Colony - Nephilim

by Gene Stiles

  Commander Bilanova sat at a folding table near the ramp of the troop carrier, his steely-blue eyes reviewing the scans of the cliffside and the surrounding terrain. He was small for an Atlantean, standing only six-foot-eight, and slender of build. Fighting prowess alone would not have moved him up the ranks of the Black Guard as quickly as he did, but he had something the others did not. He had a mind that was analytical, intelligent and strategic. He was also ruthless and without conscience as those who stood in his way had found out. Though not wasteful, he would send as many men to their deaths as necessary to achieve his goals.

  He was also not afraid to lead and put himself at the fore of every battle. Bilanova surrounded himself with like-minded, vicious, cold-blooded men. Fear alone would not command those of that ilk. He had to be stronger, smarter and deadlier to keep their respect and loyalty. As long as he showed no weakness, he had it and his men were rewarded handsomely. Because of that, he never failed. That is why the Lord Father, himself, had entrusted this mission to him.

  “The search of the town is complete. There is no one left alive, Sir,” Mikalonus said, stepping beneath the tarp canopy that shielded the Commander from the blazing afternoon sun. He stood at stiff attention, the heels of his black boots clicked hard together, speaking no more until he was told to do so.

  Bilanova waited a few moments before acknowledging the Lieutenant as if he expected no less. When he did look up, his ebony eyes were flat and cold like that of the giant sharks that prowled the deep green sea. His thin, dark lips were stern on his sharply pointed, cleft chin as he eyed his Second.

  “So the only ones left are inside those caves,” Bilanova said coolly, his gaze unwavering and stony. “Have you found any other entrances?”

  “Not so far, Sir,” the Lieutenant replied, staring straight ahead. “The ridge is hundreds of miles long and, if I might, Sir, we do not have the manpower to check it all. Of course, we will keep scanning the cliffs from the warbird. We have half of our men guarding the opening. No one will escape that way.”

  “Good enough,” the Commander responded, much to the relief of his Second. There was no need to chide the man for something out of his control.

  What he said was correct. Bilanova had only a hundred Black Guard with him, all very well-trained and well-armed. Between them and the warbird, he had expected this sortie to be over quickly. He had not counted on the caves. That would make things a little more difficult, a little bloodier, but the end result would be the same. He would give the bird another half hour to scour the countryside to ensure they were not flanked. After that, the Commander would take the caverns room by room. When he left, the progeny of Cronus and all those with him would be dead.

  “Gather the rest of our forces at the edge of town and tell them to relax but remain alert,” he ordered, standing and turning to enter the carrier. He might as well have some hot tea while waiting. This would be over soon. “We only saw small arms fire during the skirmish. Once the warbird has returned,” he said confidently, “we will soften them up with the plasma cannon before we take them out. No need to lose more men than we have to.”

  When Poseidon saw the Atlantean warbird drop from the sky and hover a hundred yards from the cave mouth, his heart sank to his knees. He knew he had only seconds before the malignant monster fired its horrific, murderous weapon. He screamed out orders as he ran, telling everyone to abandon the immediate area. He knew well the heat such awesome firepower would generate. He had seen it before. Even if his people were not hit directly, they would be seared or blinded by that milky-white plasma. Not even the reflective steel shields could withstand such an onslaught for long.

  His people responded immediately, diving for cover and turning their eyes away from the coming blast. However, the two Nephilim holding up the gigantic shields on either side of the entrance refused, angling the mammoth sheets in an attempt to reflect the deadly white stream into a smaller, more confined space to give the others time to flee.

  “Fire!” Bilanova ordered from behind the skyship, his thin lips curled in a small, vicious smile as he slipped a pair of tinted goggles over his glittering, black eyes.

  The thick rope of white-hot plasma exploded into the cavern like an eruption of burning lava. The air around the beam shimmered with the fiery calefaction, sending rippling waves into the azure sky and setting fire to the green grasses beneath its path. It hit the pathetic shields erected inside turning them into slag in moments even though much of the ray’s force was deflected for a few seconds. The men behind them wailed in agony as the hot metal melted over them, bathing their flesh in a waterfall of liquid fire.

