Chapter 15: Echoes of Eden and the Blood Garden
The words of Rebecca kept echoing in my ears like a haunting melody that refused to fade. "Eve... the descendant... protect Precious." It was all too much, swirling in my mind like a storm I couldn't escape. Should I tell Precious the truth? Warn him about the shadows creeping around him? Or should I bear this burden alone, like some reluctant hero in a story I never asked to be part of? The weight of it pressed down on me, making sleep impossible. I tossed and turned on my bed, staring at the ceiling as if the answers were etched into the cracks of the plaster.
Suddenly, there was a soft knock on my door. I froze for a moment, my heart skipping a beat—could it be something sinister? No, that was paranoia talking. I stood up from my bed, my feet padding quietly across the cool floor, and headed to the door. I opened it slowly, peering out into the dimly lit hallway. There stood my mom, holding a steaming cup of tea, her face illuminated by the faint glow from the kitchen light downstairs. She looked tired, but her eyes were filled with that familiar warmth, the kind that could melt away even the darkest worries.
"Mom, what are you doing with this in the middle of the night?" I asked, my voice a mix of surprise and concern. It was well past midnight, and she should have been asleep.
She smiled gently, the lines around her eyes crinkling in that way that always made me feel like a kid again. "Well, I just wanted to check up on you and maybe discuss a little. You seemed so... off when you came back from Precious's house earlier. Like a cloud was hanging over you."
I could see the worry etched into her features. When I'd returned home that evening, I hadn't been able to hide my sadness—the encounter with Rebecca, the revelations about Eve—it had all left me drained, my usual cheer buried under layers of confusion and fear. As the eldest son, I felt this unspoken duty to be the strong one, to shield my family from my troubles. But Mom had always been perceptive, like she had a sixth sense for when something was eating at me.
"Okay, come in," I said, stepping aside and opening the door wider. She entered, her slippers whispering against the floor, and sat down on the edge of my bed. I sat close to her, our shoulders almost touching, and she handed me the cup of tea. The warmth seeped into my hands as I took a small sip—the herbal blend she always made, chamomile with a hint of honey. It was soothing, like a hug in liquid form.
"Divine, hope you like the tea?" she asked, her voice soft and probing.
"Yeah, I do, Mom," I replied quickly, forcing a smile. But inside, my mind was racing. How could I pretend everything was fine when the world felt like it was unraveling?
She tilted her head, studying me. "So, how is life? How's school and everything else?"
I hesitated, then shrugged. "Well, it's fine. It's just the school stress and others." Lies. Things weren't fine at all. The "school stress" was a cover for the crazy mystery unfolding around me—disappearances, sins, defenders. I wished I could spill it all, but I didn't want to drag her into this. As the eldest, I needed to make her smile, not worry her more.
But Mom wasn't buying it. She placed a hand on my arm, her touch gentle yet firm. "Divine, I can see through you. Why lie? I'm your mom. If you need anything, let me know." Her words were calm, but there was an undercurrent of insistence, like she wouldn't let me brush this off.
I became speechless for a second, my mind torn. Should I tell her? About Eve, the possessions, the hidden world lurking beneath our own? The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Then, she took my hands in hers, squeezing them warmly. "Listen to me, my son. Life throws storms at us, doesn't it? But you're stronger than you think. Remember when your father passed? We all felt lost, like the ground had been pulled from under us. But you stepped up, Divine. You helped with your sisters, kept the house running while I grieved. That took courage. Whatever's weighing on you now—school, friends, or something deeper—don't carry it alone. God gave us family for a reason, to lean on each other."
Her words wrapped around me like a blanket, easing some of the tension in my chest. I nodded slowly, feeling a lump form in my throat. "It's just... everything feels overwhelming sometimes, Mom. Like I'm trying to figure out my path, but there are so many shadows in the way."
She smiled, her eyes glistening slightly. "Shadows are just the absence of light, Divine. And light always wins. You've got a good heart, always looking out for others. That's a gift. But don't forget to look after yourself too. Pray about it—God has a plan, even when we can't see it. Here, let me share something with you." She reached over to my nightstand, where my Bible sat, gathering a bit of dust from disuse. Flipping through the pages with practiced ease, she found what she was looking for. "Read this verse from Philippians 4:6-7. 'Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.' See? It's a reminder that worry doesn't add a single hour to our lives, but faith can move mountains."
I read the verse aloud, letting the words sink in. It felt like a balm, even if my problems were far beyond everyday anxieties. "Thanks, Mom. That helps."
We talked a bit longer, her voice a steady anchor. She shared stories from her own youth—how she'd faced uncertainties after marrying Dad, how prayer had guided her through tough times at work. "You're not alone, Divine. Your sisters look up to you, and I'm so proud of the man you're becoming. Just promise me you'll talk to me if it gets too heavy, okay? And keep that verse close—read it every night if you need to."
