Intrinsic Value

Tonight was an important night. The humans were gathered at their secret meeting—a meeting I had taken great pains to find out about. It was hard to believe that some humans still practiced that dead, outdated religion. They were called Christians, and they had formed a secret, underground society over the years to preserve their hideous, outdated ideals.

Since I was fourteen, I had been put in charge of upholding the values of the Nephilim, which promoted maximizing one’s own potential to promote a better society and fulfill one’s own happiness. My mom had come down with a bad case of depression shortly after I was born, and my father, being an angel, wasn’t a part of our lives. Mom, unable to take care of me, sent me to an orphanage where the ideals of the Nephilim were upheld. 

I had been so very unhappy at the human orphanagesuntil I was sent there and to the Nephilim school next to it. I found deep pleasure and satisfaction in maximizing my own potential and rising through the ranks to become a top officer among the Nephilim army. My captain, Asmodeus,, had been an inspiration to me. He had been instrumental in reducing human crime to practically nil, and for thousands of years had squashed all threats to the Nephilim and their ideals. 

I had worked under him for two years now, and he had given me the very special job of snuffing out political threats to our society. Christianity was an undying weed, nearly impossible to yank out, and the biggest threat. But underground book clubs possessing illegal materials such as history books, fiction, and anything other than textbooks were also a threat. 

Tonight, I had been assigned to take out a well-loved pastor who had evaded capture for years. He was incredibly hard to pin down, as he always moved his little meetings from place to place, and never used the same location twice. The house he was at tonight was at 1053 South Cherrytree Lane.

I assigned two of my men to guard the back exits of the property, and then I took a deep breath. I kicked the door down with ease and crouched to enter the premises. Human houses had not been retrofitted to accommodate a nine-foot-tall Nephilim.

All the humans were looking at me in white-faced horror. But after a moment, they merely looked resigned. They continued listening to their sermon, the false words practically burning my ears. Some claptrap about giving to the poor in spirit. 

I was so furious that I hadn’t inspired more fear in them that my knuckles turned white on my baton. Me and my fellows charged them. Towering over them, it was difficult for us to hold back—to keep them alive—but somehow, we managed it. We seized the illegal literature after we had crumpled the Believers to the floor. Most of them had screamed hideously, and I had turned even more inconsolably angry as one of the Believers fought me over possession of his Bible.

What was the fool thinking? Trying to save this book of fiction over himself? I kicked him to the floor and stomped on his leg, breaking it for extra measure and then ripping the literature apart in front of his eyes. He hadn’t cried in pain at all, but he had when I had done that.

We rounded them all up, clapping manacles on them and dragging them out of the house. We threw them all in prison, and then we reported back to Asmodeus. He praised us and then told us to get some rest. 

I went home and intended to sleep deeply that night, content that I had done my part in preserving our great civilization. 

But as I tried to drift into sleep, something kept bothering me. The young man whose leg I had broken kept popping into my mind, disrupting my sleep. I tossed and turned, but eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. I dreamed of my mother, sitting with unblinking eyes, staring at the wall vacantly. I dreamed of the looks of utter disgust she had given me as I grew up. I dreamed of the day she had given me to the orphanage, in which she had told me, not with words, but with her eyes, “You look like your father, but I don’t have the heart to kill you.” 

It was a recurring dream I consistently had, and I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling uneasy and unstable in my own skin. I looked in the mirror, seeing a face that looked unnatural in the mirror, and a sickness churning in my stomach at seeing it. I sank to the floor feeling that old revulsion that I hadn’t felt since mom had given me up—since I had become accomplished and successful. Since I could go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. 

But that man, wrestling me for that piece of literature at the risk of his own life haunted me when I closed my eyes. 

Suddenly, I shot up and marched out of my house. I went to the police station and demanded the young man be released to me. He couldn’t walk, so I put him in a wheelchair and I wheeled him to my perfectly manicured front yard. The man was frightened, but he chose not to say anything. 

I asked him, “What is your name?”

“Hunter.” 

“Are you afraid of me?” I asked him.

Hunter appraised me for a moment. He ended up saying, “I’m afraid of the physical pain you might make me endure in this life. But I know all my tears will be wiped away in the afterlife.” 

I was only more infuriated. “You should be afraid! I can break all your limbs, not just your arms and legs!” 

I tightened my hand into a fist, intending to demonstrate.

But Hunter looked at me, completely unafraid. No worse, he looked at me with pity. I stayed my hand with great effort.

