Author Steven Clark Bradley is a multifaceted, professionally published author. Because of Steven’s unique experience as a world-traveling author, he is able to very vividly and authentically write about place that many have only read about and few have actually seen. Steven simply loves writing, and he has been blessed to travel extensively and loves to see the world. His travels around the world to 35 countries give him a really interesting amount and unique ways of explaining the characters in his stories. The driving force of his life is to tell the world around him what he has seen and how it impacts our lives today, how yesterday brought us to where we are now, and how it will certainly affect us all in the future.

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Nimrod Rising - Sincere and Dedicated Part Two

Nimrod Rising is a work of fiction based on truth and represents twelve years of work. No one knows what the terms, 666 or Antichrist really mean. We can only put together what seems historically and biblically logical. Nimrod Rising is not a Christian novel, but does declare its premise to be based on what I believe to be truth in the Bible and extra-biblical materials. Nimrod Rising is scary, not so much for its content as because it is such a timely and realistic story. I do not write material for the purpose of making people afraid. I like to think that I tell the truth and the truth scars them. Also, Nimrod Rising is a real look at the religion of Islam. I have spent my whole adult life working with Muslims. That gives me a real knowledge of the faith of over one billion people.

The advice I would give to someone who is interested in Nimrod Rising is to be open-minded as they read Nimrod Rising. They need to try to get beyond the physical world we see every day and try to accept that there is more out there than just us. I don’t want people to consider Nimrod Rising as just another scary story. It is far more than that. Nimrod Rising is a book about the history of life and the origin of evil. The reader needs to pose the questions such as the following: Who are we? Where did we come from? What was here before us? Where are we going? Are there answers to the question why the world faces its condition today? Nimrod Rising offers “possible” answers to those questions. It will awake the imagination and the cause self perception as they read. I want people to know that there is a novel out there like none they have ever read before. That is not a cliché either. I believe they will find Nimrod Rising very unique and thrilling as well as challenging to their long-held beliefs. If I can get readers to see that life is greater and far more extensive than they ever believed, then I will have reached one of my primary aspirations for spending a good deal of the past Twelve years writing what I firmly believe to be a Treatise on America.

Nimrod Rising Sincere and Dedicated Part Two

Alex finally made it to the Vineyard base. The Ford transit, carrying Sally to Islamabad, had already departed. Alex had hoped to at least wish Sally a safe trip. He had just wanted to see her enticing face one more time; to let her look in his eyes and see the confusion that was leading him to madness. She would have immediately understood. She would at least see that there was something very wrong with him. Instead, Alex and his team leader, Mike Wakely would travel to Islamabad together.

“Alex! Great to see you man! I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Mike Wakely was a gentle soul. He had the usual quaintness of speech and movement of the British. Yet, there was a certain toughness, a genuine grit that had been built up inside him after having been in India and Pakistan for so many years. Mike was one of the “Founding Fathers” of the Vineyard. He had been with the mission since its inception. He was responsible for all the teams in India, Pakistan and the rest of the Far East. As for Alex, Mike had a certain appreciation for the young man. He felt that Alex was sincere in his desire to spread the gospel to the lost religious followers of Mohammed throughout Pakistan and India.

Americans had always been very successful at rubbing the Brits the wrong way. Mike had a way of laughing it off. He was a true gentleman.

“You and I are going together.” Mike said with a muffled voice with his head under the hood of his tiny Suzuki minivan.

“What’s wrong with the baby carriage?” asked Alex

“The what? Oh, the van? I don’t know really. It starts and takes off then it just loses power.”

“Mike, the word ‘power’ just doesn’t fit in respect to this buggy.”

Mike chuckled. “Alex, could you look through the tool chest and find me a #10 wrench?” Alex looked for the tool as Mike waited patiently with his head under the hood singing softly, “Onward Christian Soldiers, marching on to war…”

Alex handed Mike the wrench and Mike saw the scrapes and bruises around Alex’s wrist. Mike panicked and tried not to think the worst of it or to show his concern. Mike had known for a while that Alex seemed more perplexed than normal. He thought it to be just a bit of lost zeal that every worker experienced after a certain amount of time on the field. Alex felt that Mike had been troubled in his spirit and then began to see a sort of strange green colored light around Mike’s shoulders, arms and head. It was like the rays given off of a florescent light that glowed but never quite lit completely. Mike’s mind began to analyze the bruises around Alex’s wrist.

“Had the boy tried to kill himself? What’s troubling him? He hadn’t been normal at the prayer meeting this morning.”

