The Eldiluvian Warrior

This is a rough draft, that I plan on developing into a more polished story in the future.  Most of this was taken from the book of Enoch, as well as the lesser known Book of Giants.  Ma’hawai’s character was taken from the book of giants, and there was a particular scene where this character really does take a trip to visit Enoch, the noted scribe, but is almost destroyed during his flight, when the upper atmosphere almost burns his wings!  I basically copied that event from the book, and tried to customize it as much a I could.  But I believe this part of that book holds a truth regarding the meteorology of pre-flood Earth.  If any of you have read my earlier post regarding the water canopy that once enveloped the Earth, this is what almost burnt Ma’hawaies wings, when he was traveling to visit Enoch!  Remember that I said the lower portion of the canopy was more likely very hot, and then cooled an condensed into ice towered its outer shell.  Enoch was well aware of this, and saved Ma’hawai, before it was too late.  There are other parts of this story that describe antediluvian Earth’s original state as well, such as the water that would shoot out of the ground, and the balmy, year round climate.  I did absolutely nothing to this story, no editing and no revisions or modifications, this is just as it remained when I wrote it back in 2008.  As a result, the plot and idea are far from what I plan on using in the final draft, and this is more or less an outdated version of what I plan on re-writing in the future.  So, I feel comfortable enough sharing this with you, as the ideas I have, have radically evolved, and what I’ll turn this into in the future will be nothing like this, though some parts of the story I may still include, for the most part, this will act as a rough template for me to work off of.  It is mainly the images I have in mind for this story, which are what I want to focus on, like the Disintegration of Eden story, I’ll more or less turn this into another narrated story-book, with the images being the main focus, and the story being a sort of supplemental to those.  So I suppose it is planned to be more of a concept work than a story.   Some of it may be difficult to read, because of typos and improper grammar, but try to read through it, and try to enjoy it.


Fallen Angels

32,000 B.C.: Two hundred archangels of Anu transgress the limits of their own spiritual nature to invade Earth’s physical realm. The archangels are lead by Shmyz’d, to choose animals–and humans–on which to perform unnatural acts, abandoning their spiritual watch posts.  They are the Gods and creators of the Annunaki, who have bought the entire human race at the price of their own inevitable damnation.  Now, they keep human civilization bound in chains, never to rise above their own arduous material existence, until they are rejoined with their true ruler, God.  Soon, the archangels will be known as the Egregoroi among all the inhabitants Earth.

By the time the Egregoroi descend,  their Annunakki demi-gods have been driven into the underworld after a long and bloody battle with their Earth rivals, the Atlanteans. However, the Annunaki did not completely lose the war, and they have successfully layed the groundwork for Anu to perform his unholy works upon all the Earth, through their spiritual enslavement of the new human race.  Although the Atlanteans cannot bring humans back to full spiritual recovery, they have accepted the fallen human race into their super high-tech society as the new monarchs of their global empire–Atlantis.  However, human monarchy throughout Atlantis is doomed to an abrupt end.  It will soon be annexed by the fallen archangels of Anu–with horrific consequences.  Those fallen humans who still wish to follow God’s way dwell within their own culture, far separated from the inhabitants of Atlantis.  They call their tribe the Sethites, named after Adam and Eve’s third son, who virtuously followed in the footsteps of his slain brother, Abel.

The Earth’s climate is balmy, and the fruits and vegetables grow year round. There are no real mountains in this pre-diluvian world, only hills and peaks as varied as the creatures that dwell within them. A canopy of water and ice envelopes Earth’s stratosphere. This ice/water canopy densifies at the polls through a magnetic spiral which acts as a receiving point for the solar winds as they pass through Earth’s travex  –maintaining earth’s tropical climate. These ice-crystal lattices, which form into glacial heaps at the poles, are known as the ‘Mount of the Saf-fire’ by Earth’s inhabitants, and at twilight they appear as spectacular halos of ‘glowing’ solar wind in the sky.  As the light funnels into earth’s travex, the dancing ebb and flow of this beautiful light vanishes toward its icy polls.

*the two links above were part of the story that I basically copied from this source, and wanted to correctly link back to, this will not be included in my final version.

Far away from the super high-tech Atlantean megalopolis, set within the lush forests of Atlantis’ northern peaks, are the Sethite complexes. Three towering ziqqurratu rise from the forests, serving as landing points for their god’s–the Sirians.  They are surrounded by a small cluster of hovels, made of granite bricks, partially hidden within the trees.  And it is the Sethites who are the first to witness Anu’s Archangel’s descending from the heavens.  Seven of them watch in horror, behind enormous granite pillars within the ziqqurratu; Within the lights of the Mount of the Saf-fire,  an enormous orb appears, radiating an ominous red glow over the diffused and diminishing sun.  Suddenly, the glowing red orb explodes into hundreds of red myriads, and they travel along the magnetic field of earth’s travex in a spiraling whirlwind, vanishing into Earth’s icy crust.  Sethite; “God’s ominous prophesy has come to fruition. The watchers have broken God’s laws.”

Within the heart of the Atlantis, an enormous crystal pyramid glimmers high above the sprawling city. Elaborate spires jut up from its four sides by the hundreds, eventually vanishing at its apex.  Four palaces of blue granite and white gold are constructed into its base,  each containing massive octagonal towers that jut up from there every corner, topped with golden spires.  Surrounding the palace is a plain of granite slabs decorated with gold and silver, four mile in diameter.  The road leading to the palace is built of gold and silver bricks, before leading into the ‘central island city’. Surrounding the central island-city are three rings of water and two massive rings of land. The intermediate ring consists of temples, markets and other structures intended for public gathering, while its outer ring consists of densely packed cities and towns. Interconnecting the rings of land and water are two main roads. One following Earth’s East/West axis and another following the North/South axis. Two more intermediary roads connect the northeast/southwest and northwest/southeast. Great canals are dug out to sea.  For ships, tunnels are carved into the land beside the bridges that connect the land rings. Every passage to the city is guarded by gates and towers, and great walls surround each of the city’s rings. Outside of these enormous rings, pockets of urban sprawl continue to stretch away from the rings for hundreds of miles.  The central palace, known a the Magis Puramis, is the prime energy point of Atlantis.  Using the rings of water as electromagnetic amplifiers, Atlanteans control weather, repel annunakki invasions, and create stargates to visit and call forth their astral gods, the Sirians.

Within the center of the palace, inside an enormous, sacred octahedron chamber, the Atlantean King and Queen watch their oracles as they energize a crystal octahedron that spins and floats in the air.  They surround the octahedron, emitting dazzling color codes of energy that ebb and flow through the crystal, which now glows brilliant white.  The Atlantean oracles look similar to their human rulers, but their eyes are large and set wide on their faces.  They have high cheekbones, giving way to wide angular temporal lobes on the sides of their egg shaped skulls. Their hair is distinctively red in color.

The fallen angels emerge out of the earth’s crust in the form of glowing ectoplasm. These Shmyz’d angels have emerged within a sprawling development of cottages and farmhouses built within lush meadows and rolling pastures. Few candles illuminate the cottage windows of this neolithic Cainite village, and most are fast asleep in their beds of straw or wool. In the distance the relatively flat landscape is etched with wide, navigable rivers enclosed within vast irrigated plains. However, within this paradise the demonic is manifesting itself from the very earth. Pools of black viscous slime puddles animate themselves in thick wispy strips that seems to emanate from the earth’s very crust. Ten or fifteen ectoplasmic puddles are now scattered throughout the built-up landscape and their thick wispy strips continue to animate themselves into increasingly disturbing and grotesque humanoid forms. Eventually these transmuting pools of ectoplasm take their final forms as giant, misshapen men with withered faces and skin. The three tallest of these frightening monstrosities appear to speak to each other in strange sounds. The fallen angels then turn to the others surrounding them and appear to communicate with them through loud and piercing screams, then go there own ways. These three demons were Shmyz’d, Asa’el and Baraq’el. They each choose a region of the land to call their own and extract iron out of the earth turning it into armor and weaponry. The demons assume terrifying warriorlike appearances, using their demonic armor and weapons in the massacres of the villages developed in those regions. What remains of their blood bath are villages strewn with the dead, soaking the ground with their blood and leaving the survivors to bury them in shallow graves. Shmyz’d becomes the ruler of the largest town, Gades, and renames it after himself. Then he assigns 400,000 residents of his chosen region to begin rebuilding the town into an enormous kingdom. Asa’el makes himself ruler over a low lying coastal valley located in the southern region of Shmyz’ds’ territory which becomes known as the Land of the Slime Pits.  Baraq’el has made himself the ruler of Bad’ir, Another village within Shmyz’d’s territory. He dwells in a castle built in his honor atop a jagged hill strewn with boulders. At its base, misty jets of water spring from the ground, irrigating the lush scattered groves. Under the balmy sun of the prediluvian earth, Baraq’el walks back home with his wife. Baraq’el appears as an extremely tall wizard, dressed in ornate blue satin robes, laced with gold and sewn with diamonds and rubies. A white beard flows from his pallid, withered face that appears a million years old. Bad’ir slaves have laid the pathway they walk with polished granite with the outer bricks raised and covered in orichalcum. The steps leading up to the castle are long and winding, and carved deep out of the hill. Elaborate statues of his and her majesty covered in brass and tin parallel the stairway, carved out of the boulders that litter the jagged hill. His chosen wife is an innocent young daughter of one of Bad’irs agriculturalists, and Baraq’el has essentially taken her by force. However, she has come to accept her fate as the chosen bride of a fallen angel. Baraq’el stops in the middle of the winding stairway and turns to his wife. Baraq’el; “Hadara my fair maiden, tonight is the night we share each others flesh.” Hadara gasps, and her innocent blue eyes turn as wide as sand dollars. Bad’ir; “For it is your flesh that has brought me to transgress to the earth.”

Earth Contaminated

30,000 B.C.: Baraq’el has fathered a mighty son called Ma’hawai. Ma’hawai has become a hero throughout Shmyz’d’s kingdom as a protector of the people and his name has become renown throughout the world. The other Egrigori that inhabit Shmyz’d’s empire have also fathered mighty sons who’ve become Ma’hawai’s followers into violent and bloody battles against Shmyz’d’s invaders. Before a sparkling freshwater stream where lacewings flourish, Ma’hawai stands some ten feet tall. He is clad in a giant suit of silver armor and chain-male now spattered in blood. The heraldry of Shmyz’d is emblazoned on the massive chain-mail hood witch covers his chest. His young face is imbued with an inhuman quality of strength and vitality, only enhanced by his pronounced and cleft chin. He has just finished washing the blood off of his enormous broadsword which now drips with water and two of his fellow gibborim warriors come down from the thickly forested hill to wash theirs as well. Gilgamesh; “I was in fact worried we could not cut them all down. Yet, here we are dripping with their blood–and victorious!” Mirthula; “And I savored every moment Gilgamesh–how about you Ma’hawai?” Ma’hawai; “Sometimes I find this difficult to accept. Whenever I enter into the battlefield, I feel like I’m coming home–I’m afraid this is what we were born for.” Ma’hawai; “Let us tell Shmyz’d the deed is done.” As they leave, Ma’hawai looks back at the forest; “They say the faeries and gnomes inhabit these lands, thus its name; Forest of Souls.” Amidst thousands of awe-struck Shmyz’d residents, Ma’hawai, Mirthula and Gilgamesh return from the Forest of Souls–spattered in blood. Most of the men, women and children observe these massive warriors as fierce protectors, but wise men within the crowd only see them as part of the increasing wickedness brought about by the Egregoroi. Two wise men speak of these massive warriors with disdain; “The stature of these men is disturbing Jericho! Look at them!” Jericho; “I know Gernum.  They are in fact evil men. Their violent nature will only worsen with time.” Ma’hawai, Mirthula and Gilgamesh are met by more of Shmyz’d’s gibborim warriors at lord Ma’hara’s palace. Shmyz’d has called them back to honor their title as Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors at an induction ceremony tomorrow. However, for tonight they spend the evening at the serai located within Lord Ma’hara’s palace, and are given free reign over his harem. After the gibborim warriors violently ravish these women they flee asunder, weeping and lamenting–the sexual victims of these violent warriors. The next day at the induction ceremony, Shmyz’d tells the Gibborim Warriors they are to engage the Kiriath Gibborim Warriors in the southeast region of the kingdom. They are coming up from the kingdom of Kiriath, southeast of Asa’el’s Land of the Slime Pits to try and seize territory from Shmyz’d. Kiriath and hundreds of other Egregoroi have developed less powerful kingdoms outside of Shmyz’d’s vast kingdom, and now have conspired to seize pieces of Shmyz’d’s legacy for their own out of tyrannical jealousy. They’re the harbingers of the violent battles between their mighty sons, who are overbearing and disdainful of every virtue. Indeed it seems they were only born to bring death and destruction to the world. With Badi’a, his princess and wife by his side, Ma’hawai is dubbed Captain of the Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors. On either side of Shmyz’d are his two giant sons Ohya and Ahya who sit on giant gold thrones adorned with jewels and crawling with a small harem of women. They stuff their giant mouths with live cattle brought into the palace through two hidden hallways lined with hundreds of stalls. After the induction ceremony, Ma’hawai, Baal, Ymir and Nixal ride back to their homes in Bad’ir amidst more awestruck spectators who don’t yet realize the evil nature of these mighty men.

And again, the wise men observe Ma’hawai and the other Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors with unease, knowing well the trouble that these mighty men will bring to Earth. The morning of his departure Ma’hawai observes a second row of teeth beginning to grow within his lower and upper gums. Ma’hawai is shocked; “We’re still growing!” but he buries it in the back of his mind, and goes to bid his family farewell. Ma’hawai stands ten feet tall, and his daughter Arleta stands six feet and four inches at only eight years. Arleta; “Father, I’ve practiced the bow until my fingers bled, and I can swing your broadsword with more force than any human!  Father! Please! Why can I not join you?!” Ma’hawai; “Arleta, I’m proud of you indeed, but hearken! You are not ready to face these men, you are still too young. Stay home with your mother, understood?” Arleta; “But father, I could bring Ma-riel and–” Ma’hawai bellows; “Arleta! No!” Arleta looks to her father as if there is something she wants to say, but cannot. Arleta; “Father . . . then I must–” Ma’hawai; “Than you must what, Arleta?!”  Arleta; “Nothing . . . goodbye father.” Arleta turns away, never to see her father until they meet in battle thousands of years from now. Ma’hawai feels a strange sense of pride for his daughter and can only smile. Ma’hawai is saddled on his battle horse with Ymir, Baal and Nixal outside of his giant cottage. The people of Bad’ir surround them, to bid their fierce protectors a victorious battle. Dispersed within the crowd are the nephilim sons and daughters of other Gibborim Warriors, who already tower over their human townsfolk. A couple shorter, stockier race of people with pointy ears and noses also stand within the crowd. Badi’a blows Ma’hawai a farewell kiss. “Come back alive Ma’hawai!”

Abominations Of Nature

Ma’hawai and his Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors are now in the heat of battle against Kiriath’s Gibborim Warriors, led by a monstrous man called Anak. All around them is a village burning to the ground by the torches of its gibborim invaders under a cloudless and moonless sky. Blood sprays the air, and the scattered bodies of dead humans soak the ground with blood. Ma’hawai fights with a grace and skill unparalleled by his fellow gibborim warriors, or even the invading gibborim for that matter. As he nullifies and chops down two and three gibborim warriors at a time, the giant leader Anak spots him through the orgy of carnage and proceeds to pursue his newfound target. Still chopping giant limbs as if they were rotten tree trunks, Ma’hawai spots Anak coming after him, also mowing warriors down without letting his eyes off of Ma’hawai. And within seconds they are face to face, Anak stares Ma’hawai down imposingly then gives a chillingly evil laugh. Anak; “meet your executioner, Anak!” Suddenly, Ma’hawai finds himself having to block a surprisingly fast blade from shattering his skull. Anak’s strength seems to overwhelm the smaller Ma’hawai, and Anak continues that evil laugh as the blade of Ma’hawai’s own sword inches closer and closer to his neck. But Ma’hawai appears to find an inner strength that startles Anak, and the direction is reversed. Anak finds himself staring at his own blade. Anak; “huh?” Soon the blade begins to sink into Anak’s face and he bellows in pain “AAAAAAAAH!” Ma’hawai then slides his sword out from under Anak’s which sinks into the blood soaked ground. Anak looks around in blind rage for Ma’hawai, but he has disappeared within the carnage of the battle. Anak; “Ma’hawaaaaaaaaaiiiii!” Ma’hawai fights through the blood and carnage to the outskirts of the violent battle field. The Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors and their opponents continue to create a torrent of collateral damage only bringing violent death and mass destruction to the righteous. Ma’hawai looks above and around in horror as if witnessing a vision that no one else can see; “Heavenly ruler! I can hear the spirits of our slain! Alas! They are crying out about us! Please make them stop!”

