Jesus Triumphant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 8) by Brian Godawa
Authors: Brian Godawa
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myriad of thousands of whisperings came out of the deep recess like water overflowing a cup. They washed over the Ob and the gods like angry waters. The ears of the summoners were pierced with the painful cries of violent Nephilim spirits suppressed for millennia, now freed to roam the earth.
The gods stood. Asherah belted out, “Come forth, my children! Fill the land with your presence!”
Ba’al added, “Inhabit its people and every dark corner! Messiah has come to claim the land and crush the head of the Serpent. But you must take hold and fight back! You must strike his heel!”
The whirlwind of voices kept coming like a flood, passing over them on their way out to the land. A deluge of demons in search of bodies to inhabit.
Chapter 4
Demas felt uncomfortable being a member of an audience. He was used to being the sole entertainer in the ring with thousands cheering him on. Other than the pain of battle wounds, his heroic animal baiting seemed to be the only other thing that made him feel alive in his dark reality.
Now, sitting in the theater of Scythopolis, amidst seven thousand cheering idiots, he felt the meaningless despair of being but one of a myriad of passive onlookers, manipulated and carried away by the pathos playing out on the stage before them.
The Greeks and Romans loved their entertainment. They spent so much time in the theater, the amphitheater, and the hippodrome, amusing themselves with sport and entertainment. Amusement was the way to avoid thinking about the sword of Damocles that hung over them all, waiting to drop at any moment and take their lives. The fools.
The theater was the largest in the Decapolis. It was built semicircular with stone seating that rose high above the stage on the hillside upon which it was built. Down below, between the audience and the stage, an orchestra played the music that stirred the pathos of the soul, while the chorus sang the logos of narration that captured the mind. The proscenium stage was three hundred feet wide with a massive “scene” backdrop behind it, constructed as the façade of a building. Various painted backdrops were hung to provide change of story location.
The audience seats were organized and separated by social rank, the plebeians naturally finding their place toward the rear. Since Demas was related to the lead actor on the stage, he found himself in the enviable location just behind the senators, equestrians and knights of the few front seats.
He didn’t care for the theater, and he rarely attended, but tonight, his brother had requested it. Thank heavens pantomime had become more popular than the boring philosophical pontificating of the Stoic plays. Seneca was the worst. They amounted to little or no action with characters standing around giving speeches. Demas knew that the fine art of rhetoric could twist words to justify any immoral behavior known to man, from the anarchy of lawless barbarians to the tyranny of empire. But if they were going to do so, at least provide some kind of interesting visual and dramatic entertainment along with it.
Pantomime on the other hand, was wildly popular with the masses as its actors performed silent drama and dance to the accompaniment of narrating chorus and musical instruments. The audience wanted spectacle. If they wanted a sermon, they could go to synagogue. This evening’s program was fortunately interesting to Demas: The Labors of Hercules. The story went that Hercules was required to serve penance for murdering his family, by engaging in twelve epic labors in service to King Eurystheus. Each episode was an astonishing feat such as slaying the huge Nemean lion or the many-headed Hydra, capturing a monstrous boar, or the Cretan Bull among others.
Demas related to the god-man hybrid protagonist Hercules. He too felt hated by the gods and cursed with the labors of his life. Every victory over monsters in the arena made Demas feel as if he was one step closer to that ever elusive sense
The gods stood. Asherah belted out, “Come forth, my children! Fill the land with your presence!”
Ba’al added, “Inhabit its people and every dark corner! Messiah has come to claim the land and crush the head of the Serpent. But you must take hold and fight back! You must strike his heel!”
The whirlwind of voices kept coming like a flood, passing over them on their way out to the land. A deluge of demons in search of bodies to inhabit.
Chapter 4
Demas felt uncomfortable being a member of an audience. He was used to being the sole entertainer in the ring with thousands cheering him on. Other than the pain of battle wounds, his heroic animal baiting seemed to be the only other thing that made him feel alive in his dark reality.
Now, sitting in the theater of Scythopolis, amidst seven thousand cheering idiots, he felt the meaningless despair of being but one of a myriad of passive onlookers, manipulated and carried away by the pathos playing out on the stage before them.
The Greeks and Romans loved their entertainment. They spent so much time in the theater, the amphitheater, and the hippodrome, amusing themselves with sport and entertainment. Amusement was the way to avoid thinking about the sword of Damocles that hung over them all, waiting to drop at any moment and take their lives. The fools.
The theater was the largest in the Decapolis. It was built semicircular with stone seating that rose high above the stage on the hillside upon which it was built. Down below, between the audience and the stage, an orchestra played the music that stirred the pathos of the soul, while the chorus sang the logos of narration that captured the mind. The proscenium stage was three hundred feet wide with a massive “scene” backdrop behind it, constructed as the façade of a building. Various painted backdrops were hung to provide change of story location.
The audience seats were organized and separated by social rank, the plebeians naturally finding their place toward the rear. Since Demas was related to the lead actor on the stage, he found himself in the enviable location just behind the senators, equestrians and knights of the few front seats.
He didn’t care for the theater, and he rarely attended, but tonight, his brother had requested it. Thank heavens pantomime had become more popular than the boring philosophical pontificating of the Stoic plays. Seneca was the worst. They amounted to little or no action with characters standing around giving speeches. Demas knew that the fine art of rhetoric could twist words to justify any immoral behavior known to man, from the anarchy of lawless barbarians to the tyranny of empire. But if they were going to do so, at least provide some kind of interesting visual and dramatic entertainment along with it.
Pantomime on the other hand, was wildly popular with the masses as its actors performed silent drama and dance to the accompaniment of narrating chorus and musical instruments. The audience wanted spectacle. If they wanted a sermon, they could go to synagogue. This evening’s program was fortunately interesting to Demas: The Labors of Hercules. The story went that Hercules was required to serve penance for murdering his family, by engaging in twelve epic labors in service to King Eurystheus. Each episode was an astonishing feat such as slaying the huge Nemean lion or the many-headed Hydra, capturing a monstrous boar, or the Cretan Bull among others.
Demas related to the god-man hybrid protagonist Hercules. He too felt hated by the gods and cursed with the labors of his life. Every victory over monsters in the arena made Demas feel as if he was one step closer to that ever elusive sense
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