Rise Of The Nephilim

“Well, Father, you got any ideas?” Phillipo’s mind drifted back to when he was twenty-four and on a dig in Egypt―The Great Pyramids of Giza.

He’d joined a group of archaeologists in the tomb of King Khufu in search of new discoveries since the mummified bodies of the king and his queen had already been discovered centuries earlier. For Phillipo, it was more than just historical artifacts and hidden hieroglyphics; his sole purpose was to find John’s Codices. But his thirst for discovery was met with tomb-raiders, whose solitary purpose was to strip all remaining treasure they could find. In fact, he’d barely escaped with his life. Two of his colleagues had been shot to death in the middle of the desert.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to figure it out when we get there,” he told the Goths.

“This should do the trick,” said Patel, holding up an AK-47 assault rifle in the back of the van.

Phillipo had nearly stood up in his seat.

“Where on Earth’s name did you get that?”

“Yeah!” Jake said in a raised voice. The others joined in with their exhilaration for the fight ahead.

“We’re gonna blast his head off with this!” said Morry.

“Dragon guts all over the subway!” Cory said.

What have I gotten myself into? Phillipo thought, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, Father,” Pete assured him. “Stick with us and we’ll protect you.”

There was some truth in his statement. The Goths had always stuck together, and in doing so, they had remained safe from the chaos around them; although it should be said that they had caused some of that chaos.

Phillipo shrunk down in his seat, realizing that whatever fate awaited him, it was too late to turn away now, for the clock had spun and he had to face it―afraid or not.