The walls of latrine were streaked with condensation. The dry plywood soaked it up with unforgiving thirst as the nearby stalls belched steam and water. For now though, they lay dormant. The first wave to return from the field had already passed through the showers, leaving the grime covered floorboards streaked with darkened footprints and spots of crimson blood. Just outside, along the bent plank steps, two figures shuffled hastily up into the humid interior.

           “There we go, there we go, come on, nice and easy now…” Silo muttered in a rather faulty attempt to console his comrade. Soren leaned against him with one arm over his shoulder, stumbling wildly this way and that. The shock and injury he had received from the field still left him crippled. Finally he careened down onto a nearby bench, letting out an exhausted sigh as he did.

           “There, not so bad is it? Now lets get this shit off of you…” Silo went on. With some effort he managed to peel the stained jacket off Soren’s back, leaving on a tattered undershirt beneath. This too was removed and tossed aside. All the while Soren tried to form words.

           “Wh-wh-wh, aaat, happ”

           “Shhh shhh, come on now take it slowly now. You’re still in shock, lets get you cleaned up and then we can talk eh?”

           Silo moved down to Soren’s feet, prying off each muddy boot. Soren just sat there, staring ahead at the row of showers. The skin on his back was shredded by broken glass , mingling with a grotesque myriad of stranger’s blood when he fell onto the humor soaked soil. Silo stood him up and lead him toward one of the stall.

           “Alright, there we go, I’ll leave the rest to you. You think you can manage that?” he asked rather slowly. Soren nodded and gave his ally an awkward pat on the back. “Alright, good. I’ll be just outside ok?” with that Silo disappeared, leaving Soren propped up against the wall just outside one of the makeshift cubicles. Once he was sure Silo was gone, Soren began haphazardly trying to pull his trousers off. He collapsed onto the ground in the process, but, even in spite of his shaking limbs, he managed to remove them.

           Finally, stepping onto the coarse, mildew addled shower floor, Soren pulled the current back behind him and turned one of the knobs on. The pipes gurgled and groaned for a second before allowing a meager stream of icy water to erupt from its spigot. The stream crashed down onto the crown of his head, coursing out along the rest of his body, cutting through the gobs of mud, detritus, and blood. A sickly colored puddle began to form at his feet before swirling away down the makeshift drain.

           As the patter of water eased his wounds his mind wandered back to the horror he had recently witnessed. The bodies, the sound of gunfire, then the towering figure that nearly crushed him underfoot. She was so incredibly foreign and monstrous that he nearly forgot her human characteristics. In his mind her feet turned to talons and her face a shadowed mass of evil. Then, somehow, it all melted away. He instead began to recall the shape of her towering calves, and how her brow wrinkled in stern disgust at the sight of them. Somehow he didn’t feel truly ashamed about his actions until he faced her god-like scrutiny.

           “Everything alright in there?” Silo called from out front.

           “Y-y-yeah.” Soren managed to stutter back. Immediately though his thoughts returned the titaness. The tremendous size she seemed to carry was somehow artistically placed. Rather than a massive monstrosity she gave off the aspect of some well-crafted Greek statue, with each limb and feature formed with some creative purpose in mind.

           All his thoughts were interrupted once more though by some distant drumming. Was it another convoy? Perhaps a troop marching back into camp? No, it was the chatter of voices. The chant was raised in harsh uniformity that brought many a battlefields to mind. Yet, as he listened more closely, Soren noted that this was not soldiers crying out, nor was it a choir of angels. Instead it had the gleeful pitch and timbre of a flock of children, chanting giddily with one another. What they said both chilled and invigorated him.

           “Exterminate all the brutes!”

           And with that Soren shut his eyes and let the water continue to wash over him. He remembered the rallies and the range. He remembered the physical and the mental pain. Then he remembered how much he wanted to see that titanic woman slain on the field.

“Then I saw when that lamb broke one of the seven seals! One of the four creatures came forward and said “Come and see!” and I saw”

Soren shifted uncomfortably in his seat. After the tumultuous events of that morning he wanted nothing more than to sleep, especially if it’d help him forget it all. In the end though he was too afraid to shut his eyes, for he felt that he would see them all in the darkness. No, instead he had wandered back to chapel to speak with Father Saul. Nothing seemed to ease his dismay, as only the overwhelming shadow of his actions seemed to block out the light of the sun.

“And behold!” Saul bellowed out from rickety stage. “a white horse, and he who sat upon had a bow, a golden crown was given unto him, and he went out conquering and to conquer!”

All others in attendance listened with anxious fervor. Aside from Soren, only twelve others found themselves in the pews, each twitching and shaking with their own afflictions. Saul’s words stirred with cinders and harsh gravity, pounding down onto his parishioners’ hearts like crude nail.