The next morning, the Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors survey the devastated village, turned into a battleground to round up their dead. But as Ma’hawai sits on a tree stump mending his battle scars, Humbaba eyes the corpses that strew the devastated village; “I’m starving! I must eat now!” Humbaba picks up the body of a dead human, tears off his arm and takes a bite. Most of the humerus covered in its own raw flesh comes off with a grotesque crunch into Humbaba’s enormous mouth. Blood covers his mouth and chin, making him appear more animal than human. Most of the warriors, including Ma’hawai look at him in alarm, but quickly turn away. Ma’hawai; “Humbaba?” “What are you doing?!” Humbaba; “Prince Ma’hawai, I am starving!” Baal appears to give Humbaba an empathetic glare, then turns to Ma’hawai; “Prince Ma’hawai, Caan, and Ra’ul are dead, these are our only casualties. Kiriath should know well not to invade us again!” Ma’hawai observes the battlefield more with disgust than pleasure. “Our fathers should be proud.” “Humbaba, eat a more dignified meal, we are going home.” However, as Ma’hawai leaves with his warriors to report back to Shmyz’d, he looks back at all of the humans who fell victim to the gibborim’s rampage and whispers to himself: “We brought this to these people.” and turns back to leave.

Before the sunset of a dusky blue sky, Ma’hawai, Baal, Ymir and Nixal enter the gibborim neighborhood of Bad’ir. Ymir and Baal notice their wives outside of their cottages crying.  Ymir; “Aaargh! What could she be crying about now?!” Baal; “And mine is crying as well Ymir! I tell you, human woman are no more than emotional baggage!” Ymir; “I’ll meet with you another time Ma’hawai, Baal–until next time.” Ma’hawai; “Baal, Ymir, try to comfort them.” As the two gibborim warriors leave the company of Ma’hawai and Nixal they observe the strange behavior of these human women turn even more troubling. Nixal; “What could possibly be troubling them Ma’hawai?!” Suddenly Baal’s wife cries out her daughter name; “MAAA-RIELLLLLL!!” Then she continues to break down into another fit of sobs. Suddenly Ma’hawai’s heart sinks and without answering Nixal’s question kicks his giant warhorse into a gallop, back toward his giant cottage. Nixal, speaking more to himself this time; “Ma-riel huh? That is Baal’s daughter, she must have . . . gone!” Then Nixal kicks his horse into a trot back to his cottage as well. However, he does not seem the least worried that his daughter could be missing. Nixal; “Oh well.” Ma’hawai; “Arleta! Arletaaaaa!” he breaks his door down only to find his wife sobbing in her chair. Ma’hawai; “Oh no!” “Where is she?!”  But Badi’a barely manages to choke one word, before falling into another fit of sobs; “g-gone.” Ma’hawai turns around, but his screams are only met with silence; “Aaarletaaaaaaaaaaaa!”


28,000 B.C.: Under the silhouette of a looming banyan tree, Ma’hawai drinks out of a barrel of beer, temporarily washing away his pain. Beside him is the consumed carcass of a cow, chunks of raw flesh still hang off its slimy skeleton. He still wears the same body armor which glistens with fresh blood under the full moon. However, it has become too small for his massive body, which has continued to grow and his dimly lit face seems to take on a frighteningly ogrish appearance. A man happens to come by, and asks Ma’hawai if he is okay, but there is a tinge of fear in his voice. “Ma’hawai? Is that you? Are y-you okay?” However, Ma’hawai only gives him a creepy glare, exposing massive double-rowed teeth behind a disturbingly evil grimace. The man runs away, and in some deep, disturbingly inhuman voice Ma’hawai replies; “A wise man . . . a very wise man indeed.”


21,000 B.C.: A poor farmer lay on a bed of straw and wool, suffering from cowpox. Pustules have formed all over his face and body. Some have popped, leaving puss to run down his aged face. His wife sits at the table comforting him and eating a dish of crêpes with milk. Though the sun shines beautifully and bright outside, they only seem filled with panic and their faces appear very ashen. Jared; “D’halia sweetheart-Cough-the Giants-cough-have begun to overtax us!”; “W-what are you saying Jared!” Jared; “We have only been–cough–getting one silver piece per month!” D’halia; “Why didn’t you tell me before Jared! Why?” Jared; “I’m sorry D’halia!” Just then, they hear crowds of people outside screaming and yelling in terror. D’halia rushes to the door, and peeks outside to see what is wrong. Outside two enormous giants both more than 150 feet tall stand within the town, looking around at the terrorized residents. One of them is Girlok and the other is Ghog, who carries three redwood logs on his massive shoulders. They appear to exchange words and then Ghog walks away, causing the earth to shake as the few terrorized peasants flee into their homes. They still contain an element of youth in their giant faces, but the faces in themselves are horrific abominations of human anatomy–imbued with only disdain and villainy. Several human carcasses are scattered about the town, appearing as if the giants violently mutilated them. D’halia gasps and slams the door. As she bolts it shut, she trembles and speaks in short breathless gasps to her husband. “H-honey . . . th-hey are here!” Jared; “No! They will kill me! The giants punish those whose kine are too thin! For they are ill-favored!” D’halia; “But Jared! You have been too sick to tend to them! Their oppression has taken its toll on you!” Suddenly they hear an ominous thud. It is Girlok’s footsteps as he comes closer. D’halia; “Jared! th-they’re co-coming!” Jared; “I know honey!” D’halia; “Wha-what are we going to d-do?” Suddenly the roof of their cottage begins to sink in with a heart-pounding creak. The rafters crack and splinter and suddenly their roof caves in. The debris almost kills the couple, and now they are frozen with fear. D’halia is curled up on the floor trying to stifle her chattering teeth with her trembling fingers. As she gapes unblinkingly out of the cottage window, an eerie silence fills the cottage and all that they hear are Girlok’s deep, animal-like sniffs and snorts. The monstrosity that is Girlok is seen peering through the cottage window. His head is enormous and is eyeball alone is the size of a jumbo sized beach ball. In that eye is nothing but darkness, and evil. He reaches his enormous hand into the cottage through its damaged roof while Jared and D’halia begin to scream. Jared is picked up by the giant and dropped violently onto the ground outside. Girlok towers over him; Girlok; “I am Girlok! Be glad I am not Humbaba! He would have stomped on you by know!” Jared, is only frozen with fear and cannot talk–or move. Girlok picks Jared up, and as he picks him up his kneecaps snap. His patellas and tibias splinter under the giants force, and they are pushed out of his flesh with a sickening snap, crackle and pop. Girlok; “You are a smirch among Shmyz’d’s farmers, Jared!” Jared begins to scream one last time, as Girlok slams his body onto the ground–splattering into fleshy pieces. Girlok; “If you were not so sickly, I could have eaten you! Sickly have no flavor!” Jared; “AAAAAAAAGGGGH”– KERSPLUCHT.


Hell On Earth

16,080 B.C.:  A group of giant female warriors who call themselves the A’mazosa have returned to their homeland to claim a much needed meal. They’ve battled the sons of Shmyz’d’s rivals for thousands of years, becoming renown throughout the predeluvian world. Because of the war and devastation brought to Earth by the Egregoroi and their sons, Shmyz’d’s cities have been left charred by fire and littered with the carcasses of the dead. Food has become scarce, and the earth has been repopulated with a brood of genetically impure offspring originating from the Egregoroi.  As a result, the war between the Egrigoroi has degenerated into cannibalistic battles between their demonic children. The A’mazosa come from the vast plains with its charred groves, red rivers and great beasts into a kingdom of desolation. They are an imposing tribe of giants, scantily clad in armors and skins. War trophies made into jewelry decorations pierce almost every part of their enormous bodies. Their dirty red hair hangs in greasy, clotted strands that partially cover their flat, breastless chests. So they can easily draw their enormous bows, some have cut off their right or left breast, thus their name meaning ‘without breast’. Now their chests expose gaping red orbs of raw muscle set behind translucent pectoral fascia hardened by the elements.  Their brows have grown prominent over the centuries and their cheekbones are bulbous, wide and set high on their faces. Massive masseter muscles bulge out from their lower jaws suggesting the frequent use of these muscles in eating the flesh of their fallen opponents. The A’mazosa have three female offspring with them, all of which have chunks of flesh removed from their chests as well. One of the A’mazosa children is the Eliud daughter of Arleta, Ma’hawai’s daughter; “Arleta, I need more flesh.” Arleta looks to Ma-riel, as if expecting an answer to her daughters hunger. Arleta; “Ma-riel how much longer must we search?!” Ma-riel; “We’re passing through Kirlok, the town of the goblin witches, and the troll dwells in a cave outside of Kirlok’s outskirts. You and your young shall feast in time Arleta.” Arleta; “This is our homeland, where our fathers dwell. Perhaps they’ll see our actions as justified.” Ca’yan; “Remember Arleta, we are their proud deserters, their opinions mean nothing to us.” Ma-riel; “Ca’yan is right A’mazosa’s, we are only here to keep our tribe alive and keep moving. And we never form alliances! Not even with our own fathers!” As they enter Kirlok, they are met by hundreds of female goblins. They hobble out of old boarded up homes, once occupied by humans. Seemingly unafraid of the A’mazosa, they look upon them with praise, clasping their hands together and bowing down as they pass through the desolated town. Draped in tattered black robes and long pointy black hats, they cook the flesh of other demons in large iron vats. In smaller pots they prepare tomatoes and spices in a curry style sauce. With closed eyes they utter strange chants before these cooking pots, some with sacrificial infant demons screaming in their arms. The few male goblins seem inferior to the chanting females, and only wait patiently for their next meal. J’ean; “They do not seem to fear us.” Ma-riel; “With good reason, they are masters of our grandfather’s black arts and are to be respected.”  Soon they reach the abode of the troll. An enormous black cavern carved out of a five-hundred foot granite wall. Thousands of carcasses litter the jagged hill leading up to the cavern, which is eerily silent. Yet inside the cavern the enormous troll has already spied the A’mazosa and thick saliva drips off its warty chin.  Ma-riel; “A’mazosas’, draw your arms!” Just then, the giant troll emerges from its cavern with a terrifying and guttural bellow that echoes across the devastated region for miles, announcing its dominance. The troll; “kheeeegh Snitrullaaaaaa!!” In a hunching stance it stands almost 100 feet tall. Its muscle bound arms are grotesquely long and it has a long bulbous nose, covered in pink warts that protrude from its hideous face. It has long ears and thick short tusks curl out of the corners of its mouth, growing on either side of the lower row of teeth. Its eyes are small and deeply sunken into its sockets, overshadowed by its prominent brow. Its green skin is thick, wrinkled, and covered in warts. In its knobby hand it holds an enormous club carved from a tree trunk. Then it runs toward them, moving its massive body down the hill on all fours at a terrifying speed. Arleta screams at her daughter; “Hida! Run!” Ca’yan likewise tells her two daughters the same, as the giant troll continues to barrel down the hill toward its intended prey. Still running on all fours the troll crashes into the A’mazosa, using its body like a wrecking ball. The troll is seemingly impervious to their arrows, swords and shields which go flying in all directions along with the A’mazosa themselves. After the A’mazosa have collected themselves and their weapons, to their horror, find the troll has one of their own in its crushing grip, and it holds her up as if she were a trophy. Then it bellows a guttural word form its hideous mouth; “Mosh-mosh!” and proceeds to bite the A’mazosa’s head off. Arleta; “Zaaaadaaaaa!” Ma-riel; “kill this beast!” All of the A’mazosa proceed to chop at the trolls legs, but their swords are barely penetrating its incredibly thick skin. The troll merely swats them to the side with its massive club, one by one. Though bloodied up, the A’mazosa get back into the fight and continue to chop away at its legs. Soon the troll’s legs begin to bleed profusely, and it stumbles toward a boulder in pain. However, it still manages to swat away at the A’mazosa with its club, temporarily keeping them at bay. The troll; “Margh!” The troll drops its club and lifts a massive boulder up over its head. The A’mazosas try to get away, but the troll immediately throws it down onto the A’mazosa crushing two of them. At this point the A’mazosa have had enough, and they begin to employ more graceful moves in their coordinated attack, this time avoiding the trolls deadly swats as they continue to chop away at the trolls legs. Soon the troll topples over–both legs chopped off just above its knees. Still, the A’mazosa don’t quit there, hoarded around the downed troll, they continue there chopping frenzy as blood sprays their wild faces. Then Ma-riel orders them to stop; “Stop!” “He is finished.” Ma-rial wipes the blood from her face and scans the battle field for their dead and wounded. “Look around! Who have we lost! Who is hurt?!” Zaryia stands over the headless corpse of her fallen companion Zada, and gestures over to the other two crushed by the boulder. Arleta stands with her. Zaryia; “Zada, Xe’na, and Lilian are all dead Ma-riel!” Just then, the chopped up troll thought to be dead grabs Ma’riel’s leg. The troll; “Sni-Snitrul.” Ma-riel just stares at the troll in shock, but another A’mazosa swiftly chops its arm in half, and the troll immediately goes lifeless, this time for good. Ma’riel; “Thank you Ca’yan.” “Arleta, Ca’yan. Call your young out.  The danger has passed.” Arleta; “Hida! Come out!” Ca’yan; “Zakaria! Bri’an! Out!” Ma-riel; “Let’s get this troll into the cave, but we must make haste, their meat has been known to petrify under the sun.” “We can stay there until the food supply has diminished, then we’ll move on.” The A’mazosa proceed to chop the trolls corps up into smaller pieces, and the younger A’mazosa carry them up to the cave, wrapped in cloth. But just as Hida is about to enter the cave with the troll meat, six malnourished neanderthals come hobbling out eyeing the meat in Hida’s arms. Arleta quickly comes running up the hill with her sword drawn and the neanderthals continue to move on. However, their instincts keep them turning back, eyeing the A’mazosa’s kill, but Arleta and the rest of the A’mazosa shew them off with there imposing size and deadly weapons. Arleta; “Haa! Be gone!” Down below, Ca’yan gestures toward them with her sword as if intending to kill them, but Ma-riel holds her back. Ma-riel; “No, leave them be.” “They’re starving to death, and there is little meat on their bones.”