I promised, feeling a flicker of genuine warmth chase away the chill of my secrets. Eventually, she stood, giving me a hug that lingered just a little longer than usual. "Goodnight, my boy. Sleep well." She left the room with a smile, closing the door softly behind her.
I lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling again. The tea's warmth lingered in my stomach, and Philippians 4:6-7 echoed in my thoughts. Forcing myself to sleep felt like wrestling with shadows, but eventually, exhaustion won.
The alarm rang painfully early the next morning, jolting me awake. I got up like a zombie, my body protesting every movement. I shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to shake off the fog. When I came out of my room, I saw Mom in the living room, watching the news on TV. The same grim stories—people disappearing without a trace, families pleading for answers. It sent a shiver down my spine; was this tied to the "sins" Rebecca and Joseph talked about? My sisters were already dressed for school, chattering excitedly as they grabbed their bags and headed out. I waved them off, then hurried to finish getting ready—shower, clothes, a quick breakfast.
As I stepped out into the crisp morning air, I decided I couldn't wait any longer. I needed answers about Eve. Joseph owed me the truth. So, instead of heading straight to school, I detoured to the temple Rebecca had mentioned. It loomed large as I approached, an ancient structure with towering spires and weathered stone walls that seemed to whisper secrets of forgotten eras. The air around it felt charged, like static before a storm.
I heard noises from inside—murmurs, worried voices. Curious, I pushed open the heavy doors and stepped in. There was a small crowd gathered, their faces etched with anxiety. "Will she make it? Hope she won't die," one woman whispered, wringing her hands.
"Don't worry, the preacher will cure her," another replied, though his tone lacked conviction.
I wove through the group, my eyes scanning for familiar faces. There was Rebecca, standing off to the side, her expression as impassive as ever. I approached her. "What's all this commotion about?"
"Just watch," she replied curtly, her voice like ice. Then, glancing down, she added, "And don't step on that red ritual circle."
I looked down and saw it—a large circle drawn on the floor in what looked like crimson chalk, intricate symbols etched around its perimeter. It pulsed faintly, or maybe that was my imagination. In the center stood a man with white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an air of quiet authority. He looked like an exorcist from some old movie, clad in a simple black suit with a white collar, holding a worn Bible in one hand. Beside him was Joseph, gripping a plain katana that seemed ordinary yet radiated an unspoken menace.
Tied to a stake in the middle of the circle was a young girl, no older than sixteen. Her eyes glowed an unnatural red, and her body twisted unnaturally, as if something else controlled her limbs. She thrashed against the chains binding her, snarling like a wild animal.
Suddenly, she started screaming, her voice a guttural rasp that echoed off the walls. "God is dead! He abandons the weak!" she spat, cursing with venom. Then, twisting Bible verses into mockery: "For God so hated the world that He gave His only begotten Son... to torment and destroy!" She laughed maniacally, a sound that chilled the blood, her head whipping back and forth as foam flecked her lips.
The crowd surrounded the circle but kept a respectful distance, no one daring to cross the line. I overheard Joseph murmuring to the white-haired man, "Seems like this is a possessed Type 3 sin."
The man nodded gravely. "It seems so. I think we should begin."
"Okay, I'll leave the stage for you," Joseph said, stepping aside with a nod.
The white-haired man—Gabriel, I later learned—approached the girl. He held a wooden cross aloft, pressing it firmly against her chest. Immediately, the cross began to melt, like wax under flame, bubbling and hissing as it turned to molten larva on her skin. She howled in agony, but Gabriel didn't flinch. He shrugged off his suit jacket, revealing a simple white shirt, and placed his thumb on her forehead, right between her glowing eyes.
The girl screamed louder, her body convulsing. Gabriel began chanting Bible verses, weaving them into an incantation that resonated with power:
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I command you: 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.' (Psalm 23:1-3) But you, foul spirit, shall find no rest! 'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.' (Psalm 23:4) Be cast out, demon of despair!
"'For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.' (Ephesians 6:12) I bind you with the armor of God—the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness!
"'Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.' (James 4:7) Flee now, sin of possession! 'The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.' (John 1:5) Let the light pierce your veil!"
As he spoke, the entire room began shaking violently. Bricks loosened from the walls, tumbling to the floor with crashes that sent dust billowing. The crowd gasped, some ducking for cover. The air grew thick, charged with an otherworldly energy. This was power from God, raw and terrifying. Then, in a blinding flash, the room dissolved around us, reforming into something nightmarish—a red bloody garden, a domain that defied reality.
