But then, my sons always were peculiar creatures. Too monstrous to seduce mortal women willingly, too proud to take by force what wasn’t offered.
Such constant disappointments.
Until now.
For the first time in ages, excitement stirs in my chest.
The oversight seems obvious now. The intermingling of angelic essence with human blood is how beings like me came to exist originally. In the early days, when angels first walked this plane, mortal women gladly offered themselves to such magnificent creatures, believing us to be gods incarnate.
They called our offspring Nephilim in their sacred texts. We were worshipped, lived lives of unparalleled glory, until one by one, my brethren were either destroyed or ascended to the eternal planes during the great separation. But I knew the higher beings took my kind more from duty than desire. In that sterile realm of endless meditation, there would be no true power for me to grasp.
So I remained behind, the last of my lineage. But solitude bred weakness. I needed soldiers.
How bitter the irony that I alone cannot procreate. How desperately I tried, century after century, to create life through my own essence. Instead, I was forced to become a thief, stealing light from beyond the celestial gates, exhausting nearly all my creative force to fashion these ungrateful sons.
These backstabbing children who never appreciated the sacrifices I made to grant them the greatest gift: existence on this rich, earthly plane ripe for conquest.
A father’s work is never finished, it seems. And now I discover I have become a grandfather.
For centuries after their betrayal, I have watched from the shadows, slowly rebuilding my strength. During my long convalescence, the ember of my life force has gradually grown back to blazing flame. The wound my son inflicted nearly destroyed me, but I am patient. I am eternal.
Times have changed, and I have allowed it, knowing that one day opportunity would present itself. Our moment of true glory would arrive.
And here it is at last.
Wastefully, my sons imprisoned themselves in that moldering castle, allowing the world of men to flourish unchecked. Fools, letting such glorious potential slip through their claws while they wallowed in misplaced guilt.
I could hardly believe my fortune when I witnessed my eldest son carrying that small human female back to his stone tomb. When she fled days later, I laughed and went to intercept her, uncertain of my intentions but sensing change stirring in the air.
My timing proved perfect. I had nearly regained full strength after my extended recovery. Abaddon may not have killed me, but he had reduced my blazing essence to mere smoldering ash. It has taken two centuries to rebuild that flame to its former magnificence.
Now I am ready to reclaim what was always mine.
All thoughts of using the mortal woman as leverage against my son evaporated the moment I caught her scent and realized what the fool had accomplished through sheer accident.
She carried angelic life within her womb.
A new generation.
That which I was never able to achieve—recreating perfect angelic specimens—he had stumbled into through mere rutting! The irony would be amusing if it weren’t so infuriating.
So I protected her, playing the kindly stranger, ensuring she would return to him and bear the child safely. My plans extend far beyond immediate gratification. Taking the infant now would provide delicious suffering for the son who wounded me, yes, but I have learned patience during these long years of exile.
Why settle for one new soldier when an entire vista of possibilities stretches before me?
My sons need consorts. All of them.
And given how long it took evenoneto find a suitable mate, I cannot trust them to manage this crucial task themselves.
The little angel-child will grow strong and powerful under my guidance when the time comes.
As for her mother... well, she has proven herself quite capable of manufacturing exactly what I require. Perhaps she will continue to produce more offspring.
As for my other sons, they will need their own breeding stock. The world has grown populous with suitable candidates since I last walked freely among mortals. So many lovely possibilities to choose from.
The age of hiding in shadows is nearly over. Soon, my true children will take their rightful place as rulers of this realm, with armies of perfect soldiers at their command.
I have waited centuries for this moment. I can wait a little longer for the perfect opportunity to reclaim my rightful place as patriarch of this family.
But not much longer.
After all, what father doesn’t want his children to be happy? I will give them everything they desire... for a price they haven’t yet realized they’ll have to pay.
After all, Creator-Father knows best.
