The War of Two Bloodlines: From the Abzu to the Throne of Rome

The War Scroll Vision

“The first attack of the Sons of Light shall be undertaken against the forces of the Sons of Darkness, the army of Belial…” – War Scroll (1QM) Col.1, lines 1–3.

The other day, we traced a historical and mythological line from the West Semitic god Dagan to the Mesopotamian warrior-deity Ninurta, to the Punic Baal Hammon; a deity often represented in antiquity by the solar disk and ram’s horns; and finally to Saturn, the planetary god with whom he was identified. This revealed how a single chthonic–agrarian figure could migrate across cultures and centuries, taking new names while retaining the same essential identity.

Today, we turn to the biblical foundation for seeing this figure within a far greater conflict. In Genesis 3:15 (KJV), God declares to the serpent: “I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel.” This primal prophecy presents history as a struggle between two “seeds”; two lines of descent or allegiance. The serpent’s seed appears throughout Scripture in hostile powers, idolatrous nations, and rebellious spiritual beings infiltrating human dynasties. The woman’s seed is the covenant line culminating in the Messiah, who crushes the serpent’s head.

The War Scroll (1QM) from Qumran echoes this cosmic dualism, portraying a final clash between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness, the latter explicitly called “the army of Belial.” These are not mere metaphors but corporate identities rooted in spiritual lineage: the Sons of Light aligned with God’s covenant, the Sons of Darkness deriving authority from primordial rebellion.

If Genesis 3:15 is the seed prophecy and the War Scroll its eschatological counterpart, our task is to trace the historical footprints of these two bloodlines. The Dagan–Ninurta–Baal Hammon–Saturn connection is no antiquarian curiosity; it suggests that the serpent’s seed has maintained an unbroken presence in human history, enthroned in political and religious systems grounded in chthonic, “underworld” authority rather than the God of heaven.

In what follows, we will trace this Saturn-linked bloodline from its Mesopotamian roots through the Sea Peoples into Mediterranean aristocracies, and finally into the imperial frameworks of Rome and the Holy Roman Empire. Set against Genesis 3:15 and the War Scroll, this study will argue that these threads belong to an ongoing war between two spiritual houses — one from above, and one from below. It is a story connecting Sumer’s abyss to Rome’s crown, grounded in Scripture, archaeology, and ancient texts.

From the Pit — The Abzu and the ʾōb

Abzu in Sumerian-Akkadian tradition denotes the subterranean fresh waters – a cosmic abyss beneath the earth. Enki (Akkadian Ea), the god of wisdom and trickery, resided in the Abzu and sent forth from it semi-divine sages with knowledge for humanity. The Abzu was thus a source of occult wisdom emerging from the deep (Lewis, 1989). Comparatively, the Hebrew Bible uses the term ʾōb (אוֹב) to refer to a ritual pit or medium’s vessel for contacting the spirits of the dead – literally a hollow cavity used in necromancy (Lev. 20:27, 1 Sam. 28:7). The words Abzu and ʾōb sound similar by coincidence, yet as one researcher notes, “the connection between the abzu of Sumer and the ʾōb of the Hebrews is obvious” (Gilbert 2021). Both invoke a well of the underworld. In Mesopotamia, the Abzu was benignly personified as a god’s realm; in Israel, the ʾōb was condemned as an unholy conduit – “a spirit of the dead” or even a “ritual pit” for summoning underworld entities (1 Sam. 28:8, NET Bible). In effect, what Mesopotamia embraced as the fountain of divine arts, Israel shunned as a forbidden pit of demons.

This contrast underscores a key point: the source of authority for the “sons of darkness” is literally below. Their power and knowledge come from the Abzu/abyss beneath the earth, not from the heavens above. Biblically, any such underworld source is viewed as demonic. Yet in Mesopotamian eyes, the deep could be tapped for civilizational knowledge, through the mediating figures we turn to next – the Apkallu.

Apkallu figure wearing the fish-skin hood — a Mesopotamian antediluvian being said to emerge from the Abzu, bringing the hidden and often forbidden knowledge of the deep to the rulers of men.

