The Culling Begins

By Anthony DeGroot

Twelve Spirit Oaks guard Eden from The Great Deceiver trapped deep within Tartarus. After standing for as long as anyone can remember, the Spirit Oaks begin to vanish from the world. Two opposing forces begin to clash. As a member of The Order struggles to protect the trees, a Dark Figure is on a quest to rid Eden of its supposed blight. Narrow is the gate to save Eden; broad is the path to its destruction. Join Marcus, a member of The Order, on his quest to try and save Eden. He will not face the journey alone. Companions will be made, faith may falter, courage will be tested, and unimaginable horrors will surely be encountered as they all fight for survival—their own and that of the Spirit Oaks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638441588

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The Culling Begins

Anthony DeGroot

Copyright © 2021 by Anthony DeGroot

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

All scripture quotations, paraphrases, and inspiration of Bible verses were done utilizing the (NASB) New American Standard Bible, Copyright 1960, 1971, 1977, 1995, 2020 by the Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. All rights reserved. www.lockman.org.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

This book is dedicated to my lovely and amazing wife.

Thank you for all of your love and support.

And to my son, for all of the story times that I missed.

This book utilizes characters, themes, events, and scripture from the Holy Bible. Though this is the case, this book is not a commentary, expanding on, or adding to Scripture, but rather a fun fantasy adventure to touch on events and characters in the Bible.

Enjoy.

Prologue

The Spirit Oak stood as they all did, its white oak coarse, thick, and firm. The albino leaves hung from it motionless. It stood silent, untouched by the elements in the middle of a barren patch of ground. No other trees or plants dared encroach on the ground claimed by the Spirit Oak. The ground even lost its color and was charred black. The contrast of the white oak against the scorched earth was surreal, disturbing, yet oddly beautiful.

The ever-encroaching green sentinels stood outside the black earth, healthy and vibrant, only a hundred paces away. Even as the wind would rock them, not a single leaf would stir on the Spirit Oak. Over the centuries, the rain and snow would fall and coat the green sentinels and the ground around them, but no element dared touch the ground of the Spirit Oak.

Even The Daughters of the Forest never approached the Spirit Oak out of fear and reverence. No living being could step foot on the scorched earth and survive, or so the myth went. It had been that way for thousands of years, ever since the Spirit Oaks came into the world, until today…

The Dark Figure stood at the edge of the natural order, the lush green ground under his bare feet, and barren land inches from his toes. He stood with eerie confidence as if his mere existence challenged the natural order of the world. The black cloak he wore was not illuminated by the light of the suns but, rather, swallowed it.

His face was hidden behind the mask he wore of pure-white sun-scorched bone—a skull, or rather a trophy, of the first demon he had slain. Though it was a mask, it still appeared alive, with its two-foot-long horns coming from its forehead and three-inch horns coming out of its jawbones. Its teeth, though not large, were numerous and sharp. Its eye sockets were black, devoid of all light, emotion, feeling, and soul. It looked as if it was…alive. The hood on the cloak was not drawn but, rather, rested with his broad shoulders. On his massive back was slung the shaft of a massive axe, still sheathed.

The mysterious figure took one last deep breath in, not to curb his anxiety of fear but to quarrel his excitement. After he exhaled, he took the first step. As his dirty, calloused, blackened foot came up from the lush ground, you could almost hear it sigh in relief. But as his foot came into contact with the barren wasteland created by the Spirit Oak, ash that had remained undisturbed for thousands of years puffed up, and the ground began to hiss and steam. Whether this was from the ground trying to expel this foreigner or the Dark Figure bending the ground to its will, even the world could not tell.

As he strode, step after step, the mask almost seemed to grin, and if its wearer was experiencing pain, the emotionless mask and his posture didn’t show it. In his wake, steam and ash swirled up without aim or destination.

He stopped at the base of the great white oak. He unsheathed his great axe; it gleamed of black steel, and red swirls constantly moved, like blood in the water. His weapon, this axe, gave off an aura of violence; it wanted death and to drink the blood of all, even its wielder. For it was forged in the Hellforge of the Outer Darkness, and no being, mortal or demon, could wield such a weapon without it agreeing to the task.

If one were to observe from a distance, they would have sworn on their life that two entities stood before the tree, not one.

The Dark Figure stood there, axe in hand, expressionless mask, and the world stopped. Even the weightless ash and steam seemed to freeze in the air, as he raised his axe over his shoulder and swung it towards the Spirit Oak. As the axe bit into the bark, you could hear a sigh of relief as it feasted on the husk of the tree. The stillness shattered once the axe pierced the white oak and the first albino leaf was shaken from the tree and fell toward the ground.

The ground trembled with thunderous might. The ground cracked and splintered, and a great wind came, not from a direction but from the heavens, forcing all the ash and mist back to the ground with such might it tore up the black earth and forced the fresh green sentinels to bow away, almost snapping them. All the while, the Dark Figure stood solid and unmoved at the base of the Spirit Oak.

He pulled the axe from the tree, and red sap oozed from the wound. The axe came down again and again, chewing through the tree, licking up the sap. All the while the earth never ceased shaking, and the vortex of wind increased with each stroke.

As this torment continued, red sap flowed from the heart of the tree like a river, washing over the mysterious figure’s feet, yet the black steel of his Hellforge axe stayed clean, almost like it was absorbing the lifeblood of the Spirit Oak.

