(666) Nephilim Insurrection

Saudi Arabia: June 4th, 2006, 09:00GMT (noon local): 27 hours remaining

Byrd jumped as her assistant burst into the tent.
“Dr. Byrd, come quickly!” the young man stopped and gasped for air.
She rolled her eyes jokingly at the excitable young grad student.
“You promised to drink less coffee Sam.”
“No, I think we’ve found it!”
Byrd’s face went blank. IT didn’t exist. She’d only accepted Mr. Gray’s grant in hopes of finding something legitimate.
“You’ve found which ‘it’, Sam?”
“AZAZEL!” he blurted excitedly.
There’ll be no shutting them up now, Byrd lamented to herself.

“Don’t forget your hat, it’s hot as hell outside.”
Two bad jokes for the price of one, Byrd mused as she picked up the Indiana Jones hat he’d given her before they’d embarked. She gave a crooked smirk in poor imitation of Harrison Ford and stepped out into the burning Arabian sun.

As the two made their way through the gauntlet of stakes and string marking the site, Byrd caught site of what had Sam so excited. The pit was at least 15 feet long, marked on one end by an ominous serpentine head carved in brilliantly polished obsidian, and a scorpion’s tail on the other. The majority of the statue remained buried.
“That’s Azazel?” Byrd quizzed. “What, is he wearing a name tag?”
“Um, it’s carved into the head actually; at least we think it says Azazel. Dr. Spellman says it’s definitely Semitic, but nothing he’s seen before.
“Not even on a ‘D’ student’s paper? When we dig it out we’ll be looking for a ‘Made in Taiwan’ sticker.”
She ran her hand over the face.
“There’s not a scratch on it. This thing’s been in the sand for a couple of months, tops.”
“Doctor, if you don’t believe in this, why are you here?”
“Um, gee, where do I start? Because there aren’t supposed to be cities in the middle of the Rub-al-Kali and I want my name on whatever comes out of this. Just don’t expect me to say that it’s Cain’s city or the final resting place of Azazel. Call Zecharia Sitchin though, I’m sure he’ll agree with you.”

Las Vegas: June 4th, 2006, 09:00GMT (1am local): 27 hours remaining

“Dice are out; no more bets!”
Haefly smiled confidently as he reached for the dice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pit boss focusing on his hands. Ugh, the big gloves again, Haefly groaned to himself.
“I’m sorry sir, we can’t let you shoot with those gloves on,” the pit boss interjected.
Haefly focused his pale blue eyes down on the roundish, slightly tomatoesque man as he slid his gloves off slowly, producing six normal fingers from the five oversized glove holes and pumping his hands to work the cramp from the second middle finger.
The man quivered a bit under his eerie gaze, then scrambled to apologize to the perturbed giant. “I’m sorry sir… I… I couldn’t have realized.”
Haefly evaluated the puny man’s apology. At 8-foot-3 Haefly very nearly dwarfed the man by a half. He tried to put himself in the pit boss’ shoes, picturing a 13 foot giant staring down at him. He pictured his father.
“Forget it,” Haefly said, leaning down to take the dice in his bare hand and chucking them to the other end of the table.
“Seven, out. Pay the don’ts take the line, last come get some.” The stickman reported in his always upbeat banter, oblivious to what had just transpired.

Haefly examined his remaining chips and guarded them with one hand as a new player shouldered in beside him.
“Always bet on snake eyes,” the newcomer instructed. “Just this morning, a man told me that he planned to bet half a million on exactly that.”
Haefly turned and inspected the man. “If he’s desperate enough to make that bet, he should bet at least a million.”
The stranger nodded. “Mr. Haefly I presume?”
Haefly began to pick up his last few thousand dollars and subtly pulled the cuff of his shirt back far enough to reveal the brand of a serpent’s skull being crushed between a hammer and anvil.
“Do you have somewhere we can speak?”
“No. They’ve damn near busted me now. They stopped comping my room when I slowed down last night. Won’t even comp my drinks now… bastards.”
“Very well. I’ll arrange something.”
“Arrange two bottles of Maker’s Mark while you’re at it. Gold label mind you.”
“My handlers told me.”
“Repeat business hmm?”
“Gentlemen in Rome.”
Haefly hardened his brow and followed his contact. He hated Catholics.