The Apkallu — Pre-Flood Sages and the Watchers

Ancient Mesopotamian texts speak of the apkallū (Akkadian; Sumerian abgal, literally “sage”). These were antediluvian (pre-Flood) demi-gods; part human, part fish or bird, who emerged from the Abzu to grant humanity the arts of civilization (Black & Green, 1992). Berossus, a Hellenistic-era Babylonian priest, describes one such figure – Oannes, a fish-man from the sea – teaching primeval humans all knowledge before returning to the deep each night (Berossus, Babyloniaca, frag. 1). Mesopotamian kings revered the seven primordial apkallū as culture-heroes and often claimed to descend from them or be guided by them. King Nebuchadnezzar I of Babylon (12th c. BC) even boasted of being “distant scion of kingship, seed preserved from before the Flood, offspring of Enmeduranki”, the legendary antediluvian king of Sippar (Lambert, as cited in Annus 2010, p.283). To a Jewish writer, a “seed preserved from before the Flood” would immediately suggest a lineage from the rebellious Watchers – those fallen angels in the Book of Enoch who corrupted mankind in the days of Noah (Annus 2010, pp.277–279). Scholar Amar Annus has demonstrated compellingly that “the apkallu can be positively identified as the Hebrew Watchers” – the stories match too closely to be coincidence (Annus 2010, p.289). The Watchers of 1 Enoch taught humanity enchantments, weaponry, astrology and more, much as the apkallū taught arts and sciences. In Mesopotamian religion the apkallū (and their post-Flood human heirs) were seen as benevolent sage-priests; in Jewish tradition the Watchers and Nephilim were recast as corruptors, judged for transgressing heaven’s boundary.

This inversion suggests a deliberate polemic. The Second Temple Jewish authors knew the Mesopotamian lore of great sages and kings from before the Flood; they “flipped the narrative”, portraying those figures not as civilizing heroes but as fallen angels who introduced occult knowledge and birthed tyrants (Nephilim) (Annus 2010, p.295). The subtext is clear: pagan kings’ claims of divine or antediluvian lineage were true enough – but it was a lineage of rebellion, not righteousness. In summary, the apkallū/Watchers represent the injection of “below” blood into the human story. After the Deluge, that contaminated bloodline would try to reestablish itself among the rulers of post-Flood nations.

Saturn in the Ancient Near East — Many Faces, One Power

The deity that the classical world knew as Saturn (Greek Kronos) has many guises across Near Eastern cultures, often linked to this idea of a primordial, subterranean power. In Mesopotamia, the planet Saturn was astronomically associated with the god Ninurta. Ninurta was a warrior and agriculture god – son of Enlil – who in later astrology “was identified with the planet Saturn” (Horowitz 1998, p.160). However, Ninurta’s identity could blur with other figures. In the city of Emar (Syria, 13th c. BC), ritual texts for the great Zukru festival pair the local storm god (dNIN.URTA in the text, likely a Ninurta analogue) with the chief god Dagan (Hayman 2025). Dagan (also Dagon) was a West Semitic grain and storm deity, and at Emar he is titled Bēl Bukkari (“Lord of the Offspring”) as he presides over a seasonal renewal rite (Feliu 2003, p.256). What is intriguing is that by Late Babylonian times, Ninurta = Saturn was a firm equation (MUL.APIN tablet; see Reiner & Pingree 1975). Thus, in hindsight, Dagan of Emar – ritually linked with Ninurta – is indirectly connected to Saturn (Hayman 2025). This is a telling convergence: a god of fertility and storms in the Levant coincidentally touching the orbit of the dark planetary god.

Across the Semitic world, we find more explicit Saturnian figures. The Phoenician god Baal Hammon, supreme lord of Carthage, was equated by Hellenistic authors with Kronos (Plutarch, De Iside 362E; Cleitarchus in Porphyry, De abstinentia 2.56). Baal Hammon was depicted as an older bearded god, often with ram’s horns – an iconographic link to the zodiac sign Capricorn (the house of Saturn). Greco-Roman writers state bluntly that the Carthaginians’ Baal (Baal Hammon) “is Cronus”, to whom they offered child sacrifices (Diodorus Siculus 20.14.6; see below). Meanwhile, the Hebrew Bible preserves a cryptic denunciation of star-gods in the wilderness: “You shall take up Sikkuth your king, and Kaiwan your star-god” (Amos 5:26, Heb.). Kaiwān (or Kiyyūn) is the Akkadian name for Saturn; the Septuagint accordingly rendered it as Rephan, and Stephen’s speech in Acts 7:43 confirms the reference to the planet-god worshipped by Israel’s neighbors. Thus, Saturn/Kronos appears in multiple guises: a harvest god (Dagan), a former king of heaven (Kronos), a star revered by idolaters (Kaiwan/Rephan), and a progenitor figure in pantheons (El or Kumarbi, as we shall see).

It is essential to stress that none of these beings are the Almighty Creator described in Scripture. They are either mythological constructs of pagan religion or, in biblical terms, rebellious spiritual powers that have been falsely worshipped as gods. Their “rule” exists only within the framework of human tradition and supernatural rebellion, and stands in opposition to the sovereignty of the true God..

