Fiction intro- set in ~1640, the age of reason, Thursday…
The shattered remains of the door nearly fell of
their hinges as Thomas pushed through into the chambers. The front room
was in shambles and stank of gunpowder and blood. Nearly everything in
the room had been crushed, like some whirlwind had passed through. Coolly
looking around at the bodies, Thomas grimaced. He had seen battlefields
before, and this was something more. The guardsmen had been literally ripped
apart and tossed like rag dolls. Even the ceiling was splashed with blood.
Pausing briefly to perform last rites for the dead,
he moved on to the inner chamber. Like the outer, it had been smashed,
though fewer guards had remained to die here. Fingering the shot imbedded
in the doorframe, he shook his head. They should have known better- anything
this powerful would need the kiss of sacred steel.
Shifting aside the remains of a bookcase, he crouched
beside a crumpled shape. It was about the size of a dog, but wrapped in
some sort of filthy rags. Flicking aside a fold of cloth with the point
of his rapier, Thomas had to choke back a rush of bile as he realized he
had been right- at some point this thing had been, or had come from a dog,
though it was hardly recognizable now. For all their faith, they had only
managed to down a minor beast- this pitiful thing had not caused all this
destruction. Grimacing in disgust, he dropped his point against its oily
fur and murmured a plea to Gabriel. Light shimmered like the sun off the
blade, and then Thomas stepped back from the stench of burning hair and
flesh.
He was performing rites for the last of the guardsmen
when a cough from the back of the room caught his attention. Though it
had been little more than a wheeze, he advanced cautiously, rapier before
him. Crouching beside a lumpy shape that he had dismissed as a sack, Thomas
realized that it had once been a man.
Gently he rolled it onto its back, for its twisted
shape spoke of bones crushed beyond man’s ability to repair. Despite all
his care, the wretch gave a keening wail of pain that made even Thomas
wince. Dabbing gore from the man’s face, Thomas judged that it must be
Hawkins, the senior priest of the parish, though due to the mauling he
couldn’t be sure.
After a moment the keening stopped, as the priest
ran out of breath. Thomas waited patiently while the man caught a few gasping
breaths and then bent closer, murmuring “Father, what was it? What did
this to you?”
For a moment he thought the priest was too far gone
to answer, but then blood bubbled from torn lips as a reed-thin voice replied
“…Huge… with flaming…eyes…”
“An angel did this?” Thomas stammered, glancing
around at the carnage.
“…No…not angel…” Hawkins paused to cough wetly “…Nephilim…”
Silently considering, Thomas leaned forward to brush
away blood and bits of broken teeth. The priest was breathing in broken
gasps now- it was amazing that he had lasted as long as he had. Thomas
had seen enough death to know it was coming, though painfully.
“I had to…live…so the church would know…they were
free…” Hawkins gasped. “…Is this the…end, then? …Is Abaddon…free…and his
children…walking the earth…again? Is this the day of judgement?”
“I think not, father.” Thomas replied “Christ has
not opened the seven seals. Not yet.” Shaking his head, shifted to slide
a dagger out of a sheath at his back, its hilt formed like a cross. “There
is much to do before He comes again.”
“…I had…hoped to see Christ…take his throne…in my
lifetime…” gasped the priest. Though the ruined voice betrayed little,
Thomas could see the priest’s whole body shaking, still holding on.
Kissing the relic in the dagger’s hilt, he carefully
pulled the priest close, murmuring “You’ll see Christ soon…”
“…Must…confession…sins…” mumbled the priest, his
hands spasming as he clutched at Thomas’ sleeve.
“Old man,” Thomas’ voice was little more than a
whisper “after today, you have nothing to forgive.
Stepping away from the still form, Thomas glanced
emotionlessly around the room. The flames from the beast had spread, and
would soon destroy what evidence there was. Consigning the priest’s body
to the flames, Thomas kicked aside the door and stepped back out into the
sunlight.
Sean Delancey was waiting for him outside, his face
grey and sickly. Everyone in the order has seen their share of death, but
not like this. He was fervently muttering something under his breath, but
Thomas wasn’t able to catch much more than the frequent “Mary, mother of
Jesus…” Sean started forward as smoke began to billow out of the windows,
but Thomas caught the front of his jacket as he passed, carrying him back.
“Leave it.” He snarled, his voice low and hard.
“What we are looking for is no longer there.” Glancing over, he realized
that Sean was staring at his hands where they still gripped Sean’s jacket.
The leather of his gloves, as well as the front of his jacket, was stained
crimson and black by the blood of the priest.
Raising his eyes with an effort, Sean asked “What
could do something like this?”
“Nephilim.” Thomas answered shortly. “Bastard children
of the fallen angels. Bigger, faster and meaner than anyone you’ve ever
seen. Still around from the time of Noah.”
Sean’s eyes went wide, and he would have gone paler
if he could. Grasping at Thomas’ sleeve as the other turned away, he asked,
“What happens now, sir?”
Thomas was grinning as he turned back, but it was
a wolf’s smile, all teeth and no mirth. Realizing he still held his rapier,
he wiped its tip and slammed it back into its scabbard.
“Well,” he drawled “last time they rose up, the
Nephilim crushed mankind. God had to send the Archangel Michael to deal
with them, and then flooded the entire earth. The Deluge. Let’s not let
it go that far, this time.”
Jerking his sleeve out of Sean’s grip, Thomas turned
and stalked out of the courtyard, leaving Sean staring at the flames licking
out of the windows of the priest’s apartments. Glancing down again at the
bloody fingerprints staining his jacket, Sean muttered another prayer to
the Virgin Mother that he would live to see the end of this, and turned
to follow.
6 But you [the angels] from the beginning were made spiritual, possessing
a life which is eternal, and not subject to death for ever…
8 …Now the giants, who have been born of spirit and of flesh…Evil
spirits shall proceed from their flesh, because they were created from
above; from the holy Watchers was their beginning and primary foundation.
… upon earth shall be the habitation of terrestrial spirits, who are born
on earth.
9 The spirits of the giants shall be like Napheleim, which shall
oppress, corrupt, fall, content, and bruise upon earth.
10 They shall cause lamentation. No food shall they eat; and they
shall be thirsty; they shall be concealed, and shall not rise up against
the sons of men, and against women; for they come forth during the days
of slaughter and destruction.
-Book of Enoch