The biblical book of Genesis and the writings of the Prophet Enoch speak of the Nephilim, two hundred angels God let descend from Heaven and settle among mortals on the earth. They were not expelled like Satan and his cohort, but left of their own accord. They tried to blend in and not attract attention, but their children were special. The translators of the ancient writings have called them "giants" and many have taken that literally. They were not 9-foot-tall misshapen beasts ads some have conceived. They were giants among men -- powerful, talented, charismatic -- but they were susceptible to our venal flaws as well.

Ananias, the son of the angel Azazel, was a mighty competitor, even at the age of 15 summers. He threw a spear farther than any grown man in his village, could run circles around all the other boys, and all of the girls sighed wistfully as he walked by. Azazel believed that no father could love his son as much as he loved Ananias. His love for his child was an emotion he had never felt before, something more powerful and overwhelming than anything he had known since the beginning of time, even greater than his love for God.

It came to pass that Ananias and his best friend Jubal both loved the same girl, Keziah. But no matter how hard Jubal tried to gain her favor, Keziah only had eyes for Ananias. Jealousy festered in Jubal's heart.

It was tradition in their village that all boys of fifteen summers, at the time of the autumnal equinox, would venture into the mountains and hunt wolves. Those who were successful and brought back the corpse of a wolf would be allowed to marry a girl of suitable age. The boy who brought back the biggest wolf got first choice.

For three days, Jubal and Ananias tracked the wolves through the mountains. Wolves had learned to be wary of men and tried to give them wide berth. To hunt a wolf took more than strength and speed, it took great cunning and the ability to move through the woods like a breeze. Ananias did this with ease, but Jubal clomped through the forest like a bull. No amount of coaching Ananias gave him could lighten the boulders Jubal swung at the end of his legs. And thus for three days, Jubal and Ananias found fresh wolf droppings and fresh wolf markings, but they never saw a wolf.

On the morning of the fourth day, Jubal woke face-to-face with a wolf. He gasped in fear and scrambled backwards. A laugh rang out, the laugh of Ananias, and as Jubal's shock faded, he saw the wolf was dead. "What is this," he demanded of Ananias as he stood.

"It is your wolf. Let us go home so you can be married. I believe Bilhah would make a good wife for you. You should choose her."

Jubal looked at his wolf. It was large and impressive. He would have a hard time carrying it down the mountain to their village, but he would find a way. Then he looked at Ananias and saw that the wolf at his feet was larger. It did not dwarf his, no one would compare them unfavorably, but when it was time to determine who would choose his wife first... "So you will choose Keziah?"

"Who else?" Ananias thumped his chest with his fist.

If there was no Keziah, Ananias and Jubal would have competed for Bilhah. But Keziah's lips were just a shade fuller, her eyes were just a shade brighter, her cooking was just a hair more flavorful. Just as the wolf Ananias had claimed for himself was just a little bit better than the wolf he gave Jubal, Keziah was just a little bit better than Bilhah. And in both cases, it was that little bit that made all the difference.

"If Bilhah is so wonderful, why don't you marry her and let me marry Keziah?"

Ananias laughed again. "Because I have the bigger wolf."

Jubal burned inside. "I do not want Bilhah!"

Ananias thought for a moment, then smiled as if a great idea had come to him. "Take Keilah then. She is too smart for my tastes, too headstrong, but perhaps you could tame her."

"I do not want Keilah," Jubal shouted. "I want Keziah."

Ananias's smile disappeared. "No."

And that seemed to end the discussion. Ananias lifted the wolf carcass, slung it over his shoulder, took his spear in his other hand, and began the long trek back to their village.

"But," Jubal said. Ananias cut him off by shaking his spear as he walked away. Jubal packed up his meager belongings, slung his wolf over his shoulder, nearly stooping beneath its weight, took his spear, and rushed as best he could to catch up to Ananias.

To reach the village before nightfall, they took a treacherous and narrow path down the side of the mountain. Ananias, as was his way, walked down quickly, so confident in his skills and strength that he did not exercise caution. When his foot slipped, Jubal was a good 20 yards behind him. As Jubal rounded the corner, he heard Ananias call. "Jubal, my friend! Help me!"

Up ahead, Ananias's wolf lay in the path, but there was no Ananias. Jubal heard him call again and looked over the edge of the path. Ananias hung from the roots of a bush, scrabbling to try to climb up the side of a perilously steep incline. "Jubal," he shouted with relief, "help me up!"

Jubal put down his wolf to ensure it did not fall off the path, then went over to the place in the path above where Ananias hung. He lay down and tried to reach to Ananias, but he was mere inches too far away. "Lower your spear," Ananias yelled.

Jubal went back and got his spear, and as he began to lower it, he paused. "Swear to me that you will not select Keziah. You will leave her for me."

"Are you mad, Jubal? Lower the spear. I fear this bush will not hold."

"Swear it or you can fall to your death!"

"I swear," Ananias shouted. "Now lower the spear!"