“Lord of the Pit” — Dagan’s Subterranean Form

Before focusing on Kumarbi, one should note an aspect of Dagan/Dagon that hints at an underworld role. While Dagan was usually a sky/storm god, some local traditions gave him epithets of chthonic dominion. A ritual text from Terqa on the Middle Euphrates (c.1500 BC) describes a king offering a sacrifice to Dagan ša ḫarri. Earlier scholars read this as “Dagan of the Hurri[ans]” (ḫarri resembling “Hurri”), but a re-examination by L. Feliu showed it should be read ḥarri – the Akkadian word for pit or ditch (Feliu 2003, p.271). In other words, Terqa’s text invokes “Dagan of the Pit.” Likewise at Emar, an epithet Dagan be-el ḥarri (“lord of the pit”) appears in the context of underworld summoning rites during the Zukru festival (Scandone Matthiae, 1987). At Mari, Dagan was given the title Bēl pagre – “Lord of Corpses/carrion” – in offering lists for the dead (Ford 2011, p.280). All these hints point to Dagan, normally a celestial weather god, having a dark aspect tied to the netherworld and the spirits of the dead.

Why would a fertility god have a funerary, underworld epithet? It actually fits an ancient belief pattern: the god who brings life (rain for crops, offspring, prosperity) often has a cycle or counterpart involving death and the underworld (the dry season, the seed in the earth, the dying and rising motif). Dagan’s identity seems to have straddled this life/death divide. We might liken it to how Saturn/Kronos in later lore is a god of time, harvest, and also of the destructive passage of ages. The title “Lord of the Pit” reinforces Dagan’s connection to the chthonic source of kingship – the Abzu, metaphorically – from which hidden power could be drawn. It underscores that the same deity could be seen as ruling above (storms, sky) yet deriving authority from below. In the next section, we will see that Kumarbi embodies this duality to an extreme degree.

Dagan’s worship in the Middle Euphrates region was complex, encompassing both celestial and underworld aspects. As noted in the Terqa contract (AO 9055) and Emar’s Zukru festival texts, he could be invoked as Bēl ḫarri ; “Lord of the Pit” ; a title that tied him to the subterranean sphere, much like the Hebrew ʾōb. This chthonic dimension is significant for understanding how Dagan could serve as a bridge between West Semitic fertility cults and the planetary Saturn tradition that emerges later in Mesopotamian astronomy.

One especially revealing connection comes from the Zukru festival at Emar (tablet Emar VI 373), where Dagan, titled Bēl Bukkari (“Lord of Offspring”), is ritually paired with the city-god written as dNIN.URTA. In the Bronze Age context, this pairing likely expressed a localized fertility and protection symbolism;; Dagan as progenitor, Ninurta as martial and agricultural guardian. But in the later first millennium BC, Babylonian astronomical texts such as the MUL.APIN explicitly equated Ninurta with the planet Saturn. This means the Emar ritual inadvertently forms a conceptual bridge: Dagan, through formal association with Ninurta, is indirectly connected to Saturn in Mesopotamian cosmology.

The link does not stop there. In the Phoenician and Punic world, Greco-Roman authors identified Saturn with Baal Hammon, the chief deity of Carthage — a god often depicted with ram’s horns, sometimes receiving child sacrifice, and widely regarded as a patriarchal, agrarian figure. Thus the trajectory is clear:Dagan (Middle Euphrates) → paired with Ninurta (Emar) → Ninurta = Saturn (MUL.APIN) → Saturn = Baal Hammon (Punic).

Through this chain, a West Semitic god with chthonic “pit” associations becomes part of the same planetary deity network that we can trace from Mesopotamia to the western Mediterranean, ultimately embedding itself in the religious and political life of the empires that would follow. It is a concrete example of how the “below” bloodline’s spiritual authority could migrate across languages, geographies, and centuries, while maintaining its essential identity under new names.

Kumarbi — The Hurrian Saturn

When the Hurrian kingdom of Mitanni and the Hittite Empire flourished (ca. 1500–1200 BC), myths about Kumarbi were recorded that strikingly parallel the later Greek story of Kronos. Kumarbi is portrayed as an “old king of the gods” who himself overthrew his father, the sky-god Anu, in a violent coup (Güterbock 1946). In the epic “Song of Kumarbi” (also called the Kingship in Heaven myth, c.14th century BC), Kumarbi attacks Anu, bites off his genitals, and swallows them – to prevent his father’s line from continuing. However, in a grim twist, Kumarbi becomes pregnant by this act: the seed of Anu gestates within him and ultimately yields Teshub, the storm god, along with other offspring. Anu taunts his usurper, saying: “Do not rejoice, for I have placed a burden in your belly” – indeed, Kumarbi ends up birthing his own challenger (Hoffner 1998, pp.42–45). Teshub is born (in some versions violently split out of Kumarbi’s skull) and later overthrows Kumarbi, just as Zeus overthrew Kronos in Greek myth (Otten 1974). The parallels are unmistakable: castration of the sky-father, the swallowing motif, the eventual triumph of the storm god son. As H.G. Güterbock aptly titled his study, Kumarbi is essentially the “Hurrian Kronos” – an older generation deity whose dethronement marks the turning of ages (Güterbock 1951).

