Revealing Revelations

by Ric Nero

  Pink Kiss Publishing Company

  Gautier, Mississippi

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual event or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Revealing Revelations Copyright © 2013 by Ric Neró

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Pink Kiss Publishing Company at the address below.

  Cover designed by: CreationsbyDonna@gmail.com

  Layout and Interior designed by:

  glendawallace@pinkkisspublishing.com

  ISBN 978-0-9858299-6-4 (printed edition)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013912879 (printed edition)

  Published by:

  Pink Kiss Publishing Company

  P.O. Box 744

  Gautier, Mississippi 39553

  (228) 366-6829

  www.pinkkisspublishing.com

  This book is dedicated to the memories of those dedicated soldiers lost in war. Wars of old, today and in future. To you and you alone I salute!! I also dedicate this to the Nero family, Thomas family and friends. Most importantly, to the believers in Christ, I dedicate this to you all.

  ~Prayer~

  Dear heavenly Father, I ask that this would catch the attention of the masses and multitudes. That this would fall upon the attention of unaware eyes creating a spark of curiosity and drastic change in efforts to seek out You, Father. That this book would be seen as more than just entertaining, but allow them to understand the meanings in each message within the book. Let this be for Your glory, oh Father, Increasing Your kingdom and influence us to lift You up with praise. I pray this to the one true God, Jehova Jira.

  This book is based off events and prophecies of the book of Revelations. Made for entertainment purposes this two part story is the pre-apocolyptic half. I hope and pray that you enjoy it, as well as understand that heaven and hell are real and time is running out. We won’t live forever… well, unless you God’s chosen, of course. But all information comes from biblical text and scriptures, military personal experiences and travels across the United States of America. I mention some secret organizations, but I was never apart, know or claim to know anything about them besides what’s in the public media.

  ~Introduction~

  Vatican City Rome

  7/22/2007

  23:50

  A dark night sky isolates a full moon, as if it was the ocean surrounding an island. Fierce winds howl through Rome as though something sinister was in the presence of the city. The city streets are almost completely vacant with the exception of me dressed in traditional black, tailing behind another figure dressed in an all black hooded robe.

  The figure ahead walks freely and without care through the night streets of Rome, while another’s eyes peer around corner after corner, turn after turn upon him. Chapel bells echo in the distance. The pursuit leads both individuals to an eighteenth century brick building. The building was not without wear. Above the storefront window hangs a blue sign with red letters that reads “bookstore” in Italian.

  The figure in all black then stops and looks over his left shoulder, alarming the follower, whom he was unaware of, to hide. His pursuer ducks behind a nearby large round cemented water fountain in the center of the street, dropping a rosary off his neck onto the ground. The noise of the fallen rosary isn’t loud enough to catch the attention of the hooded man over the loud flow of the water fountain. Realizing this, the rosary is quickly returned to the pants pocket of the man kneeling behind the fountain, while the carefree individual in the black hooded robe turns one last corner and disappears out of sight of the follower.

  Though he knows he should tread softly, the follower couldn’t help the urge to run after the hooded man full force around the corner. He pauses, holding his breath overwhelmed with the lingering possibility that he may have actually lost the trail of the hooded man. No he can’t give up, his curiosity and faith won’t allow him, the truth must be revealed. Eyes laterally scanning the area again and again, still no trace of him. He walks forward, scanning the area again.

  Thump!

  He hears a loud dull noise coming from above causing him to look up. It sounded as though there was a loud slam of a metal door being closed at the top of the fire escape on the side of the old worn building. He rushes to the fire escape and up the stairs; the pursuit is back on. Panting due to his older age, he reaches the top of the stairs. He bends down placing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. There is a lock on the door, but it was left open. He begins to reach for the door, but he hesitates with uncertainty. He digs in his pocket removing the rosary once again as he stands straight up. He looks up at the sky rubbing the rosary in his right hand briefly, then places it back in his pants pocket. He begins to slowly open the heavy metal door, easing the door opening wider as he peeks into the unknown, the door creaks.

  Errrrrr!

  He pauses for a brief moment once more. The wind begins to blow harder through the night city, almost swinging the large metal door closed, as if it was warning him that he was unwelcome. Nevertheless, he catches the large black door and walks into the mysterious room.

  He enters the room as the door slams dully behind him. Doom! Startled a bit from the slam of the door, he calms down. He finds himself in a small bricked room. The stale dusty aroma suggests that there is hardly ever any traffic through here. The room is dimly lit, but there is just enough light to see that he was standing in front of a pair of large chrome metallic doors with a similar colored chrome button to the right side of it. He takes a closer look to realize he stands before a modern day elevator, which strikes him as more than odd. He pushes the button on the side making the elevator doors part, allowing a green light to illuminate the entire bricked room. He steps inside. Turning around, he reaches his hand out, but hesitates to push the elevator button. Fear begins to build inside of him. He stares at the button before him with hesitant hands, he asks himself is he ready for what truly lies ahead. Even as fear increases every second within him, he forces himself to quickly push the button. He has to know; deep down inside he has to know exactly what is going on behind the curtains of the Roman Catholic Church. The elevator doors begin to slowly close, he begins to doubt if he will be able to handle the truth he seeks, or if he will even come out alive. The elevator doors finally shut. He realizes this is the point of no return. His palms are now moist, his heart rate increases at a rapid pace. Finding himself short of breath, he rejects the idea of fear.

