Rise Of The Nephilim

One of the male Goths stuck a key in the padlock that secured a circle of metal chains. They entered without any apprehension as if they were familiar with this place.

“Where the hell are we?” Phillipo looked around at the dark lot filled with abandoned vehicles―a graveyard of long forgotten police cars.

“Don’t worry, Father. The cops don’t care about this place,” one of them said.

He followed them into a dark garage, and several of the Goths flicked on flashlights to light the way. He felt his heart rate slow.

Dismantled vehicles, mechanical parts and the like lay around, along with old plastic crates and a sofa with jewel-toned fabric that was worn and ripped.

“Oh, so this is home, huh?” Phillipo said.

“Yeah,” someone responded. “It’s our hub, man.”

“I got the key,” said a boy. “Let’s move out.”

“Wahoo! Yeah!” some of them shouted. “Let’s go catch ourselves a dragon.”

Even Phillipo felt excitement surge through him. He felt young again as if he was about to embark on one of his archeological digs in some remote part of the world.

“All right!” he said in a high-pitched voice, raising his hands above his head, a sparkle in his eye.

“This way, Father,” Pete said, placing a hand on Phillipo’s elbow to guide him.

They stopped next to a white van. The male with the key opened the driver’s side and climbed in, while two of the others opened the passenger doors. Pete helped Phillipo to the front passenger seat. The driver started the engine; it hissed and popped before becoming smooth.

Phillipo looked at the driver, concerned about the van’s drivability. “Are you sure this thing will get us to the city?”

“Don’t worry, Father, we’ll make it. Besides, Thompson and Janine can fix just about anything.”

He turned slightly to get a better look at the others. Thompson and Janine both smiled.

“By the way, we have not been formerly introduced; it would help to know all your names.”

“Oh, sorry Father,” Pete said. He pointed to each of his friends, beginning with the driver: “That’s Morry―”

“Yo.”

“Thompson―”

“Dude.”

“Janine―”

“Glad you’re here, Father.”

“Cory—”

He only smiled.

“Mike―”

“Peace,” he said, showing the peace sign with two fingers.

“Branson―”

“What’s up.”

“Jake—”

He nodded his head.

“Stephanie—”

She smiled.

“And Patel―”

“Peace, dude.”

Phillipo smiled and shook his head, “So, what’s the plan? If this so-called Dark Dragon really exists, we can’t just walk in there and ask him to leave. We can’t get rid of him so easily. We have to have some kind of plan.”

Some of them looked at each other, each waiting for the other to say something.

“We just thought that you could mumble something from the Bible and that would get rid of him,” Pete said slowly.

Phillipo laughed. “You lot have been watching too many movies. That stuff doesn’t happen. It never happens.”

Now they sat with their eyes wide.

“Sooooo, what are we supposed to do?” Cory asked, speaking for the others. Their last encounter with Āmand had not turned out well for them.

Silence filled the van.