  Bilanova’s predatory grin widened as he sucked in the scent of searing ozone, his nostrils flaring with the sweet and pungent metallic tang. The screams of terror-filled anguish were like a sacchariferous symphony to his ears. His wide, muscled chest swelled at the sickening aroma of burning flesh, filling him with an almost sexual euphoria. It took an act of will to keep him from reaching for the swollen spot in his crotch that always arose in the moments of another’s pain. The only thing better was to feel the rush of battle and a spray of hot blood upon his darkly tanned skin. He could not help the growl of ecstasy that whispered through his slightly parted lips, grateful that none of his men were close enough to hear.

  Fifteen good men and women did not move fast enough to escape the ghastly, hideous fire. The lucky ones died instantly, their bodies turned into puddles of stinking fat and bone. The others howled and whimpered as their skin bubbled and burned, begging the Creator for mercy and a quick end to their torment. The incandescent beam hit the soft limestone at the back of the cave turning it into magmatic ponds and rivulets that spread across the rocky floor. The lava splattered outward, cooking flesh and bone wherever it touched.

  Poseidon felt the conflagration roll through the cavern, barely escaping the fiendish assault behind a bend in a side tunnel. Still, the fire radiated through the stone, burning the hand that was touching the edge of the passage, but he could not evade the stench of frying flesh nor the agonizing wailings echoing off the rock walls. His heart curled in on itself at the barbaric, savageness of the monsters who wielded such a weapon. His ears yearned to still the excruciating cries of the dying, but they filled his mind with an unholy torment. His watering jade eyes wanted to wash the vision of the brave Nephilim sacrificing themselves behind the near useless shields, but the image of their gigantic bodies covered in molten steel as they writhed upon the floor was stamped into his soul forever. All he could feel was a torrent of revulsion enshrouded in a blazing bubble of sheer, ravening hatred.

  “Send in the troops,” Bilanova commanded after the hellish beam completed its malevolent, murderous attack. His lips were drawn back in sadistic glee as he grabbed his pulse rifle and raced toward the front line. He wanted to be the first through the stone door, the first to cut through the bodies of his enemies and feel their warm, red blood upon his face. What he became was to be among the first to die.

  The Atlantean warbird erupted in a ball of alabaster plasmatic fire, the molten metal exploding outward as it fell to the ground with a screech of twisted, melted alloys. Those soldiers unlucky enough to be beneath her fiery decent were drenched in a steaming deluge of burning lava, screaming briefly in horrified agony as the flesh was boiled from their bones. Bilanova was among them, staring up in stupefied wonder as his face turned into a soggy, crimson puddle. Half of his forces were reduced to cinders in the span of a single heartbeat. The meadow burst into an untamed wildfire that cocooned the horrified invaders in a blazing blanket of smoke and pain. The thermogenic blast sent a shock wave across the battlefield that slammed most of the remaining Black Guard onto the hard-packed ground with enough force to drive the breath from their lungs, leaving them stunned and disoriented.

  The Silver Hawk dropped out of the setting sun-like a vengeful raptor, her wide-swept wings set afire by the golden globe behind her. She pivoted on the tip of one feather, canting near si
deways to the wind, her fearsome beak taking aim at her dazed and hapless prey near the mouth of the cave. Her pulse cannons lashed out in blood-red beams that cut anything they touched into smoking pieces.

  The shimmering apparition spun away after her first volley, taking aim on the troop transport settled on the grassy plain a few hundred yards away. The engines of the beast were revving up in a feeble attempt to flee from the appalling cataclysm surrounding it. Before its landing struts could leave the ground, Zeus raked the vessel with talons of blue light that split its fuselage like a flayed carcass and severed one wing from its bulky body.

  Zeus knew he could fire no more from the air for fear of hitting friendlies and spun his skyship away from the flaming fields, landing on a patch of clear, rocky ground about a quarter of a mile away. Before his turbines ceased their hum, he unstrapped himself from the command chair and threw his polarized helmet to the floor. He grabbed his sword belt and rifle from the rack and raced outside, running as fast as he long, powerful legs could move.