Jubal gripped the spear below the point and lowered the blunt end to Ananias. He braced himself and pulled, helping Ananias climb up the steep mountainside and finally get a handhold that allowed him to raise himself up onto the path. As he raised himself to standing, Ananias shoved Jubal back so that he slammed against the mountainside behind him. "You would let me die so you could steal Keziah from me?!" Jubal bounced off the wall back toward Ananias, who shoved him again. "You stone-footed fool! You would die a bachelor if I had not caught your wolf for you, and you repay me like this?"

Bouncing forward again, Jubal brought up the end of his spear, striking Ananias squarely in the loin. Ananias gasped and stumbled backward. His arms pinwheeled as he teetered precariously on the edge of the path, and as he regained his balance, Jubal placed the butt end of his spear in the center of his best friend's chest and pushed.

The next day, Jubal led the men of his village to where the body of Ananias lay. His tale was true for the most part, because Ananias had first fallen on his own. He merely failed to include the part about rescuing and then pushing Ananias himself. He helped the men carry the body back to Azazel's tent. Azazel had not come with them, unable to bear the site of his son's broken body.

When they reached the tent, Azazel was not there. His wife, Calah, told them he had gone. She and her sisters prepared the body of her son for the funeral.

Just before dawn, as everyone slept, Azazel returned to the village. He had torn his clothes, cut his hair, slashed at his flesh with knives. This pain was unlike anything he had ever felt and nothing he did could diminish it. There was a great void in his being, a space Ananias had occupied before being torn out, and into the hole that remained poured rage and anguish. He blundered into the funeral tent the men of the village had erected and looked at his son, laid out on the funerary table. The women had straightened his limbs, mended his wounds, and dressed him in the robe his mother had prepared for his wedding day.

Azazel had seen mortals stand by the deathbeds of their loved ones and curse whatever powers they believed in. He had always looked upon it dispassionately not understanding how a simple death could provoke such incredible and intense anger. Now he knew.

Azazel knelt by the funerary table and took the hand of Ananias, holding it to his cheek. Every angel has the power to touch a corpse and see its last moments of life. Azazel had not intended to invoke it, but the images came flooding in uninvited. He saw the first fall, the demand made by Jubal, the conflict, Jubal's defense, and Jubal's betrayal.

Azazel's first act was to kill Keziah, then Jubal's parents, then his older brothers, then their wives, then their children. After that, he could not stop. These mortals, every one of them, were cheap and imperfect, jealous and base. Every one harbored in its heart the capacity for murder, betrayal, duplicity, and cruelty. And he killed every mortal in the village, save for one. He left Jubal alive, because someone had to bury the dead, and Jubal owed it to them all.

---

When the two-hundred descended from Heaven, God had placed Shemhazai nominally in charge. He and a few of his closest friends had settled on a volcanic island about 250 miles west-southwest of Cyprus, known as Atlantis. Much of the rest had spread themselves around the Mediterranean, down into Africa and up into Eastern Europe. The island was lush and the angels had helped the residents recreate a bit of paradise, teaching them of agriculture and architecture, helping to found a university, and inviting scholars from far and wide to come teach or learn.

Now Shemhazai was concerned. Angels who travelled the world came back with tales of new armies, new military tactics and techniques, and new weapons that men would have been centuries away from inventing on their own. Shemhazai sent out trusted lieutenants to investigate. As he waited, he was concerned that somehow this knowledge had come out of the university on Atlantis, but as new reports came in, he discovered the true culprit... Azazel.

He went to visit Azazel. He found the angel naked in a lavish tent outside Baghdad, laying drunkenly among five naked mortal women. "Azazel," he shouted as he appeared in the tent, "what is the meaning of all this?!"

When an angel shouts, it is nothing one can ignore. The five women scrambled back, their hands over their ears, grabbing pillows and cloths to cover their nakedness. Azazel opened one sleepy eye and peered at Shemhazai, then closed it and frowned. A look of concentration flowed across his face and he was dressed in princely robes. He raised himself slowly, but gracefully from the bed of pillows, and clapped his hands, commanding attention. He reached into his pocket and removed a jingling pouch, throwing it to one of the women. "Get them dressed and be gone before I return."

A smile appeared quite suddenly on Azazel's face. "Shemhazai," he called fondly, opening his arms wide. Shemhazai grudgingly accepted Azazel's embrace, returning Azazel's hearty back-thumping with a non-committal pat. Azazel put an arm around his shoulder and guided him toward the tent flap. "Walk with me while the ladies clean up and make themselves scarce. It has been at least four or five generations since we last visited. We have much catching up to do."

Outside the tent, Shemhazai saw many others as well as cookfires, watchfires, and the machinery of war. "Is this your army," he asked, waving a hand across the vista.

"No, no. I am just a consultant. I advise."

Shemhazai looked at Azazel's robes as they walked. These were not the white robes of Heaven nor the coarser robes or tunics adopted by the angels with whom he had settled. They were made of richly colored silks in reds and blacks, embroidered with golden threads. Angels did not grow facial hair, but they could manifest it, and Azazel manifested a close-trimmed moustache and a pointed beard that just covered his chin. "Why are you involved with all this my old friend?"