From the perspective of our “two bloodlines” theme, Kumarbi represents the chthonic lineage asserting primacy until checked by heaven’s mandate. He is often titled “father of gods” (Hurrian texts call him abūn ḫaladi, father of the gods) and depicted as a deposed ruler scheming to regain power (Wilhelm 2014). Significantly, Kumarbi’s cult was not as prominent as his mythology – he was remembered in songs more than actively worshipped – which suggests he had a mythic/symbolic role as the primordial authority (much like Kronos was honored in Rome during Saturnalia, but not an everyday state cult like Jupiter). In some Hurrian traditions, Kumarbi was identified with Dagan or had Dagan as an alias in certain cities (Archi 2002). Both Kumarbi and Dagan were associated with grain fertility (the Hurrians even used the logogram for the grain-goddess Nisaba to write Kumarbi’s name, implying a link between Kumarbi and Dagan, who himself was linked to grain; see Archi 2013). This further underlines that Kumarbi is the Hurrian/Syrian articulation of the ancient king in the earth – the source of bounty but also a tyrant from the past.

Kumarbi’s narrative encodes the idea of a dynastic struggle between the “old gods” and the younger order. The “old gods” (Anu, Kumarbi, and their ilk) can be seen as analogous to the Watchers/Nephilim line – primal forces who claimed the earth first – while the younger storm "gods" (Teshub, and parallels like Baal or Zeus) correspond to the divinely ordained “new order” that restrains the chaos. Yet the myth also leaves Kumarbi alive, plotting vengeance (in later cycle myths he tries to sire monsters like the dragon Hedammu and the stone giant Ullikummi to attack Teshub). The defeated Titan is not utterly destroyed; he is banished to the dark and awaits a chance to return. This resonates with biblical apocalyptic imagery of chained Watchers and a coming final release (cf. 1 Enoch 10:12, Rev. 9:14).

Thus, by 1200 BC we have in Hurrian lore a powerful template for the Sons of Darkness lineage: Kumarbi = Kronos = El = Dagan = Saturn, different names for an underworld or formerly heavenly entity who ruled in the distant past, was cast down, but continues to work in the shadows (literally underground) to influence kings and empires in opposition to the “sons of light.” Next, we will see how historical events around 1200 BC – the collapse of the Bronze Age – scattered this occult lineage far and wide.

The Great Collapse and the Scattering of the Line

The end of the Bronze Age (c. 1200 BC) was marked by civilizational upheaval across the Near East. Empires fell; cities were burned and abandoned. Among the causes and consequences of this Late Bronze Age Collapse was the migration of diverse groups collectively known as the Sea Peoples. Egyptian records from the reign of Ramses III (Medinet Habu inscriptions, c.1175 BC) list names of these peoples – Peleset (Philistines), Sherden, Shekelesh, Denyen, Tjekker, Weshesh, etc. – who attacked Egypt and other regions (Kitchen 1982). While much about the Sea Peoples remains mysterious, scholars generally agree they were a loose coalition of uprooted populations, including former inhabitants of the Aegean and Anatolia. Some were quite possibly displaced elites and warriors from the fallen Hittite and Mycenaean kingdoms – in other words, carriers of the very Hurrian-Hittite “Kumarbi” religion and the Indo-European elite culture that had dominated those lands (Drews 1993).

As the Sea Peoples dispersed, different groups established themselves in new lands. The Philistines (Peleset) famously settled along the southern coast of Canaan, a region that would later lend its name to Palestine. The Sherden and Shekelesh; whose names strongly resemble Sardinia and Sicily; are thought to have settled on those islands. Archaeological evidence links the Sherden with Sardinia’s Nuragic culture, whose distinctive bronze figurines depict warriors wearing horned helmets, circular shields, and Sardinian swords — matching exactly the Sherden mercenaries portrayed on Egyptian monuments (Zangger 2021). The Nuragic civilization of Sardinia, Italy, which thrived from the Bronze Age (c. 1800 BC) to the 2nd century BC, is therefore often identified with these Sherden warriors. Egyptian scholar Abbas Mansour has argued that the elite Sherden who served Pharaoh Ramses II were indeed drawn from Nuragic Sardinia.

The Sherden/Nuragic people were expert sailors, metalworkers, and warriors. Rich in copper, silver, lapis lazuli-like minerals, and purple dye from murex, Sardinia was known to Phoenicians and Hebrews as Kadoš-Šēne (“Holy Mother”). By the Late Bronze Age (1300–900 BC), these clans dominated the island and ranged across the Mediterranean; trading, raiding, and fighting as mercenaries from Egypt to Greece. Catastrophic coastal flooding may have driven many abroad, embedding them in foreign armies and even carrying their influence back toward the eastern Mediterranean.