Two hours, several thousand dollars, and a painstaking security sweep later, Haefly settled into a mildly comfortable chair, the best in the Stratosphere’s Presidential Suite. He plucked the cap from the first bottle of whiskey and tipped it up, quickly draining nearly a third of it.
“You want any, priest?”
“It’s Cardinal actually my son, and I do not drink,” the contact replied sternly.
“Cardinal eh? A job worth a Cardinal is a job worth 8 figures.”
“Out of the question. It’s not difficult, just important.”
“That sounds like a hit. Your handlers know I don’t do hits. Only weapons.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I destroy weapons. I don’t use them.”
“If you don’t take this job, there will be a proliferation of weaponry unlike anything before.”
“Oh, Good. Definitely eight figures.”
“No! Stop that! Our offer is 1 million.”
“I ain’t the Knights Templar, pal. Your spooks are sworn to poverty, but you’re here because I’m better. If it’s that important, it’s Ten Mil important. I’ve been outta work since the Red Mercury scare you know.”

The Cardinal stared at back at the Nephilim with contempt.
“Very well Hephaestus, His Holiness has authorized as much. You’ll swear not to sin with it though; I could cut out the middle man and give it straight to the dealers if that’s your plan.”
“You wouldn’t trust my oath if I did give it. You’re just still upset that my father’s kind wouldn’t bow to Adam.”
“He was a fool not to Hephaestus, and when the time comes Gabriel will come for you the same as your Father Azazel.”
Hephaestus tipped the bottle up and sucked it dry, then hurled it at the Cardinal’s feet, shattering it on the carpet to make a point.
“Invoke my true name all you like. I have my will. My father raped your grandmother so that I would not have his weakness to your tyrant god.”
“Only until the judgment. Now do we have a deal or not?”
“Of course we have a deal. You don’t even get it do you. As long as the old weapons are not rediscovered, there’s nothing in this world that can finish my kind off. Gabriel will have to come fight us himself next time.”
The Cardinal grinned sadistically as he produced the dossier from his coat.
“The targets are about to harness your father; he’ll arm them anew and teach them to war. See that your father remains bound where the angel Raphael placed him. You know what will happen if he is free on the unholy day.”
“Yeah, we’ll find out what Gabriel is really made of.”
“Talk is cheap, my large friend. We both know you’ll do as you’re told because we both know your fate otherwise. Go with God.”


[edit on 16-6-2006 by The Vagabond]

Saudi Arabia: June 5th, 2006, 12:00GMT (3pm local): 24 hours remaining

“Well Doctor, where’s the ‘Made in Taiwan’ sticker?”
“I don’t think it was made in Taiwan,” an Arabian accent cautiously interrupted. “It binds a djinn.”
Byrd spun around to see the interrupter, expecting a half-crazed Bedouin ala “The Mummy”. Instead she was greeted by a vigorous looking young man dressed in a sandy colored three piece suit. She noted the platinum shine from the rims of his sunglasses; they looked like they might have cost enough to finance the whole dig.
“Where did you come from,” Byrd asked, glancing back at the makeshift helipad hundreds of yards away, but seeing no helicopter.
“I just arrived.”
“On what? We’re two hundred miles off road and I haven’t heard a helicopter.”
The man grinned mischievously.
“I have heard many camel jokes from many Americans. Who is laughing now?”
Byrd eyed the dunes around the camp suspiciously for tracks. There was obviously another team camped somewhere nearby, and the stranger didn’t want to admit it.
“Well then, now that we know what brought you here, tell me what brings you here Mister…”
“Use my first name, Abdullah. I am here to deliver… extraordinary news.”
There was an awkward silence.
“By all means Abdullah,” Byrd urged.
“You will not believe me, but I can prove everything I am about to say. The writings of Moses are literal. I believe you have discovered the City of Hanoch; the first city. It was built here, in the desert of Dudael, where God banished the evil Djinn, because Cain and his descendants were allied to their sons. This statue binds Azazel; the father of metallurgy and warfare. I am here to urge you to bury it again. If Azazel is freed, he will spawn an army of his own sons, and the end will come.”
“You’re right Abdullah, I don’t believe you,” Byrd said unsympathetically. “Go back to your own dig. This one is ours… even if it is full of obvious forgeries.”
“That forgery will tempt your people until you free it, and when it is freed it will destroy us all. Come to our site, I will show you what I am talking about.”