Azazel stopped and stroked his beard, turning away from Shemhazai. "Would you believe I am pursuing justice?"

"For whom?"

"Myself."

"What wrong could you have suffered that it warrants the raising of an army," Shemhazai asked, placing a hand on Azazel's shoulder.

Azazel whirled, shoving Shemhazai away with much greater force than his form seemed capable of producing. Shemhazai flew backward and the earth rose over him, burying his body and hardening around it, but leaving his head uncovered.

"I don't raise armies," Azazel hissed, "I merely encourage their formation. I whisper in the ears of kings and generals. I turn scuffles into bloodshed, and insults into wars. I train the troops to be more efficient and brutal killers, and I train artisans to provide them with more efficient and brutal weapons. I don't care who wins. I only care that the fights happen."

Shemhazai knew he could burst out of the flimsy prison Azazel had built around him, but he also knew Azazel did not want to imprison him. He just wanted to be heard. "And why is that?"

"Because these mortals are slaves to their baser instincts. They're vermin. If I tried to exterminate them all by my own hand, God would stop me. But if I talk them into exterminating each other, if I merely give them the encouragement and knowledge they need to hack each other to bits, they have the choice to ignore me. Because it is their choice, the blood is spilled as a result of 'free will' and God does not interfere."

"Of all the self-serving sophistries," Shemhazai said, gently dissolving his earthen prison and standing up. He brushed the sand from his robes slowly, looking at Azazel the whole time. "This will not be tolerated."

Azazel placed his hands on his hips and laughed defiantly. "And what are you going to do about it? Killing me isn't as easy as it is these fragile mortals. Do you have the power and will to end me?"

"It is not for me to decide," Shemhazai said, and disappeared.

---

"It is to a vote, then. Shall ten of us bind Azazel and imprison him until his heart is changed or God intervenes?"

Shemhazai addressed the gathering of Nephilim. It was less crowded than he expected. Azazel had been travelling, talking to other members of the two-hundred. A handful had been swayed to his side. They too had lost children, and like Azazel, had apparently gone mad with grief. More importantly, that handful was enough to convince many Nephilim that this was an affair they should sit out.

They wanted to live among mortals, peacefully. They had fought in the armies under Michael's command. They had defeated Lucifer and his cohort. And many of them had no further stomach for war. When Shemhazai contacted them, they did not offer their support, nor did they offer it to Azazel. They believed Azazel should be stopped with negotiation and diplomacy, not open conflict. And since God had named Shemhazai their nominal leader, it was his problem, not theirs.

So, instead of 199 angels meeting on the island of Atlantis, filling the great hall of the university, there were 67, including Shemhazai. Just one in three of the original two hundred were willing to even come to discuss the matter, and of those, many had been proponents of peace through diplomacy. No matter, though. It was enough for a quorum. "How vote you," Shemhazai called.

Hands raised and various angels began counting. He needed 34 votes and he'd only been able to confirm thirty during their last recess. He knew the other side only had 27 definites. Ten were undecided. When he reached thirty, including his own, he saw four more hands still raised. Most of the undecideds had gone the other way, but he had eked out a victory. He looked around and tried to determine which of the other angels would be selected to be in the party of ten with him, when he heard a loud whistling noise, followed by a loud boom. The ceiling of the meeting hall came tumbling down in large blocks of stone.

Angels scrambled out of the way of the falling rubble. It wouldn't kill them, but the impact would be a definite discomfort. Through a large hole in the roof, thirty feet wide, Azazel descended, flanked by Kasdeja and Gadreel. Kasdeja had been teaching poisons while Gadreel had been teaching the smithing and engineering of better weapons.

As Azazel landed, he clapped his hands with a crack louder than lightning ripping through the sky. It got the attention of the sixty-seven angels in attendance. "You would dare judge me? You would dare decide a fitting punishment for me? I will demonstrate what happens when you take sides against me!"

The ground began to shake as a loud rumble filled the room. Azazel easily shouted above it. "The volcano upon which this island sits just blew out a large chunk of its side... under the water... with a little bit of help. It has already begun to collapse. The great society you have built upon this island, Shemhazai, will sink quickly beneath the waters. And those of you who do not run to your loved ones, on this island or off, will soon find them in peril. Live your lives and I will live mine. Stand against me and you will suffer."

Azazel, Kazdeja, and Gadreel looked upward and flew out. Many of the angels in attendance disappeared, teleporting to their loved ones to protect them from this attack-in progress.

Shemhazai's vision showed him that Azazel had told the truth. Furthermore, a geologic event of this magnitude was beyond his powers to repair. He was prohibited against returning to Heaven to beg God's intervention directly, so he took a page from the book of the humans he had come to love. He fell to his knees and prayed. When that did not work, he got down to the business of organizing the few angels that remained to help him evacuate the island before it sank.