Ohya and his brother Ahya now stand 450 feet into the air and are unequaled in their size and strength, but they have grown to become more animal than human. Their enormous mouths compose most of what is considered their face, which is horrific and almost indistinguishable. The skin of these giants has become wrinkled and tanned and their movements are slow and lumbering. Now Ohya pretends to sleep as a flock of accipiters feed on the carrion of his past meals, now mainly consisting of captured nephilim brought in by the giants. We only see his deep-set eyes and only one is open as he eyes the flock hungrily. The body of Ohya rises into the sky, and most of the startled flock of birds flies into Ohya’s cavernous and grotesquely enormous mouth. He gives a displeased moan, and waits for the giants to bring him his next meal.  Meanwhile, further outside of Shmyz’d’s central island city, the Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors are heard fast approaching by a goblin and his female counterpart. They’ve just caught a swan from a polluted stream under an old rotted bridge, but now they scramble back under the bridge with their meal, and wait for the giants to pass. The dirty swan squirms and flaps its feeble wings in the male goblins knobby hands. “Shhhhh! Quite! The giants are approaching!” The goblin then bites into its neck, and the swan goes limp. Soon other creatures whom appear to be small elves surround the goblins, eyeing their catch, but as the Gibborim Warriors approach (indicated by the increasing vibrational currents in the water) the hungry little elves are driven away and the goblins are saved from another confrontation.  The Gibborim Warriors are now seen about a mile away as the last of the little elves disappear behind rocks and into holes. However as the they approach, some peek behind rocks to catch a glimpse of these warlike giants.  Now they can make out the Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors well,  larger and more monstrous than ever before. There are fifteen of them total, running in a militant formation with Ma’hawai leading them in the front. Ma’hawai and the others have grown into monstrous and savage warriors standing almost 200 ft. tall, adorned in battle-trophy necklaces and other amulets. There thick, battle-scarred skin is covered in tattoos, partially hidden by there massive armor plating which has been dented and nicked by thousands of years of warfare–their true vice. The Gibborim Warriors have taken another one of their kind as prisoner, who now marches with them. He is naked and bloodied from the lashings he receives from two Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors behind him. Blood drips from under a painful helmet on his head which in turn has two chains attached to it linked to shackles that bind his wrists. Some Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors keep large quantities of flesh in there enormous mouths simply for the flavor, and blood drips down their chins. They continue down the intermediary road connecting Shmyz’d’s northeast/southwest axis covering miles in only a few short minutes. Soon the Shmyz’d Emperial District can be seen off in the distance. Ohya can already see them and his bestial bellow is heard emanating from the heart of the empire, it echoes across the desolated land for miles. The Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors reply by sounding a horn to signal their arrival.  Soon Ma’hawai and his giant warriors return to Shmyz’d’s palace and present their prisoner to Ohya, who is now accompanied by his brother Ahya. Ma’hawai leads his giant warriors toward the two enormous brothers at a slow walk and when they reach them, they all fall to one knee. Ohya “Ma’hawai, up.” Ma’hawai stands up; “Ohya, Shmyz’d’s Nephilim Warriors have captured this Giant who was caught spying on their outpost in search of flesh. Though he refuses to speak, we believe he is Isilhir, who’s been eating our nephilim warriors to the southwest.” Ohya; “Will he speak to me?” Isilhir looks up to Ohya and Ahya and he does speak for the first time. Isilhir; “I have heard of you! They speak of the great ones! Ohya, Ahya, the Shmyz’d Gibborim Warriors . . . yes! I am Isilhir! I search for food! Yet you eat it all!!!!!” Isilhir; “HAAAAAAAAA!! HAAAA!!” Ayha; “Fool!” Ohya; “Foooooooood!!!”  Ma’hawai turns around and beats Isilhir with the back of his enormous, armored fist. Ma’hawai; “Now you shall become food for the two great ones.” The giants back away from Isilhir, who know trembles before Ohya and Ahya. They continue to pick Isilhir up by his feet and shoulders. As Isilhir screams one last time, they tear him in half and each share their portion of the dismembered giant, temporarily staving off their increasing hunger. After Ohya and Ahya have finished feasting on Isilhir, they summon the giants to another council, in this they have also become known as the Assembly of Giants throughout the latter pre-deluvian world. Ohya; “Giants! The father calls us . . . to an assembly.” Now all the giants begin to form an enormous circle around Ohya and Ahya. All around them is an endless plain of carcasses. Ahya; “Gibborim Warriors . . . your daughters have been found.” Ahya; “They have killed the Troll of Kirlok . . . and temporarily taken dwelling there.” Ahya; “Our father’s wish . . . is to incorporate them back into our empire. They have grown into formidable warriors . . . and would be useful in capturing our enemies for food . . . If they choose not to join us . . . you must slaughter them and bring any prisoners back to us.” With these words the giants fall silent. They have grown into bitter old warriors who no longer harbor any emotion for their daughters, or anyone else. For Baal, Ymir and Nixal these words only reinforce their bitter feelings toward their daughters. Baal; “Ma-riel means nothing to me . . . I have not seen her face in thousands of years! I do not even remember how she looks any more!” Ymir; “Likewise . . . I do not remember my daughters face, nor do I care for her anymore.” Nixal; “That makes another.” However, Ma’hawai remains silent. Though Arleta’s disappearance has contributed to his cold brutality, he has not become truly evil with the rest of the giants. Consequently, Ma’hawai sees this as an opportunity for closure to the pain that his daughter’s desertion has caused. He closes his bloodied fist and kneels down on one knee. He shuts his eyes, and a mixed emotion of bitter pain, and long lost happiness floods his face. Ma’hawai; “Arleta . . . why?!” That evening, Ma’hawai rests outside his father’s castle discussing the arrival of the A’mazosa with him. Baraq’el decides to summon a faerie for Ma’hawai who’ll go to the A’mazosa and inform them of Shmyz’d’s wishes. That night Ma’hawai has a dream about his eight-year-old daughter, and her  fierce desire to become an independent warrior. She was a good spirited nephilim daughter who’s desire to fight led her to desertion. Yet her family is a tribe of evil nephilim warriors. Ma’hawai awakens with a sense that the A’mazosa will choose not to join their fathers and remain an independent tribe. Early the next morning, the faerie appears within the cavern of the A’mazosa and informs them of their father’s invitation to join them in their cannibalistic battles, and help feed Ohya and Ahya–the great ones. But just as Ma’hawai sensed, the A’mazosa tell the faerie they have no intentions of joining their fathers and have no care for Shmyz’d’s two sons. They only live and fight with their own kind. All other giants and nephilim are considered inferior to their tribe, only seen fit for slaughter. That evening the faerie returns to Baraq’el’s castle and tells Ma’hawai and Baraq’el. This does not surprise Ma’hawai, but what does surprise him is that funny feeling of pride for his daughter who refused to join Shmyz’d’s forces. Ma’hawai does something he has not done since he last saw his daughter thousands of years ago–he smiles.  Baraq’el and Xipil the faerie accompany  the Assembly of Giants to discuss the dilemma of the A’mazosa.  However, the rest of the Giants are so devoid of care for there daughters that they unanimously opt to destroy them in favor of their flesh. They have become possessed with the craving for flesh. It has turned into an addiction over the centuries and they no longer care who it comes from, even their own daughters. Only Ma’hawai remains reluctant on the decision, but he is the minority and he must follow the majority in the Assembly of Giants. With this Ma’hawai summons Xipil and his father to talk with them in private; “You have heard these cold Giants. They are all corrupted with warfare and bloodshed, and the centuries have washed away their humanity. Yet I have realized that . . . I still care for my daughter!” Ma’hawai turns to Xipil; “Xipil, I must put closure to the pain Arleta’s desertion has caused me. If we are to meet again as opponents, tell her I, and only I shall fight her–with honor. For I’m certain the A’mazosa will fall by our blades.”  With these words Ma’hawai returns to the Assembly of Giants with Xipil and his father. Ma’hawai speaks to Ohya and Ahya who lay down observing the assembly taking place below. Ma’hawai; “Ohya, Ahya, we shall leave to kill the A’mazosa at dusk tomorrow. We will try to bring back as many A’mazona as possible and appease your growing hunger. However, we cannot promise living A’mazosa as I know they would rather die than become prisoners of war. I would wish for Xipil to accompany us, and help us find them.” Ahya; “Very well.” Ohya gives a low, displeased grumble. Ma’hawai; “Giants, tomorrow we shall prepare for battle. By my order, make their executions swift! They are your nephilim daughters.” Ma’hawai walks away from the assembly back to Bad’ir with Xipil and his father. Back at Bad’ir, Ma’hawai sends Xipil off to deliver his message to Arleta. Ma’hawai; “Xipil, be back by dusk tomorrow . . . and tell me what she says.”

The Gibborim Warriors prepare to battle the A’mazosa at Shmyz’d’s palace. They apply a special ointment to their skin to strengthen their scar tissue, and sharpen their enormous swords on giant anvils brought in by Shmyz’d’s nephilim warriors. They have also brought in more captured nephilim for Ohya and Ahya who now feed on them in a cannibalistic orgy of bloodshed. Some of Shmyz’d’s nephilim join in with Ohya and Ahya, feeding on the chunks of flesh that fall back down to the ground. Other Shmyz’d Nephilim Warriors observe their giant superiors prepare for battle in adoration. Just as the Gibborim Warriors finish preparing for battle, Xipil appears before Ma’hawai. Ma’hawai whispers to Xipil; “Xipil, tell me what she said.” Xipil gets up close to Ma’hawai’s face and talks to him in a high, sweet voice; “Arleta has inherited your spirit, and she will fight to the death.” Ma’hawai; “Thank you Xipil.” “Now come with us and find them again.”

That same evening, in the trolls cave the A’mazosa likewise prepare to defend their honor against their giant fathers. Before a large fire pit they apply red war paint to their faces, and ointment to their battle scarred skin. While they chant prayers for victory the younger A’mazosas braid their long red hair and sharpen their broadswords on their own shields. Primitive drawings of bison, UFOs and other major symbols of Cro-Magnon life are depicted on the fire lit cave walls. Hida braids her mothers hair. Hida; “I want to join you Arleta.  I want to protect you.” Arleta laughs; “Hida, you will grow into an honorable A’mazosa!” “Yet, I will not lose my only young . . .  you must sit this out.” Hida; “But they want to devour us! Their own daughters!” Arleta turns around to face Hida; “Hearken Hida! Ma’hawai still cares for his daughter and his granddaughter, he is not like the other Giants. He will find me and he alone will fight me.” Arleta holds Hida’s head close to hers. “And know this Hida; even if I die, you shall survive . . . to carry on his spirit!” Suddenly Ma-riel makes an announcement; “A’mazosa! We are going northeast to the coastal lands at dawn! They should find us there!” “We must defend our honor! If we’re to be taken as prisoners, we are to jump into the ocean!”

The day of the battle, Xipil the faerie leads the Gibborim Warriors to a beautiful, highland coastline on the northeast shores of Pangea. Huge white caps crash onto the great beach before them, showered in the morning sun. However, the A’mazosa are nowhere to be seen.  Ma’hawai; “Xipil, you were to lead us to the A’mazosa, they are nowhere in sight.” Xipil; “Prince Ma’hawai, they are here.” With that, Xipil vanishes into thin air.  Ma’hawai; “If Xipil says they are here, than it must be so.” “Giants, proceed onto the beach with caution! The A’mazosa are cunning warriors and they could be hiding anywhere.”  Several Giants continue to jump onto the beach carelessly, while the rest follow cautiously as Ma’hawai ordered. However, just as five or six giants land onto the beach, five arrows fly out of the ground below the giants who are still above the beach, and they all find their targets in the giants skulls. Their sharp tips come out the other end with chunks of raw brain. The rest of the giants observe in dismay as their five comrades crash lifelessly onto the beach–the first blood of the battle begins to seep into the coastline.  The A’mazosa begin to emerge out of the sea caves of the upper coastline. They’re all decorated in war paint and their battle-cries alarm the giants. Larger than the Giants had expected, they carry their enormous broadswords with only one hand and rush the giants with terrifying speed. Ma’hawai; “Giants!! Proceed with caution!!” But Ma’hawai’s order of caution has fallen on deaf ears and the chaos of battle has taken full effect.  More Giants crash onto the beach, and more A’mazosa appear to emerge out of the sea caves with a ferocity that startles the Giants.  Ma-riel stands in the midst of the chaos and rallies her warriors on; “A’mazosaaaaa!!!!!! To the deaaaaaaaath!!!!!” With that, she goes to take on another Giant who has appeared to accept her challenge (Baal), and they clash swords. However, Arleta still hides within the shadows of the caves, and kisses her daughter good-bye for the last time. Arleta; “Hida, if I die today . . . it was an honor having you.”  Hida begins to weep, and they can hear Ma’hawai’s bellows outside as he calls Arleta’s name. Ma’hawai; “Arletaaaaaaaaaa!!!  Where are you Arletaaaa!!! It is your father! Ma’hawaaaaaaiiiiiiii!!!” Arleta runs outside and screams for her father; “Faaaatheeeeer!!!!” A macabre scene of carnage meets her. A’mazosa limbs already decorate the bloody beach, and blood sprays her from all directions. Arleta suddenly hears something large and heavy land behind her; “Arleta, it is I Ma’hawai.” Arleta turns around and gasps. An enormous giant meets her adorned in war-trophy necklaces and tattoos. His thick, rough skin is battle-scarred from the thousands of years of violent fighting he has endured–and survived. His chiseled yet gentle face is decorated with ear, nose and eyebrow rings. Under a prominent brow are deep sunken, piercing blue eyes. There is a spark of kindness in them that seems to put Arleta at ease though chaos surrounds her all around. Arleta; “Father!” Ma’hawa; “Arleta.” Suddenly, as if a demon both possessed them at the same instant, they clash swords in survival mode. Ma’hawai is larger than Arleta by a great degree, but Arleta does not seem to let it intimidate her. She appears possessed by an inner fire that makes her appear ferocious, animal like. Each great swift blow that Ma’hawai makes, she counters. Still, each blow becomes harder for her to block, and she finds herself having to use her size to her advantage. She rolls under Ma’hawai to deliver a modified strike, However, Ma’hawai is fast, and graceful. He blocks her modified strikes with the ease of a master warrior. Ma’hawai; “That is it Arleta, fight!!!” The battle between the A’mazosa and the Giants goes well into the afternoon and  both sides fight ferociously. However, the Giants fight with such a strength and brutality that it begins to overwhelm the smaller A’mazosa and they continue to fall by the Giants blades. Only the best A’mazosa last into the latter half of the battle against the Giants; Ma-riel, Arleta, Ca’yan, Khiana, J’ean and a small handful of others.  Ma-riel has been battling a Giant who looks eerily familiar to her. His stubbly coal black hair and deep sunken walnut eyes fills her with a memory of her own father–Baal. As they continue to strike swords she says his name aloud; “Baal?!” Baal replies by speaking Ma-riel’s name; “. . . Ma-riel?!” Suddenly, rage fills Baal’s heart again, and he rushes his daughter full boar. Baal; “I’ll slaughter you for your treachery!” Baal delivers swift and mighty blows to her daughter, and with great effort she counters them all. Baal raises his sword again to strike her in the neck, and she counters with amazing speed. Too slow to strike her first, Ma-riel connects her blade with his ribs. However his skin is amazingly hardened by battle scars and her blade only creates a minor laceration, yet it’s still enough to temporarily stun him and he drops his sword. Baal; “AAAAAAAAAGH!!!” Baal drops to his knees, and Ma-riel lowers her sword–a mistake never to made in the heat of battle. Ma-riel can only laugh at her father insidiously; “Hah-ha-ha-ha–!” fueled with an icy ferocity, Baal snatches his sword back up, and delivers a thrust to her mid section. She attempts to block him but the blade is too fast. Backing away from her father, Baal continues to leap toward her ensuring that the death blow has been delivered. Baal; “GAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” His blade impales her abdomen and he keeps it there, staring into hers eyes with nothing but evil in his. Even in death, Ma-riel is filled with hate for her father and spits blood in his face. The two A’mazosa, J’ean and Khiana are close by there fallen leader, and there opponent has now fallen onto his knees, bloodied from multiple stab wounds to his torso.  Now J’ean has spotted her fallen leader and cries her name; “Maaaa-rieeeeel!!” As their slain giant crashes onto the beach, J’ean and Khiana immediately go to the aid of there fatally wounded leader Ma-riel. Khiana; “Ma-riel! No!” Arleta is still holding up against her father, yet she senses her A’mazosa leader has finally met her fate. In a mid clash with her fathers blade Arleta’s eyes roll to the side with an intense fear; “Ma-riel!” Baal continues to stare into the eyes of his dying daughter Ma-riel who is still on her knees but barely alive; “Khiana–cough–J’ean! Kill him!” Baal suddenly looks to the side in shock; “Huh?!” Nevertheless it is too late, the two A’mazosa warriors fell their blades on him before he can counter, chopping him into pieces. Baal; “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGH!” Pieces of flesh and blood fly into the air.  Now Ma’hawai’s blows are becoming too powerful for Arleta to block, and she is barely managing to prevent Ma’hawai’s blade from sending hers flying out of her hands.  However, she continues to fight on and delivers a spinning back strike that seems to have no affect on her father. Arleta; “Your . . . Strikes . . . are . . . powerful . . . Father!” Ma’hawai; “And likewise yours Arleta.” Now Ma’hawai is undergoing an internal struggle, and his face has taken on a melancholy appearance. His movements become more mechanical, and he is merely going through the motions. Ma’hawai spins and strikes her blade again, and it flies out of her hands. Now Arleta realizes her end and faces her father, saying nothing. Arleta’s face has become completely covered in blood, and just the whites of her eyes begin to stare back at Ma’hawai wildly, entranced with the chaos and carnage of the battle field. Ma’hawai has learned to tune out the spiritual cries of the slain, but as Arleta’s spirit speaks to him–he listens; “Ma’hawai, hearken to Arleta’s spirit for I am of the same ilk as yours . . . born unto demonic flesh to wreak havoc upon the earth I am that of the heavenly ruler above . . . Yet I am cursed to haunt the earth until my final judgment–never to be known until the fulness of time.” Now an amazing sense of peace overcomes Ma’hawai. He closes his eyes and lifts his sword high over his head. One tear falls down his massive cheek as he prepares to execute his daughter Arleta. Ma’hawai; “Thank you Arleta, goodbye.” Ma’hawai brings his blade down and screams; “GRHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA–” With a grotesque squish and crunch sounded together his blade splices her entire upper body in two. Being one of the few A’mazosa left alive, Ca’yan witnesses Arleta’s execution. She’s one of the few A’mazosa left, but seeing Arleta die before her own eyes has taken any remaining fight that may have been left in her. She drops her sword and falls to her knees; “Arletaaaaaa!!! Noooooooooooo!!!” The Giant Humbaba finishes her off, letting out an evil laugh as he slashes her torso in two. Now Ca’yan falls to her death, spilling the beach coast with more blood.  Continuing to honor his fallen daughter, Ma’hawai has taken one knee using his own bloodied sword for support. The few remaining A’mazosa realize their own fate, and begin to throw themselves off the beach cliff like Ma-riel ordered, falling into the crashing waves below never to be seen again. So much blood has been spilt it runs off the beach cliff like a waterfall into the sea. Humbaba; “Giants! Grab them! They cannot escape!” The Giants proceed to run past Ma’hawai to capture the three who remain, and to feast on the scattered flesh of the slain. Ma’hawai; “Ruler of heaven, leading these giants has brought me only suffering, thus I am guilty of my violent deeds. I no longer wish to dwell with these tares . . . I shall repent.” Three Giants apprehend the three remaining A’mazosas as the rest kneel down to shovel mounds of flesh into their enormous mouths. The A’mazosas curse the Giants, and spit in their faces. A’mazosas; “No!!” “Stoooop!!” “Let us go!!” The sun begins to set beyond the horizon, turning the sky red, like the color of the landscape from the carnage of the days battle, and the gibborim warriors continue to feast on the flesh of the fallen A’mazosa. They appear like a herd monstrous beasts, demonic and unearthly, with the intent of only blood shed and destruction which they bring with their prodigious size and savage brutality. They continue to feed off the blood soaked battle field strewn with organs, limbs and bones like savage animals in a grotesque orgy of cannibalism. Ma’hawai can only look upon them with disdainful disgust. Ma’hawai bellows orders to Humbaba and Ymir, yet he still appears shaken; “Humbaba, Ymir–conduct a body count of our fallen, and I will report it to Shmyz’d–you can start with Baal.” However, Humbaba only glares at the three Giants with their A’mazosa war trophies with seething envy as he wipes blood from his mouth. Humbaba; “Yes, Mahawai, as you wish!” One of the giants with a captured A’mazosa  fondles her bloody, red hair; “HAA-HA-HAAA!” “We’re going to have fun with you, pretty nephilim!!” A’mazosa; “Die! Beasts!” Ymir notices Ma’hawais unusual state and decides to comment on it; “Yes, Ma’hawai . . .though you are fearless, you appear shaken!” Ma’hawai; “I will tell you about it in time Ymir. However, I shall need time to recover until then.” After the giants leave, Hida, Zakaryia and Br’ian come out of the caves. They scream their mother names, yet there cries are met with only silence.