Alex was reading Mike’s thoughts. Mike’s mental words entered Alex’s mind as though they had been verbally uttered. Alex could hear the words though Mike had not spoken a thing. Suddenly, Alex realized that Mike had seen his wrist.

“He thinks that I tried to…” Alex panicked!

There was no way that Alex would be able to explain the dream to Mike, or to anyone, for that matter. Even Sally would have a hard time digesting it. They would all think he had a serious case of homesickness, or worse yet, that he had been possessed by demons.

“Why not?” Alex thought. “Was it not true?”

It seemed to be exactly plausible. Yet, it couldn’t be! Alex looked at his wrists and felt along his chest and torso. The burning pain bore witness to the fact. He had not invited any evil thing to entertain his thoughts. He had not dwelt with the wicked. He had consistently confessed his sins, fasted, prayed and had stayed in the Word.

“They will all try to cast the demons out of me, as simplistic as they are!” Alex speculated.

They would call for a meeting, place their hands all over him and pray for a cleansing spirit to cast out the evil one! He couldn’t bear it! He would most certainly not allow it. He’d be called rebellious and sinful.

“Alex, can you give me the black adhesive in the tool box?” Mike asked Alex.

Mike didn’t really need the tape. It was a good excuse to see Alex’s wrists again. Mike grabbed Alex’s arm. He had to know how that had happened. He was genuinely concerned for the boy. But when Mike looked at Alex’s wrist, the bruise that he had been absolutely sure he had seen was gone! Mike was so startled that he jerked his head upward from beneath the hood of the Suzuki minivan and caught his balding spot on the latch! The tip of the latch had embedded itself just under the thin skin of his scalp. When Mike had detached himself, a small but deep cut began to ooze blood. Almost instinctively, Alex reached up his left hand and touched the grease-soiled cut. When his palm drew close to the contusion, Alex felt energy leave his body. That thin green light shot out again from between his palm and Mike’s scalp. Alex watched as the abrasion closed up without even leaving a scar. These miracles, as Alex had interpreted them to be, seemed more commonplace now to Alex. He was not afraid anymore.

“Did I cut myself, Alex?”

“No, you just gave it a good thud is all.”

“That’s impossible! I felt the tip of that thing clinging to the inside of my skin.”

“Well Mike, it must have only felt that way, cause there isn’t even a red spot.”

Alex felt a wave of conviction pour over him. Here was his chance, perhaps his only one, to tell someone he knew he could trust about what was going on in his life.

“See Mike, I met this demon last night and he tied me to a chair and poured tar and bugs all over me and then crawled behind my eye!”

The sound of it all playing back inside Alex’s head convinced him to leave it all alone. He was certain that if he told Mike about the satanic attacks of the morning and afternoon, Mike would be able to cast it all away through prayer and fasting. He trusted Mike. He knew Mike would keep it quiet. Still, Alex did not want to lose this power either. Had it not come to him without his desiring it? Had he not, in the past two hours, saved a family from certain starvation by mending their transportation and the healing of an ugly wound on the top of Mike’s head? He liked the power! He was somebody special now! Did it really matter where this power came from as long as it wrought well for the world, Manassa Dormin’s world? Could Satan cast out Satan? The answer was “yes” if it
caused deception and illusion enough to deceive the lost masses of humanity, and Alex knew it! Yet, talking to Mike was out of the question. Situational ethics were wrong! Alex knew it! Helping people was right, even if he actually wanted it all. A small, whispering voice told him that he loved the power. He loved the fear! He loved the shock effect on those around him! He loved the final results! He loved that lizard-looking, nostril-puffing, yellow-eyed demon, Abaddon that seemed permanently stuck in the corner of his right eye! The narrow road on which Alex was walking was needle thin. He would just have to walk down it. It tantalized him now. It wasn’t the mere babbling of some mentally induced gibberjabber that he had been participating in called the tongues of angels. He was actually sending power from himself to others! Where the power originated did not matter anymore. Alex was not about to give it up!

Mike still had hold of Alex’s arm. He stared at the wrist unbelievingly.

“Alex, I was sure that…”

“Sure of what?” Alex asked.

He was getting good at this, he thought, as Mike shook his head in confusion.

“Never mind.” Alex looked down at the minivan.

“Mike, have you checked the coil wire? Maybe it’s loose. I’m sure if you press down on it firmly, the engine will start.”

Alex pressed on the wire solidly and Mike went around to the ignition and turned the key. The motor roared to life.

“Mr. Maefield, you’re a good soul!” Mike said. “And a very troubled one too!” Mike thought. He looked down again at Alex’s wrist. It was clean and free of even the slightest bruise.

“Get in, Alex. Let’s go.”