Their sacred wells, solar-lunar rites, and metalcraft reveal a culture as religiously complex as it was martial. Skilled navigators, they left clues of long-range voyages; perhaps even to sub-Saharan Africa; in the exotic animals carved on their bronze ship prows. Whether defending Pharaoh or raiding coastal towns, the Sherden carried the reputation of a disciplined and deadly warrior elite. Later, as Sardinia came under Carthaginian and then Roman control, its strategic position and warrior heritage fed directly into the military and political networks of the Roman Empire, allowing this ancient martial culture to persist within an imperial framework.

If the “two bloodlines” pattern of Genesis 3:15 and the War Scroll is correct, the Sherden may represent a western Mediterranean branch of the same “below” lineage traced from the ancient Near East. As mercenaries, navigators, and traders, they carried not only their weapons but also their inherited religious and cultural systems, embedding elements of the old chthonic order deep within the islands that would later be absorbed into the Roman Empire ; ensuring that this ancient current flowed straight into imperial power.

The Denyen (Danuna) may have settled in coastal Anatolia or Cyprus (some have even speculated a connection to the tribe of Dan or to Greek Danaoi, though evidence is scant). Another group, the Tyrsenoi or Teresh, are often thought to be the ancestors of the Etruscans of Italy – ancient legends recorded by Greeks (Herodotus 1.94) say the Etruscans came from Lydia in Asia Minor, which fits a westward migration. Modern genetic and linguistic studies also suggest an Anatolian origin for the Etruscans, consistent with them being a Sea People remnant (Peruzzi 2019).

Why does this matter for our story? Because it means the “Below” bloodline – the religious and royal traditions of the old gods like Kumarbi/Dagan – did not vanish; they traveled and transformed in new lands. The Philistines, for example, brought Aegean divine images (Dagon was adopted as their chief god in Ashdod – 1 Sam 5:2-5 – perhaps influenced by the grain-god culture of the “Dagon of the pit” they encountered in Syria). The Phoenicians and their kin in North Africa (Carthage) inherited the worship of Baal Hammon (the local guise of Saturn as we saw). The Etruscans in Italy had seer-priests called haruspices and a deeply fatalistic religion that some Romans thought very ancient and exotic – perhaps residues of Hittite-Hurrian cosmology (which was famed for omen-reading and magic rituals).

We also see in myth the suggestion that Trojan survivors (from the war circa 1200 BC, immortalized by Homer) wandered and settled elsewhere – most famously, the Trojan prince Aeneas who, in Greco-Roman legend, journeys to Italy and founds the lineage that will become Rome (Virgil, Aeneid I–II). Whether or not one takes that literally, it’s true that many Iron Age and classical aristocracies traced their roots to the heroes of the Trojan War. As one historian notes, “Hundreds of cities in Central and Western Europe were later said to be founded on the Trojan model, and aristocratic families across Europe proudly claimed descent from Trojan noble families” (Zangger et al. 2022, p.350). This “Trojan ancestry” fashion included the Romans (Julius Caesar’s family claimed descent from Aeneas and Venus), the Franks (who claimed a Trojan origin in medieval chronicles), and even the British (legends of Brutus of Troy as ancestor of kings). Such claims, while mythical, underscore an important point: the concept of an ancient, semi-divine bloodline conferring the right to rule was avidly preserved among ruling classes. Whether they invoked Neptune, Dagon, Kronos or some eponymous Trojan, the message was the same – our dynasty comes from the gods who ruled before. In biblical terms, that often equates to “from the fallen gods.”

Thus, by the time we reach the first millennium BC, the former Sons of Darkness – the line of the great “men of renown” (Nephilim Gen. 6:4) – have scattered into various nations, embedding themselves especially in the ruling houses and priesthoods. Nowhere would this legacy prove more influential than in the city that eventually dominated the Mediterranean world: Rome.

Into Rome — The “Below” Bloodline Takes a Throne

Rome’s rise (from a small Latin town in the 8th century BC to a vast empire by the 1st century BC) is typically told as a purely human story of warfare, politics, and cultural assimilation. But lurking in the background is an interesting confluence of bloodlines and legends. Early Rome was ruled by kings, and according to tradition, the fifth king – Tarquinius Priscus – was actually an Etruscan from Tarquinia who seized power in Rome (Livy, History 1.34–35). The Etruscans, as noted, likely had roots in Anatolia; they certainly had unique religious rites (e.g. liver divination) which they passed on to Rome. The last king of Rome, Tarquinius Superbus, was also Etruscan. With them, the idea of sacral kingship and possibly that ancient “Hurrian” strain entered Roman consciousness.

