Rise Of The Nephilim

“Damn it!” Phillipo muttered as he paced back and forth, trying to take hold of his uneasiness and the racing of his heart, both threatening to eviscerate his insides and send his heart bursting from his chest. The feeling intensified with each step he took toward the door, for now, he was forced to face his colleagues―to tell them what he’d just experienced. For although he’d been asleep, he believed in his heart that it had very much been real.

They will certainly defrock me and deem me insane.

With some hesitation, he opened the door. Father Davis and Father Farley stood staring at him. An eerie silence fell between them, each unsure of the right thing to say.

“Father, are you all right?” Father Davis asked, breaking the awkwardness between them, his eyes wide, trying very hard to scan the room inconspicuously. “We heard loud voices coming from your room.”

“They’re coming for us,” Phillipo said, his lips quivering.

“Who, Father? Who is coming for us?” asked Father Farley.

Phillipo placed one hand on the door. He lowered his head and breathed in deeply. He felt desperate and confused―confused, because, on the one hand, he knew that he must convey the message. And he felt desperate because he knew that once he did, they would not believe a word he said. However, he also knew that he had to make the sacrifice. He had to convey the warning. Souls were at risk.

“Father?” Father Davis asked, his voice quiet.

“Come in,” said Phillipo. He stepped aside and allowed the two priests to enter his room.

Father Davis and Father Farley looked at each other. They stood side by side as they watched him go toward his desk.

“Please, come closer,” Phillipo said, now staring at the Codices on his desk. “Do you faithfully believe in what is written in the scriptures? And yes, I know that as a priest, you must say yes. But I’m asking you as men. Just men. Do you believe?”

Both priests looked at each other, their brows furrowed. “But of course, Father,” Father Davis responded.

“Absolutely,” Father Farley said.

“Then what I’m about to tell you should not put any doubts or disbelief in your minds.”

Father Davis responded with some hesitation. “What is it you need to tell us, Father?”

A silence washed over them. They stood there for a moment as Phillipo stared down at his desk.

“I was visited by an Angel who called himself Mathias.” He held his breath and waited for a response.

It felt as if a century had passed before Father Davis responded. “Hmm . . . an Angel,” he said, one arm crossed beneath his breast, while the other sat on top of it, with his hand supporting his chin. “And you were awake when this Angel appeared before you?”

“Well . . . no. But I promise you, he was as real as the two of you standing before me.”

“Father, are you well?” Father Farley asked. “Maybe we should call Dr. Harris.”

“With all the instances described in the Bible of Angels appearing before Humans, yet you have doubts.”

“Well, Fath―” Father Davis tried to respond.

“I know that you all think I’m not in my right mind. But believe me, when I tell you, we must prepare ourselves, for the end is upon us.”

Father Davis drew closer.

“Phillipo, you are not well. Please let us call Dr. Harris. Maybe he can give us an explanation for―”

“An explanation for my insanity?”

“No! I only meant―”

“Yes. I know exactly what you meant. I should have known better. I guess I alone was chosen for this,” he said, nodding his head. “Yes, I alone must find a way to force the world to take heed of Mathias’s warning.”

“But, Phillipo,” Father Davis insisted.

“I must do this alone,” he said as he charged out of the room.

“Phillipo, stop!” Father Farley pleaded.

“This must be done!”