Watch Nimrod Rising - In The Beginning

In The Beginning

The road between Lahore and Islamabad was at times wonderfully paved and then would break up first for great stretches of many kilometers into gravel, then into dirt, and, often, there was no road at all.

“You sure can tell which village is the home of a Member of Parliament,” Mike said to Alex. “Their roads are always well-preserved.”

Nevertheless, travel in the sub-continent was always dusty, dirty and hot. Alex would inevitably stick his arm out the window for a minute or two and pull it back inside semi-blackened. Alex thrived after the toughness of the land. He loved to see all the cultural aspects of the small villages. The various herdsmen driving their water buffaloes across the highway to a better grazing area somewhere on the other side always periodically impeded the travel.

“Why not? This is Pakistan,” Alex thought.

Uniquely beautiful, young Pakistani women seemed fatalistically denied their due moment of feminine splendor by virtue of their sensuous eyes and silky jet-black hair. There were lots of such beauties strutting along the sides of the road with large plastic basins planted firmly in the middle of the tops of their heads filled with the needed water for the first half of the day. Other women, usually the older ones, could be seen squatting on their haunches in the fields where the cattle had just deposited their smelly loads and sticking their prematurely-calloused hands in the fresh excrement, shaping handfuls into cakes which they would later stick and dry on the sides of their homes for future use as fuel for their cooking stoves.

As the two of them drove on through the Pakistani countryside, Alex spotted something in the road. One could always see many things lying in or on the sides of the roads; rusted out cars, dead horses and cows and buzzards as large as small children that seemed to be saying grace before devouring something dead for their next meal. Yet, what Alex saw was no broken down automobile or dead animal. It was a human body!

“Mike! Look there on your right!” Alex commanded.

Mike should have seen it as the steering column was on the right in India, but he had been busy trying to drive down this particularly rough stretch of road.

“What is it?”

“It’s a body….a dead body…at least it appears to be dead, just back there on the side of the road. Stop the car Mike!”

“Alex what if they think we did it? I know missionaries who’ve nearly lost their lives for hitting a Pakistani citizen!”

“Who cares, Mike? Stop now!”

Mike hit the breaks and threw the minivan into reverse. When they reversed to where the body was, they got out and looked at an obviously dead young man.

“You think he’s dead, Alex?”

Alex started waving his hand about three feet over the body.

“Yes, he’s dead, Mike. His spirit is still hovering over the body,” Alex said calmly and serenely.

Mike was dumbfounded. “His what is doing what? Are you going mad?”

Alex then looked at Mike and continued. “His name is Kamal Bhaktar and he’s from the village just over the hill behind you. He’s almost twenty years old and was struck by a passing bus about thirty-two minutes ago.”

“Alex! I really don’t think it is a good time for jokes!”

Alex looked over at Mike irately and shouted in some kind of strange, altered voice.

“Why do you call me Alex? My name is Dormin! Manassa Dormin, and I’ll dare you doubt me!”

Mike was sure that he saw something looking at him from the corner of Alex’s right eye. Alex then turned his head to the Suzuki and stared hard at it. The horn began blowing.

“What are you doing? What? You can’t be doing that! This is not of Elyon!”

Alex looked at Mike and spoke again in the voice that was not his own. “Mike, all that glitters is not gold and all that is powerful is not of Elyon.”

“Alex! What are you? Who are you?” “Alex!” Mike walked closer over to Alex.

“Listen to me!”

Alex cast a burning stare directly into Mike’s eyes.

“Who the Tenebre is Alex? I told you my name is Dormin, and, believe me, you’ll never forget it again!”

Mike grabbed his stomach as a deep burning sensation took hold of him. The pain was so intense that he nearly passed out.

“Alex, I don’t know what you are into, but please for the love of your Elyon, let me cast it out!”

The pain grew more and more intense in the center of Mike’s abdomen. Soon, he doubled over in pain. Just as Mike fell to his knees, Alex was distracted by a large group of villagers coming down over the hill towards the two foreigners, apparently responding to the horn. They all started uttering a lot of religious babble to the dead man’s mother. The woman ran up to Kamal’s still warm body and took it in her arms.

“Oh, Kamal, Kamal!”

She looked up at Alex and Mike and started to say several Urdu phrases that even Mike could not understand. She raised her hands to the air wailing and pleading to one, two or all standing around her and then cried out to Allah! Alex looked hard at the woman. Then he turned his attention to Kamal’s spirit that was still hovering over his dead body, though at a greater distance than it had been previously. The mother outstretched her arms as though she too could see Kamal, though it was no more than a reaction to shock, sorrow and a plea for mercy. Kemal too outstretched his spirit form towards his mother, but she could not feel him. Kamal was being dragged away! He sought to hold onto his mother, but a force, either benevolent or evil, seemed to invisibly take hold of the spirit seeking to repel it out of the physical world.