“Now I think it is evident that these times are upon us.” he went on, shifting his gaze from one end of the chapel to the other. Physically he was worn and greyed, but his eyes and his movements were filled with zealous intention. Those who knew him liked to describe him as a fire caught up in a man’s body. He was quick tempered and would frequently whip himself up into religious frenzies, preaching hellfire and perdition without so much as blinking. “Already these revelations are apparent, The white horse came and went, our lands, conquered and destroyed, now lie at the mercy of Devil’s children, who trod upon us like ants!” His grey eyes danced from the timid faces of those listening to the shaking figure of his most loyal student. When Soren met his wild gaze, Saul stepped down off the plywood surface onto the dusty ground.

“But we, we are the children of God! And who is greater I ask? Satan may try to break our bodies but he cannot break our spirits, isn’t that right?” the others all gave approving nods. Some muttered in approval but Saul thirsted for more. “I said isn’t that right” again they responded with slightly more energy. “They have taken peace, they have spread their famine, and now death and hell sit up on us! But I must remind you all…’Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth’, my brothers and sisters it cannot be more clear!”

Again those around him began to stir with some renewed energy. Soren however, could hardly comprehend the words. Shellshock still kept his limbs crippled. It wasn’t until Saul stopped right in front of him and placed a hand on shoulder that he broke from the stupor.

“We are the promised generation of the Lord, now gather all you round, come on up, come on up to me let us profess our faith for this poor boy. Enoch we gon fix you right on up, come on now all of you. Let’s show that Devil that we ain’t afraid of him no more!”

All laid hands upon him, all whispered quiet prayers save Saul who howled some foreign verse to the skies. Although they prayed together Soren could tell that none of their prayers were for him. After all why should they be?

The next day, Enoch stepped out of the vehicle he borrowed into the small clearing. The sunlight was depleting enough that only a few sparse rays breached the canopy of the forest. Another cool wind stirred some of the saplings and Soren felt himself begin to tear up. He took a seat on a lone stump and watched the passing birds retreating in a singular mass. He knew what it meant, the birds were always the first to flee. Nevertheless he removed his yellow notepad and pen from his pack and started to write.

Dear Erin,

I don’t know if I’ll ever get to write to you again so I want this to count for something. Things have not gone as I expected them. Already I see the persistent red stains on my hands that I can’t wash out. It gets in my clothes and in my hair, and its just...everywhere all at once I want nothing to do with it anymore. Yesterday I saw so many people die and I realized just how sinful this world is, myself included. But I did not, I should have been crushed but I was not. I suppose this means my purpose is far greater than I had initially anticipated. Maybe my reasoning is clouded by my shock but whatever it is I have to tell you now. I just hope you’ll understand.

I spoke with Father Saul again. I went to his sermon and afterward he told me the story of my namesake. He was the ancestor of Noah, and, as Saul put it, “with God, such that he lived for 365 years”. Saul says he named me such because he knew that I would outlast all else for I was beloved by God himself. I wonder if that is true. It doesn’t seem fair that I, a mere soldier of twenty, should be so consumed by his favor. I have decided that if it is indeed true than I will go out and face one of the beasts themselves, if I am spared than I will know. I know this must seem foolish and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.

Suddenly, the ground shook. Soren’s hand jumped, causing his pen to tumble onto the ground. He shut his eyes and reached down for it. On his lips was a makeshift prayer he had constructed in his anguish. Everything he had been working toward was now in jeopardy. In his last few logical moments he returned to his writing.

Life in this world is so brief anyway, and I’ve decided it's much better to live a short fulfilling life with a singular purpose than to let my years drag on with more of this sadness. I just wish that I could get the opportunity to see me as I am once before I’m gone. Oh well, I’ll see you soon, that much I promise.

With love, your brother,

Enoch

It was about that point he noticed the dark, hulking shape beyond the slits between the trees. The earth quaked with a predictable pattern as an even darker shadow passed over the mountainside. Soren had expected to find her around the valley by the old abandoned town they had found a few days before, but he never imagined crossing path would be this easy. He swallowed hard, clutched his rifle tightly and withdrew a bright orange flare gun from his pack. He stumbled over into the clearing where he could see her through the brush. There, passing by the mountain was the same dark haired giantess he had encountered twice in the past week. With a shaking hand he leveled the weapon into the air and fired.

Immediately a bright red streak of light soared up into the atmosphere before arcing back down some five hundred yards out. The crackle of gunpowder and the blinding crimson glow was enough to snag the giant’s attention. She turned her head ninety degree toward the spot where Soren stood paralyzed. He let his arm drop as he stared out at the massive being. Only a slight glimmer from her eye passed the veil of black hair draped over the side of her face. Then, the rest of her torso seemed to twist. Each passing second felt like a brief eternity to Soren, who now stood rigid in his place, repeating a Psalm quietly to himself. Then her face came fully into view. At this level her features were a little clearer.

She had a face that seemed weathered by grief. Her neck was slender and everything else about her would have been perfectly symmetric if it weren’t for a small cut on her right cheek. At first she looked at him with muted fear, which she quickly and forcefully changed to a confused curiosity.