The world shifted seamlessly, like stepping through a mirror into hell's reflection. We stood in an endless expanse of crimson roses, their petals dripping with fresh blood that pooled on the ground like rivers of ruby. The sky above was a swirling vortex of dark red clouds, lightning flashing in hues of scarlet and black. Thorned vines twisted up from the earth, forming grotesque arches and walls that enclosed us in a labyrinthine garden. The air smelled metallic, like iron and decay, and faint whispers echoed from the flowers—as if the roses themselves were murmuring ancient curses. In the distance, massive blood-red trees loomed, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching for the heavens. This wasn't just a place; it was a domain, a pocket reality born from Gabriel's cross, where the laws of physics bent to spiritual warfare. Time felt distorted here, seconds stretching into eternities, and the boundary between life and death blurred.
I was scared and surprised at the same time, my heart pounding like a drum. Glancing around, I realized the crowd was gone—it was just me, Rebecca, Joseph, and Gabriel in this eerie realm. Blood stained every flower, seeping into the soil that squelched underfoot. I was about to panic, my breath coming in short gasps.
"Don't panic," Rebecca said calmly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "If you do, your heart might stop beating, and it would affect you in the real world."
I stared at her, confusion overriding fear for a moment. "Real world? So what world is this?"
"This is Mr. Gabriel's Cross World," she explained. "It allows only people with the Defenders' blood to enter and see this domain. It's a sacred space manifested from his faith and his weapon—the cross. Here, sins and possessions are stripped bare, forced into their true forms for battle."
"This is really deep," I muttered. "Defenders' blood... so that means..."
"Yeah," Rebecca interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact. "The blood flows within you. You're part of us now, whether you like it or not."
I didn't want to accept that. It felt like a curse more than a gift. "But how can a cross have a world?"
Rebecca sighed, as if explaining to a child. "Let me break it down for you. Defenders are chosen ones, descendants of ancient bloodlines tied to biblical guardians—think of them as spiritual warriors against sins that manifest in our world. Sins aren't just moral failings; they're entities, twisted spirits born from humanity's fall. Each Defender has a unique weapon infused with their power to combat these sins. For me and Mr. Joseph, it's katanas—mine channels shadows and illusions, his draws on ancient samurai purity to sever corruption at its root. But Mr. Gabriel here is a preacher, a caster of exorcisms. His weapon is the cross, symbolizing Christ's victory over evil. When activated, it creates this domain: the Blood Garden. It's a manifestation of the blood of the Lamb, turning the battlefield into a holy ground where sins can't hide. Only those with Defenders' blood can enter without being consumed—it's like a spiritual filter. In here, we fight the true essence of the possession, away from the eyes of the uninitiated. Time flows differently; what feels like hours here might be seconds in the real world. And abilities? Not everyone has flashy powers, but as a Defender, you'll awaken something unique. It's tied to your faith, your resolve. Ignore it, and it withers; embrace it, and you become a force against the darkness."
Her explanation clicked into place, making the chaos feel... structured. Damn, so everyone has an ability as far as you're a Defender? I asked, "So, everyone has an ability as long as you're a Defender?"
Rebecca didn't reply; she just ignored me, her eyes fixed on the fight ahead. She's so mean as ever.
Gabriel, meanwhile, had released the possessed girl from her chains. She shot up into the air like an eagle, her body contorting mid-flight, red eyes blazing with malice. She landed with a thud, her limbs jerking unnaturally as she circled us. "I will kill you! I will kill you all!" she snarled, her voice echoing across the garden.
In a blink, she vanished, reappearing right in front of me, her twisted smile inches from my face. I shook with terror, certain this was the end. As she lunged, claws extended, the blood roses surged to life, forming a thorny shield that slammed into her, sending her flying back with a screech. She crashed into a bed of flowers, blood splattering everywhere.
Gabriel wasted no time. He gripped his staff—a simple wooden rod topped with a cross—and charged. The girl recovered quickly, leaping at him with feral speed. Gabriel swung the staff, connecting with her side; she screamed as holy energy crackled along her skin, burning like acid. She retaliated, swiping with elongated nails that grazed his arm, drawing blood. But Gabriel didn't falter; he spun, the staff whistling through the air, striking her leg and forcing her to kneel.
The garden responded to the battle—the roses writhed, thorns shooting out like arrows. One pierced the girl's shoulder, pinning her momentarily as she howled. She broke free, her body morphing, skin rippling with dark veins. She dashed forward again, faster this time, landing a punch to Gabriel's chest that sent him staggering. He coughed, blood on his lips, but his eyes burned with determination. "You shall not prevail!" he shouted, thrusting the staff forward. It glowed white-hot, searing her arm as she blocked; the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
She laughed through the pain, circling him like a predator. "Your God is weak!" She unleashed a barrage of strikes—claws raking, kicks aimed at his knees. Gabriel dodged most, his movements surprisingly agile for his age, parrying with the staff. Each contact elicited a scream from her, sparks of divine light erupting on impact. He countered with a sweeping strike, knocking her off balance, then followed up with an uppercut that cracked against her jaw.