“His spirit is being transported,” Alex shouted to Mike.

“What are you talking about, Alex? Are you going insane?”

Alex paid Mike no attention. A large group of village men and women came out. Then an elderly man from the group walked up to Alex and Mike.

“Sir, I am the village chief.”

Mike looked up to respond to the voice. Alex paid no attention. His focus was squarely on the dead man and his mother.

“If you speak slowly, I am understanding you, Sir,” the chief said in his Indian English dialect.

“Chief,” Mike said with his palms joined together, “who is this young man?”

“Sir, his name is Kamal Bhaktar. He was a fine young man. He was visiting the village while on summer break from university in Islamabad. Sir, is he dead?”

“I’m afraid he is, Sir,” Mike answered.

Alex looked up and said directly to the chief, “But his spirit is not far away. He is just…” Alex began to jab his finger in the air. “There! He is there…right there! You see him?”

Kamal’s spirit was more difficult to see for Alex than before.

“There! He’s over there! Over to your left, he’s being lifted up! We haven’t much time! It’s now or never Abbadon!”

Mike had heard the name Abaddon before. Its significance was unclear, but he realized that Alex was in communication with something from the underworld, something that was transforming him or revealing his true insides!

Alex looked at the chief and spoke in perfect Urdu.

“Tell everyone to get back! My master has given his approval.”

Mike could not believe his ears and nor could the chief. The chief gave Alex’s message to the crowd and tried to get the mother off of Kamal’s body. Alex knelt down and explained to her in Urdu what he was about to do.

“I am Peygamber, Dormin, seed of my father Nimrod, the progeny to spread the seed that will open the gate to the Tree of Life. We shall enter in!” Alex whispered to her, “Tell no one! Don’t worry mama, your boy’s not far away.”

Alex took her by the shoulders and gently lifted her up to her feet. Kamal’s spirit gently and tenderly beheld his mother’s bereavement. There had been a lot of love between them. They were not ready to separate from each other. The woman had already thought of how she would join her son before nightfall. Alex knelt down at the side of the body.

“Alex! What are you doing?” Mike asked in a panicked voice.

Coarsely, Alex looked up at Mike and said, “Watch and learn. The master has spoken, and it shall be so!”

Mike took hold of Alex and tried to pull him away from the body. “You are playing with evil here! You must stop! He is dead already!”

Alex would not go and cried out to the crowd in Urdu, “Take hold of this man till I have finished.”

Four villagers grabbed Mike by the arms and waist and held him tightly.

Mike pleaded with Alex, “You are doing the work of Satan, Alex! This is not of Elyon!”

Alex could not or would not hear Mike, but Mike knew that the force at work inside Alex was not of Elyon and not Alex himself! Alex placed his right hand firmly in the center of the young man’s stomach and with his left he held the man’s mouth open. Held back by the crowd obeying Alex’s command, Mike watched with both shock and, against all his better judgment, great interest. Alex pushed down hard on the body’s abdomen area so that all the trapped air was exhaled. He held
the pressure on the stomach and began to look around in the air to find out exactly where Kamal’s spirit was now lingering. Mike was sure that Alex had lost his mind. When Alex had Kemal’s spirit’s attention, he opened the mouth widely and relaxed the pressure on the stomach. As soon as he released the abdomen, Alex saw two great hands appear around Kamal’s throat. Kamal fought it off and released himself. Alex saw Kamal’s spirit fly instantaneously toward its former abode. Then it
flew headfirst into the dead, gaping mouth, down the throat and fully into the body. It began to choke, heave, and hack. Two seconds later, the boy’s eyes opened.

“Mama!” Kamal said.

“Kemal? My Kamal? You are alive!” she screamed joyfully in Urdu. The people around were dumbfounded and shocked.

The mother began to proclaim, “He is Peygamber! He is Peygamber!”

Mike did not know what the word Peygamber meant. He turned to the old villager who understood English. “Sir, what does Peygamber mean?”

“My dear Sir it means the one, the builder’s seed is in front of us. It was written from the Chronicles of Nimrod, Sir, the great builder! His son Peygamber, the 665th generation from the Great Builder shall bear the name of his father and He shall bear the seed of the great one, The Prince that should come, Sir. The great Imam! He shall eat of the tree of life and be as Elyon!”

Mike stared at Alex and became disoriented. “How did you do that?” Mike asked harshly. He was terrified.

