own natural environment and the few creatures that live off its plant life.

  If the footprints, now leading out from the sand and into some tangled grass, belong to one who has been in such a desolate place for any period of time, regardless of how he might have ended up here, he would no doubt be going mad with ideas of escape.

  At last, the footprints leave the unkempt grass, vanish straight into the crystal tide, and lead to a single man standing waist deep within the waves. He wears nothing, and his skin is so darkened by the sun that it appears as though he has spent his entire lifetime stranded on the lonesome shores, his hair bleached blonde and reaching below his shoulders. However long he has been here, though, he looks not a day beyond thirty-three. His eyes, as they stare out into the glimmering horizon, reflect a wisdom that should far exceed such a young age. His features appear flawless — a strong, hairless body rippling with lean muscle and a face aching to be carved by ancient Greek artists.

  He stands there gazing out into the beautiful nothingness once more and sees what he has always seen — emptiness, an expanse of water whose true nature hides whatever beauty that might otherwise be found. Not that beauty is of any concern to the man, not anymore and never of this sort. But it was his interest in beautiful things of another kind that had proven to be his further undoing; and then his failed attempt at restoration had led him here — a place, he concluded, that was designed by God simply as a way of letting him know forevermore who it was that truly held the keys to creation’s secrets.

  The man looked down at his hands and flexed all ten fingers. Even after all the years, the wonder of it still struck him as something fascinating, while at the same time stirring strong feelings of regret. Without the pleasurable availabilities of what had made him choose such a state — the peculiar beauty he had pursued with its use — it had become a sacrifice in vain.

  This place…

  It was its own sort of hell, the never-ending question of its unique properties swirling dizzily in his head. He had constructed a vessel once and had tried on multiple occasions to escape, but every effort brought him right back where he started, as if all that existed in the universe was this little island and the water that surrounded it. And so this was his punishment for attempting to free his brothers. Solitary confinement and the ever-present awareness of time’s slow passage to nowhere.

  As a wave struck his chest, salt water dripping down his torso and over his navel-less stomach, he turned away from the point where blue sky met blue water and disappeared into the limitless void of which he was imprisoned. He was about to return to his abode when, just as his head swiveled away, something caught his eye. He was so accustomed to seeing such trickery out in the rolling waves, however, that he almost refrained from looking back. But he humored himself anyway, and was, for the first time, rewarded by the effort. There was surely something out there. A ship of some kind, a model whose origin he was unfamiliar with, but a ship nonetheless.

  But how could that be? His mind spun in circles, searching for an explanation. But, just like everything else about this place, there simply wasn’t one to be had. So he returned to the beach and sat, anxiously awaiting whomever it was that was coming to visit his lonely island.

  Fascinated, he watched as the ship fixed itself on the reef just beyond the breaking waves. Even at such great a distance, because of his uncanny vision, he could see men lowering small boats into the water. The men were unfamiliar to him. White-skinned, bearded, and dressed in armor that reflected the sunlight, he had never seen the likes of such a race. They began paddling toward him.

  It almost escaped him, the fact that he was naked. Wrought with hesitation, as if turning away from them could make them disappear, he got to his feet and began running to his home for clothes he had not worn in a thousand years.

  Though he sprinted the distance without a moment of rest, there was no shortness of breath or any other kind of fatigue to chase after his physical frame. Entering his temple-home, he proceeded quickly to a stone case that secured the clothes he had been wearing when he first arrived so long ago. Had they not been masterfully crafted from some chemical union secret to the natural order of things, the clothing would have surely disintegrated, turning to dust in his grasp. Instead, the shiny white fabric slid over his skin as if it had been fashioned just days before.

  As he hurried dressing himself, a strange presence suddenly startled him. He spun around, wary of a feeling he had not known in ages — before even his arrival he
re. It was obvious that things had suddenly changed, and he was not underestimating the allowances that such changes may have created.

  “Who is there?” His question was put forth with words no one would now understand, though the resonance of his voice sounded exactly as it had the first time he ever opened his mouth to speak.

  A shadow materialized in front of him, though not caused by any natural blockage of light.

  “You have waited a long time,” a slithery voice responded in the same language.

  The man squinted into the shadow. “Show yourself.”

  The shadow began taking shape and mysteriously formed itself into the smoky embodiment of a man-like figure.

  “This is the best that I can do here,” it explained as two holes of light shown forth as eyes.

  “You…”

  Bewilderment stroked the accusation.

  A semblance of acknowledgement. “Yes. We have come to help you.”

  “I thought you had abandoned me,” he said, years of anger and frustration bleeding into his words.

  The smoky figure seemed to nod. “It wasn’t until now that we could come to you.”

  “Who are those people? How did they get here?” He pointed toward the ocean.

  “They are not here in the sense that you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean only that you are wasting your time putting on such coverings. They cannot see you.”