The Giants have set camp in a thickly wooded forest teeming with startled and frightened tree elves. They dart from branch to branch, wary of their giant and violent guests. A massive path of broken down trees follows them to this camp, and two or three bonfires stoked with the fallen trees illuminate the giants. They are crowded around the three screaming A’mazosa. Yet, their screams are met without mercy. After Humbaba has his way with one of the A’mazosa, he carries her off, away from the other Giants. Humbaba; “She belongs to me now!! Tell Ohya and Ahya that I have forsaken them!! Servitude I will not tolerate anymore! Bringing them flesh that I want for myself!!” The giants fall silent, rather than attack Humbaba, for they fear him more than the other giants. Ma’hawai; “Humbaba, if you forsake them these giants shall certainly hunt you down and devour your flesh themselves!” “So for your own sake, do not cause trouble within the Assembly.” Humbaba; “Girlok! Ghog! Grab the other two!” Amazingly, the two giants do as Humbaba says, they grab them and accompany Humbaba with the first A’mazosa. Mahawai; “Girlok! Ghog! What are you doing!” But the two giants ignore their leader and seem to only acknowledge Humbaba as their leader now; Humbaba;  “Giants! Come with us!” “We not need Ma’hawai! We can lead ourselves!” Ma’hawai impulsively draws his sword, and the remaining giants still with Ma’hawai do the same. However, Humbaba merely laughs as four more giants follow Humbaba, and divide from the main body. Humbaba; “Moab, Naxul, Jax, Hirma! Join us!” But most of the others stay with there leader . . . swords drawn. Humbaba; “That’s it?!” “You don’t wish to taste their flesh?!” Mirthula; “Ma’hawai, Why don’t we slaughter these traitors.” Ymir; “Yea Ma’hawai, they have deserted us!” Hiwa; “Kiiiiiill!!” Ma’hawai; “Warriors, sheath your swords!!” Ymir; “But Ma’ha–” Mahawai; “Sheath them!!” The giants do as Ma’hawai says and they sheath their swords. Humbaba; “Ma’hawai, always a good gibborim warrior, but too cowardly to fight me!” The other giants with Humbaba laugh. Ma’hawai; “You are not worthy of the death of my blade Humbaba, but know that if I find you again, your unworthiness will not save you a second time.” As Humbaba and his followers begin to break down more of the forest in their retreat, he bellows an onymous warning; “Not if you I devour first!!!!”

The following day, Ma’hawai’s remaining body of Gibborim Warriors return to Shmyz’d, and Ma’hawai explains all that happened to the three A’mazosa prisoners, and the other giants that fell out with Humbaba. Ma’hawai is pardoned and goes back to Bad’ir for a much needed rest. As he washes away chunks of flesh and bone from his sword, armor and body he remembers his daughter and the other fallen A’mazosa. And as he falls asleep at the base of his father’s fortress, the voice of Arleta’s spirit comes back to haunt him . . . “Ma’hawai, hearken to Arleta’s spirit for I am of the same ilk as yours . . . born unto demonic flesh to wreak havoc upon the earth I am that of the heavenly ruler above . . . Yet I am cursed to haunt the earth until my final judgment–never to be known until the fulness of time.” it echoes within the dark caverns of his mind and he again sees all of the A’mazosa that fell by their swords, the images of their death come back to torment him again . . . the waterfall of blood, mixed with chunks of flesh and bone . . . the vast mounds of fallen carcasses which the giants devoured voraciously to satistfy there unnatural appetites . . . however the waterfall becomes clearer, and soon the blood becomes fresh water, crystal clear and as cool as ice . . . the waterfall pours into a vast ocean and Ma’hawai suddenly sees a giant tablet falling down. The tablet contains all the names of the inhabitants of the earth–the wicked and the righteous. . . and the tablet continues to fall down into the vast ocean below . . . and it is gone . . . but the tablet emerges again out of the ocean and back into the air by an invisible and all powerful force and all but three names have been washed away . . . They are the names of Noah and his three sons, Shem, Ham and Japeth–Ma’hawai suddenly awakes with a great fear. God has spoken. The next morning, Ma’hawai reports his dream to the Assembly of Giants. Ma’hawai makes his confession; “Giants, The heavenly ruler has spoken!” Ma’hawai; “This dream is for cursing and sorrow! In battles past I have confessed to him–amidst the spirits of our wrongfully slain complaining about us and crying out to their creator–that we shall die together and be made an end of!” Gilgamesh; “Do not speak of such things Ma’hawai, you frighten us.” Ma’hawai; “Gilgamesh you among others should know. Giants shall be stripped of their forms and reduced to evil spirits–most without hope for redemption! For we are the iron amongst the clay!” At these words, the giants fall silent and begin to tremble with dread. However, Ohya becomes enraged at Ma’hawai and expels him from the Assembly. Ohya; “Giants!! Ma’hawai speaks of things he does not understand . . . it is our fathers . . .the fallen angels . . . who must answer to God . . . not us!!” Ohya; “But know this . . . I will protect my father . . . to the death!!” Now the giants appear to take favor with Ohya’s words. Mirthula and Gilgamesh intercede with Ohya on Ma’hawai’s behalf. Though Ma’hawai has spoken out against them, they do not wish to see their leader isolated from the Assembly. Yet, Ma’hawai realizes he must stay away from Ohya, who has become increasingly violent.

Now out of the company of the other giants, Ahya screams at the heavens and begins to devour the vast pile of bones that litter his dwelling to stave off his growing hunger. Ohya is seen in the distance moaning from his hunger pains, and doing the same. As Ahya lay down to sleep, He begins to experience his first dream-vision . . . Ahya visits a vast and beautiful world garden. Flowers as large as trees sprout from the hills for miles, soaking up the waterfalls that decorate the lush, sun drenched flora . . . Ahya notices 200 giant redwood trees within the world garden, and they tower taller than all the other plants and trees . . . but now Ahya observes in horror as an infinite number of glowing myriads ascend from the heaves and fell the 200 giant trees as they begin to crash into the vast garden, one by one . . . Ayha awakes trembling, and he and Ohya call the giants to an assembly. Ahya; “Giants . . . I have experienced troubling visions of the future.” Ahya explains his dream-vision to them and it bodes ill for the giants. Mirthula; “Giants, I’ve also experienced the same type of visions. I’ve woken in cold sweats!” “I wish to tell Ma’hawai my dream-vision . . . If only he were here . . .” Ahya; “Tell us Mirthula!” Lor’an; “Tell Ma’hawai outside of the Assembly!” Mirthula; “Giants  behold, I was admiring the human women, and they were watering a great garden with 200 trees in the center . . .” Ymir; “Keep going!” Mirthula; “Behold giants, as they were watering the trees great shoots arose from their roots! But as the shoots continued to grow the women continued to water them, until the water drowned them! Fire came down from above which burned all of the trees within the flooded garden, then the sleep of my eyes fled from me, and I awoke!” Ymir; “These must be the voices of our fathers crying for our help . . . For all the leagues of heaven have turned against them!” Gilgamesh; “These dreams are telling us something regarding the future!” Mirthula; “What could it be, Gilgamesh!” Gilgamesh; “Giants, there is indeed an ominous event nigh.” Gilgamesh; “Mirthula is right, it must be a message of judgment brought to us from above, we must find out what these dreams mean–” Anax; “–No judgment will befall us Gilgamesh!” Ahya; “Giants . . .  Gilgamesh, Mirthula are both correct . . . in that there is something awry . . . but like Ohya says . . . it is the damnation of our fathers . . . not us.” These words only bring minimal comfort to the giants, and not all of them are convinced of what Ohya and Ahya tell them, namely Mirthula and Gilgamesh. Like Ma’hawai they realize the futility of fighting against the forces of heaven, despite Ohya’s promise to protect his father from any harm. Still, the entire Assembly agrees to send Ma’hawai on their behalf, to consult with Enoch the noted scribe to interpret their dreams. They prepare him for his journey by making him a giant flight suit, made of giant eagles wings. This will allow him to ascend into the air high enough to find the Kogman mountains which is where Enoch resides. The evening of Ma’hawai’s departure, he dons the flight suit which has giant twin sabers attached to the front of the wings in the event he must engage in aerial battle. He kneels like a giant crouching eagle, ready to take flight. Attending Ma’hawais pre-flight ceremony are Egrigori, Giants, Eliuds, goblins, elves, dwarves and faeries, but no human in sight.  Before the demonic and genetically impure inhabitants of Shmyz’d, Ma’hawai gives a speech on the futility of fighting the forces of heaven; “I am a giant, and by the mighty strength of my arm and my own great strength have caused great distress to mortals of past, and brought war and famine to them; but I am no longer able to stand against them, for my true opponents reside in heaven, and they dwell in the holy places, and they are stronger than I. So let us now bring word to Enoch of our wrongdoing, and our repentance.” At these words, Mahaway takes flight, creating a whirlwind just as the sun begins to set beyond the horizon.  As he ascends higher into the sky, an intense cold envelopes him and he notices that he is in the midst of an endless sea of tiny crystals that are suspended in the sky. Below he sees miles of cultivated fields and solitary lands that stretch out as far as the eye can see. As he continues to ascend higher into the sky the ice crystals begin to turn into warm water vapors, and he notices his skin beginning to warm up again. Soon, he crosses a great desert as large as a nation and at the end of the desert he sees the Kogman mountains surrounding the desert to the northeast. But as the light of the sun begins to creep up behind the distant mountains the warm water vapor gets hotter, and  Ma’hawai begins to sweat. But the water vapors only increase in heat as the rays of the pre-dawn sun continue to rise up over the mountains. At this point Ma’hawai becomes greatly alarmed and he hears a mysterious voice above him calling his name; “Oh son of Baraq’el, your affairs are lamentable, more than this you will never know. Now descend from these heights, and do no die now.” And again he hears another voice, this time it is the voice of Enoch himself, coming from below him. “Ma’hawai! The door of the sun will open and the sun’s light and heat will descend and catch your wings afire! You will burn and die!” At these words Ma’hawai frantically lowers his altitude closer to earth, and indeed he narrowly avoids  catching his wings on fire, witch have already started smouldering under the heat of the sun. As Ma’hawai reaches the Kogman Mountain range he spots a smooth shiny orb nestled within the jagged, fog shrouded peaks–a UFO. A special ‘plateau’ has been carved out of the mountain for Ma’hawai who begins to make his descent. Enoch stands at the ridge of the mountain welcoming his arrival. Ma’hawai; “Enoch! The Giants await your words, and all of the monsters of the earth! These scrolls contain their dreams, which have been carried across these lands in hopes that they’ll know from you their meaning!”

As Ma’hawai leaves behind the Kogman mountains, he again passes over the great desert–much closer to its surface this time. So close that he can make out the little animals that dwell there. They hide behind rocks, and in holes dug into the ground when they can no longer run from the faster, soaring Giant. However, these little animals will not satisfy Ma’hawai’s unnatural hunger, and he waits to pursue his next meal further off into the inhabited lands. It has been several days since Ma’hawai has eaten flesh, intentionally depriving himself of it due to his fear of God. But he can never drop it from his diet completely, and once again he is faced with an insatiable craving for flesh, that will undoubtedly result in gorging himself in it to excess. But he must relieve his worsening hunger pains before he reaches Shmyz’d to deliver God’s judgment. As the sun sets closer toward the horizon, Ma’hawai reaches a land of rolling feilds once cultivated by humans to grow their crops but now inhabited by two evil giants. They are enormous, larger than Ma’hawai but apparently not accustomed to the warrior lifestyle. In there hideously enormous mouths they keep the flesh of their giant livestock, for food and flavor, and blood dribbles down there chins and onto there fat stomachs. One rests on a hill, drinking vast quantities of milk from what appears to be the spire broken off of a tower and used as a giant cup. On its neck it wears a necklace made of human skulls. A pegasus that has come to graze on the grass has attempted to take flight again, but is grabbed by this enormous giant before it can escape, and stuffed alive inside of its horrifically large mouth. Several miles away, the other giant strides dutifully near a giant bumblebee that is sucking the nectar from a small forest of giant tulips and a Giant cow grazing on the few trees scattered across the fields. Two giant calves are seen several miles away doing the same. One of the giants spots Ma’hawai gliding in fast toward his prized livestock and begins to bellow in alarm. But as Ma’hawai touches ground a sense of shock overcomes him when he notices that the land is carved with a river of milk and small streams of honey, and he looks to the first giant in dismay. Ma’hawai; “Did you create this?” But the first giant ignores Ma’hawai and yells to its equal who is still a few miles away. As it opens its enormous mouth, it appears as a horrific cavern of living flesh with triple rows of teeth that seem to be made to grind the flesh of the animal–and humans. “Arloooog! Come now! An intruder approaches!” But as the first giant turns back around to face Ma’hawai, one of the bladed wings slashes into the giants blubbery mid section, spilling enormous internal organs, that appear to be alive in themselves onto the green fields. Ma’hawai; “Than I shall save you from your inevitable destruction.” The giant falls to its knees, clutching its gaping stomach and staring down at its own squirming organs in shock. Then as the other bladed wing falls across the giants neck, Arlog cries for his fallen partner. Arlog; “Bilaboooooooooo!!!” But Bilabo has already met his fate, as Ma’hawai throws his enormous head into the river of milk, turning it a sickly pink. Arlog reaches the giant corpse of Bilabo and falls to his knees blubbering Bilabo’s name uncontrollably. Arlog; “What have you done! You rapacious savage!” Ma’hawai; “My name is Ma’hawai, and I come from the land of Shmyz’d were we were brought up to become warriors, not cowards coveting perversions of nature.” Ma’hawai; “Now go, and cease your wicked ways now, the reign of our kind is at its demise.” Arlog; “Mmma, why must I have to leave my–” Ma’hawai bellows furiously; “Go!!” Without word, Arlog gets back onto his feet, and strides away, still blubbering in rage.  As Ma’hawai spots the giant cow running into the forest of giant tulips he speaks quietly to himself; “Giant cows, flowers as large as trees, rivers of milk and honey . . . what is becoming of the earth?”