“Do what?” Alex asked. “What did I do?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what you just did! You raised this boy from the dead, Alex! I don’t know by what power you did so, but look! He’s alive! And who is Dormin?”

Alex dropped his head in his hands. “What’s happening to me?” Alex cried.

With his eyes closed shut by the force of his palms covering his face, Alex saw Abaddon.

“Dormin, Peygamber! Use your power now for good, later for evil! By it you shall construct your world!”

With his eyes closed so tightly that it hurt, Alex saw the image of his grandparents’ home. It was morning. He was outside on the back porch. He was admiring the five acres of land, the garden, the sounds of birds and the variety of life. Then he heard gunfire. It came from the front yard. Quickly, he rushed around the house to the front of the house. He saw thirty to forty men with handguns, riffles and shotguns. Four of them were actually in the front yard. The others were firing from the country road that ran in front of the house. They were all firing into the air!

“Alex! Alex! Are you OK?” Afraid to get too close to him, Mike pleaded while looking down at
Alex who was now on his knees. Mike realized that Alex was clearly in a trance of some kind.

Alex could not hear him. In his vision, Alex ran up to the men and screamed at them all.

“You can’t do that! This is private property! I’ll take you all to court!”

One middle-aged man came up to Alex and looked sternly at him.

“This man thinks there’s a law that protects him? Ha-ha!”

The man grabbed Alex’s shoulders and pushed him to the ground.

“There is no law here boy! Survival is the law!”

The man pointed to the sky behind the house. There were ten large, black helicopters hovering, voices proclaiming: “The United World Consortium Supreme Consort orders you to disperse! We are now in a state of Marshall Law!”
The men all fired at once at the hovering hornet-like aircraft. Instantly, the helicopters retorted with missiles that killed most of the rebels and destroyed the house. The dying man looked at Alex and said, “And you were a missionary?”

The vision ended with a great explosion of light. Alex jerked his head upward. Mike was at his side kneeling by him in prayer. When Alex came to himself, he found himself looking directly into the
formerly dead boy’s eyes. Kamal looked at Alex with tears flowing down his eyes and said,

“You are the Peygamber! I could see you! I saw you, Sir!”

He continued to hug Alex and cry. “Thank you my Peygamber!”

Suddenly, the young man sprang to his feet! He beckoned to the crowd to pay homage to Alex.

“He is the Peygamber! Peygamber is amongst us!”

Kamal began to prostrate himself to the ground at Alex’s feet.

“Let’s get out of here, Mike!”

Mike seemed to not hear him as though he was in shock.

“Mike! Let’s go!”

“What’s this Peygamber stuff, Alex?”

“I swear to you, I don’t know! Just get in the van, Mike, and drive!”

As they entered the van, the crowd gathered around the vehicle and encircled it. Mike started the motor and attempted ever so slowly to move forward until he was away from the crowd that had amassed. As they cleared the throng, Mike and Alex looked back. They were all bowing down and shouting.

“Peygamber is amongst us! Praise to the son of Nimrod!”

Mike’s Urdu was good enough to make it out. He knew who Nimrod had been. He knew who his seed would be. He stared directly at Alex. Alex turned around and looked out the windshield. A finger had scratched out a sentence in the mud-covered window. It read: I am the keeper!—Abaddon.

Mike was sure he saw it. He could not make it all out but he did read the word, or name, Abaddon. He had seen it before. He knew that word! He believed the word and it was there written over the windshield and then it was gone! Then a word exited from Mike Wakely’s lips. Mike’s mouth uttered the words involuntarily.

“The Keeper of the abyss.”

Mike thought through all the words and passages of the Bible he had kept in memory. Apollion was the Greek word for Abaddon in the New Testament. He knew this kid; this seemingly dedicated disciple of Christ was on a fast track to Tenebre? Alex turned to Mike and Alex’s right eye had something dark stuck in the corner and Mike saw a devil staring at him! He hit the brakes and stopped the van and turned Alex around to look at him. He saw nothing, except a startled looking Alex Maefield.

“I am sorry, Alex! I…I saw something, I thought. What is going on here?”

Alex smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders. “Look at me Alex! Something has been way out of the realm of holy here! A boy’s risen from the dead, disappearing messages scrawled over the windshield?”

“Bones healed? Horses mended?” Alex interjected

Alex looked at Mike and stared at the expression written across his leader’s face. He realized that Mike was in the midst of astonishment. He looked at Mike and asked, “Mike, where is Basra?”

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Steven Clark Bradley - Nimrod Rising

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Nimrod Rising - As Real As It Gets!