Rise Of The Nephilim

Night had fallen and chatter filled the ceremonial room—another large ramiform cave, interlocking into a series of other caves that made up the vast underground world.

The reflection of light emanating from large candles on metal bases and large lanterns hanging from iron stakes illuminated the dark room with an orange glow.

The ground was rough with stones. Darker recesses pockmarked the roof between peaks of rock extending from the ceiling.

Epochs stood against the walls, behind several long wooden tables spread around the perimeter of the cave, each covered with trays of food. The tables boxed in a large empty area, fit for some sort of physical entertainment. Āmand’s Nephilim sat around them, all except Zeda and Maxine, as Maxine was to be the guest of honor, and Zeda her escort.

They chatted idly amongst each other, waiting patiently for their sisters to arrive. Āmand sat silently in the middle of one of the tables, an empty chair next to him on his left, Malachi to his right.

He surveyed his Nephilim and thought of what they would soon accomplish. Finally, after thousands of years, millennium after millennium, through the ages of Human progression and blight, I will exact vengeance in all its glory.

The room quieted when Zeda and Maxine entered. All eyes fixed on Maxine; her dress sparkled white, her hair brought up high in a bun with curly droplets falling freely around her face.

She looked around the room, expressionless, and then smiled.

Āmand smiled and rose from his chair. Pride flowed through him as he greeted her.

“Welcome, daughter; you make me proud.”

The others stood and commenced clapping—some were sincere in their zeal, but jealousy burned through others, especially in the breasts of Haman and Silla.

Āmand reached for Maxine’s hand.

“Come, daughter, you will sit by my side tonight.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Let the celebration begin,” Āmand pronounced.