Under a blood red sunset Ma’hawai makes his descent to Shmyz’d’s palace and is greeted by hundreds of demonic warriors. Some are his fellow giants with their nephilim sons. Others are more demonic looking nephilim who appear less human than the others. They carry enormous maces, and some of their oversized heads are adorned in war helmets of spikes and leather. And there are other nephilim who have very prominent brows with foreheads that recede even further back than most of the other giants, and their skin is wrinkly and tanned. They appear to stay with each others kind, and do not intermingle with the other nephilim, like the more demonic ones do. Most of these monsters scream in praise and make way as Ma’hawai descends with his massive wings. Several miles out, Ohya and Ahya tower above all before the palace.  Ymir; “What does Enoch say about our dreams!? What do they mean?!” Hiwa; “Tell!” Ma’hawai; “Alas! Giants, the news is dire! On behalf of the ruler of heaven, Enoch has declared our ways as wicked and corrupt and that we’re all marked for destruction by a great flood! The ark of Enoch’s great grandson Noah was no joke, and our dreams are proof that Noah’s warning was true!” Jor; “Than there is no hope Ma’hawai, we must eat, drink and continue to serve our fathers! For the end is nigh!” Anax; “Jor is right! Giants! The ruler of heaven has damned us! Consume all the flesh and drink all the blood your stomachs will allow!!” Ma’hawai; “Take it as you will giants! As for myself, shame and humility have begun to run thick through my veins! I shall no longer partake in Earth’s destruction!” At these words, Mahawai leaves the company of the other giants who are without words for their leaders sudden and abrupt change. Mirthula; “Ma’hawai! Where are you going!” Gilgamesh; “Ma’hawa . . . I will repent!” But Ma’hawai does not acknowledge them and eventually he makes his way into the Shmyz’d palace atrium built specifically for the giants to speak face to face with their demonic ruler. The demon Asa’el accompanies Shmyz’d and both his sons as well. They peer into the palace through the atriums partially open ceiling. Shmyz’d and Asa’el both stand almost thirty feet tall, and are adorned in gems and other earthly riches that decorate their excessively elegant robes. However, their faces are horrifically withered to the point of being indeed demonic and their bodies are unnaturally misshapen. Shmyz’d; “Ma’hawai, read us the entire tablet, and you would be wise not to hide anything from us.” Asa’el turns to Shmyz’d; “Shmyz’d, I will not stand against God alone. . .  my teachings have greatly corrupted the earth, yet it has been our collective subjugation and contamination of the earth that has become the greater sin.” Shmyz’d; “Asa’el, I have seen that all the watchers of the earth have written sin upon you, and you alone. Nevertheless, I am with you Asa’el. Instead of trying to hide my own sins, I will fight the angels above with you! Shmyz’d; “Read us the tablet Ma’hawai.” So Ma’hawai reads the tablet to the two demons; “Let it be known to you Shmyz’d, Asa’el and all the demons of the earth, that you will have no peace, and that you will see the destruction of your children  for your licentiousness on the earth for the land has cried out and complained about you and the deeds of your children–” Now the faces of  Shmyz’d and Asa’el begin to contort into grotesque grimaces, as if pained by Ma’hawai’s words. However, Ma’hawai tries not to notice and continues to read the tablet; “–Until Raphael arrives, behold, destruction is coming in the form of a great flood, and it will destroy all living things, and whatever is in the deserts and the seas. But now loosen the bonds binding you to evil, and pray.” Now Ma’hawai sees the two demons before him, and drops the tablet onto the floor which cracks and breaks into a hundred pieces. Ma’hawai begins to back away from the two demons who now appear physically pained from Ma’hawai’s words. Their misshapen bodies have become distorted and unstable in their current forms. They appear less physical and take on an almost transparent quality. Shmyz’d; “EEEEEEEEAAGH!” Asa’el; “Ma’hawaaaaii!! Your task is done! Go now!” Ohya; “What’ve . . you . . done!!” “Threatening us . . . threaten our father!!” Ma’hawai has backed away to the entrance of the atrium, still wary of the two demons who have now taken the form of bizzare creatures with transparent bodies, however their heads have retained elements of their former bodies and are not as transparent. The shape shifting Shmyz’d screams to his two sons; “Ohya!! Ahya!! We must meet with Enoch!! We will not be destroyed!!” Ohya; “I will . . protect you . . . father!” Ahya; “Father repent . . . do not fight!” Shmyz’d’s head disappears into the rest of the transparent creature that he has become as well as Asa’el. On transparent wings they fly up into the sky to meet with Enoch. Ohya; “Dare you threaten us!” Ma’hawai; “Ohya, the wrath of the heavenly ruler will befall all of us! I am not excluded! This I have come to accept–unlike you!” Ohya; “You brought this . . . on us . . . with your dream! Now I will . . crush you!” Ma’hawai; “I’ve been blessed to return to earth with my life after escaping the heat of the sun, and it is the heat of the sun that I have survived . . . if I can survive the sun, I can survive you!” At these words Ohya becomes greatly enraged and breaks his enormous fist through the open ceiling of the atrium.  Ma’hawai barely manages to escape falling chunks of granite and stone as Ohya’s hand reaches for Ma’hawai. But Ohya is distracted by Ahya, who attempts to stop him from further attacking Ma’hawai; “Ohya, stop!” This gives Ma’hawai just enough time to escape Ohya and he takes flight just out Ohya’s range. However, the lumbering giant Ohya continues to follow Ma’hawai into an open area of the palace, but buy this time Ma’hawai is to high for Ohya to reach him and Ma’hawai just circles Ohya like a giant vulture. Ohya; “I will . . . kill you! Never . . . come back! I will . . . kill you!” So Mahawai becomes a castaway, and he spends the last hours of his life battling the evil giants still devastating the earth. Enraged, the gargantuan Ohya faces the Kogman mountains to the northeast and bellows; “EEEENNOOOOCH!!”

The floodgates open

As Ma’hawai continues to fly over the earth, he observes the red fields, and the rivers and streams of blood treaded by the nephilim.  As he continues deeper into the devastated landscape, the air becomes permeated with the sickly stench of rotting flesh, and battling Nephilim spray the air with each others blood, turning the sky red with a repugnant mist.  Other enormous beasts of demonic origin scavenge the corpse strewn landscapes, feeding off of remaining nephilim flesh left over by their executioners.  Ma’hawai now realizes the only refuge from himself and this violent world is death. He awaits the coming of God’s flood with open arms, knowing his ultimate fate will be left to a loving and merciful God. Just then, a rock strikes his left wing, thrown with such force that it breaks the wing in half. Ma’hawai begins to fall to the earth in a whirlwind of feathers. Hitting the ground hard he does not die. His fall is broken by his own wings, and the miry blood soaked soil. It turns out to be Humbaba who threw the rock at Ma’hawai, who sits before him on a giant boulder. In his hand are the last remaining ‘herd’ of humans stolen from the slain nephilim who have been hiding and coveting them for themselves, out of the watchful eyes of the Egregoroi.  He holds a handful of naked, dying human bodies over his head and gives off a beastly roar. His gaping, cavernous mouth exposes piles upon piles of raw, chewed up human flesh which splats onto the bloody grass below. He proceeds to drop the bodies into his cavernous mouth–CRUUUUNCCH! The blood flows down his chin as he gives off a hideous and grotesque bellow. No longer wearing his armor, he is only adorned in bloody and  tattered sailcloths. Dozens of them sewn together that now drape over his enormous body.  Even his sword is no longer by his side. Ma’hawai; “Humbaba, what have you become?” But Humbaba does not seem to aknowledge his words. Humbaba only wipes the blood off of his mouth with his own tattered sailcoths modified as garments, and proceeds to attack Ma’hawai. He slowly but insidiously approaches him with his massive shoulders hunched down and his hands up to his face. Humbaba; “Your flesh I devour!! Your blood I drink!! I do not care who you are no more!!!” But Ma’hawai is fearless, and like a deadly predator he begins to calculate every move of his approaching opponent.  He draws his enormous sword, Ma’hawai; “You have grown into a demonic and disdainful monster!! Shall your spirit be forever damned!!” Humbaba lets out another bellow, appearing to be in a demonic trance. However, he never lets his eyes off of Ma’hawai who is know swinging his sword over his head, to let it sink down into Humbaba’s left shoulder. Yet, Humbaba rushes Ma’hawa into a full body clinch, before Ma’hawai can complete his swing and now proceeds to bear hug him, with his arms wrapped around his upper torso. Now  Ma’hawai’s arms are locked up over his own head and the sword that was in Ma’hawai’s right hand falls to the ground, just grazing Humbaba’s massive back. Humbaba emits a terribly evil cackle that echos throughout the devastated land; “Haaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” But again, Ma’hawai demonstrates phenomenal strength and he breaks Humbaba’s arms apart, letting his left arm down and proceeding to twist his right arm tighter around humbaba’s arm and neck, pushing him into a modified front guillotine choke. His body crashes down to the ground, softening his own fall with Humbaba’s body. He continues to tighten his choke hold on Humbaba’s neck and arm, crushing both in the process. Slowly loosening his devastating choke hold on Humbaba, Ma’hawa reaches for his fallen sword, realizing Humbaba has almost lost consciousness. With both hands Ma’hawai brings his sword up over his head to take care of unfinished business. Humbaba can only watch helplessly as the blade falls down onto his crushed neck; KERSHPLAT! Humbaba’s  head rolls off and away from his body, leaving a flowing stream of crimson blood in its path. Ma’hawai stands up and stares down at his slain opponent in a trance like predatory gaze; “You were only of evil, you should never have been born.” A cold chill overcomes Ma’hawai for a brief moment as he senses Humbaba’s demonic spirit returning to the earth from whence it came. Ma’hawai turns away and leaves. Soon Ma’hawai reaches a field, turned into a shallow bog from the vast quantities of blood that have soaked its soil. It is another battle site strewn with the corpses of fallen giants. Most are stripped of their flesh by other demons, but vultures and other scavengers now feed off their remains. The jets of water that once irrigated this land now spew jets of blood. In the distance the wide rivers which once ran crisp and clean irrigating the lush land now flows red, and appears thick and soupy from the rotting flesh that has polluted them. Ma’hawai hears loud screeching above him, followed by the sound of enormous flapping wings–he looks up. Three dragons fly overhead, but they do not seem to notice Ma’hawai and the carnage that lie below. Suddenly Ma’ahwai hears a splashing coming from the nearest river behind him and he turns around. Out of the bloody water, insidiously emerges a grotesque female demon, with shiny skin akin to that of a mollusks. In her oversized head are double rows of long, dagger-like teeth set in grey slimy gums. Her grotesque face is too horrible to describe, but it possesses both elements of the demonic and the intelligent. Long slits appear on either side of her long neck which appear to be gills. In her long, knobby hands she carries an enormous mace. She slowly walks up to Ma’hawai, who has his sword drawn, and they battle. The demon takes a strike at Ma’hawai’s head with its mace, and Ma’hawai manages to duck out of its way by mere fractions of an inch. Simultaneously Ma’hawai sinks his blade into the demon’s neck, and it falls to the ground. As Ma’hawai stares at another fallen opponent, he senses another sword coming down to strike his head, and he swerves to the side, barely missing its falling blade witch now strikes the blood soaked ground. Without pausing he turns around, kneels down and swing his blade out all the same time. He appears to cut through the legs of a large Nephilim warrior who now screams in agony. But this Nephilim is not alone, and he is accompanied by four other ‘black bearded’ giants who seem just as eager to kill Ma’hawai. The first Nephilim falls to the ground, but the four others quickly surround him. One black beard leaps toward Ma’hawai, and swings his ax toward his neck. Ma’hawai grabs the shaft of the ax, stopping it just inches from his neck while he gracefully chops the arm off another black beard attempting to strike him in the back with his mace. Ma’hawai is sprayed with blood as both Nephilim begin to bellow in pain. He stomps on the head of the first fallen Nephilim that managed to grab a hold of his leg. It explodes under his massive foot.  The two other Nephilim stop their advance, and just stare him. Then they walk away.  Still in a battle pose, Ma’hawai carefully scans the landscape for anymore Nephilim warriors, but he sees none.  Ma’hawai eventually makes his way to low lying waterfall within a once lush forest, but it now runs red with blood, and the trees have begun to wither, their leaves turning orange and red. Ma’hawai notices a large, pyramid shaped monument built of basalt slabs built into the landscape. It sits off to the right side of the waterfall, seemingly abandoned by its makers. But now, seven nephilim come down a well treaded path leading to the monuments entrance and stop to look at Ma’hawai. They are the same race of nephilim seen at Shmyz’d’s palace who kept to themselves. Double rows of teeth embed their massive jaws, there foreheads unusually low and sloping, with exceedingly prominent brows. Their skin, wrinkly and tough as though tanned, and the hair of each of them is distinctly red in color. However, in their faces Ma’hawai sees hopelessness, and a sense that life is no longer worth living. Ma’hawai; “What is it?!” The leader of these nephilim points up to the sky. Nephilim; “The rainwaters are coming . . . the gods in heaven have fulfilled their promise.” The nephilim proceed to crawl into the entrance of the monument one by one, and they begin to build a fire inside, each sitting into the circle in a cross-legged position with their arms folded around their legs. The enormous feet of Ma’hawai are the last things these nephilim see, as they begin to fill in the archway with giant rocks. They have locked themselves into their own tomb. Just then an intense rainfall begins to soak Ma’hawai, and everything around him. He drops his sword and welcomes the flood with open arms. The rain feels warm, and he remembers the warm water vapors miles above the earth that would become boiling hot when the sun rose. As Ma’hawai smiles up at the sky, An enormous UFO silently passes over him. It is so large that it completely blots out the sky, and Mahaway begins to laugh. It’s a laugh filled with joy, because he is victorious in the face of an honorable and heroic death.

The lands  break apart, and enormous geysers of water and lava are ejected miles into the sky. As more of the molten rock begins to come back down to spatter the earths surface, the land continues to break apart and slowly sink into the vast underground ocean. Ma’hawai’s flesh is eventually consumed by both molten lava and warm rain showers–forever turning him into just another fable of the modern world.


16,079 B.C.: Ohya is the only Giant to survive the flood, due to his enormous size. However, he has been treading the waters for months looking for food–and finding none.  He has been starving–and rotting. The birds have been pecking away at his flesh, which seems to dissolve into the waters with every step he makes. Then the one eyelid that remains on his deteriorated face closes, and the giant once known as Ohya falls into the deep waters–never to be seen again.


Noah sits idly at a galley table, reading a book and eating a meal of fish flavored with mint leaves. He appears extremely tired, and the days at sea have worn him down. He walks out of his quarters onto the open deck of the ark sprinkled by light rain. It has been falling from the sky for months. Noah squints his eyes, and scans the waters in all directions for land but sees none. Noah; “God, have not the waters receded yet?” Yet just then Noah hears the familiar chirping of the dove, which he released from the boat two weeks ago–to find land. Noah cries out; “The dove! It is the dove!” Noah holds his hand out and the dove perches on his finger, a fresh plucked olive hangs from its beak by the pedicel. Noah; “He-he-he!” He picks the fresh olive from the dove’s beak as it continues its high pitched chirping. Noah; “Japeth! Ham! Shem! Children! Come out, now!” The children; “Father! Grandfather has the dove!” “Daddy, the dove!” Japeth; “What is it Ham–” Ham; “The children are calling us out Japeth! Get Shem!” The three brothers and their children come out onto the deck, followed by their wives, including Noah’s. With unbelieving eyes, the three brothers and their families see the olive in Noah’s hand and immediately begin to shout for joy. Shem; “Father! You have the olive!” Japeth; “Mari’ha! We’ve found land! Look!” Mari’ha; “Japeth!” Ham, the youngest of Noah’s sons falls to his knee clinging onto his father’s robe, and begins to cry with joy. Ham; “Father! We’ve made it!” Likewise all of the children begin to jump for joy and giggle with delight. Suddenly Noah is awestruck and with the olive still in his hand, points to something in the sky; “Look!” Noah’s wife; “Noah! What is it?!” Japeth; “What is it father?!” In the sky is a heavenly spectrum of colors; they blend red, orange, yellow, green and purple together to form a perfect arch suspended in the sky. Noah; “It is a rainbow.  It is God’s covenant to us that he shall never destroy the world with a flood again. It is over.  God has saved us.” The children continue to gaze in awe at the rainbow. Japeth; “The rain has stopped!” Freyja, the wife of Ham; “It’s so beautiful.” Noah; “That it is Freyja, that it is.”




This life must have been fate . . . but what kind of fate is this life?

I have no idea why, but it appears to me that the world does not like me.  I feel an element of hate and animosity, and I know it is directed at me, because nobody is talking to me! Nobody wants to interact with me, and it is the world that I’m talking about, not you as individuals, I’m talking about ‘you collectively’, as ‘the world’.  The world refuses to interact with me, just take a look at any of my other online accounts, the creative spark is there, but nobody wants to engage it, and interact with it.  It is a very lonely place for me, this place called the internet.  And it is just as lonely in the physical world, but that isolation I can take, I am accustomed to.  I am not accustomed to the isolation, where I pour my creative heart and soul out onto, which is the internet (at least not yet).  Perhaps it’s the dark forces of matter, which controls and manipulates this world, like a puppet on a string.  The energy which flows through my body, the world does not like, because it’s like a flickering candle, which burns bright within a cavern of pitch blackness, and it can sense that, like the radio waves emanating from an antennae, and so it fears, or hates me for the energy which radiates from my body, which, if ever known to the world, would show them a ‘truth’ that would expose it for what it truly is . . . . a facade, an illusion, a lie.  That radiating energy must be beautiful, because I know that this world is very ugly.  I don’t belong to this world, because nobody seems to embrace what I do, the world does not acknowledge anything I create, as if the work that I do was merely meant to be neglected and ignored . . . So that tells me only one thing, that I must belong somewhere else, on some other planet, or in some other parallel dimension, but not here, and not with you, because out of ignorance you do not deserve to read what I say, or see what I do.  But out of love, I do it anyway.  If there is no other world out their that would acknowledge what I do, as if I were born as one of you, on this world, then I must not belong anywhere.  It’s as if this entire life was just some sick joke, that was put on me a long time ago, that I’m just now starting to get . . . a very sick joke indeed.  When my time is up, I will be owed an explanation for this, I am sure.  If I’m not given one, I will demand one, then, I’ll refuse to come back to this world, until the people on it have radically changed . . . Perhaps the explanation is this; I chose to come down here and expose myself to you, even though I knew you would neglect me, and when I die, I will remember that I made an agreement to undergo this experience, and this isolation and loneliness.  After I was born that memory must have vanished.  If that is the case, then I will never be the same.  My energy will be forever transformed after it leaves this body, and I am sure that my soul will remain in the same shape as this physical body for quite some time, that’s how we see ghosts sometimes.  Those apparitions that have failed to come to terms with how their physical life here on Earth may have ended, or may have gone over the course of their lifetime, and their physical bodies, leave an ‘imprint’ on their energy, leaving their energy to be in the same likeness as their former bodies in which they once inhabited.  Of course!  That is exactly what will happen to me! This life has left such a impact on my energy, that it will be very difficult to shake off that energy, or that ‘frequency’ of this physical body, after I die! I am just very sad, that I will never get to truly ‘know’ myself, I will only know this body, and that to me is sad, because as long as I only know this body, I will never be truly at peace.  I will never be truly happy, because of the way my life has gone.  I must have chose to undergo this experience, of interacting with, or at least trying to interact with society and the entire world, and I was already expecting this before I was even born.  I know everything that transpires in the world is suppose to transpire, we are suppose to be successful, and we are suppose to fail.  We are suppose to be healthy, and we are suppose to fill our bodies with chemicals and drugs.  Good is suppose to exist and so is evil.  So if you die of alcoholism, you were suppose to undergo that, and you did nothing wrong, you just became wiser after death, and not before it.  You could have made things better buy quitting earlier in life, but God has many faces, and many avenues of enlightenment in which you can choose to undergo.  Both life and death are two different facets of enlightenment, but they are of the same God.  When the flood of senses which bombarded me after my birth caused me to forget my true self, I began to travel down a certain path of enlightenment, and if I had still remembered everything I underwent beforehand, this path of enlightenment I’m on now would’ve been of no use to me, and no value.  This path of enlightenment, which is my own unique path, required that I have no knowledge of what transpired before I was born, but for me, I think that is beginning to change!  The concept of spiritual amnesia applies to most of us, we’re not suppose to know what transpired before we were born, if we did, there would be no reason for any of us to be here . . . . But still, If only I knew what transpired  before I was born, I would finally be a peace with myself, and the rest of the world! If I never understand what transpired before I was born, I will die a very bitter person, because as long as I have no recollection of what caused me to undergo what I’m experiencing now, I will refuse to come back as anybody else, because it has hurt that much.  I think I am ready to remember who I truly am now, because I need to know, in order to be at peace in this current life.  I am asking God right now, to give me that knowledge back! This path of enlightenment is no longer working for me, because just the thought of being anyone else makes me cringe with bitterness.  Now, I need to know why I’ve undergone this experience, before I undergo another one, while I am alive.  Otherwise, after I die I will be kicking down the gates of heaven, and cursing at God for creating such a wicked world!




