Rise Of The Nephilim
Chapter 42

It was the next day, early morning, though darkness prevailed.

The walls had begun to crumble around them. Another tremor.

The laser shook with intensity as the engineer who’d been holding the throttle firmly—much like the throttle of an airplane—maneuvered through the hollowed-out spaces of this subterranean tube—one of many—between rock and earth and cavernous empty spaces, trying to avoid being struck by falling debris.

Kal, however, was unmoved by this recurrent event, being surrounded by hundreds of fault lines in their subterranean world. The intensity in his eyes and the rigidity of his stance, with his arms folded, legs straight and fixed, said it all. He stood firmly behind his Epoch engineer who’d been manning the controls in route to Paris. His face was washed with anger, veins and muscles more pronounced, as the thought of joining forces with Byzalium and Arcadium against Āmand had weighed heavily on him.

He’d extended his wings without warning, forcing the engineer to snap his body around as he felt the whoosh of air behind him. This would not have been alarming. However, the uneasiness in the room was overwhelming, and Kal was known to be sometimes volatile when under pressure. He could have easily ordered his personal guards who had been at his back to have the engineer removed and placed in chains for not performing to his standards.

“Push harder,” he ordered the Epoch. We must reach Byzania before dark.”

With his eyes refocused, steadfast, and unblinking, ignoring the strike of rock and dirt and precious stones against glass, the engineer pushed on. “I will not fail you, Lord Kal.”

Kal stared blankly into the never-ending darkness lain before him as the laser raced on. His thoughts were set on the task before him. And his anger had not left him. He turned, nearly striking the engineer with the piercing end of his wing, and walked briskly, heading back to his private quarters, located between the locomotive and five other cars, which housed two-hundred Nephilim and Epoch.

He pulled the metal sliding door shut, closing himself off from the rest of his world and walked over to his leather, tufted settee, where he threw himself down, face up—his eyes fixed on the silver lining of the barrel ceiling—and sighed, his hand caressing his creased forehead.

The betrayal of his Lord Dominance and friend was inevitable.

Damn you, Āmand. We waited too long.

Time has the tendency to weaken even the strongest of hate.

~

Kal snapped out of his growing self-pity and second guesses when he heard a knock at the door. He recognized the knock by its feathered tone. It could only have been Abel—his youngest and most favored daughter.

He hesitated to answer, at first, trying to collect his composure.

“Father, are you there?”

He cleared his throat. “Come in.”

Abel entered, sliding the door behind her. She stood with her arms folded, fearing that Kal may have been in one of his altered moods, which sometimes made him unpredictable.

However, his mood had tempered at the mere sound of her voice. Abel had that effect on him, most often, to bring him out of the abyss with her soft voice, mild manners, and gentle eyes, though she looked like any other Nephilim, with her ghostly white eyes and white hair. The differences between them resulted from their human characteristics, including the sound of their voice, the way they walked, their humor or lack thereof, their little idiosyncrasies...

Abel’s skin tone was a shade of dark olive. And she stood nearly six-feet tall with a thin frame.

Kal sat up. “What brings you here, daughter?”

“Father, are you troubled? We have not seen you since we left Babylonia.”

Kal stared down at the white metallic floors, withdrawn, for what seemed like forever, but had only been seconds. He massaged his forehead lightly—a clear sign that he’d been troubled.

“Father, is there something I can do?”

Kal smiled and stood up, facing Abel. He placed the palm of his hand on her cheek. “What would I do without you?”

Abel smiled and nestled her face in his hand. “I hate to see you worried, Father.”

“No worries, my love. I have everything under control.”

However, they both knew that was a lie, manufactured to put her at ease.

“Will we reach Byzania shortly?”

“Soon enough.”

“What will you—”

Kal stood back and snapped his wings out, his arms tensed by his side, his eyes stern. “Child, go back to the domicile and leave what does not concern you!”

Abel stepped back, her head and eyes slightly lowered, “Forgive me, Father,” she said before leaving abruptly, forcing the door shut.

Kal lowered his wings. He breathed in deeply, releasing it with force. He had immediately regretted his sudden loss of control and decided that he would make it up to Abel later. How? That was yet to be decided.