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Excerpt From "The Father of Flesh"

Thursday, November 3, 2016

In the vast universe, we are but a sliver of life clutching desperately to our small marble amongst the stars. Why is it that we seem to be the only ones within our purview? Could it be that we really are the only intelligent species on the planet? How could that be possible, when you consider how unlikely it is that life could have started here by random chance?

 

The answer is that we did not come into existence by sheer happenstance. We were cultivated and bred, much like our cattle and swine today. What could have possibly done this, you ask? How could we not know?

 

We do know.

 

We accept the reality that we have ghosts, vampires, and werewolves. All creatures that seem to fantastic to exist. So what, dare I offer, could be waiting for us that we don’t know about, at least as a wide audience?

 

Millions of years ago, our creators (yes, multiple) sparked life into the chemical compounds that created the very base of amoeba. From there the creators, gods as we shall refer to them, spent countless eons whittling away the excess to create a creature capable of serving them, of acting as their new source of power.

 

You see, it is my hypothesis that these gods came from a different world, or dimension, where they rose above the common chafe to stand out as the entities they were; things that could go an eternity without air, water, or food. They were bloated with energy from something. What it could be, we will likely never know. But they existed on the fat from another existence until we were ripe enough to serve them.

 

How did we serve them? Why, we merely existed. Our fears, our hopes, our dreams… these are the things that rekindled the gods’ appetite, giving in to an all-consuming need for the source of the emotional energy that they supped upon.

 

Our souls.

 

Now you see why I call them gods. Not only did they create us, they introduced religion to our fledgling societies, tribes breaking off to worship wantonly their deity of preference, dedicating their lives to serving their lords in blind faith. Many would make elaborate ceremonies where they would sacrifice animals, or each other. The blood sacraments sealed deals with the old gods, allowing priests to wield power untold.

 

How do I know this?

 

Sitting behind me, while I type this up, is a fractured piece of war hammer I excavated from a mound in Central America. Why it is relevant is that it belonged to one of these priests. It is made from a stone not found anywhere on this planet, according to the three geologists I brought it to here at the university, and it reacts well to channeled energies such as electricity. Could it be an ancient technology that we merely have overlooked?

 

That would be what others would believe if you didn’t know of the Occult like a rare few do. You see, this hammer served as a tool to better access the elemental energies that coursed through the veins of the world, a network of energy that many refer to as the Ether. This hammer, along with many other tools and weapons I’ve claimed over my own considerable lifetime, act as evidence for these priests of old, as they date back forty thousand years or more.

 

When we were supposedly nomad tribes that couldn’t fathom basic math let alone making a complex tool, vast cities were perched on natural fonts of this ethereal energy. There’s one in the Grand Canyon, one in Italia, one in China… there are dozens of places where human civilization flocked to, all under the banner of their own god. And for a time, these people flourished under their gods’ careful watch.

 

But, as all things tend to do, the agreements forged with blood began to grow strained. The addictive nature of magic corrupted the souls of the priests, creating hollow shells through which the power of the god’s themselves could be funneled. The god’s themselves grew hungrier, demanding greater sacrifices and urging for more death to fulfill their appetites. This is when civilization began to bleed off, as each of the great nations turned on each other, attacking one another to please their patrons.

 

And please them they did. The hollow priests, now to-be labeled as Diabolists, conducted grand rituals to satisfy the whims of their masters. They ordered their people to build deep holes within the earth when not warring. The old gods could no longer act of their own accord due to the sheer bulk brought on by their feasting.

 

So as they settled into elaborate tombs, the old gods were willingly locked away. Not to be bound as slaves, but to move their consciousness to the Ethereal, where their hunger would be lessened thanks to the fact their immortal bodies lay still in the darkness of a sepulcher, guarded by their loyal Diabolists and followers.

 

If things had not changed, we would still worship some forty or fifty odd gods, still be broken into smaller kingdoms and still wage war for our slumbering master’s glory. But it was around this time the darkness was pierced by a ray of light; an order of diabolists that chose not to serve their master, but to enslave him in his prison. They siphoned off his energies and became monstrous in power and appearance. These, as they are known among Occult circles, were the Demonologists. These beings fused with the power of the immortals and grew into a staggering strength that they could barely control. With this new force, they began to decimate the other followers of the old gods.

 

And so the old gods began to slowly fade away, the Diabolists no longer allowed to lord themselves above others as they’d done for countless centuries. The Demonologists faded into history while the great cities were evacuated and left to rot. Some evidence of them remains. Stonehenge has a foundation to a large building dating back nearly twenty thousand years while the Aztec had cities they claimed belonged to the “old ones”. With this great crack in our timeline came the end of an ice age, causing glaciers to shift and melt, creating seas and lakes where once there was nothing but open plains.

 

And so we forgot.

 

                       -From the writings of Professor Davis Nickels

 

Author's Note: This is a piece of a novel I've been tinkering with the past few months, possibly my longest work of fiction to date. Cresting 120,000 words, it rivals works like Stephen King in length. This is, of course, before the edited version is made. I'm having it read by a fellow writer who will highlight any inconsistencies he finds, as well as editing issues. After that I'll try and shave off some of the excess fat, perhaps 10,000 words or so, and then begin submitting it to the larger publishing companies. I know you'll enjoy it, so do grab a copy once it's finished!

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