It seems you’re already beginning to show me things I was not completely aware of, before I wrote this post.  You have already shown me that part of my unhappiness stems from the fact that my face and mind was altered for the worse, when my adoptive parents gave me braces when I was twelve, and that ever since, I have had to deal with the wrath of others judgments upon me because I did not look like my true self all along, the way you created me when I was born.  And through your loving grace you have brought this to my attention and provided a way for me to deal with this, and to undo the damage they did!  Now, after I die, my energy will be altered for the better because of this . . . I can still vaguely remember my own birth, I was crying uncontrollably, and had the strangest feeling, as if I had just fallen from a very great height, into my own body.  And after I had fallen into my body, I felt anchored to the Earth, as if I could no longer fly, and I began forgetting myself, and what I was.  The more I forgot, the further into darkness and pain I would go, to abandon that spiritual cocoon from which I came.  I was trying to gain control over my own body, which felt foreign and apart from who and what I was.

October, 23  2014


The Country Man: Reloaded

I’ve decided to feature an old story I wrote this time, entitled The Country Man Reloaded: Rampage of the Anabolic Synthetic Growth Machine.  It has absolutely nothing to do with Adam and Eve, or my proposed theories on the origins of humanity, but everything to do with what is violent, grotesque, and if you have a sick mind . . . funny.  I wrote this one in 2010, when I was on my second tour in Iraq, however, the Country Man’s character goes way back to when I was in middle school, that was when I wrote my first Country Man story, and it was more or less my way of releasing all of my pent up energy, in the form of over the top violence and carnage, so over the top in fact, that the Country Man stories became a foray into my attempt at very black humor.  And that is what this story is meant to be at it’s core, an extremely dark comedy.  When I was younger, I had a sick mind, and I thought it was fun to write about violence, and I would amuse myself by writing these crazy adventures featuring the Country Man and his arch enemy, the Cowboy Man.  They were a series of short stories, which were actually the by-products of my seventh grade creative writing class, and the best way to keep myself amused within the confines of those drab, white, educational poster riddled walls, was to write these sick and demented stories, tinged with very dark humor.   I regret not keeping those old stories, because even though they were written by the mind of a thirteen year old aspiring writer (and artist), they were quite creative in how they were written, and quite amusing, despite their appalling violence, which actually made my teacher cringe in disgust, and I remember her refusing to read the rest of one my stories, when she read the very first line of one of the very first stories, which read; “My God! This place is bloody!”   I continued to write about him throughout middle school, but my interest in him began to wain as I reached High School, along with my interest in drawing him in my art.   This was the last Country Man story I ever wrote, and probably the last I ever will write, but sitting alone, within those cold, stony confines of my barracks room, in the middle of Iraq, brought out the desire to revisit this violently humorous character that I had created when I was younger.  At that time, part of my daily regime involved working out at the gym, and as you read this story, you will notice some elements pertaining to things of that nature, such as the title of this story; Rampage of the Anabolic Synthetic Growth Machine, which stems from the fact that I was taking a growth hormone supplement to help with my workouts.  This version was slightly edited from it’s original 2010 version, but for the most part, it remains exactly how It was originally written, and I hope you find it just as entertaining as I did when I originally wrote it in 2010.

Rampage of the Synthetic Anabolic Growth Machine


Bad Day

These days, the Vanderbilt YMCA in Encino is being visited by what must be the largest most frightingly intimidating man ever known to the world.  He works out every day, around 10:30 A.M., and he is a mountain of a man, so much so, that his countenance is down-right horrific. Nevertheless, they never interfere with his workouts and nobody tries to pay him any mind. They just want to stay as far away from him as possible, wherever he goes, not just the Encino branch of the Vanderbilt YMCA gym, and his name is The Cowboy Man!

Enormous biceps, about the size of a large basketball grotesquely protrude from the Cowboy Man’s arm, and this is all we see, as he injects himself with another dose of Synthetic Anabolic Growth Hormone.  He digs the needle deep into his monstrous biceps, as blood and clear fluid mix and dribble down his arm. “Ah, there we go.” His voice is low, course, deep. A voice that should not belong to a man, but rather a beast.  On TV, he watches an old re-run of Baywatch.  It’s been his favorite TV show for the past month, and he tips the brim of his cowboy hat to a young Pamela Anderson, as a large bulge begins to protrude from the groin of his tight Levis. “Top of the mornin’ to ya hon’.” We still can’t make out his face, as it’s lost in the black shadow cast by his cowboy hat, but the mere shape of the head underneath is almost twice as large as a normal mans head should be.  And yet, we catch a faint glimmer in his eye, as he continues to gawk at the two bristling cantaloupes on TV.   He finishes injecting himself with another 5000 milligram dosage of Synthetic HGH, and begins to glance longingly at the other syringe that lay solitary on the stained coffee table. “Aahhhh–snort–here come that darn’ skag!” He spits and sits the HGH needle down, then reaches for the other one.  He examines it closely for any residue buildup on the inside. “Aah, it should do for nother’ go.” He sets it back down and pulls out some black tar heroin wrapped in plastic from his pocket, and a spoon from off the coffee table.  The chunk of black tar from his pocket is about the size of a small truffle–enough to knock out an ox. He sucks up about 75 units of water from a glass, squirts it back into the spoon with the chunk of black tar, and proceeds to melt it from the bottom with his lighter. After making sure the solution is well mixed with the plunger of the syringe, he drops a condensed cotton ball into the solution–it puffs up like a sponge.  “Oop, there you go baby.” He sucks all the heroin out of the cotton and proceeds to inject himself in the same arm he injected his mega HGH dose with. He slowly lays back in the couch, his enormous body beginning to dissolve into the sofa. Then, he suddenly snaps back up–”Aw, shucks! Gotta work out!”

He squeezes himself into the drivers seat of his vintage ’68 Chevy, its indigo blue paint job has started to flake away long ago, and now appears two-toned. He got the tires upgraded to 35’s with a small lift at PepBoys–for free!  But only after succeeding in beating the shit out of the manager, busting his face up irreparably and causing some serious damage to his ribs . . . and then holding his only two mechanics prisoner, pretty much making them do the job at gunpoint.  The manager was no slouch either, a 250 pound former collage football linebacker, who couldn’t hack it in the pros, so he turned to middle class life with style, becoming a wife beater in his off-time.  Guess the manager at PepBoys got what he deserved when the Cowboy Man visited his shop that cold November afternoon. Then there’s yet other tweak-jobs on the ’68 Chevy that create quite a spectacle on the road. The first one being the fact that there are no doors on the cab, and the roof of the cab has also been removed, this being done, so that the Cowboy Man can more easily fit inside, and even now, as he turns on the ignition and cranks it in reverse, he sits like a hunchback in the seat of the cab.  The second, even more bizarre modification, is that the Cowboy Man’s feet almost touch the ground–even as he sits inside the cab!  The floor plate has been removed, and the entire pedal/throttle system has been lowered to support his enormous body.  He grabs his pack of cowboy-killers out of the glove-box, and takes one out with his teeth, then screeches onto the black-top, doing about eighty-five.  The cops have long learned to stay away from an old ’68 Chevy, with several bizarre custom jobs done to it. Hell, the Cowboy Man doesn’t even pay insurance anymore, and his license expired two years ago.  He’s been doing well in staying low enough not to get noticed by the Country Man, but that is all about to change–today.  His ego has grown way out of control, and something needs to be done about it. There’s only one man the Cowboy Man fears, and that’s the Country Man.  The Cowboy Man is forgetting how unpleasant it feels to be on the receiving end of the Country Man’s otherworldly wrath, and he needs to be reminded of just how that feels, one last time . . . Before his very first encounter with the Country Man, back in 1993, he feared no one, because there was no one bad-ass enough to take him on.  There goes that old saying; “There’s always someone bigger, or badder, or both.”  Well, that old saying does not apply to the Country Man, it stops with him.  No one is badder than the Country Man, bigger maybe, but never badder.  The Country Man wins every time. Yep, the Cowboy Man makes quite a spectacle of himself, every time he drives down Ventura Boulevard.  He looks like Mr. Clean on steroids as he sings to his favorite country artist, David Allan Coe; “Now you can call me Jerry, Or you might call me Moe, You may call me David Or you might call me Coe!” Suddenly the tape player jams, and his music stops. The Cowboy Man starts to throw a fit; “Damn!” He slams the dashboard with his fist, doing more damage than anything else–”Work! Ya piece a shit!” The music suddenly comes back to life, as if frightened back into operation by the Cowboy Man, and he continues to sing along; “But you’re gonna have to server somebody, Serve somebody, Serve somebody, Serve somebody. It may be the Devil, Or it might be the Lord, But you’re gonna have to serve somebody!” Up ahead, the green light begins to turn yellow . . .  “You call me RJ, You can call me Ray, You can call me anything, I don’t care what you say–” Suddenly, out of the blue, a rock slams against the side of the Cowboy Man’s temple, making a painful thwacking sound–THWACK! Amazingly, the Cowboy Man is temporarily stunned, and he drives right through the yellow light, that’s now turned red, only to be slammed by something much larger–a semi, on full load, slams against the passenger side of his truck going about fifty-five. As his truck gets T-boned it crushes the entire right side of his truck, and the passenger side of the frame breaks into several pieces which fly into the air.  Shards of glass and metal explode, and rain down on a surprised crowd of onlookers.  And as the truck gets slammed down on its side, the Cowboy Man takes the brunt of the force with his bare hands, as they kiss the glass and metal laden asphalt–SMUUUUCKRUNCH. The PeterBilt semi-truck continues to barrel through the Cowboy Man’s quasi-totaled ’68 Chevy, but by now has slowed down to about 15 mph. Twenty seconds later, yet seemingly like an eternity, both the quasi-totaled Chevy and the PeterBilt, which only suffered scratches and dents to its bumper, both come to a complete stop.  The Peterbilt blows dust up into the air, as the operator finely succeeds in fully engaging the brake system, and all becomes silent. The crowd that just witnessed the collision cautiously begin to creep closer to the Cowboy Man’s truck, out of sheer morbid curiosity. And suddenly they hear a ferocious cry, filled with pure rage emanate from the hulking form inside the cab of the Chevy.  The crowd disperses like a frightened flock of seagulls, and that part of town becomes akin to a ghost-town, save for the operator of the PeterBilt, who has become to frightened to even attempt to get out of the cab of his semi and try making a run for it. The Cowboy Man suddenly busts out of the cab of the Chevy like a jack-in-the-box from hell, and stares straight at the frozen driver in the cab of the PeterBilt.  To the truck drivers growing horror, the Cowboy Man’s eyes have turned blood shot, and they appear to bulge out of their sockets, making the Cowboy Man appear more like some twisted cartoon character, than anything else. At closer glance, one would notice that the tiny red veins that cover the sclera of his eyeballs now appear enlarged, and pulsate grotesquely with a life of their own. The Cowboy Man’s tight Levis now hang off his legs in tattered rags, and as he begins to walk toward the cab of the PeterBilt he tears what remain of them off his body completely, including his shirt, which was tattered to begin with. All he wears now are his $500.00 Alligator skin cowboy boots, and his $300.00 Serratelli western fur felt cowboy hat, which both, amazingly, did not suffer very much in the accident. Now he’s beginning to look like his ‘ol self again–bizarre! The Cowboy Man busts the drivers side window open with his fist, yanking the driver out by his collar as a miniature bible falls out of his shirt pocket. Huge chunks of flesh tear away from the screaming truck drivers body, as he flies into the air like some human sized rag doll, and is thrown down onto the glass shard littered blacktop. “Without a bible now, truck-boy?!” Screams the enraged Cowboy Man; “Guess God ain’t gonna’ help you now.” A disgusting cackle exits his lips; “You’re on your own, son.” “Help!” Screams the bawling truck driver. “Somebody! Help!” The Cowboy Man lifts him back up by his collar, and the truck driver becomes air-born once again as he gets slammed up against the side of the flipped Chevy like Raggedy Ann.  Next, the Cowboy Man proceeds to serve him with several carefully placed blows to the face; THWACK! The first blow dislocates the truck drivers jaw, rendering him incapable of uttering anything audibly understandable, other than a pathetic whiny bawl, that grows more horse and weak with every blow he receives . . . Then another blow; THE- WWWWACK! The second one tears his jaw completely off, and the Cowboy Man watches it hit the ground with a blank glare, then looks back up at his victim.  The Cowboy Man doubles up and puts his all into the third blow, which tears the truck drivers head completely off. But it does more than that, what remains of the truck drivers skull shatters and explodes. Chunks of shattered skull, brain and flesh spray the Cowboy Man’s horrific face, which has only seemed to become more imbued with inhuman rage than ever before, as if the very act of horrific violence only fuels his rage, rather than satisfies it.  After he finishes his business with the truck driver, he walks back to his Chevy. “Humpghh . . . . Humphghh . . . Hueaa!”  He flips his Chevy back onto its wheels, almost effortlessly and then stretches the quasitotaled steel frame of the cab wider open and plumps into the drivers seat just as effortlessly. He cranks it back into life, and peels out of the wreck/murder scene and toward his original destination–The Encino branch of the Vanderbilt YMCA gym. “I’ll be damned if I get cheated out a ‘nother work-out today.” Hisses the enraged Cowboy Man–eyes still ridiculously blood-shot.

