Discarded Nephilim Camp

About 47 marked nephilim lived in the camp and I was one of them. You might be wondering what a nephilim is, but it's not difficult. Since Tyrans, our world, was taken over by the main clan of demons, miscegenation has become incredibly common. Of course, the demons' dominion didn't last long, as their children dethroned their parents and sent them back to their dimension... and to the fact that they cannot maintain their consciousness in that dimension. Briefly explained, there were 3 dimensions. One upper, one middle and one lower. The upper dimension was where the angels dwelt. The middle dimension was where humans inhabited. The lower dimension was where the demons inhabited. Each one in his place, peace (in quotes, I would say, if we take human nature into account) was almost the rule. Until the demons came.

To counter the demonic forces, the men called for help from the clan of angels who came and blessed the weapons of the paladins, since they themselves could not fight a battle against the clan of demons without falling into disgrace. Once armed, the Paladins fought the demons and lost. Then, shortly thereafter, the demons began to copulate with human women and men and had children, but this one of happy family didn't last long as the demons discovered they couldn't inhabit a different dimension without losing something. What they lost was their sanity. Their consciences faded and the only thing left was their survival instincts. For some reason the need to devour humans became part of that instinct.

The angels seeing that the human species was in danger came and began to protect men without fighting the irrational demons. Shortly thereafter, the angels' wings darkened and they could no longer return to their dimension. More time passed and the angels began to lose something, just like the demons, but in their case what they lost was their bodies. Once without bodies, the angels' consciences and souls were absorbed and dispersed by nature.

The world was at the mercy of demons again until their children were old enough to practice magic. When they did, they hunted down their parents, the greater demons and sent them back to their dimension sealing the open sale thousands of years before. Unfortunately the armies of lesser demons continued in our world and nephilim continued to be conceived, many children of traumatic reactions and no future. Of course, as only the bigger demons were cast out, the smaller ones were hunted and killed, but when there are hundreds of thousands of demons in a world where the only ones who can hunt them are those who prefer to stay in their castles protected, well fed and happy ... reproducing these only increases their numbers.

And that was it. I was a nephilim who lived outside Attila's great walls. One of the forgotten ones and, luckily, one unmarked. After 3,000 years of living with demons, some nephilim developed a degenerative disease called a mark. The tagged, as they were called, were short-lived and at that time more than 80% of our campers were tagged.

I lived in this camp only two years ago. They told me it was a matter of time before the disease caught me and I didn't care. I could die little by little fighting that shit or die quickly without having a chance to fight if I kept waiting outside for the lesser demons. Plus I didn't get sick.

"Kyran..." one of the marked boys yelled when he saw me. – Got anything good?

- Something. – He said without giving much hope. Possibly we wouldn't have much more from the others and 47 nephilim didn't feed easily. Besides, more than half of us were too young for the collection. I shouldn't even get out of the barrier at 13 years old. - I think enough for a week, but depending on how others go...

- Molly's hungry. – he said with a tearful voice. Molly was his younger sister and the doctor had already given her up twice that week. She had to give it credit. He fed his sister his portion of food every day and grew weaker every day, even though he was as sick as she was. – Are you… going out again? Can you take me with you? I can help... I can... do anything, you know?

- It is not necessary. – I say.

- But Kyran, I really am smarter than I look. – He insisted and I got a little irritated. Did he really think he was capable of going out and stealing food from beings a hundred times more powerful than he was?

- I said no. So it's not.

- And why can you go? It's only a year older.

And that was true. I was really just a year older. Unfortunately for him, I had already rehearsed a good enough answer to this kind of question.

- I have experience in dealing with demons and I am an unmarked. Being strong and not sick makes me fit for collection. – I sounded harsh, but it was the only way.Of course it wasn't just going to ruin his joy... - Where is your sister? Can I see her?

"Yes," he said and led me through the alleys of the abandoned city we occupied.

I need to explain how this place we called home worked. It was a citadel when cities were common. We had taken about 4 blocks and each of them had six to seven streets. In the center of the camp was a hospital, where the ones marked closest to death were and farther and farther from the center, those unmarked and strong enough to help with the barriers. I lived at one end, but it didn't help with the barriers. For some reason, my magic was hard to use.

In practical terms I was useless. In addition, we also had a square, where food and water decisions were made, and a common reservoir that everyone shared, with only one bucket per day for adults and half a bucket for children. Thanks to my skill with theft I was considered an adult, but a bucket of water was still too little, no matter how you looked. We rarely showered to save the precious liquid and all I could think was that my armpits smelled bad.

Ironic, if you think I was able to steal that amount of food, how incapable I was. But the quirk with my magic was that it worked very well on me, more or less on others and not on things at all. Making barriers was almost impossible and energizing them ditto. Or maybe I was doing it wrong, who could say?