The other site was only ten miles away. Everything in the camp was camouflaged, right down to the workers. Byrd felt uneasy. The weekly supply run to Najran was costing a thousand dollars in bribes every time, and that was for squads at three checkpoints. The site looked large enough for a team of five hundred.
“Is this a military project Abdullah?”
“Not strictly. We’re close enough to the border to be concerned about the Yemenis, so we used the local troops rather than bringing in civilians. We try not to be conspicuous.”
“What have you got that needs so many men?”
“Soon you will see.”
She did see. Abdullah lead the way into the largest of the covered areas, where a crude line of barricades lined the edge of a small fissure in the Earth, lit by a series of flood lights mounted at the edge. She stepped carefully to the barricade and tested it with one hand before leaning forward to see. The face of the fissure, as far as the lights could penetrate was riddled with giant doorways and stairs. Her heart skipped a beat. A new Petra!
“What the hell have you found?! Can you show me in?”
“Absolutely not. I’ve lost a dozen men in there, and twenty more injured. Nobody else goes in until the troops have checked and marked every room on the first level.”
“I’m sorry. How did you lose them?”
“Come see for yourself.”

The next stop was the infirmary. All thirty cots were filled. Near the door, a middle-aged officer was sweeping back and forth across the room with a menacing glare, cradling his wrist and the hand he no longer had in his lap.

“Captain,” Abdullah barked in English, “Tell this woman exactly what happened to your team.”
The man fixed his dour stare on Byrd resentfully.
“You want to know what happen to me, woman? Colonel say, “take five men, sweep for radiation”. No reason, we just obey: good soldiers. My first man went in there, and he scream. We go in, and he’s dead. No wounds. The room? Empty. Geiger Counter click very fast when I step in. I turn, clicking stop. I put out my arm, sweep back towards clicking, and HA!”
Byrd jumped as the man lunged forward making a sweeping motion with his severed arm.
“My hand burnt bad. Flesh died. Amputated yesterday. Empty air kill my man, and took my hand. Doctor say bad radiation damage, just to my hand.”

Well there's a start on it. There's actually a little more that I have to finish up. I'm actually planning to accelerate things a bit and make it end before it gets too much longer, I promise.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Byrd said flatly, turning to Abdullah. “What exactly do you claim to have on your hands here?”
“Beings that exist in at least five dimensions, rather than our four. The Carbon-14 is off on everything. There’s just way too much. The remains we’ve found, like the doorways, are consistent with an average height of 9 feet, and if you trusted the Carbon-14, they died yesterday. Not only that, but we’re getting very localized radiation readings inside the dwellings. The physicists in Riyadh suggest that they are neutron shadows- manifestations of physical objects immeasurably near us with respect to a higher dimension, but not exactly on the same infinitesimally small point in that dimension that our 4D reality exists on.”
“I think that almost makes sense, but why are the neutrons from objects in another dimension manifested in ours?”
“Think of part any given particle as a magnet with multiple poles. At any given point, only one pole is observable, you’d have to traverse the length of the magnet to see the other end. That’s not possible if the length of the magnet traverses a dimension we don’t experience. Hence, the neutrons we experience here, are protons somewhere else. We are seeing the shadow of an object that isn’t quite on our plane, but still has an impact here. And they belong to the people who lived here. That’s why I’m getting too much C-14 from them- they exist in that 5th dimension, and have mass there. They can wield those weapons.”
“Wait a minute! Weapons?”
Abdullah looked like he’d kissed his sister in front of a Sharia court.
“Um… they… the shadows, have definite shape. They’re swords. Cold steel somewhere, but a cross between a neutron bomb and a lightsaber here in our reality.”
“That’s it, I want to see one, right now. Find me a bug, a snake, or someone you don’t like very much, because I’m not going to believe this until I see it.”