After the monarchy was overthrown (509 BC) and the Republic established, one might think these old myths faded. Yet Rome’s patrician families continued to claim divine ancestries. Julius Caesar, at the end of the Republic, traced his gens Julia back to Iulus, son of Aeneas – hence to Venus (through Aeneas’s mother) and ultimately Jupiter (through Venus’s father Dardanus, etc.). Such claims were not taken as literal genealogy by all, but they had political utility and ritual significance. The Capitoline Hill in Rome was said to have a shrine to Saturn long before the Republic – in fact, the famous Temple of Saturn in the Forum (built c.497 BC) was thought to mark a site where Saturn’s cult existed “even before Romulus and Remus” (Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Antiquities 1.34). Roman lore held that Saturn (whom they identified with the old Italian god of agriculture) had once ruled Latium in a Golden Age, and after being deposed by Jupiter fled to Latium and reigned during a time of plenty and peace (Virgil, Aeneid VIII.320-325). The very name Latium, Virgil says, came from Saturn “lying hidden” (latente deo). So the Romans, though officially revering Jupiter and later adopting Greco-Roman classical pantheon, maintained an undercurrent of Saturnian remembrance – through the Saturnalia festival each December, when social order inverted in a memory of the Golden Age, and through keeping Saturn’s temple where the state treasury was stored (a nice symbol of wealth and time under Saturn’s lordship).

As Christianity emerged and spread in the late empire, many Church Fathers and apologists noticed that the old religion of Saturn was not truly dead but persisted in various guises. Tertullian (c.200 AD) wrote that “Saturn, the original god of sowing, was publicly honored by human sacrifices in Africa until the proconsulate of Tiberius” (Tertullian, Apology 9), referring to Carthage’s continuing child sacrifices to Baal Hammon/Saturn even under Roman rule. Even in Rome, into the 4th century AD, the aristocracy’s attachment to the Sol Invictus cult (with its zodiacal theology and likely Saturnine elements) was strong. By the time of the Holy Roman Empire (medieval period), European noble lines had long genealogies often mythically linking back to Troy, and thus by extension to the pantheons of old. In effect, the Sons of Darkness bloodline had insinuated itself into the very framework of empire, albeit camouflaged. Outwardly "Christian" emperors and kings still cherished the idea of noble descent from “gods” (demonic angels) – an idea fundamentally at odds with the biblical worldview of humankind’s common creation and fall. This tension sometimes came to light: e.g., churchmen in the Middle Ages skeptically noted that if every noble family was truly descended from a Trojan or Caesar, where were the commoners descended from? Such legends were recognized by some as political mythology. Yet, mystically, the concept of a divine right to rule based on blood persisted.

Before concluding with the cosmic war motif, one curious case deserves attention – a figure at the intersection of Christian and pagan lore: Linus.

Linus — Between Scripture and Titans

In the New Testament, the Apostle Paul sends greetings to a believer named Linus in Rome: “Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Pudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers” (2 Timothy 4:21, ESV). There is no indication in Scripture that this Linus was a bishop or held any special office — he is simply listed as a fellow Christian in Rome. Nevertheless, later Roman Catholic tradition claims this same Linus as the first Bishop of Rome after the apostles, making him the starting point of their doctrine of apostolic succession for the papacy. Irenaeus of Lyons (c. 180 AD) wrote, “The blessed apostles, having founded and built up the Church [in Rome], committed into the hands of Linus the office of the episcopate” (Against Heresies 3.3.3). Notably, Irenaeus speaks of “the blessed apostles” in the plural — indicating both Peter and Paul; as the founders of the Roman church, not Peter alone. This distinction undercuts later claims that the papal line rests uniquely on Peter’s authority.

Meanwhile, in Roman literature, Linus appears in a very different context: prophecy of a Saturnian Golden Age. The poet Virgil, in his celebrated Fourth Eclogue (37 BC), describes the imminent birth of a child who will usher in a renewed age of Saturn’s reign – a poetic vision likely tied to a hoped-for era of peace (and later intriguingly read by Christians as a pagan foreshadowing of Christ’s birth). In this eclogue Virgil invokes mythical singers who might challenge his own song: “Thracian Orpheus and Linus shall not beat me in song, though each is backed by a god – his mother Calliope for Orpheus, and his father Apollo for Linus” (Eclogue IV, ln. 55–57). Here Linus is cast as the son of Apollo, a master of prophetic music. In Greek myth, Linus was a legendary musician of extraordinary talent (variously a son of Apollo or of Urania, and sometimes teacher of Orpheus or Heracles). He suffered a premature death and was often lamented in dirges – the very word “linus” was associated with a mournful refrain (Kerényi 1951, p.128). As a mythic figure, Linus embodies wisdom and music bestowed by the gods, yet also mortality.

Why connect this to Saturn’s return? Virgil’s Golden Age imagery is suffused with references to Titans (Nephilim) and old gods: “Justice returns, and Saturn’s reign returns” (Ecl.4:6). By naming Linus (and Orpheus), he nods to figures of the old mythic world that would be surpassed in the coming age. If we take an allegorical view: Orpheus and Linus – famed seers of the pagan past – are being superseded by a greater revelation (Virgil flatteringly implying his own poetic prophecy is inspired beyond theirs).