As the final swing sunk into the tree, a loud, audible snap came, not so much as the bark buckling, but more of the sound of agony. Once that sound pierced the air, it pushed him back from the tree, staggering him, and the wind stopped and the ground stood still as if nature itself was watching to see what would happen. As the figure straightened, the tree stood for a second longer. Then, without warning, the Spirit Oak that stood tall and silent for thousands of years began to fall to the ground. As it descended, the lush ground started replacing the black scorched earth, encroaching on where the mighty oak once stood and had long ago rejected the lush ground from being.

As the Spirit Oak, with its white bark, was about to strike the ground, it vanished from existence. The world rushed in, grass and trees sprouted out of the ground and stood as if they had always been there. The only evidence that served as an indicator that the Spirit Oak ever had stood there was a white stump surrounded by lush green ground and trees that appeared decades old.

The dark, mysterious figure stood with the axe in hand and muttered something, not to himself but to the axe and the mask he wore, One down, eleven to go.

Chapter 1

The day sun, Kril, beat down on his weathered face. Sweat rolled off his brow and bald head, stinging his eyes, yet he showed no indication that it bothered him. He had been traveling for weeks to get to the site of the disturbance. Being turned around twice in The Forest of the Forgotten had slowed his progress.

The hot and humid air was sucking the water out of him, and his horse, Viktor, had weathered it well thus far, but the rider could tell that his horse needed a break. But who was he kidding? He needed a break. As much as needing a break called to him, he was unwilling to give in, at least until Kril had set and Lazarus, the night sun, had risen in the west.

He had turned off the main road many days earlier. According to the map he had, and from ancient accounts, he should have been at the Spirit Oak days ago. As Viktor continued on and on, passing the tall, towering sentinels, his rider’s mind drifted to how this journey had begun.

* * * * *

He remembered waking up with a start. He had completed his meditation and prayers for the morning, yet something troubled his soul. He had lain down to ease his spirit, soul, and body. After only an hour of lying down, it felt as though something was ripped out of him. He couldn’t breathe or focus for over a minute, and he thought, Why me? Why now? I’m not ready to die yet.

Terror filled his being, but as his vision began to close in on him, his lungs opened up, and he breathed in so deep that it made his lungs hurt. He immediately tossed on his robe and sandals and left his chambers. Instead of walking in his normal heavy-footed, confident, warrior way, his feet dragged and shuffled against the flat stones of the corridor. He shuffled his way to his Magister’s chambers.

As he raised his massive hand to knock on the heavy wooden door, his Magister called to him in a troubled voice, Enter, Marcus.

Startled but not necessarily surprised, Marcus slowly pushed the door open, and the iron hinges screamed down the corridor. Marcus hoped he hadn’t woken any of the other Brothers of The Order as he entered.

His Magister was a younger man than himself, but in The Order, age never dictated rank or responsibility. Each member of The Order had divine gifts and abilities that had been bestowed upon them. In this way, they served The Order with those gifts and abilities. Here in the Upper Room, the Magister led, taught, and instructed all of them regarding all things supernatural. In essence, the Magister was the master of The Order. Marcus knew that his ability was in strategy and tactics and in being a warrior. In the field of battle, Marcus led. If the Magister was ever to find himself in combat, the Magister would follow Marcus’s word without question.

He saw his Magister sitting on his meditation pillow, legs crossed under him, eyes closed, and an aura of knowledge radiating from him. Marcus stood in the doorway, his massive frame filling the entrance. His Magister looked so small in comparison, and many outsiders never understood why this battle-hardened warrior would be receiving guidance from this boy. But the ways of the world never bothered them, for The Order had been blessed from its founding.

It was Marcus who broke the silence. Pardon my intrusion, Magister, but… unable to explain the feeling deep within him, he was tongue-tied. Without missing a step, as if connected to his mind, the Magister finished Marcus’s thought.

You felt it too.

Yes, Magister.

Come, sit. Let us fellowship together. The Magister gestured with both hands to a space before him.

Marcus closed the wooden door behind him. Even sitting across from his Magister, Marcus was an entire head taller than him.

So what was it? Marcus asked in a weary and troubled voice.

Marcus, let us see if you can answer your own question, the Magister said in a scholarly and respectful tone. What is the purpose of The Order?

We are charged with protecting the Spirit Oaks, as they are the last surviving signs of The Great One.

Very good, Marcus. How many Spirit Oaks are there?

Magister, you know as well as I that there are twelve. A hint of frustration was laced in Marcus’s response.

And how many guardians are bound to each one, Marcus? The Magister’s voice was unchanging even after noticing the frustration. He was expecting Marcus to work past these elementary questions to find his own answer. For his guidance was just that, to guide the warrior to the truth that his heart already knew.

There are twelve guardians, one for each of the Spirit Oaks. A man anointed by The Great One to serve and protect a single Spirit Oak.

Marcus had finished the comment in a matter-of-fact tone. The Magister sat in silence, allowing Marcus to process his own response. Then all at once, his mind was flooded with what had happened. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he whispered, Impossible.

Is it?

Yes! For we are the only beings blessed to step foot on the sacred ground and approach the Spirit Oaks. No other being is capable of doing so!