Many of the old ones still know no better.

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The story goes that the old ones, old gods to some, still live.  Some were, perhaps still are, powerful.  Some suggest that God threw them down, several times.  That they know man is different, but not how.  That they don't even know God, most of them it is said cannot know Him.  A culmination of flesh and spirit rather than flesh and soul... a corruption aimed at the last, and only, true heir to the throne meant for the Son of Man.  Stories, all.  Not just Christian, or Jewish, but from all the true religions, even corrupted into the false religions.  Music which might help some know with whom they work at times.


Oh, well, yes.  While they cannot usually know God, they do know that men are not animals.  For humans there is a... problem.  Weaker, not as smart, live only once, yet... there is something about them.  Much as even wild animals know there is something... different... about men.  Better, in some weird ways, yet potentially far worse.  Algorithms for dealing with men have been created, poetry for the hope for these strange creatures.  And, yet, since they are the children of God, and God is mostly unknown... the mark from those who cannot see is always off.  Can see some things, just not all, not the most important.

While there is a love, there, too, is an... animosity.  As with a younger sibling who is wise beyond his years, and righteous... or with that true potential.  To the feral older brother, this is a frustration.  A cause, even, for jealousy.  And so it is for those with the mark, those born of spirit and flesh, and animals of the truer forms.  Some, however, see.  See... everything.

Stories.  All, just, stories.  Probably.