  Besides the noise from the grinding pulleys of the elevator’s descent, silence is easily disrupted by his heavy breathing. Though restless fear is what accompanies each breath. He leans his back against the back wall, raising his head upward as he dries his hands against the jacket, then drying his forehead. Quickly, he calm’s himself down saying a quick prayer with the crucifix in his hand, he finds his racing heart begins to return to normal. As he lowers his head, he begins to reveal yet again the cross symbol canister. Taking another quick swig, he recaps the container and puts it away. The constant grinding of the pulleys continues to echo as it descends lower into the unknown. He has finally done it. He’s managed to decorate uncertainness with courage and his fear with fearlessness, or at least the illusions of bravery. The concluding answers to all this stands now before him as the elevator doors open to the unkno
wn.

  Boldly, he strides out of the elevator into a brick layered tunnel that looks to be centuries old. He realizes as he begins to look at the decay of the bricks and the architecture, it resembles fourteenth century work, well-kept, if not somewhat restored. It was 6 feet wide with walls that reach 9 feet and arched at the top. The bright light from the elevator dimly illuminates a small fraction of the dark tunnel before him. Reluctant to venture into the unknown, he debates whether he should turn back or proceed on. Forward is the only path, so forward he proceeds. He walks and walks and still before him there is no light at the end of the tunnel, yet he won’t stop walking. His feet are motivated by the desire to know only the truth.

  His steps slow as he begins to see something up ahead, it is a maroon curtain. His pace begins to pick up speed as he nearly dashes ahead. He hears voices as he draws nearer. He stops almost in full stride, hoping that whomever is speaking will not hear his footsteps as he approaches. The voices are louder as he stands next to the velvet maroon curtain. Visibility of the opposite side of the curtain is made possible by a slight opening in the curtain separating the two halves. It’s a draw curtain that can part both ways. He gets even closer, just close enough to look through the small crack in the separated curtain. He sees the hooded man. No, there is a total of eleven of them now in this room. He sees them all stand in a circle around a cement altar in the middle of the room. Torches illuminate the room, as they are placed one on each side of thirteen other tunnels. Each tunnel with a sign above it, yet he can only make out one from this angle. “Pindar.” And under that there is some object wrapped up. In the middle of the floor, he sees drawn in red, a circle encompassing a five point star, inside of which lies a hexagram. Who would have ever imagined deep in the catacombs that this would be what he found. Then, from that same tunnel, enters two more to this occult group. One in a black robe similar to the others being led by what would seem to be the head of the occult. He dons a red robe with a rope at his waist and the skull of a moose covering his face. As the two come closer to the circle, he sees something cradled in the arms of the man in the rear. Unable to make out the object, because another robed man stands in between him and a clear view of the object in the other’s hands, he shifts his body to the left in hopes of a better angle, but to no avail. They finally reach the circle. The red robed leader stops at the edge of the circle as the others have done. The follower stands beside his master. Some words are uttered, but he can’t make them out. Unable to read the lips of the man dressed in red, due to the animal’s skull covering his entire face, he can only watch for the next move.

  More words are uttered by the satanic leader. No, these are not mere words, but a chant. The one who followed earlier now walks to the very center of the circle and is standing in the hexagram. Now he can get a better view. There is a large sack in his hands, large enough to put a small animal in. The sack being held in both arms is raised upwards for a brief instance, then he kneels down to lay the sack on the floor. He stands, reaching inside his long wide sleeve.

  “God, what sacrilege is this?” he says to himself in a low tone.

  Out of the long wide sleeve, appears a long silver dagger with a hilt made with two intertwined serpents made of gold. He then bends down on one knee, reaching for the sack on the floor. He unravels it.

  The peeping eyes are startled at what is unveiled.

  From the bag stands a young blonde green eyed girl wearing a white nightgown. She stands upright as her unvieler finishes pulling the ragged brown sack off of her body. She sees the eyes of the intruder behind the curtain. She tilts her head slightly toward her left shoulder, with just a hint of a smirk. He realizes the non-blinking eyes of the young girl are watching him.

  Confusion strikes the mind of the man behind the curtains asking a million questions at one moment. What is she doing here? Why is she so calm in this dark place? What are their plans for this girl? Why is it tha—.

  All of a sudden, the entire catacomb on the other side of the curtain turns completely black. The torches all go out simultaneously. Whispers are softly heard in the darkness. Now becoming louder, the whispers are made out clearly. The whispers have now grown into chanting yet again, making for an eerie atmosphere in the darkness.