The boy took me to an area very close to the south end and entered a dark hut. None of us had parents and the older ones took care of the younger ones. This was not the case with the boy, who lived alone with his sister in that unhealthy place. The street they lived on had no heat, so I concluded that no one else wanted to live in a place near them. Sad and typical. Who could blame them for not wanting to be infected with her afterdeath air?

The house had only three rooms. A dark room and two bedrooms. In the airier room was the girl. It was relatively large and the windows were tall and wide, almost the size of a wall, but it was locked to prevent leaks caused by the insanity of the magical illness. There wasn't much furniture except for the bed and the dark and crumbling dresser beside it. Anyway, everything looked decadent, nothing different from the rest of this crooked world we lived in. The girl was lying on the bed, her belly pointing up and her breath heat emanating through the tight space. Her body was full of dark marks, looking like Drake's scales and her skin looked aged and wrinkled. A nine-year-old girl with the appearance of an old woman. Her eyes looked incredibly lucid, but other than that there was no longer any sign that the doctor was wrong. She was going to die. There was no doubt about that.

- She's better today! – The little boy said smiling and I feared he could see the disbelief on my face. – She ate and sang a song with me today.

Thinking about it reminded me of a class I had in the apothecary's room. "When people are close to death, on their last day on earth, they improve considerably, not because they are going to save themselves, but because their bodies are willing to give one last push in search of life. No one ever survived after this last aid."

- What is your name? – I asked, trying desperately to change my train of thought. Crap!

"Ah…" he hesitated. Since I met him, he avoided saying the name. For some reason. Among the rumors, many said it was a cursed name and that when he said it the first time, a year before I arrived, the barriers fell and battled the demons all night long. I didn't know if it was true. - I can not say.

- Because? – I kind of already knew the answer, but I still had the image of a little girl dying in my head. I needed the distraction. Soon. Anything would do.

- Because if I say something really bad it will happen. My brand is like that. - Answers a little upset. – Every time I say strange things happen.

The curse brand rumor. One of the least common of the brand types. It doesn't kill whoever owned it, but those around it were punished by it. I felt the boy spoke the truth by the way he looked at his sister. Something like guilt seemed to have passed through those eyes.

- She wasn't marked when we arrived. – She continued. – But then I said my name. It's okay if she says so. Or if someone else says. But if I say then something happens. I was booked when I came here. But I didn't feel bad or anything. Then I said my name to the bread aunt and my sister fell in pain. A day later her face was scarred.

- I'm sorry.

- It is not necessary. She's better today.

- Yes, she is.

I knelt beside the girl's bed and took an apple from the basket. There was a small knife on the dresser beside the bed and I cut the fruit,giving small pieces to the girl. It was the most she could do in this situation. Okay...

Think better, I warned myself. It wasn't something you were supposed to do. It would be stupid to do that.

Even so, my mind couldn't clear it to the point of denying help. If we were to consider, who most deserved to live? Me? Is it over there? That incredibly optimistic brat considering all the shit that seemed to be a part of her life? As a matter of fact, I often asked myself these same questions. And that's why I needed to help. Even if the girl's imprint passed on to me. And if that's the case, and the boy's mark doesn't weaken him if the name isn't spoken, it could take his mark too.

Idiocy.

But it was what I could do.

The mark was a magical disease. Ever since I understood myself by people—which happened at the age of six or seven in the human village where I lived when my adoptive parents caught me splinting my wings—I had the ability to suck magic. It was very simple. Nephilim magic was ordered. That is, several commands were made and thus the spell was cast. For example, if I wanted to make a piece of cloth float I would need to give 3 orders. One for the space that would delimit the upward movement of the fabric, one for the said which would be moved and another for the construction itself. In short, I would have to change the space around the target, change the nature of the target, and order that state to remain.

Three simple commands that I could undo. The disease called mark was based on magic so I just needed to undo the orders, but it was hard to do that with other people and I needed to absorb that for myself first. It was the only thing I knew how to do well. Or at least I thought so.

- Listen, boy... - What was I doing? – I need you to keep everything you see here a secret. Can you do this?

- Yes, I will not tell anyone about the apple, Kyran.

"Not about that…" I breathed out. It should have stopped. It should have stopped. My mind was going against my heart. Damn it! - I'll try to fix your sister's brand. And hers.

- H-how?

- Just lie in bed. Please.

He did that. He was a very obedient boy. Which was not surprising. Marked children had almost no opinion of their own, living on the kindness of their elders. Gratitude had made them passive. Which made me different from most who lived here as I grew up in a human village that was protected by Attila's Nephilim. What would I be like if I had been through so many difficulties from the start? Would it be like the boy? I doubted I was able to maintain a smile, however optimistic it was. But he was still smiling and hoping for his sister's recovery. After all that, could I be responsible for his disappointment? I could do something, and for that reason I would. Not to atone for some guilt, but because doing nothing would be the opposite of what he's been doing all along.