  Lelantos led his squad into the fray, drawing back on his golden bow and sending shaft after deadly shaft into the huddled, confused mass of Black Guard staggering to their feet. The silent aeros ripped through the smoky air and sliced gory, crimson paths through their milling ranks. After Zeus had unloaded his crew out of sight of the Atlanteans, he left orders not to attack until the skyships had been taken out. Now that they were destroyed, he and his team surged forward using the wildfire to mask their approach.

  The once well-disciplined Aam howled in pain and panic, their bulging eyes searching the fire-misted air for the creatures that attacked them. All they saw at first were ghostly apparitions with demonic red eyes that lashed into them with bloodthirsty beams from the hellish flames surrounding them. Half of the men dropped their weapons, wailing like banshees as they fell to their knees, beseeching the murderous wraiths for a mercy they would not have granted.

  Lelantos knew they were too few to take on the surviving troops alone. There were still nearly fifty of them. What he intended was to keep them terrified and off balance, their eyes away from the cavern until Loki could sneak around them and get to those trapped inside. His people slipped among the ashen, foggy ruins of the town, spreading out and firing short bursts from their rifles before shifting positions quickly before firing again. The tactic made it seem as if there were far more than just the nine of them and kept the Black Guard from pinning them down. He knew they could not keep this up for long and hoped Loki was successful in his task.

  He need not have worried.

  With the smoke, dust and ash from the still-burning buildings and the remains of the transport filling the air it was like moving through a dense fog that stung the eyes and parched the throat. It did, however, provide great cover for the ten-foot-four giant. As the confused Black Guard fought to re-organize, Loki slipped around them, hugging the rough rock walls of the cliff. It only took him moments to make his way to the cave mouth, the stones still hot from the plasma cannon. He moved cautiously as he made his way inside, his hands raised and empty, his feet avoiding the puddles of sticky, cooling slag.

  “Poseidon!” he called loudly, his deep baritone voice echoing off the cavern walls. “I am Loki, friend to Rhea and Zeus, your mother and brother. We are here to help, but we must hurry.”

  Poseidon peered around the corner of the passageway, seeing the leather-clad, ebony-haired man straddling a creek of hot, melted rock just out of sight of the entrance. He stepped out quickly, his weapon aimed at the dead center of the stranger. Several of his crew slipped from behind cover and centered their weapons on the intruder.

  “And how do we know that?” the Captain responded coldly, noting the man remained still, his hands raised above his head.

  “Do you not hear what is happening outside?” Loki countered, his voice steady yet firm. “My friends are battling the Black Guard as we waste time speaking. If we do not aid them quickly, they will lose.”

  “If this is a trap…,” Poseidon replied menacingly, letting the threat hang in the foul-smelling air. Even at that, he could hear the sounds of combat outside and had not failed to notice the attack on the cave had stopped.

  “Then kill me later,” Loki finished for him with a growl, knowing he had little time left to prove himself. “For now, let us get out of this death trap.”

  “Loki!” two voices called out from across the chamber. Tethys and Oceanus rushed into the room, their clothing torn and covered with soot. They hurried to his side and gripped his thick forearm. “Trust him,” Oceanus said, turning to the Captain. “We know him well.”

  “That is enough for me,” Poseidon nodded, relaxing his stance, his people following suit. Sensing the urgency of the situation, he said no more, just waved to the crew, raced out of the chamber and directly into the maddened melee of the battlefield on the scorched meadow between the cave and the destroyed village.

  They hit the backs of the Black Guard like vengeful furies from some demonic nightmare. Amid the sizzling ruins of their homes and trampled, ember-covered gardens, the survivors wreaked havoc on those responsible. In the close quarters, their tech weapons were useless, as dangerous to each other as to their enemies. They drew their swords and long knives, slicing into the flesh and bone of their assailants with all the pent-up rage and hatred that blackened their souls.

  In the turmoil following the savage attack by the Silver Hawk and the apparitions dealing death from the corpse of the burning town, the Atlanteans had forgotten about the warriors trapped behind them. In seconds, they were reminded as their intended victims turned into rabid beasts that ripped into their ranks like a pack of ferocious Dire Wolves. The gargantuan Nephilim waded into Black Guard, each swing of their razor-edged blades cleaving men into bloody body parts. Fists the size of enormous boulders pulverized bones and skulls to powder with a single blow.