“That’s how you handle anyone who has found peace. With force?” Hunter asked.

Unable to control myself, I slammed my fist into his face. It was smashed in—no longer appealing to look at. I smiled, having wiped that smug smile off his face. But still, he had not trembled or shown any sign of fear.

“Wouldn’t you miss anything this earth has to offer?” I was the one whose eyes were turning glassy without permission.

“I would miss my girlfriend and adopted parents.” He said. “But I would be going to a place so unimaginably beautiful that it wouldn’t matter. I would see them again, regardless.”

“Adopted parents.” I echoed, bristling. 

His face, resigned to his fate, suddenly lit up with a smile. “You had adopted parents?”

I didn’t like the smile he had given me. “Foster parents.” I clarified.

He nodded, now understanding. “I see. Your experience was different from mine.”

There was silence between us, then I asked, “This secret society—Christianity—why is it so impossible to destroy?”

“Because it’s the truth, and truth is impossible to destroy.” He answered.

I considered that. I could feel my rage giving way to a sort of curiosity. “You said you’re unafraid of what I can do to your body. What are you afraid of?”

“Only what sin can do to my soul.” He answered.

“And what is sin?”

“Turning away from God.”

There was a rage swirling inside me as uncontainable as a tornado. “Then my father has turned against god?”

“Yes. But you don't have to. What is your name?” He asked. 

“Ephraim. And what makes you think you’re going to this supposed glorious afterlife of yours, even if it does exist?”

Now, there was a look of pain on his face. I grinned, and having finally shut him up, I threw him back in jail.

I continued to find and throw the Christians in jail. I would beat them within an inch of their lives, and destroy their literature, but no matter how many I put away, more seemed to crop up. In fact, the number of them seemed to increase. Then, I thought about what Hunter had said—about him fearing for his soul, his worries about going to the afterlife. I realized I may need to learn more about the secret society in order to stop it from growing.

As it happened, I kept running into Ephraim on many of my raids. I captured him again, and forced him to teach me more of his religion. 

“How easy is it to commit sin? How hard is it to go to ‘heaven’?”

“It is incredibly easy to commit sin. The path to heaven is narrow.” He answered.

“Why does your god permit suffering?”

“To make us more like his son.”

Every time I went on a raid, I would break their spirits as well. I ripped a bible apart in front of one of the believers and taunted him, “Your god is not real. But if he was, you are not going to heaven anyway. Lying is a sin, everyone lies, therefore, all of you are going to hell.” 

Some of the well-versed Christians could answer, “Christ has covered my sins.”

“Your reasons for suffering are ridiculous.”

I had no idea what that meant, but I silenced these Believers with a sound punch to their jaws. 

Outwardly, I was as powerful and insurmountable as always. Inside, I was facing an excruciating torment at the fact that I still couldn’t break most of these Christians. They would get released and go right back to worshiping. They survived like cockroaches no matter how many times I tried to crush them under my feet. 

On one of my raids, I cracked bones, knocked teeth out, beat faces to a bloody pulp, and obliterated souls. Then, gunfire crackled through the air, and a bullet embedded itself into my arm. I shrieked and writhed, then crushed the skull of the man who had fired the gun underfoot.

I reported back to Asmodeus.

He looked at me sadly. “With one arm… I am afraid you are no longer useful to us. I’m sorry. I will give you a pension to live comfortably, but your career with us is done.”

“But sir!” I protested. “I have crushed the most Christians of anyone else, not just their bodies but their souls and practices!”

He didn’t know what a soul was, and was not impressed. He said, “Be content with the riches you will be given. Your services have been appreciated.” 

I couldn’t believe my ears. Just like that, my career and everything it had given me was stolen away. I went home, where I had been holding Hunter captive, and I simply sat by the cage I had locked him in despondently.

No one spoke for the longest time. I didn’t expect him to. But suddenly, after three hours passed, he asked, “Are you well?” 

I didn’t know what to say. There was an inconsolable rage at the fact that he dared even ask me that, but then, the rage was put out in a storm of self pity. “I did everything for them, and I’ve been let go. Now Christianity will spread like wildfire without me there to put it out.” 

Hunter looked at me pensively, then said slowly, “They only wanted you for what your body could do for them. Now that you can’t be of use, you’ve become useless in their eyes. You shouldn’t have worshiped them as gods.”

I turned to him, my eyes wild with anger. “And you? What use are you to your god when you are locked up in here?”

