Rise Of The Nephilim

ST. MAGNUS CHURCH

The small television in Phillipo’s room flashed as he sat back in his chair, slowly nodding off to sleep, his lips slightly ajar. He’d been watching reruns of an old 2020 sitcom.

The sound of ghastly screaming snapped him out of sleep. He erected his head as he reoriented his mind to his surroundings.

How did that happen? His television was temperamental and would often switch stations on its own. He thought for sure that he was looking and listening to some ghastly science fiction movie.

He stood up from his chair and began walking towards the television when a familiar news anchor appeared. The sense of urgency in her voice and the worry in her eyes met the emergency warning streaming across the top of the screen.

He placed a hand over his racing heart. “This . . . this can’t be real,” he mumbled as he watched the unsteady scenes unfold before his eyes.

He was beginning to think that maybe his vision of Mathias had been just a dream and that Father Davis and Father Fraley had been right all along. But the closer he looked, the more certain he was that the people of New York City were running for their lives from large, winged beings and oversized, Humanoid creatures. He realized that it had all been true. Evil had won after all—the world was ending.

He put his hand to his mouth, his head becoming light. Father, help us. It is true. The end has begun.

When a face he knew very well flashed before his eyes, he moved quickly closer to the television, for he had to be sure that it was not just his aging eyes playing tricks.

He bent slightly to get a closer look. It was then he knew for sure that it was Maxine. He saw that she’d just severed the head of a monster who’d just attacked a Human.

Her name had barely left his lips when a desperate knock pounded his door. He rushed to open it.

Father Davis rushed inside the room, “Phillipo, did you see?” he asked, staring with wide eyes at the television screen. “You were right,” he affirmed, struggling to release the words from his lips. “What are we going to do? What are we going to do, Phillipo? We have to call the Vatican, all the Bishops!”

The two priests stood there trembling, tears in their eyes, staring at what continued to unfold before them―screaming, fire and sirens blasting through the air. Father Davis, with his hands covering his ears, said, “This is actually happening! This is it!”

“We . . . must bring as many souls as possible to God,” Phillipo had finally suggested, barely able to contain his emotions. “The Angel did say that it was already too late unless one of the Fallen decides that he will love humanity instead of trying to destroy it. And from the looks of it, it doesn’t look so good for us. For if the Angels continue to attack us, God will destroy us. He’s not going to allow evil to rule the day and night.”

“Yes, we must open the church,” Father Davis agreed. “People will be looking for guidance, even at this late hour.”

Phillipo’s mind turned to Maybie. He needed to let her know what he’d seen. Despite all her changes, he was sure that it was Maxine.

“Father, I hope you won’t mind if I leave that to you for a while. There’s something I must do.”

“Now? What could be more important than this?”

Phillipo’s cellular rang. Maybie’s name flashed up in bold white letters.

“I was just on my way to see you,” he said after fumbling the phone to his ear. He listened patiently to the crying on the other end―Maybie’s relief and exhilaration, her disbelief and panic.

He walked as quickly as his legs would allow down the flight of stairs and pushed open the heavy mahogany door. Taking time to catch his breath, he walked to his right, where he rounded the corner of the church, toward Bluff Street—his eyes trained over his shoulder, hoping to flag a cab.

He walked briskly, eyes on the road until he slammed into the young Goth, Pete, knocking his cellular phone to the ground.

“You!”

“Sorry, Father.”

“Son, you nearly caused my death.” He held his hand over his chest, where his heart thumped wildly as he struggled to breathe.

“Sorry, Father.”

He bent to retrieve his phone, “It’s okay . . . Pete, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Besides, it was probably my fault―”

He noticed that Pete was not alone. “I see that you’ve brought your friends with you. The world is in enough trouble as it is already,” he said, staring back at the group of Goths―two females and eight males, wearing the goth’s uniform―black, shiny, spiked hair, black lipstick, multiple piercings, and grungy garb.

“Father, we’re not here to cause trouble,” said Pete, annoyance in his voice. Phillipo recognized the fear in his eyes. It was the same fear he’d seen earlier.

“Earlier, when I came to see you, I told you that we know where the Devil lives―the Dark Dragon. We figure that since you’re a priest and everything―the only one we know, kind of―you can help us fight the bastard. You would know the right words to say and everything. You know, like, exercise―”

“You mean an exorcism.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Aren’t you priests supposed to know that kind of stuff?”

Phillipo took a deep breath. He thought about Maybie, how panicked she must be. “First, I would need special permission from the Pope to perform such an act. And it is very rare that such permission is given. Not to mention the fact that exorcism is meant to drive out demons from possessed persons. Do you have any idea what has happened?”

With his eyes wide, Pete answered, “Yes, Father! Why do you think we are here? You have to believe me. We know how to stop this asshole!”

“You do realize the danger we will be walking into?”

“We’re screwed anyway,” said one of the females in the group.

Phillipo inhaled deeply. My duty is here, he thought.

“If I go with you to this so-called Dark Dragon’s lair, and if we find nothing, will you come back with me to the church and do penance?”

The Goths looked at each other in silence, waiting for the first to agree.

Phillipo searched their eyes. “Well?”

“I will, Father,” Pete agreed. The others reluctantly nodded their heads in agreement.

“Okay, it’s settled. But there’s one problem.”

“What?”

“How are we to get to the city? All public transportation is on lockdown going from Brewster to New York.”

Someone spoke from the back of the group. “Don’t worry about that, Father. We got this covered.”

Phillipo had a grim look on his face. He was still unsure of what he was about to do. “Okay, then . . . by the way, do any of you have a phone I can borrow?”

“Here,” said Pete, offering up his cellular phone.

He dialed Maybie’s home number.He waited patiently as he listened to the ring repeat itself, hoping that she would answer. Nothing.

He wondered if he should try to go to her home, but remembered his agreement with the Goths. He decided that there was nothing more he could do for her, other than consoling her and offering her prayers. He had a feeling in his bones that somehow, in some otherworldly, supernatural, fantastic way, Maxine held the answers to the survival of humanity. His reasons to doubt anything were waning. After all, he’d been visited by an Angel, the Goths spoke of a so-called Dark Dragon, and the girl he knew as Maxine had changed into something he did not know.

Find Maxine; save the world.

“Father, we have to go! Time is running out!” Pete urged.

“Yes, yes, yes, I just need to let someone at the parish know that I won’t be back for a while.”

If I make it back, he thought as he punched in the number for Father Davis. The phone rang repeatedly; however, there was no answer. The world has gone mad.

“Come on, Father! We have to go!” Pete insisted.

Reluctantly, Phillipo returned Pete’s phone.

Father, help us all find peace.

“This way, Father!”

He followed behind Pete. They moved quickly; he tried to keep up the best he could with his seventy-year-old legs.

“Hurry, Father!” Pete insisted, his hand on the priest’s back to nudge him along. “We’re almost there.”