  Zeus entered the grisly chaos with his team, smashing into the scattered, broken lines like a god of retribution, his blades severing limbs from torsos with the speed of a gale-force whirlwind. He blanked the screams agony and the whimpers of the dying from his mind as he cut a bloody path of destruction through the slick, crimson-soaked landscape, his only goal the righteous justice these men so richly deserved.

  Though outnumbered, the defenders tore the Black Guard apart until all that was left were a handful of terrified, blood-covered, wounded men on hands and knees pleading for mercy and begging for their sorry lives. A stiff breeze blew in from the sea, clearing the air of the choking, foul-smelling smoke, bringing the horrific carnage surrounding them into soul-searing clarity.

  Arms, legs and heads were tossed about the macabre, steaming landscape, some sliced cleanly, others tattered and torn as if they had been wrenched from their sockets by the hand of the Creator. The stench of the dead, coppery blood and released bowels mixed with the acidic odor of burning wood and melted metal. No songbirds sang melodies into the foul air. Instead, death sang in whispers, moans and the torment of the injured. Sparks and crackles of smoldering metal, wood, grass and electronics added a cadence to the aftermath of the battle and the remnants of wrath.

  Zeus took no pleasure in their triumph. He stared across the field that only yesterday was probably lush and green with, sprinkled with aromatic, colorful wildflowers, alive with the wonder of nature. Now it was only a charred, blackly stained rubble of flesh and bone. He wiped the sweat and blood from his curly, red beard, spitting out the foul fluids that tainted his full, tan lips. His golden eyes were misted not from just the remnants of the fire’s breath, but from the needless, wanton devastation marring a once-beautiful, peaceful landscape. He ran his thick fingers through his matted mane of blond-streaked, sun-fire hair, feeling sticky reminders of combat beneath his trembling touch. His silvery flight suit was splattered with crimson smears and small shards of splintered bone. He hung his head as the weight of responsibility slumped his squared shoulders. All this was because of him.

  “I thank yo
u for your aid,” Poseidon said as he walked toward Zeus, wiping his hands on the grubby, grizzly deer-hid breeches he wore. His emerald eyes blazed with the afterglow of fury, but beneath that was a curiosity evident in the arch of one bushy eyebrow. “Without your timely arrival, I and all of my people would surely have perished.”

  Zeus broke from his reverie at the approaching behemoth, momentarily surprised to see Cronus staring back at him. It caught him off guard and his hand automatically went for his sword hilt. His hand dropped before the hilt was touched though as the man gave him a wan, weary smile.

  “I hear I am a mirror image of our father,” Poseidon said, stopping three feet away. He quickly and quietly assessed the man before him, seeing the compassion and sorrow written in his body language and the command evident in his stance. “Except for your eyes, it seems we are not all that dissimilar.”

  “Ha!” Zeus could not help the small, wry grin that touched his face, though it never reached his furrowed brow. He looked up at the ten-foot-nine giant before him and added, “I do see the resemblance, but you are a bit larger than I. I can understand how you might have been mistaken for Nephilim.”

  “Hello, brother,” Poseidon said softly, reaching out to clasp his younger sibling’s muscular forearm.

  Chapter XI

  Rhea could not keep herself from smiling no matter how serious the situation. Her bright blue eyes shimmered with happy tears that glistened like fresh dew drops upon her pink, blushed cheeks as she sank leisurely into the corner of the plush, flower-patterned couch in Main House, her arm draped over the back. The sapphire, floor-length gown she wore was of soft linen accented with indigo lace and clung to every curve of her shapely body. The wide, silver, scalloped belt she wore highlighted her narrow waist and wide, gently curved hips. Her full, ample chest rose and fell in a steady, sometimes trembling rhythm as her gaze swept over the others gathered all within the well-appointed chamber. She could hear their sharp words and the dire tones of their voices, but to her, it was the sweetest of symphonies.