Harvest Season, 2732 BC, Night, Mesopotamia
Invisible to human eyes and vast in number, the Watchers descended slowly, like fog blanketing the hills, eventually covering the landscape until it resembled a dark and stagnant pond. Their once glorious forms had been shed just as a snake sheds its skin and they now bore little resemblance to the light-bearers they once were. These shadows - dark, ephemeral and wraith-like - were vaguely human in form, though somewhat larger and stood as silent as the standing stones bordering the field they now occupied.
As one, the shadow-wraiths turned their heads toward the Ben Cana villages of the hill country, then silently began to melt into the ground; seeping into the earth like oily stains and vanishing from sight.
___________________
The wind blew chill through the old man's dilapidated hut. As he closed his now dim eyes and lifted his withered, flaky head to sniff the air, a faint smile crossed his lips. To him, the dark night bore tidings of a coming storm.
His Ben Cana brethren referred to him as the Sentinel. No one knew for how long he had borne this moniker, nor remembered what his original name had been. It mattered little, for a sentinel he was. For long ages he had watched the planets, listened to the night whispers, sacrificed innocent blood and prostrated himself before the dark ones that had given wisdom, counsel and strength to the Ben Cana people for centuries. His Ben Cana brethren didn't know why he'd been chosen to mediate between the people and their gods; they just knew that he had been chosen and therefore the Sentinel was both highly venerated and greatly feared.
He was a wicked old man, filled with dark thoughts, dark ambitions and memories of dark deeds long past. In his youth he had been a warrior, an unstoppable one that wrought havoc among the Hakkanah. When moved upon by the gods, his strength was superhuman and no mortal could stand against him. To this day, he still wore a necklace bearing the assorted bones of his fallen victims. But, with age came change and the dark ones had seen fit to use their tool in his later years as an oracle instead of a weapon. The Sentinel had welcomed his new role and delighted in doing the dark work given to him.
With his head bowed and now ruined eyes closed in meditation, he listened to the night sounds, trying to detect the will of the spiritual forces concealed in them. From his throat arose a guttural chant whose cadence swelled as it was carried along on the night wind. Thus occupied with his worship, the Sentinel failed to notice the handful of shadowy figures rising from the floor of his hut and filling the room. One by one, slowly and silently they seeped from the dust floor; humanoid in form, black in color, featureless in detail.
As the last of the six wraiths completed its ascension from the depths, the spirit lifted its head and nodded silently to the others. As one, they began to solidify – black, seal-like skin giving way to human flesh; featureless skulls transforming into the faces of human beings. In moments, the figures of six hulking men stood as silent as shadows before the blind and unsuspecting man kneeling before them.
"Arise, fool," spoke the leader, in a quiet but commanding tone, startling the unsuspecting worshipper from his trance.
The Sentinel, shaken by the voice that seemed to come out of nowhere, tumbled backward, stumbling over crude furniture and cooking utensils.
"Who are you?" He whispered angrily, in a hoarse, yet harsh voice; his cataract-filled eyes useless and squinting.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Such a thing had never happened to the Sentinel before and he deemed the intrusion highly unacceptable. Suspecting that the voice came from a youthful, but fool–hearty prankster, he grabbed a nearby cooking utensil and launched out into a tirade of curses and threats.
The old man never finished his scolding, for with a quick wave of his hand, the dark leader propelled him across the room by an unseen force, slamming the Sentinel against the mud wall with such impact that segments of the straw roof fell to the floor. Pinned against the mud bricked wall by the invisible power, the Sentinel gaped in surprise, unable to generate sound from his fear–stricken throat. It slowly dawned on him that he was in the physical presence of his gods and his shock turned to awe. Never before had they manifested themselves to him in such a way.
"Who am I?" replied the voice, as cold as stone and hard as iron. "I am beyond your comprehension."
While the Watcher's facial features were those of a man in the fullness of strength - chiseled and ruddy - the eyes betrayed the unnatural origins behind the fleshly fa?ade. They were black as the deepest night, with no color or whiteness to compete with their utter deadness. They sank into themselves like open graves, beckoning the fool-hearty to gaze through them like windows and peer at the darkness of soul within. Now, those same smoldering eyes trained themselves mercilessly upon the helpless, whimpering man pinned to the wall before it.
Unable to move or speak, the old man's face remained frozen in horror until the unseen force that held him aloft vanished and he crumpled into a heap onto the dusty floor. Wheezing and sputtering, the Sentinel groped to his knees and held his hands before his face in a pleading gesture; not daring to speak.
The silence remained until it felt like a physical presence before the lead spirit spoke once more.
"You shame your gods."
With arms folded across his chest, the dark one paced slowly around the crumpled form as he continued.
"Generation after generation, you have become weaker. Generation after generation, you are humiliated. We give you our knowledge. We give you our spawn, mating with your pathetic females; yet all the while those who worship the Tyrant grow stronger, while you wallow in your filth!"
The Sentinel trembled, yearning to defend his devotion and the efforts of his people. They had given the blood of their infants, they had given the bodies of their daughters, receiving them back as empty husks; their only use then being to give birth to the Nephilim before they died of terror and despair. There were so many victories, so much territory claimed, so much glory won for the dark ones. But, none of these defenses dared escape the Sentinel's lips. Not with the feeling of those eyes burning into him.
The dark one continued his emotionless tirade. With each phrase, the dead eyes burned deeper into his subject as his voice, while not growing in volume, grew in meaning and intensity.
"Generation after generation, your worship of us has become diluted. Your offerings have waned and your community has fallen further and further into disarray. You have failed us. Your failures have maligned our names among our enemies. Your sacrifices to us have been found wanting and we have come for recompense."
Slowly and painstakingly rising to his feet, the Sentinel pleaded, unable to remain silent any longer.
"My lord what recompense can we offer you, that has not already been given? We have given you our blood, we have you given our offspring and we have given you the corpses of our enemies. As you well know, if you are who you claim to be, I myself have heeded every voice that has spoken to me."
Speaking his mind had gotten the Sentinel far in his twisted life, but as soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them and cowered all the more. In a split second, the old man's entire body was covered with a multitude of tiny, white and wriggling maggots – crawling over every inch of his body, biting into his flesh, suffocating him with their sheer number and terrifying him by their presence. The Sentinel writhed in pain and fear, shrieking out and begging for mercy.
As soon as it began, it stopped. The maggots disappeared, as did the effects they produced. Drained of all strength, the Sentinel, again, fell to the dirt, curling into a fetal position.
"What is it that you want, my lord?" the Sentinel sobbed.
Lifting his head slightly, with the trace of a smile beginning to form on his lips, Watcher replied ...
"We want more."