Las Vegas: June 5th, 2006, 12:03GMT (04:03 local) 23:57 remaining

As soon as Hephaestus was gone, the “Cardinal” picked up the phone.
“He’s quite upset Your Eminence. I’m confident he will free his father, but it is not too late to reconsider.”
“You still do not agree, my son?”
“I beg your pardon Your Eminence, but I beg you to consider. The fallen initiated the war and were cast out. Their offspring initiated wars between themselves and were nearly exterminated. I do not agree with the scholars that Satan and his lot have free will; God has only allowed them to act when he knew they would lose. Now our free will shall initiate a war that may not be of God’s choosing… I believe we could lose.”
“You sound like Benedict my son. Pay no heed to the traitors. God ordained this day to come long ago. Recall Enoch, chapter 7. God ordered them bound only seventy generations, but again and again the Church has made alliance with the Nephilim. Do you believe they stall in fear? Do you believe they do not grow stronger by the day?”
“No Your Eminence; A thousand pardons!”
The line went dead.


Over the Atlantic: June 5th, 2006, 05:30GMT: 18:30 remaining
The phone rang. Hephaestus answered quickly. “What is it, I am not alone.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in flight. I’m still fifteen hours out.”
“What did you learn?”
“Your intelligence was correct. There was a priest wearing a hat two sizes too large for his rank and not branded. He provoked me heavily. I believe, as you said, they intend to have us free him.”
“Then the Vatican is still not prepared. Are we?”
“Yes Mastema, I’ve made what we need. Once my father has finished his work, it’ll be our show.”
“Do not be late. Once Azazel has fathered our reinforcements his lack of free will is a liability. You must kill him as soon as he’s served his purpose.”

I made a few mistakes with this story so I probably wont continue it anytime soon, although there are a few things I really liked about it.

Just for the curious out there, I based this story on quite a bit of mythology and layman's distortions of theoretical physics.
The nephilim is Hephaestus- Greek blacksmith to the Gods- the maker of Zeus' thunderbolts. His father, for the purpose of this story anyway, Azazel, is one of the leading badguys of the Book of Enoch and according to that book introduced weapons and war to Humanity.

What I basically had going on is this:

in the book of Enoch, God sends Gabriel to instigate wars among the Nephilim to destroy them.

In this story, the few remaining Nephilim have given up weapons ever sense to ensure that no weapon exists which can kill them (being 5 dimensional they can "sidestep" blows in our dimensions by moving on the 5th axis in a direction our weapons can't strike towards.) Hephaestus, as the maker of his father's weapons, has sense undertaken the job of a mercinary, sabotaging weapons and science programs for hire, in order to keep humans from discovering weapons which could target the Nephilim.

Now the Nephilim have decided to make their play- to start Armageddon at a time of their own choosing by awakening the fallen angels to spawn a new generation of Nephilim, then slaying the fallen so that their lack of free will can't be exploited to cause a new series of wars among the Nephilim. Then, naturally, they'll raid the armories discovered in the Saudi Desert and arm themselves for the final battle- to do what their angelic fathers could not.

Anyone who'd like to attempt a continuation or alternate version of this story is welcome to, but obviously I'd be quite displeased if you got rich doing so and then failed to at least buy me an old car to wrench on.

Well done Vagabond.

Excellent (DOC) entry.

Your Character, Ms Byrd, seems ever so familiar.


As an aside, I'll u2u u

Ciao

Shane