The juxtaposition is striking: Linus the "bishop" and Linus the Titan’s son. It is almost symbolic of the two lineages in microcosm. On one hand, Linus represents the faithful, orderly transmission of apostolic truth – a “son of light” handing on the gospel in Rome, contending against paganism. On the other hand, Linus in myth represents a child of Apollo (a son of a fallen Watcher? Apollo in some Christian interpretations was equated with a demon or fallen entity, e.g. seen as analogous to Apollyon in Rev. 9:11). We have, then, a name that stands both in the choir of the saints and in the choir of the old gods. Of course, these are different individuals named Linus – but the coincidence invites reflection on how thoroughly the strands of history were intertwined. As Christianity spread through the Roman world, it was constantly in contest with the residual influences of the Titan-kings: Saturn, Apollo, Artemis, Zeus, et al. Sometimes the conflict was overt (persecutions, polemics against idolatry); other times it was subtle (pagan philosophies or noble lineages trying to co-opt or corrupt the Church). The “war of two bloodlines” was not a fanciful metaphor to the Church Fathers – they saw in their time the clash of two seeds: the seed of the woman, and the seed of the serpent (manifest in idolatries and tyrannies).

Centuries later, the papal office built upon this claimed succession from Linus. By the 18th and 19th centuries, papal rhetoric had reached an extraordinary pitch. The Ferraris Ecclesiastical Dictionary (entry “Papa”) describes the pope as:

“Of so great dignity and so exalted that he is not a mere man, but as it were God, and the vicar of God… the divine monarch and supreme emperor, king of kings… He is above all the prophets, and is greater than John the Baptist; he is above the angels, and is their superior.”

Such words sound less like the humility of Christ’s apostles and more like the hubris of the old god-kings — the very “sons of darkness” who exalted themselves above heaven. And here lies the question: if certain holders of the Roman throne were indeed heirs, in some sense, to the ancient “serpent’s seed” lineage, would that not explain how a professed "Christian" leader could sanction crusades, inquisitions, and the slaughter of those who merely read or preached the Gospel? In Christ’s own words, murder is the work of “the father of lies” (John 8:44), not the Good Shepherd.

Sons of Darkness vs. Sons of Light — The Continuity of War

From this survey, we can trace a continuous thread through human history — the existence of two competing sources of authority. One is heavenly, defined by covenant, truth, and the redemption of humanity, ultimately fulfilled in Christ, the “Second Adam” and the promised seed of the woman. The other is subterranean, the “below” authority, defined by illicit knowledge, tyranny, and the enslavement of humanity under false gods. The War Scroll from Qumran dramatizes this as an end-times battle between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness. Yet the evidence suggests that this is not just an eschatological vision, but a primeval and ongoing war that has spanned every age.

In the antediluvian world, the rebellious Watchers descended and begot the Nephilim, giant beings whose presence multiplied human violence and spread forbidden knowledge (Genesis 6; 1 Enoch). The Flood nearly wiped out this bloodline, but the memory; and perhaps some remnant; survived through the descendants of Ham. In Mesopotamian lore, the apkallū and “kings before the Flood” preserved this legacy, with rulers like Gilgamesh, described as two-thirds divine, recalling the Nephilim archetype.

After the Flood, early civilizations saw the rise of tyrant-kings once more. Nimrod, described as a “mighty one” (gibbor), founded Babel and other cities (Genesis 10:8–12). Mesopotamian kings often claimed antediluvian descent to legitimize their rule, while cults of underworld wisdom; such as the worship of Enki in the Abzu; flourished alongside the emerging pagan pantheons.

The Bronze Age marked the height of this dark kingship ideology. Egypt, Babylon, the Hittites, and Mycenaean Greece each upheld divine kingship, with rulers styled as sons or incarnations of the gods. Among the Hurrians, the succession myth of Kumarbi and Teshub preserved the image of a dethroned elder god — a Saturn-like figure — still shaping geopolitics through monstrous champions. West Semitic realms honored Dagan or El as “Father of kings,” while in Canaan, the Anakim, descendants of the Nephilim, held real territory (Numbers 13:33).

The Late Bronze Age collapse scattered these traditions westward, embedding them into hybrid cultures like the Philistines, Phoenician colonies, and early Italic tribes. The Phoenicians and Carthaginians openly maintained the cult of Baal Hammon (Saturn), even practicing human sacrifice to secure favor from the dark powers. The Greeks and Romans, though more philosophical in their religion, retained the Titan myths, with Kronos/Saturn still central to their cosmic history. Mystery cults often looked back to these older gods, sometimes recasting them as benefactors of humanity against the heavenly order.

With the Roman Empire, the conflict entered a new phase. Jesus and His apostles directly confronted demons, false gods, and “the god of this world” (2 Corinthians 4:4), affirming that a real spiritual power stood behind pagan religion. Christ’s victory on the cross began the dethronement of these powers (Colossians 2:15), but their resistance continued. The persecution of Christians by Roman authorities — many tied to priestly colleges of Saturn or devotees of Sol and Apollo — can be seen as the old gods striking back. When "Christianity" became the state religion in the 4th century, the battle did not end; it shifted to infiltration and internal corruption. Heresies, worldly politics within the Church, and leaders acting more like kings than shepherds marked the new front.