The fight intensified; vines from the garden lashed out, entangling her legs, but she shredded them with her claws, freeing herself. Gabriel pressed the advantage, chanting under his breath as he struck—each blow weakening the possession, black smoke seeping from her wounds. She grabbed his staff, trying to wrench it away, but it burned her hands, forcing her to release with a yelp. In that opening, Gabriel slammed the cross-end into her abdomen; she doubled over, vomiting shadows that writhed on the ground before dissipating.
Exhausted but unbroken, the girl made one last desperate lunge, aiming for his throat. Gabriel sidestepped, bringing the staff down on her back with a resounding crack. She collapsed, twitching.
Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the roses coiled around her like living chains, binding her tight. Joseph approached then, his katana gleaming. With precision, he stabbed her chest—not to kill, but to pierce the core of the sin. She gasped, eyes widening. Joseph withdrew the blade, then plunged his hand into the wound, ripping out a grotesque heart pulsing with multiple eyes, dripping blood. The heart screamed, a piercing wail that shook the garden.
Joseph stabbed it once, then Gabriel doused it with holy oil from a vial. It ignited, burning to ashes in seconds.
I was stunned by this miraculous work, a symphony of faith and fury. But a pang hit me—the crowd couldn't witness this masterpiece in 4K; to them, it would seem instantaneous.
Gabriel placed the cross on the girl's head, and in a flash, we returned to the normal room. The girl slumped, then stirred, her eyes clearing to a normal brown. The possession was gone. The crowd erupted in cheers, hugging her, thanking Gabriel profusely. "He just touched her, and she was healed!" one exclaimed. Indeed, time worked differently in the Blood Garden—what felt like an epic battle had been mere moments here.
As the crowd thinned, I approached Joseph. He wasn't surprised to see me; in fact, he seemed to expect it. "Well, I wanted to discuss something," I said.
"About joining the Defenders?" he asked quickly. Why was he so obsessed with me joining?
"So you must be Sohwo's son, Divine?" Gabriel interjected, his voice deep and resonant. He eyed me appraisingly.
"Yes, I'm Divine. It's nice to meet you, sir." I shook his hand, but his grip was iron, and his gaze pierced like a blade.
He frowned. "You don't look promising like your father. You're a cat afraid to approach your faith. Your spirit and zeal are weak."
Ouch. Scary guy. Joseph pulled up chairs, and we sat—me, Gabriel, and Joseph—in a small circle amid the temple's fading echoes.
"Hmm, an evil spirit around your friend?" Gabriel said, as if reading my mind.
"Yeah, Eve—the descendant of Eden. She's alive," Joseph replied.
Curiosity burned. "If I may ask, how is this Eve related to the Garden of Eden?"
Joseph leaned back. "There are many stories surrounding Eden. What do you think Eden is like?"
"Well, it's a paradise home for our first parents, Adam and Eve, and they lost it," I said.
"Half-brain," Joseph shot back annoyingly.
That's the half of the story. Do you know why God told them not to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and bad?"
"Well, according to Genesis 2:16-17, 'Jehovah God also gave a command to the man: "From every tree of the garden you may eat to satisfaction. But as for the tree of the knowledge of good and bad, you must not eat from it, for in the day you eat from it you will certainly die."'"
"You're correct," Gabriel said, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence. "But that tree opened the gate to a world of sins and spirits. As soon as Adam ate from it, influenced by Eve—who was deceived by the serpent—the veil tore. Eden wasn't just a garden; it was a barrier, a divine seal between the physical world and the realm of eternal spirits. The fruit wasn't mere knowledge; it was the key to unleashing sins as living entities—pride, wrath, envy, all birthed from that act of defiance.
"But here's the mystery few know: Eve didn't die immediately, as the command suggested. She bore children—Cain, Abel, Seth—and through her line, a hidden bloodline persisted. The serpent's deception wasn't just a lie; it infused Eve with a fragment of its essence, a 'descendant' curse. Over millennia, this bloodline diluted, but in rare cases, it awakens—a woman born as 'Eve's heir,' embodying the original sin's power. She can manipulate sins, possess others, or summon domains like echoes of lost Eden. The disappearances? Likely her work, harvesting souls to rebuild a twisted paradise. Your friend Precious is entangled because his purity draws her—like the serpent to the innocent. We Defenders trace back to Seth's line, guardians against this corruption. If this Eve lives, she seeks to reopen Eden's gates, flooding the world with unchecked sin. But prophecy whispers of a final confrontation, where a reluctant Defender—like you, perhaps—must choose: seal her away or fall to her temptation."
I was really shocked, the weight of ancient mysteries crashing down. This wasn't just a story; it was my reality now, hooking me deeper into the unknown. What would I do next? The shadows were closing in, and the choice loomed like a storm on the horizon.