CRAAAAAASHHHHH!! The unmistakable sound of shattering glass and concrete fills the Vanderbilt YMCA building like a rude alarm, as those on the first floor begin to scream. Smoke and dust begins to billow up the stairwell that leads to the second floor gym. “Jesus! Did you just hear that?” Says one of the front desk attendants to the other. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this Jason.” Replies the other, he gives him a glance that says everything. “The Cowboy Man, right?” “Uh, Yeah Jason.” “He must have survived the crash, holy fuck! We’re screwed!” One of the front desk attendants screams to everyone in the gym, “Get the fuck out everybody! The Cowboy Man is here! And he’s pissed!” Just then, they begin to hear him coming up the stairwell, breathing heavy. He appears in the entranceway, pretty much nude, and staring blindly with a gore spattered face at the two frozen desk attendants. One of them manages to utter a sentence to the Cowboy Man. “W-we’ve been watching the news on TV. The cops have . . . the–the c-cops have had it with you.” Suddenly the Cowboy man jerks his head up toward one of the TVs in the corner of the enormous room. He watches with a blank expression, a news anchor standing within the wreck/murder scene that he just left no more than 15 minutes ago. News anchor; “Witnesses reported watching someone called the Cowboy Man brutally murder this truck driver, after he survived a collision with his semi-truck–” To the Cowboy Man’s chagrin, he watches as his mugshot is plastered all over the channel 4 news–for all of L.A. see. Guess he could kiss his plans to stay low in California goodbye, hell, he might as well kiss his plans to stay low anywhere goodbye now. The Country Man is bound to find him, it’s only matter of counting down the hours.  The two frightened desk attendants watch, as his bloodshot eyes begin to bulge out of their sockets again. A single vein appears to bulge out from the center of his forehead, perhaps from pure stress, and a solitary bead of sweat rolls down his left cheek. He clutches at his head, as if tormented by neuralgia, and bellows in child-like frustration. He appears driven way beyond his limits, and he seems to have already snapped. His actions now, whatever they maybe, are completely unpredictable. He walks up to the front desk, and cries to the attendants; “Give me a phone!” However, they do not respond. They only cower under the counter. The Cowboy Man bellows louder this time; “Give me a fuckin’ phone before ‘ya make me take it from ‘ya!” A violently shaking hand slowly rises up from behind the counter, and hands him an i-phone, surely someones personal favorite toy, soon to be the property of this rampaging behemoth. The Cowboy man eyes the hand, and licks his lips. He reaches for the phone and tears the desk attendants hand right off of his arm. “Aaaaaaaahhheeeeee!!” The desk attendant falls back, clutching at his bloody stump as the Cowboy Man walks away. Those still cowering in the weight room gasp in horror as the Cowboy Man begins to eat the hand. He nonchalantly chews on fingers, making a grotesque crunching/squishing sound in his mouth as he dials a number on the cell-phone. “han’t had unch yet, orry. Ot’ inda ungry.” Nobody says anything though, they just continue to gape in horror, as their frozen minds attempt to process what just took place.  At the same time, the desk attendant continues to scream in agony, writhing on the floor in his own pool of blood.  The Cowboy Man sits down on a flat bench and talks to someone on the other end of the line, as he continues to snack on the torn off hand. “I ont oo own eer! Ing all a ’em! The Ountry Man ill be ear oon!! I eed help!!” As the Cowboy Man finishes speaking to the unknown man on the other end of the line, he finishes his handy snack, then throws the cell phone at one of the TV screens on the wall. It shatters into a thousand pieces. “Fuck!!!” By now, most have already snuck out of the room, but a few still cower in the corners, too frightened to move. The Cowboy Man proceeds to put ten forty-fives on each end of two six ft. barbells for a total of nine-hundred pounds per barbell. With each nine-hundred pound barbell laying lengthwise beside the flat bench, he lies down and grabs both barbells. He curls each of them up into the air, then heaves them straight up and proceeds to bench press 1,800 pounds with minor difficulty. The massive amount of weight on the barbells causes them to bounce and bend in a bow-like fashion, with each bounce appearing as if the barbells are about to snap violently in two. He reaches fifty repetitions before decided to give his arms a rest.


We can only see the Country Man’s face below his nose, as he lights a Newport and takes a long drag–an after sex muscle relaxant. Broken morning sunlight shines onto the Country Man and his unknown companion through unseen venetian blinds. The TV can be heard in the background, as a news channel reports the whereabouts of the Cowboy Man within a fitness center in Encino, California. On the TV, the news anchor speaks; “–LAPD has deployed their S.W.A.T. unit to take out the Cowboy Man, who has become a high-risk target ever since his first murder back in 1993.” The Country Man gives a slow, almost cynical laugh–”You ain’t gonna take out shit.” Then takes another long drag off his Newport. Two lips lock, and bodily fluids are exchanged for a good two and a half minutes. Then the Country Man gives his one night mistress the usual farewell speech; “Gotta go baby, something went down, not too long ago”.

The Country Man could be made out well within a crowd, he never was one to blend in. Even now, as he exits the air-bridge and enters the terminal. He’s definitely one of the taller men, standing close, if not right at seven feet. He weighs close to 280, but he hides that weight extremely well. Anyone looking at his tall, slender form would never have guessed that 280 pounds of sinewy muscle envelopes that tall frame. And even at the size he is, he does not come across as an outwardly large man. Perhaps it’s his somewhat feminine face which helps to detract from his rugged nature. The masculine aspects of his face only show upon closer observation. The 5 o’clock shadow that compliments his pallid face–which is almost as white as a bed sheet–enhances his sex appeal on those lonely nights. And he’s rarely seen without his Lennon style  sunglasses, with jet black lenses. He’s also finicky when it comes to his hair, preferring to keep it parted either to the left or right side of his face, so that one cannot see his face from the side depending on which side is covered by the shiny, straight, jet-black hair which covers it. The Country Man strides down the center of the LAX terminal like he owns the place. He doesn’t even slow down or make way for those walking past him, but instead makes them make way for him. For those more stubborn individuals, a slight twist of the shoulders is all we see him make, as his vintage Burberry trench-coat blows in the rush of air caused by his brisk stride.  The Country Man can smell blood, and the Cowboy Man already knows it. “Lookin’ forward to re-introducing myself with a brisk ass-kickin’ Cowboy Man.” The Country Man already knows where the Cowboy Man is penned up, all he needs to do now, is catch his chauffeur at valet pickup–and quick. Oh, and he needs to restock on a few toys too. Just as he finishes smoking another Newport, his chauffeur pulls up in a Custom Chrysler 300 Limousine. The black tinted passenger side window rolls down, and a small, middle aged man with a trimmed goatee peers out at him, a welcome smile adorning his face. “Are you ready, sir?” The Country Man flicks his cigarette stub on the ground, and gets in the second row passenger seat. “Take me to Antonio’s place. He says they’ve just received some new toys I’d be interested in for this mission.” “Very well, sir.”

After almost an hour of driving through L.A., they enter into a distinctively upscale neighborhood laying north of East Hollywood, just south of the Santa Monica Mountains. A scenic ride looking into the southern face of Griffith Park just accompanied the Country Man’s last several minutes into Los Feliz, and now, they pull into a gated driveway leading to Antonio’s Los Feliz Mansion. The chauffeur sticks his head out the drivers window to answer to a voice coming out of a hidden speaker-box. “What’s your business?” Asks a feminine voice in a not-so-friendly tone. “I’m the chauffeur Antonio sent to pick up his guest . . . the Country Man. Apparently he has some important business to tend to, before his next mission into Encino.” “One moment please.” After five more minutes of waiting, the wrought iron gate opens up and they’re greeted onto a paved driveway lined with lavish ornamental magnolias. Another four minute drive, and they are parked outside Antonio’s mansion.  Antonio makes the Country Man feel right at home, as he relaxes on a plush leather couch, and sips on a crystal glass of Caol Ila 18 on the rocks. Antonio sits directly across from the Country Man in a late Victorian style lounge chair, dressed for the occasion in a grey Armani leisure suit. He appears younger than his middle-age would suggest, looking more like an older, but suave Spanish strip-dancer. Antonio; “I’m so glad you could make it today Country Man, I promise, you will not leave here disappointed.” The “Country Man; Believe me ol’ buddy, I would not have missed this opportunity for the world. I know what kinda shit your capable of acquiring.” The Country Man takes another long sip off his Caol Ila. “So, you got em’ or what?” Antonio briskly snaps his fingers, and two large men come out of no where with large black combination briefcases in their hands, almost as if on cue. They each set their briefcases down on the large crystal coffee table that sits in between Antonio and the Country Man, and proceed to open them up. Antonio; “You had told me over the phone that you were looking for two Micro Uzis, and an AA-12 shotgun with licenses, is this correct?” “Yes, they’re really only manufactured for military and police use, that was the main reason I was having difficulty acquiring the weapons and permits. But the permits were just an after thought, it’s really just the weapons I give a damn about.” The Country Man proceeds to talk to Antonio in a more hushed, and serious tone; “Let me tell you, the Cowboy man is not really a man, but some type of demon. Single shot, and semi-auto will only piss him off. I need bad-ass shit that’s fully automatic, and fires heavy to slow him down at that critical moment. And when it comes to concealment, the Micro Uzi is the perfect weapon.” Antonio breathes in deep, and begins to survey the weapons in the briefcase. “Very well then, I’ve got just what you ordered, and more. First, these two Micro Uzi’s came with complimentary accessories, made just for the weapons at a special wholesale price. Still, they weren’t cheap, at roughly €1600 per unit. There’s also two licenses for the weapons under the briefcases foam padding.”  The Country Man; “Just goes to show you how rarely they’re used outside of Israel as a field weapon. But they sure are ‘beauts aren’t they? These babies can fire 25 rounds in less than 30 seconds.” The Country Man takes one of the Uzis in a briefcase and sets it down in front of him. He surveys the Uzi, still in its case, running his fingers over the shiny metallic body. He then grabs the AA-12 still in its case beside the coffee table, pulls it up and snaps it open. He pulls it out of its case, and tucks the butt stock between his chest and shoulder. He points it at an indiscriminate target in the room, as he centers his sites through the front and rear apertures. “Good luck mending your wounds after I get through using this baby on your ass, Cowboy Man!” The weapons body is thick, and heavy duty as he sets it back in the foam padding. He pulls a wad of hundreds out from one of his inside pockets. He slaps it on the coffee table–”Done deal then, go ahead and count it out. There should be a little extra in there for your superior services.” Again, Antonio snaps his fingers, and one of the large body guards picks up the wad of hundreds, and begins to thumb his whetted fingers through it. “It’s all there Antonio”, says one of the large men, as he hands him the wad of hundreds. Five more Caol Ilas, and three hours later, the Country Man is ready to call it a night. Antonio has already made arrangements for him to crash in one of his luxurious guest suites before his battle with the Cowboy Man tomorrow. The Country Man gets up, and exhales deeply as he gives his sinewy torso a good stretch. Country Man; “Well, ol’ buddy, think it’s time I hit the can.” Antonio; “Rest well my friend, and do me favor, will you? Take care of that demented thing for good this time, please . . . make the world a better place to live.” Country Man; “Ol’ buddy, with all the toys you just gave me, it’ll be my pleasure.” The Country Man had to include a shotgun in his arsenal, as it’s always been a classic favorite of his when it comes to blowing away the bad guys. However this particular shotgun is not your run-of-the-mill ‘cock, lock, and ready to rock’ bad boy toy; It’s the 2010 model AA-12 Atchisson Assault Shotgun.  The Country Man, a shotgun connoisseur, realized that a run of the mill shotgun would not produce effective enough results on the Cowboy Man, so he turned to what must be one of the most outrageously devastating hand-held anti-personnel murder machines in existence. One of its key features that made the Country Man almost wet himself over was its development in conjunction with the FRAG-12. A new type of shotgun cartridge in which each round is a small, flighted high explosive, accurate up to 175 meters. Another one of the AA-12’s many bad- ass features is for the capability of its aerospace-grade stainless steel body to preform its own self cleaning and self lubrication checks, from carbon released from the shells detonations. Many a user before have reported to have fired an upwards of 9,000 rounds without ever cleaning or lubricating the weapon–something the Country Man is very grateful for, since he considers having to clean a gun a waist of time.  The Country Man figures he’ll use the AA-12 on the Cowboy Man as the ‘final blow’, or the ‘coup de grâce’, in what will be to him, just another glorious orgy of carnage and bloodletting upon a well deserving victim. On top of this, he also got a belt of Mini Bo-kri crystalline bladed throwing knives, in which he’s black belt certified in the Tikicha Ninga throwing technique. The Country Man figures if he could get one or two to stick in the Cowboy Man’s eyeballs, it should give him more time to plan out his next move. Once inside the guest bedroom, the Country Man locks the door behind him, drops his briefcases full of toys on the floor, and lets his body fall upon a hand-made Spanish bed of luxury.  No more than a minute later, the Country Man’s in a deep slumber, unaware that his opponent has just made the twelve o’clock news on the widescreen that sits just across the bedroom.

The Country Man is pleasantly woken to electric venetian blinds, set to let the sunlight in at 9 o’clock sharp. And now, he steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, fixing his eyes yet again on the widescreen opposite his luxury bed. The Cowboy Man has become the focus of every news headline, on every channel in Los Angeles, since his rampage began in Encino, and his notoriety has gone national. L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T. surrounding a vandalized southern California fitness center has become a familiar sight to news junkies nationwide–thanks to the news choppers that have begun swarming over Los Angeles like flies on shit.  “Yup.” Says the Country Man to himself–”The Cowboy Man’s days are numbered.” The Country Man’s body is a horrific sight to behold. If his head looked anything like the rest of his body, it would certainly have been more difficult to have gained the friends in high places he’s acquired, and his sex life would be down right pathetic. He appears to have lost most of the epidermal skin layers from the base of his neck down, and what his body has been left with is a grotesque superficial layer of fascia, that has hardened into a tough, clear, protective layer of flesh. Sinewy muscle fibers can be seen under hardened superficial fascia, making him appear like a real-life artist’s anatomical model. For those, wondering how he gets chicks in bed, he wears a fake skin layer on those lonely nights, that feels just like the real thing to unsuspecting mistresses. The Country Man wears a secondary protective skin layer on a daily basis; A tough, stretchy Kodiak hide. It protects in conjunction with the physiology of his superficial fascia underneath, and ingenious straps run down the front torso and legs. The Kodiak hide is in part, responsible for his skin disfigurement, and holds the key to a supernatural origin of what he’s become today. He slips into the hide, and straps it tight to his body. He slips about four dozen Bo-Kri crystalline throwing knives into hidden slits throughout the Kodiak hide that now envelopes his body, and gazes out the window, into a sprawling LA suburb bathed in morning sunlight. As the Country Man prepares to unleash his fury upon the Cowboy Man, he gradually turns into someone else. A psychotic nomad, and deranged wanderer who traverses the Country–leaving the spilled blood of his opponents in his wake.

The Final Blow

Lenco BearCat Armored Assault Vehicles surround the Vanderbilt YMCA like machines prepared for urban armageddon, as two S.W.A.T. helicopters provide aerial reconnaissance in preparation for a rappelling assault. The LAPD has no idea the Country Man will soon storm in like a one man army, let alone that only he can destroy the Cowboy Man. They only know that previous attempts to arrest the Cowboy Man through traditional means had failed every time. And those who survived, would report horror stories that would make even the most seasoned officer cringe in terror. It took two years between the time the Cowboy Man was first spotted in L.A. and now for the incident commander to grow a pair, and request S.W.A.T. to take him out. But it’ll soon be realized that even S.W.A.T.’s forces are futile against the Cowboy Man. A fifty man dismounted S.W.A.T. team, positioned strategically outside the Vanderbilt YMCA fire flash bang grenades and tear gas rounds into the first and second floors. White smoke billows out of the building, and forms a hazy cloud above the gathering S.W.A.T. forces. Not more than twenty seconds later, a roaring bellow is heard emanating from the second floor–”RRHOOOOOAAAAGGGGHH!!!” One of the startled S.W.A.T. officers yells to his teammate; “Christ! Sergeant Erickson, did you just hear that?!” “Yeah, that’s the Cowboy Man alright.” Several shots are fired out of pure shock, and a voice immediately begins to scream from out of a loud speaker, from the tactical command post–”Hold your fire! I repeat! Hold your fire!” Inside, three men from Barstow gaze out the shattered windows, and onto the gathering S.W.A.T. force below. They appear more like the three stooges with gas masks on, as they slap, thunk and shove each other in brotherly quarrel. They’re the helping hands the Cowboy Man requested just after he first entered the Gym, almost 24 hours ago. They’re to act as an initial defense shield against the Country Man. But in reality it’s a suicide mission for these three dumb and unsuspecting abettors of crime. In one of the dim corners of the gym, the Cowboy Man’s hulking form can be seen within a shroud of chemical and thermal smoke.  He’s hunched over, with his head down so that we cannot see his face, but he lifts his head up briefly, and gazes out one of the shattered windows beside him; His eyeballs grotesquely protrude from the sockets of his skull, and veins bulge from them like some real life alternate take on a Ren and Stimpy cartoon show. His facial features have also contorted into a sickening spectacle of rage. He doesn’t even look like the same ‘man’ he previously was, just hours ago. His face is now almost completely devoid of life, or expression, as if he were a walking mannequin from somebody’s long buried nightmare . . . It’s gonna be a long and dark night for the Cowboy Man, a night that will be his very last. And as dusk turns into night in the City of Angels, a demon still lurks inside a Vanderbilt YMCA in northern Los Angeles, as the LAPD S.W.A.T. prepare their full scale assault on the Cowboy Man. Negotiations for a peaceful surrender have long failed to transpire, and the S.W.A.T. have been left with no choice but to test the Cowboy Man’s will with brute police force.

Meanwhile; The Country Man speeds through traffic down the Ventura freeway in his cherry red Ferrari V4 prototype. A Motorcycle not yet manufactured for the public, which came off the drawing board of Israeli designer Amir Glinik just two years ago. He swerves in between traffic flying at an insane 190 mph, with a little help from a modified engine from a Ferrari Enzo. He takes the last swig from his bottle of Tanqueray’s Rampur gin, and shatters it against the driver’s side window of a car that has a bumper sticker of the rebel flag, and says “If I had known this, I would have picked my own cotton!”. He carries the mini-arsenal he acquired in Los Feliz under his trench-coat, partially hidden from view within the 190 mph winds. The two Micro Uzis are strapped snugly against the inside of his trench coat, inside hidden pockets, and his AA-12 Atchisson Assault Shotgun slung behind his back. A 50 ft. belt of Uzi rounds hangs across his torso, and two FRAG-12 ammo drums are clipped to his waist. The Country Man is coming to claim fate, speeding out of the night lights of L.A. like some 21st Century Grim Reaper.