  A fear-filled anxiety creeps into his heart more and more with the passing of each second. The darkness remains and the volume of chanting increases now at the point of synchronized yelling. At the center of the hexagram, where both the hooded man and the young girl stand, a red light is somehow activated in conjunction with the chanting of the sadistic group. The gold serpent dagger, being held high in the air with both hands of the hooded man as he looks down at the girl, waits for a cue to act as though it had a mind that could predict what the intruder couldn’t.

  The girl stands motionless in front of her murderer with her back toward him, eerily still reserving the same smirk as before without showing so much as a blink. She awaits the action that the man behind the curtain would never fathom.

  The hand reaches toward the pocket that holds the canister, as he keeps his eyes drawn towards the only light in the room.

  In one fell swoop, the arms of the hooded man falls in front of the girl. Everything seems to happen a half second delayed.

  Her body jerks back slightly still reserving the pose, yet the smirk turns into a smile. Her blood spreads down the white flawless gown. Her body slowly eases to the ground with the aid of the hooded man.

  The once what seemed to be unblinking eyes finally close. “Why?” he asks himself. “She was so young.” At this moment, all he had felt before: confusion, anxiety, and fear have now left him for a split second, leaving him emotionless with awe.

  A parents’ daughter. God’s creation. The gift of youth and what it could have manifested to become in the future is all gone now. Rage and anger fills the vessel of this man. Shaking, unable to hold anything back, he stands and yells out, “Heretics, who are you to do what God has forbidden us to do?!” He calms down quickly realizing he is now noticed. Everything goes back to normal, the red light disappears and the darkness is now lightened with the unexplained relit torches.

  The chanting stops and the chanters are now in hot pursuit. All thirteen charge from afar towards a specific purple velvet curtain. Feeling an urge to stand against evil and avenge the innocent girl, he realizes there is no way to bring back the dead and that he becomes more concerned with his own safety. Dress shoes clack against concrete ground as he flees for safety. The patter of footsteps seems to get closer behind him and his breath and endurance is shortened from panic. Not looking back, he continues to push down the long stretch. The elevator doors are now in sight due to his eyes being accustomed to the dim light for the duration of time he’s been there. He tries to push harder now that he sees hope, but his aged body catches him. Bringing him to reality, he loses breath and slows his stride almost to a halt.

  He clenches his chest as though he could reach inside and stop the sharp pains and repair his wheezing. The sound of footsteps behind him begin to slow down, and the sound of his pursuers becomes more distant. Fatigued, he continues toward the elevator doors at a walking pace, sweating heavily. He refuses to turn around and look at the thirteen behind him. He knows if he can just reach the elevator, hope awaits him on the other side of those cold thick metal doors. Hope for escape is all that drives him forward in the midst of this devil worship.

  “Father, steady my steps!” he utters loudly out of faith and despair. He can’t resist the awkward silence as he draws nearer and nearer to the elevator. Slow dragging steps bring him up on the elevator doors, where he remains with one hand clenched to his chest and the other reached out, pushing a button to open the elevator doors. His mind and will argue inside him whether he should actually confront what is going on behind him or not. He steps into the elevator knowing – although he has reached his destination – he still fears what plan the thirteen have against him. But, at this point, he realizes he has no choice as
he turns around and presses the elevator button closing the elevator doors. Just before the doors close in front of him, he sees them all. A herd of black cloaks hiding faces of devil worshippers, while the red robe donning the moose skull stands in front, arms extended fully out to each side as if to hold back a pack of wild hungry beasts.

  He looks back at them relieved at the fact that he made it, yet afraid of the events of the future. Doors close and he backs into the wall. Head leaned back he gasps for air, though he has gotten a second wind back, he pants now at the relief of getting out of the catacombs. He begins to remember the girl. The blonde haired, green eyed girl. What was her purpose? Was she aware of what was going to happen? God, what are her parents going to do when she turns up missing? Were her parents a part of this?

  Thoughts bombard his mind so rapidly that walking out of the elevator through the room and down the fire escape doesn’t even register in his mind as he walks and thinks, and walks and thinks. Thinking to himself that even though he sought the answers concerning his fellow brother in priesthood, he never realized how dark the answer would be. What could bring God’s chosen to commit such harm or conform to the enemy, to fail and to fall?

  “To fall… fall… fall from grace. The devil fell from heaven to the earth like lightening … the fall.” Rambling out biblical text and verse, he realizes that his mind’s stroll has brought him to an old rugged wooden bench before a rather large beautiful pond with a few ducks occupying it. He walks in front of the bench grabbing the upper half of the bench to help ease his body to sit down. Tired so tired, but not from the body any longer. Instead, his mind is so tired, tired from trying to wrap his mind around what he just saw and what he should do. He leans forward placing hands together and elbows upon knees.