“I have intrinsic value. All humans do.” 

He seemed to have an answer for everything. I looked down, unable to help the tears cascading from my eyes. “How can you be so calm and content, when your father abandoned you? The only one you can rely on is yourself in this world.”

He laughed, “My father never abandoned me. Even now, I’m promised eternity so long as I am faithful to him. The more you rely on him, the closer you become.”

Something inside me that I didn’t know was there ached horribly at his words. I was wiping tears away. My family had abandoned me, and then, my makeshift family in the army had abandoned me. “Once again, my flesh has betrayed me. My mother hated me because I looked like my father, and now, I am hated because I’m missing an arm.” 

“You aren’t listening. Humans are loved for intrinsically by god—“

“I’m only half human. Does God love me?” I asked.

His face fell. He had no answer. But eventually he said, “I think he does. You’re still part human after all.” 

I didn’t know what was right or wrong. All I knew was that this Christian who I had beaten and abused was the only one who was sticking by me, who somehow didn’t hate me despite the fact that I had only brought him pain. I set him free.

He was stunned. 

He opened his mouth, wondering if he should say something and risk me closing it with a punch again. Then, he asked, “Would you like to come to church with me?” 

“Church?”

“That’s what we call our underground society.” He clarified.

“They would tar and feather me for all I’ve done.” I replied.

He smiled gently, shaking his head. “No. Not all of them. Most will welcome you with open arms, if they are who they say they are.”

They might kill me, but I didn’t have anything to lose. I joined him. It was quite a sight for them, I think, to see a giant among them, listening as aptly as they were. They stared, many were terrified, but many just had questions that I had difficulty answering. 

I kept going, kept learning. Suddenly, I was praying. I had no answers. I had relied on myself, and that had only led to disaster. 

I was becoming convinced, which was terrifying for me. Hunter and all the pastors had no answer as to whether I could go to heaven or not, being what I was. 

I had experienced a raid for the first time on one of my outings. I was praying with everyone else when the Nephilim arrived. 

The absolute terror of it was not something I had expected. I knew the Christians whose bodies they were breaking. One of them had made me dinner, another had provided care to my useless arm, still one more had prayed for me every night. 

Now, their bodies were being thrown, broken, smashed and bloodied. 

I had never felt an anger like I had that night; A righteous anger that leapt out of me like an uncaged beast. I fought back, defending my friends and their bibles. I wrestled the Nephilim one-handed and managed to take them down, I was so filled with rage. 

I managed to get them to leave, they were so horrified at the wild look in my eyes. I helped my friends up tearfully. They were barely recognizable.

This was what I had done to them all these years? 

I looked at my hands, and I fell on my knees before Hunter asking, “How can I possibly be forgiven?”

“If you repent then your sins are already covered.” He answered.

“Why should he cover them? His body was beaten and mangled like yours and yet he still had such love for you? Such love can’t exist for creatures that are so unloveable.” I sobbed hysterically.

“It’s like a father’s love. It’s unconditional.” He answered.

“I have no father!” I cried.

Nonetheless, I could see the value in being with these Christians who forgave me despite what I had done. I kept going to their studies, and ended up in jail with them. It was a never ending cycle of being caught and released, and yet I couldn’t stop going. The Nephilim told me to renounce my faith, but it was like renouncing the truth. I couldn’t do it. 

Then, one day, we were worshiping as always. Our bodies were crushed, broken, bloodied, and suddenly, I understood. The love Christ had for us was inexplicable. Similar to how I kept coming back to worship, he would never stop running to us to save our souls.

We were on our knees praying at a service one day, and I was grateful for all of it. All the suffering, all the happiness, everything I had experienced had moved me toward Christ. I heard a gin cock. I turned around. A gun was pointed at Hunter. I acted without thinking, and took the bullet. I lay dying in his arms. I was so terribly afraid. 

“I wish that I had a father like yours when I was in the foster system.” I wept.

He looked down at me, tears in his own eyes. “Don’t you know? We have the same mother and the same father.”

I was in shock. “We’re half brothers?”

“Yes. And I had a terrible experience in foster care, too. But my real father always loved me. He loves you, too.”

I smiled weakly, suddenly at peace. “Will I go to heaven?”

His voice was more certain this time. “You will.”

I closed my eyes. Finally, the meaningless chasm within me was filled with a soul. A bright light enveloped me like a father’s hug, something I had never experienced on earth.