CHAPTER TEN: THE REVELATION

**Chapter 10: The Revelation**

The abandoned church trembled as wind howled through its shattered stained glass, casting fractured rainbows over peeling frescoes of forgotten saints. Marverick leaned against a crumbling pew, his wings—still smoldering with the Elysium Stone's fading resonance—casting jagged shadows on the walls. Ava paced nearby, her boots crunching on debris, while Dave Riggs stood bathed in the sickly glow of a makeshift lantern, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood.

"You're saying," Marverick began, voice tight, "I'm some…*biblical remix*?"

Dave chuckled, the sound like gravel in a tin can. "Not a remix, kid. A relic. The Nephilim weren't just giants in fairy tales. They were *weapons*. Angels got bored, mingled with mortals, birthed abominations that made the Horde look quaint." He tapped a finger against his temple. "God hit the reset button with a flood, but a few bloodlines slipped through. Yours clung to the shadows, generation after generation, diluted but never *extinct*."

Ava snorted, kicking a chunk of plaster. "So heaven's got daddy issues, and we're stuck cleaning up?"

"More like inheriting the mess." Dave's cane scraped the floor as he circled Marverick. "Your great-great-granddaddy didn't just *study* the Stone—he *channeled* it. Fused its power into his DNA like a damn fuse in a bomb. The Riggs monitored you, waiting for the spark."

Marverick's hand drifted to his chest, where the Stone's energy had seared his veins hours earlier. "Why now?"

"Because the apocalypse isn't an event—it's a *cycle*." Dave's gaze turned distant. "Every few millennia, the scales tip. Angels get righteous, demons get hungry, and the Nephilim get…*purgative*. But this time?" He grinned, all teeth. "This time, we've got you."

Ava stepped between them, her dagger glinting. "He's not your puppet."

"Isn't he?" Dave's cane snapped up, halting an inch from Marverick's throat. "Why do you think the Stone answers your touch? Why the angels *fear* you? You're not the chosen one, Daveson. You're the **consequence**."

The walls seemed to close in. Marverick's wings flickered, their light dimming as memories surged—his mother's stories of "special heritage," the way demons recoiled from his blood, the tome's pages that *shivered* when he turned them.

"Prove it," he whispered.

Dave pulled a weathered scroll from his coat, its edges singed. Unfurled, it revealed a genealogy tree—names stretching back centuries, each marked with a sigil. At the bottom: *Marverick Daveson*. Above it, a symbol pulsed—a winged serpent devouring its tail.

"The Mark of the Nephilim," Dave said. "Carved into the ribs of every true heir. Check your left side."

Marverick's fingers trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt. There, beneath his ribs—a pale, raised scar he'd carried since birth. It *glowed* now, faintly gold.

Ava sucked in a breath. "Well…shit."

"Poetic, isn't it?" Dave tucked the scroll away. "The very thing heaven fears, they embedded in flesh. But here's the kicker—"

A thunderous *crash* interrupted him. The church doors splintered, revealing a hulking figure backlit by lightning—a demon twice the size of the others, its skin a patchwork of scales and molten rock.

"Right on schedule," Dave sighed, unsheathing a blade from his cane. "Test drive your legacy, Nephilim."

Marverick's wings blazed to life, the Stone's power surging through him in a torrent. Ava's hand found his, their bond flaring like a live wire.

"We'll discuss your *omissions* later," she growled at Dave.

"Assuming we survive." Dave lunged toward the demon, his laughter trailing behind.

As Marverick charged, the scar on his ribs burned—a brand, a beacon, a beginning. The truth clawed at him, but there was no time.

The Nephilim had awoken.

And hell itself would tremble.