The sun’s rays danced on what looked like marble, where Lumiel and Jophiel stood before Michael.

“You requested our presence, Michael?” Lumiel’s voice echoed.

Michael nodded. “Your time in Eden is done. I have another task for you both.”

Jophiel gasped, “But who will guard —”

Michael raised a hand. “Do not fret. None shall find the garden after what is to come.”

He led them to a vantage point, revealing a bustling city below. “Look,” he whispered.

Lumiel saw a man shrinking back from a snake and another worshiping a serpent statue.

“Fear and awe,” Michael murmured. “Old wounds become myths. The serpent, a parable, then an idol. Soon, they shall revere the Nephilim, speak of their feats of strength, forgetting the demigods’ misdeeds. The scars of what is to come shall also linger. They shall fear the heavens falling for a long time.”

“The sky falling?” Jophiel asked.

“Heaven’s gates shall open. Only Noah and his kin shall remain.”

They stood in silence, the city below a tapestry of life, oblivious to the impending doom.

Meanwhile, as the sun began to set, a figure emerged from the shadows, towering over most of the city’s tallest structures. A Nephilim, its eyes burning with an unnatural light, strode through the streets, reveling in the terror it evoked. It paused before a grand house, its voice booming, “I have returned, father!”

There was silence for a moment, then the door creaked open. A tall figure, yet dwarfed by the Nephilim, stepped out. “Welcome home, son,” he said, taking the carcasses of two deer from the giant’s outstretched hand. “Good catch.”

They entered the house, the giant stooping to pass through the doorway. The father barked orders to his wives and servants.

“Prepare the feast! Tonight, we dine on venison!”

Soon, the Nephilim watched in surprise as his father joined him at the table, taking a bite of the roasted meat.

“Father,” he ventured, hesitation in his tone, “you rarely partake in the feast.”

The fallen angel looked at his son, his youngest progeny, still a teenager. All his other sons had left the house on account of the many clashes. Short tempers were a family trait. There was a constant fight for dominance. But his youngest seemed more malleable.

“Time is short, my son. Soon, you must take a wife, continue our lineage.”

The giant was taken aback. “But father, you always said—”

The fallen angel cut him off, voice harsh: “Do not question me!”

When anger twisted his voice into an inhuman sound, those around him froze in terror.

Fear, not open communication, governed this home. The giant son, momentarily perplexed, sheepishly focused on his meal.

Michael looked on from above, a knowing smile gracing his lips. He was watching a different scene unfolding: Noah’s family, guided by Jophiel and Lumiel, happily ushering a multitude of creatures onto the ark.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the land as God’s voice boomed through the sky, “The time has come.” Another angel, Gabriel, floated towards the ark and shut the door, sealing Noah and his family within.

Dark clouds gathered like an advancing army, draping the world in an eerie, suffocating shadow. A strange, relentless rain began to fall, unlike any dew the earth had known. Life halted, eyes turned skyward in terror.

“The sky is falling!” echoed through the streets, panic erupting among humans and Nephilim alike.

In the fallen angel’s home, terror reigned. Yet, he himself remained unmoved, a mask of bitter disappointment etched upon his face. “The One above cannot leave us be,” he muttered, his wings unfurling with a crackle of power. With a disdainful glance at his terrified family, he soared into the darkened sky, abandoning them to their fate.

The young Nephilim watched his father flee, anger and disappointment warring within him. But as the world crumbled around him, something unfamiliar stirred—a desire not just to survive, but to save, to atone for the fear he had once reveled in.

He scooped up as many as he could, carrying them to higher ground.

At first, they struggled to break free, mistaking his rescue for an act of violence, fearing he meant to crush them in a final moment of rage. But soon they understood his intent and switched to crying to him for help.

As he went back and forth, he noticed the waters rising relentlessly. His efforts seemed futile, yet he felt something new—warmer, more fulfilling than the fear he once inspired. It was the satisfaction of doing good.

Even as the flood swallowed him and those he rescued, the Nephilim smiled. In sacrifice, he found redemption. His monstrous strength, once a tool of terror, became a beacon of love. The world might remember him as a creature of darkness, but his final act was one of pure light.

Maybe, just maybe,  it is this young Nephilim, this unlikely hero, who lives on in the demigod stories of old, a testament that although people are often products of their environment, molded by the values they are exposed to and the examples set before them, it does not have to define them.

Even in a world of shadows, a different choice remains within reach, a path towards the light for those brave enough to make it.

And somewhere, somehow, the young Nephilim may well have received a reward for his noble deeds.

This was part 3 of a 3-part story.

Part 1 is here

Grab the full collection of short stories here