Rise of the Nephilim

by Adam Rushing

  The last vestiges of coherence were beginning to escape his mind, when a flash of amethyst light erupted from the floor, sending brightly colored ripples across the fabric of the universe. He felt his body shift and shudder with what little sensation he had left to him. Suddenly, he could breathe again. His oxygen deprived brain was grasping to comprehend what it had just experienced, as he tried to revive it by taking in deep breaths. As his faculties returned, his attention turned outward to the manic screams bellowing from Gallo.

  The wave of quantum disturbance had the same effect as the gun. Gallo/Azazel held his hands to his head, succumbing to the madness it inflicted upon its victims, as predator and prey became forever entangled. He slammed his head against the concrete wall in his blind rage. Blood poured down his face, when he broke his nose against it.

  Jude stood back up, keeping a wary eye on the deranged man. Gallo stopped and turned, as he caught the movement in his peripheral vision. Whatever sentience existed was currently lost in a deep pit of insanity, leaving nothing more than a feral beast. He sprinted at Jude with a boiling bloodlust.

  Jude braced himself for the confrontation. Gallo lunged at him, but Jude spun, guiding Gallo’s speeding mass along his hip and over the edge of the walkway. The husk of what remained of his friend howled the entire way down, only stopping once it hit the ground. Silence blanketed the silo after the sickening thud.

  Jude peered over the edge. He could barely see the outline of Gallo’s unnaturally contorted, unmoving body. He sat down, leaned against the metal railing, and shut his eyes against the agony of his injuries for a moment of peace. He traced the sign of the cross against his chest as a memorial to his fallen friend. Finally, Gallo was at peace and Azazel was gone.

  Epilogue

  Mike and Hephaestus cautiously opened the hatch, once the screams and gunfire had died down. The bomb had performed exactly to Hephaestus’ specifications. He had suffered a temporary incoherent mania. When he came to his senses, he explained to Mike about his comatose host kept him from losing complete control. The bodies in the stairway up to the third floor told a different story for the Nephilim. The dissonance in their heads caused by unwilling hosts turned them psychotic. They had harmed themselves and each other in their blind panic. The few that remained alive were curled up on the floor sobbing like children. Mike strained to listen for any further sounds of fighting, but all he could hear was the wailing of the affected.

  The duo picked their way through the ruins of the crew quarters in search of their allies. They rounded the bend of the hallway and ran into Prometheus and Jude. Prometheus looked like he had been roughed up a bit, but Jude looked like he was lucky to be alive. Deep purple-black bruises were currently forming around his neck.

  “Hey guys,” he greeted softly, his voice was suffering from the abuse his larynx had taken. “Good to see you’re okay. Thank you, Hephaestus. Whatever you did worked wonderfully.”

  The engineer put up his hand to stay Jude’s gratitude. “It was purely out of necessity. If I had any other choice, I wouldn’t have subjected anyone to that. I deserved to lose my right to immortality for such an act. I’m sorry you have to suffer also, Prometheus.”

  Prometheus refused Hephaestus’ apology. “I’ve been prepared for this eventuality for a long time, so I’m relieved it’s finally come. I’ll be happy to live a normal life once again.”

  Jude gushed, “I’m just glad you were able to get back in before the blast. Now, how are we going to get out of here? Are soldiers still outside?”

  “Let’s search for survivors first, then we can worry about that,” Prometheus commanded.

  The small group combed the floors, finding Iris and a few other dazed Grigori that had been captured in the fight. They also found a few more Nephilim lucky enough to survive with their psyches intact. They gathered together everyone they could in the first floor atrium. They were debating whether to venture out, when a single coal-colored amoeboid seeped through the outer walls. Prometheus stiffened, as his now stunted senses were unable to determine if it was friend or foe.

  It sang in the language of the Grigori, and the members of the group began to relax. Prometheus translated for the humans, “She’s a messenger from Michael. Most of the Nephilim Azazel brought with him were caught in the blast. The rest have retreated for now, so I suggest we leave as soon as possible.”

  “Where do we go?” Jude asked. “I’m still an international person of interest.”

  “Azazel’s death will create a power vacuum,” Mike observed. “It will stall the entire Nephilim offensive, if it doesn’t stop it outright. We should be able to clear your name in the meantime. This thing isn’t over yet.”

  “You’re right, Mike,” Jude admitted. “Let’s just get out of here, right now.”

  The cluster of people pushed forward through the ruined entrance and into the fading daylight. The mountain air was cool and crisp at this hour. A gentle breeze caressed his face, as he approached the slope at the edge of the drive and gazed down at the valley below. The setting sun painted a pastel palette of reds and yellows across the horizon. He smiled, as he imagined all of his fallen friends standing there sharing it with him. He stood there lost in thought, until the honk of one of the SUVs brought him out of his reverie and beckoned him to leave.