In the medieval period, Augustine framed this reality in terms of two cities; the Civitas Dei and the Civitas Terrena; a Christian restatement of the Sons of Light versus the Sons of Darkness. For Augustine, all empires founded on self-love and domination were part of Babylon, while the City of God was composed of those journeying toward the heavenly kingdom. Across the Middle Ages, monarchs claimed divine right but often indulged in occultism or revived pagan rites. Even in the modern era, the war has not ended; it continues in new forms, with the same choice before humanity: allegiance to the truth of the heavenly King, or submission to the deceptive dominion of the powers from below.

In conclusion, the thread we followed – Abzu to Rome – is but one branch of a larger tapestry. But it is a vivid one. It shows that ideas and bloodlines associated with the “Belial” side of the conflict perpetuated themselves through myth, ritual and dynasty. Whether by literally intermarrying (as royals and presidents do) or by ideological succession (teachers to disciples, priests to acolytes), the sons of darkness strove to maintain continuity from the antediluvian rebellion down to the present. On the other side, God in the Bible cultivates a righteous line – from Seth to Noah, from Abraham to David, and ultimately to Jesus Christ, the “Son of David.” This is the seed of the woman (Genesis 3:15) appointed to crush the serpent’s head. The War Scroll’s apocalyptic battle is essentially an unveiling of the ultimate confrontation between these two lines. The victory of the Sons of Light is assured not by human might but by the Lord’s intervention – as the War Scroll says, “the Lord shall go forth with mighty men of the angelic host to battle beside the Sons of Light” (1QM Col. XV).

From Sumer’s Abzu to the throne of Rome and beyond (UK, USA?), the war of two bloodlines has been the undercurrent of history. By understanding the identities and strategies of these bloodlines – one seeking to dominate from the shadows of the abyss, the other called to persevere in the light of divine truth – researchers and believers can better discern the patterns of spiritual conflict that still shape our world today. As the Qumran community soberly reminded themselves, the outcome is in God’s hands, but every person must choose allegiance. In the end, “Light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light” (John 3:19) – a choice that remains as stark now as in the days of Noah or Nero. Yet the promise for the faithful is that the ancient serpent and his seed will finally be defeated, and the kingdom of our God will reign – a true Golden Age, not of Saturn, but of Christ.

References:

• Amar Annus (2010), “On the Origin of the Watchers: A Comparative Study of the Antediluvian Wisdom in Mesopotamian and Jewish Traditions.” Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 19(4): 277–320.

• Lluís Feliu (2003), The God Dagan in Bronze Age Syria. (Boston: Brill). [See especially p.271 on epithet “Dagan of the pit”]

• Derek P. Gilbert (2021), “The Second Coming of Saturn, Part 10: Rephaim and Ritual Pits.” [Online blog post, Dec 22, 2021, at derekpgilbert.com].

• H. G. Güterbock (1951), “Kumarbi: Mythen vom churritischen Kronos.” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschung 1: 43–73.

• Hayman, Michelle (2025), “From Goat to Sun Disk: The Ancient Continuum of Saturn Worship.” Rebuild Spirit Blog, August 2025.

• W. W. Hallo & K. L. Younger (eds.) (1997), The Context of Scripture, Vol. 1. (Leiden: Brill). [Contains English translations of Berossus and Mesopotamian inscriptions, e.g., “Nebuchadnezzar I’s claim of antediluvian lineage.”]

• S. Lafont (1987), “Dagan bel pagre et les pratiques funéraires à Mari.” MARI: Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires 5: 611–622.

• Gary M. Beckman (2011), “Primordial Obstetrics: The Song of Emergence”, in Anatolian Interfaces: Hittites, Greeks and Their Neighbours. (Oxford: Oxbow Books). [Comparison of Kumarbi’s myth and Greek parallels].

• Eberhard Zangger, et al. (2022), “Middle and Late Bronze Age Western Asia Minor: A Status Report.” in The Political Geography of Western Anatolia in the Late Bronze Age (Archaeolingua 45). [See p.350 for discussion of Trojan legacy in Europe].

• Primary Texts: War Scroll (1QM) – DSS fragment (trans. García-Martínez, 1996); The Old Testament (esp. Genesis 6; Amos 5:26); New Testament (Acts 7:43; 2 Tim 4:21); Virgil’s Eclogues IV (c.37 BC); Hittite “Kingship in Heaven” myth (in Hoffner, Hittite Myths, 1998); Berossus frag. 1 (via Eusebius, Praeparatio Evang. IX.); Irenaeus, Against Heresies 3.3.3 (ed. Harvey).