BOOOOOOOMMM!!! Explosive charges thrown into the demolished entrance-way of the Vanderbilt YMCA ignite, and a close quarters S.W.A.T. team of twenty-five men rush in with carbines and shotguns at the ready. Suppressive fire is shot by the men in the front, as they rush into the lobby and form a defensive perimeter. Soon after, the team leader signals for ten men to go down the left hall, and ten men to search the right, while the rest keep their positions providing cover for their return. The building’s interior is pitch black, illuminated only by the flashlights mounted on their carbines. And with every pivot around a corner’s apex their nerves become less stable, and more frayed. Nevertheless, they complete their search of the first floor without finding the Cowboy Man, indicating that he most certainly still lurks above, on the second floor. Almost as if he were waiting, drawing them into some appalling web that only the Cowboy Man could’ve concocted. Amazingly, the S.W.A.T. team’s will is not broken, and the team leader resolves to summon the wherewithal to go ahead and proceed with the second floor search–very brave men indeed. Just as they proceed to rush up the stairwell leading from behind the desk of the main lobby, the muffled scream of their incident commander is heard, coming from the command post, followed by approaching choppers. Team Leader; “I’m not getting comms from command! Can you hear what he’s saying? I can’t hear shit!” His men all reply that they cannot make out what he’s saying, and just as they continue to rush up the stairwell, shots are heard outside the building. Team Leader; “He must be trying to escape out one of the windows! Hurry up! Let’s go!” They begin to run up the stairs as fast as their legs can carry them, certain that they’ve somehow acquired the upper-hand over the Cowboy Man. The unmistakeable noise of helicopters has reached its apex outside, as airborne S.W.A.T. prepare to rappel onto the roof of the YMCA. They reach the top of the stairwell and enter the second floor gym, scanning the enormous room with their mounted flashlights. From out of the darkness, three men come walking toward them with their hands behind their heads, obviously not expecting to put up any fight against the S.W.A.T. team. A solitary corpse lays on the floor not far from the entrance, brutally mauled. It appears to be the corpse of a young man. By now, the shots have become all but drowned out by helicopter rotors and engines, and the action seems to be taking place outside instead of inside, in the form of an eerie, unheard ruckus. Team Leader; “Stop where you are! Keep your hands behind your head!” The S.W.A.T. team approaches them with their weapons still at the ready, and as they proceed to cuff them, they give them their Miranda Warning; “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?” But the three stooges only give a creepy cackle, as if the whole things seems like a joke to them. “What the hell?!!” Yells one of the bemused S.W.A.T. officers. Team Leader; “We’ve got to figure out what the hell’s going on!” He tugs on the wire to his headset and pulls out the mic. It dangles from his hand like a useless toy. Team Leader; “I’m not getting shit from command!” The three stooges continue their eerily bemusing cackling. The Team Leader screams; “And can somebody please shut them the hell up?!” The SWAT team slowly and silently walk toward the center of the room–a fatal mistake. Suddenly, one of the men spots an illuminated area in one of the far corners, and to his horror, realizes that the Cowboy Man guile-fully breached the ceiling, and crept onto the rooftop. But by the time he attempts to relay this information to his fellow S.W.A.T. team, it’s far too late.
CRRAAAAAAAASSSSHHH!!! The Cowboy Man crashes through the ceiling, falling directly behind the S.W.A.T. team and their three arrestee’s, blocking the entrance to the stairwell leading back downstairs.
S.W.A.T. officers; “Fuck!!” “We’re trapped!” Team Leader; “Fire at will!! I repeat, fire at will!!” The hulking form that’s the Cowboy Man is lost in a blaze of glorious carbine and shotgun fire, and from the outside, perimeter security forces watch as the second floor becomes illuminated by rapid gunfire . . . but the gunfire stops, just as quickly as it began.  “Did they get him?!” Yells one of the men, watching from outside. But nobody says a word, only the intense noise of the choppers above still fills the night air. And then it happens, intense screams begin to emanate from inside the second floor, easily heard over the roaring choppers above. “Christ! Can somebody get the comms to work again?! That thing fucked everything up!” Just as the close quarters S.W.A.T. team prepared to search the second floor, the Cowboy Man successfully breached the ceiling, somehow silently bypassing their motion detectors. When he got on the roof, he threw an enormous chunk of concrete at the S.W.A.T’s main communication antenna, screwing up their comms.  Eerie screams and sporadic gunfire continues to fill the second floor, but with each sound of tearing flesh and crunching bone, the gunshots become fewer and fewer. Another man on the outside; “Fuck! Somebody get back-up in their! Now!” Just then the airborne S.W.A.T. team are seen rappelling from two choppers directly above the YMCA. “Holy ghost of Christ! Thank god!” Inside, the Cowboy Man awaits the incoming S.W.A.T. team from the air, with open, gore spattered arms. He stands in a battle-ready crouch. His hat has long been blown off his head, but he still wears his cowboy boots. But oddly, his toes poke through the ends of them, as if his entire body grew larger since he was first attacked by the S.W.A.T.  His head and hands definitely appear larger, and his frightening face is so blood-bloated that it appears as if it might explode at any moment. His skin is riddled with bullet holes, and his entire body covered in blood, but it has not appeared to slow him down at all. If anything the small arms attack did just what the Country Man said it would do–merely piss him off more. As the next S.W.A.T. team comes crashing into the second floor from above, they immediately begin to spray the Cowboy Man with a torrent of sub-machine gun, carbine and shotgun fire. The Cowboy Man’s putrid and red face, bloated with rage utters a terrible bellow as he manages to bring his arms down hard on the concrete floor. The SWAT team is sprayed with flying chunks of cement, which mimic the devastating effects of flying shrapnel as some of the members fall down. The Cowboy Man grabs two sub-machine guns from the fallen and uses them against their own S.W.A.T. team. He continually sprays the room, until all of the men cease standing.

The Cowboy Man hears the sound of a motorcycle engine coming into the parking lot. It screeches to a halt, and the Cowboy Man gives a cold shudder as he glances behind his shoulder, and out one of the shattered windows. The Country Man has arrived. An argument is heard outside, and the Cowboy Man finely hears it; “Alright, he may be our last hope.” The Cowboy Man is thrown into a bizarre temper-tantrum as he begins slamming his rage bloated head against the concrete floor repeatedly–THUNK-THUNK-THWACK-THEWACK!! His head grotesquely pops in the form of a sickening puss bomb, covering the walls with a pungent and nauseating discharge. “AAAAAAEEEGH-AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHH!” The Cowboy Man tears the remaining skin off his face in state of trance like fury. What remains is a horrific sight, as the superficial muscles of his face warp into a grisly and repulsive physiognomy. His eyeballs jut out their sockets and take on a life of their own, as they begin to squirm like extraterrestrial maggots, as if they no longer wish to be a part of this nightmarish countenance that’s become the Cowboy Man’s face. “Looks like you aren’t doing so well, Cowboy Man.”  The Cowboy Man gasps, and turns around, only to find the Country Man pointing two Micro Uzis into his already mutilated face. The Cowboy Man shudders with surprise; “H-how did ‘ya sneak up on me . . . so fast.” The Country Man; “Never mind that ol’ buddy . . . looks like this might be easier than I thought.” Suddenly, the Cowboy Man’s grizzled face is lost in a torrent of Uzi fire, as the Country Man unloads his entire ammo belt of Uzi rounds into what remained of it. After almost ten minutes of non-stop Uzi fire into the Cowboy Man’s grizzled face, the Country Man vanishes into the thick gun smoke. As the Cowboy Man is given time to collect his rapidly diminishing wits, an appalling sight emerges from the diminishing gun smoke. The Cowboy Man’s skull is now grotesquely bloated. As cracks have formed throughout his skull. Brain matter can clearly be seen underneath, but his brain appears to be made of giant black maggots, densely packed inside his giant cranium like demonic sardines. As they continue to writhe and squirm under his skull, his shiny black maggot brain continues to swell, and loosen up, making the cracks in his skull grow continuously worse. His skull is almost completely visible now, the white bone sticking out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of his body, but fibers of muscle still hang loosely off the bones of his face. His bone is surprisingly hard, much harder than human bone, and able to withstand close range gunfire–as the Country Man already proved. The Cowboy Man screams in demented rage; “MY MAGGOTS!!!” “MY MAGGOTS!!!” as he begins to blindly run after the Country Man, to punch him in the nose with all his might. Since skin no longer covers his face, his sense of smell has amplified twice as strong as that of a dogs, and after barreling through the concrete walls of the vandalized YMCA, he finds the Country Man downstairs, behind the lobbies front desk, waiting for him with his high explosive toys. They proceed to engage in violent close quarters combat, as the Cowboy Man moves amazingly fast, but the Country Man is amazingly faster, as he twists his shoulders and pulls the Atchisson Assault Shotgun from behind his back, and fires. The Cowboy Mans flesh is blown off his forearm, leaving a grizzled ulna and radius hanging with torn flesh . . . his fist reduced to mere bone. The Cowboy Man screams; “AAAAAAAEEEEEE!!” And this time, the Cowboy Man can feel pain, as he kneels down before the Country Man in agony. Even his skull conveys pure pain, as his grizzled jaw gapes wide open in utter torment. The Country Man; “Felt good, didn’t it. I betcha’ want more, dont’cha boy?” The Cowboy Man; “NO! STOP! IT HURTS!!” The Country Man; “Men smarter than you made toys like this, so that creatures like you could be put down quickly, and effectively!” “I’d say they did a pretty good job, wouldn’t you?” The Country Man proceeds to unload both his FRAG-12 ammo drums onto the cowering form that is the Cowboy Man. The sound is deafening, as the Country Man is spattered with chunks of flesh and bone from the Cowboy Man. From outside, all the S.W.A.T. can hear is the deafening torrent of gunfire being unleashed by the Country Man as his demonic opponent is being torn to pieces, bit by bit. One of the S.W.A.T. officers; “Jesus, what in God’s name is that man doing to the Cowboy Man?!” Another S.W.A.T. officer; “Jerry, I don’t know and I don’t care. All I give a damn about right now is that he actually KILLS the Cowboy Man, because if I ever have to deal with that thing ever again, I might just quit my job.” He’s responded with resounding agreement; “Amen to that brother, amen to that.”

The deafening roar of Atchisson Assault Shotgun fire eventually stops, and soon, amid the billowing smoke from the FRAG-12 rounds emanating from the entrance of the YMCA, the Country Man strides victoriously out from its ravaged entrance. The Country Man is immediately met by the applauding S.W.A.T. team, as they begin to shout praises at him for his victory over the Cowboy Man, as if he were some modern, tactical enforcement God, who has saved them from something demonic and all powerful. S.W.A.T. team members; “Holy shit! He did it! Whooo-hoooo!!” “Wow!! The Cowboy Man’s finished!!” “Who in the hell are you?! God?!” The Country Man becomes engulfed in adoration, as men begin to flock toward him. And the incident commander comes out of the tactical command post, to ask him one last question. He shakes the Country Man’s hand vigorously–”Would you like to become a S.W.A.T. team member son?! You would make an outstanding team chief!” The Country Man; “Ah, thanks, but no thanks . . . I stay solo.”  And suddenly, like a nightmare coming back to haunt them, the Cowboy Man’s grizzled frame comes slowly hobbling out of the YMCA entrance, but this time all his intimidation and fear has left him, leaving him with a pathetically limp gait . . . Just a stripped skeleton, with shredded flesh hanging off it, wobbles and then crashes to the ground, and they all give a huge sigh of relief. The Country Man; “I’d advice you finish him off with a marine, or underground nuclear detonation. I can give you security clearances for access to the Nevada test site, where his remains can be taken for a more thorough extermination.” Incident Commander; “We most definitely will take your advice, Country Man, nobody knows how to destroy the Cowboy Man better than you do! And I’ll be damn sure you receive our medal of heroism for your actions here tonight . . . Absolutely stunning.” The Country Man; “Ah, thanks buddy, but I think it’s the men who died here tonight, who are the true heroes . . . remember that.” As the Country Man gets on his motorbike, he’s given one last standing ovation in appreciation of his ruthless and stunning handling of the Cowboy Man. And he peels out of the parking lot, and back toward LAX, to drink himself unconscious in a first-class seat on Jet Airways–back to the east coast.


The Cheif Light Bearers

The Chief Light Bearers

Regarding page order, this piece was supposed to be right before my last one, Corporeal Experience, in story sequence, but I felt the original planned image was too boring, so I changed it to this.  As a result I had to bump this page way up, storyline wise, and it is actually supposed to take place some time after Adam and Eve’s fall, when war really begins to take hold of humanity. As a result, the three women in this image have clothes on, and they are more accustomed to a sort of ‘civilized’ lifestyle, but they are still very, very large.  This is more or less supposed to be a flash back of better times, and they will be depicted dancing through the paradisaical forest, as if in some trance.

Corporeal Experience (revised)


Adam stands solitary and alone within the dark turquoise, storm plagued sky, waiting for his companion Eve to join him in holy matrimony.

Adam stands solitary and alone within the dark turquoise, storm plagued sky, waiting for his companion Eve to join him in holy matrimony.

Nobody wants to believe

What if we know nothing about our true history?  What if human kind has existed on this planet for billions of years, and our current generation is so far flung from those distant pre-flood generations that it seems like they never even existed?  What if our modern civilization as we know it has in fact preexisted in different forms, in eons past, they were just wiped out, and a smaller race of humans came later on to replace their very memory with their own temporary society, only to be wiped out again and again, and continually replaced by smaller and smaller generations?  Everything has always existed as it does now, only on a much larger scale.  I had a dream once that I was snooping around someones house, and I was not supposed to be there.  It was easy to stay hidden though, because the house was a giant house, with giant walls and giant chairs and tables.  I remember I could hear a giant lady walking around, I could hear her footsteps, and her shuffling, so I ran and hid inside a giant ironing table, built inside one of the walls, the house almost resembled one of those old Victorian houses from the 1800’s, but I knew that this house was much, much older, because from the outside it looked like one of those old cottages you might see in some remote European countryside, or a cottage straight out of a fantasy illustration,  and I had to journey through a wilderness that seemed otherworldly, until I reached its walls, which were built of giant stones stacked upon each other, in which I had to climb and then jump back down into the giant courtyard, decorated with giant flower-beds.  I also remember how the giant lady looked, she was quite pretty, and around 15 feet tall, with long black hair, and she wore a long gown or robe which flowed behind her as she walked through the cavernous, yet ornately decorated hallways of the house.  I was afraid to show myself for some reason, but I don’t know exactly why, I guess that is how most of my dreams are.   Does anyone else have dreams like this? Or is it just me?  Am I remembering something from the distant past, when I have these dreams? Is my subconscious mind trying to tell me something that my conscious mind is not realizing?  I believe so.   When the ancient Greeks came across the bones of Ajax, his knee caps were said to be exactly the size of a discus for the Boys Pentathlon, which would also make him around 15ft. tall when he was alive, so this lady I dreamed about, if she existed once in real life, would have lived either before, during, or after the time of Achilles, and Odysseus, and all of those other great, ‘mythological’ figures spoken of in Homer’s Illiad and Odyssey.  The Iliad  and the Odyssey are among the oldest surviving works of Western Literature, and I believe they may be older than we currently think.  Just listen to these names, for example; Penelope, Telemachus, Laertes, Anticlea, Tiresias . . . Heracles.  They may just sound like the names of ancient Greek mythological figures, but these are the names attributed to giants, because nobody is given names like these anymore.  I feel like I have lost all of my strength, and all of my life force.  And I may have once been great in stature, like these ancient characters which Homer once spoke of.  When I was a kid, and when I would create new super-heroes and sci-fi/fantasy character profiles, I would always take my ruler and carefully measure them out, making sure they were at least seven, eight or nine feet tall, because that was the height I felt that a real strong person should be, and not five or six feet, like most people are today, and sometimes, when I see an exceptionally tall person, I begin to feel envious.  I could also remember looking at all the other kids around me in elementary school and feeling like they were all a little bigger than me, but now I know this was attributed to the fact that I’m a naturally smaller person, I am what they call an ecto-morph.  I feel like I’m living in the physical body of some old, spiritually dried up, and shriveled apparition, that has lost it’s ancient life force, and now exists in a state of dormancy and confusion in this modern world.  My spiritual energy is locked away, and it can only manifest and express itself through this physical body in which it now inhabits.  I feel like I do not belong in this body, but I somehow ended up here anyhow, through the course in which society has taken throughout the epochs of civilization, in which I am indeed a part of but also separate from, and I just happened to end up in this situation I am in now, but I still do not know why, maybe this is why.  To tell you what I think and how I feel . . . yes, that must be why, to spread a message about our past, that nobody seems to want to believe.  But you have to want to believe, or else it will always seem like a fallacy in your own mind.


Corporeal Experience

corporeal experience

*Adam stands like a giant statute, solitary and alone, within a dark turquoise, storm plagued sky, waiting for his companion, Eve, to join him in holy matrimony.