Saturday, March 1, 2014



“Malatonach comes...” Danni said again.

            “Well, if that's the case,” Donovan said, “he's in for a rude awakening. He's gonna' have to play without his friends.” Then he addressed the entire group. “Everybody hot?”

            They agreed that they were. Locked, loaded, and hot. “Then let's let these motherfuckers have it!”


As he stood up everyone followed his lead. As he fired his Desert Eagle down into the crowd, others fired assault rifles and shotguns.

            Sea spawn screamed, high-pitched cries, that were compromised from the onslaught of the group.

            The larger of the aberrations tried to scale the wall. They were cut down in the process of trying to do so.

The spawn began to scatter. Only the octopoid creation seemed to stand its ground. Bullets barely penetrating the epidermis of the monster, sounding like shells falling into soup, hardly causing it any harm. It lashed against the building of the hotel with its tentacles, tearing up rock, stonework, masonry, and glass from windows. One of the appendages reached up over the roof of the hotel, and in a frenzied response, was cut to pieces by weapons-fire.

The daemonic mist crept closer.

Meanwhile pseudopods stretched from the epidermis of the obscenity. They opened like sickly flowers, and expelled the amorphous jelly-fish creations. Instinctively the group ducked. Several landing on the roof, and leaping again. Most of them were shot down, torn to pieces. However one slipped by and attached itself to Donovan' face.

            This figures, he thought darkly, cynically. Then he felt a tentacle forcing its way down his throat. The hell you say. He saw it his mind's eye, as clear as day, even in slow-motion, as if he had seen it a hundred times before now. He pressed the plunger on the FAD cylinder, and fell over the side of the hotel roof.

Just as he hit the octopoid aberration, there was a great explosion, and fire raced to either side of the street, consuming all in its path, even as a cloud of fire rose to the second floor of the hotel, the concussion shaking the foundation of the motel, and shattering windows.

            The group was knocked to the ground. “What the fuck?” Justin vociferated. “What the fuck just happened?”

            No one had an answer.

            “I mean what the fuck?”

And then the sky was torn asunder thunderously as if by great jagged bolts of lightning, ebon and crimson, glowing sinisterly, that came from the fog crawling toward the beach, searing the firmament of early morning.

            “Stay down!” Danni commanded.

            A tremendous wind followed, and it roared with the howls of the damned.

The fissures became chasms that fell into dark abysses of cosmic relation, like space without stars. It was as if reality was ripped multitudinous, and from the many fissures and chasms came fire and spirits of dark dominion, screeching in horrifying ululation, and glee, like prisoners that had been released from their imprisonment. They tore at the group as they flew low--the world seemed to race passed them in an amazing frenzy.

Waves of radiant energy, heat, light, perhaps electricity scattered everywhere, seemingly tearing up the really real world that the group once knew, in a cataclysmic storm. With their eyes closed, the group saw apocalyptic visions of demons and aberrations invading our realm, even as they invaded the cosmos eons ago. The world was stripped of its technology, of its superiority, of its vitality; buildings crumbled under the onslaught of devils, super tsunamis crashed against the east and west coast of the United States and beyond. Deserts became oceans, mountains became islands, and the end came shortly thereafter. 


Sunday, February 16, 2014

n inscription on the wall opens a veil between worlds. Beyond the veil is a dimension of unmitigated evil and diabolical perversity. In this realm there reside Dark Gods that challenge the other in a war, where the victor lays claim to the planet. Entities enter our world at the bidding of the Gods, to acclimate it for the coming of The Darkness.

Sunday, December 29, 2013


At this hour global confusion is unfolding, and from around the world, reports are flooding in. Tens of thousands of people are missing--mostly small children--gone, without explanation. 

While the Graver Epidemic runs its course, eye-witnesses report of lights in the sky, and scientists are predicting an upheaval of global disasters. 

There have  already been reports of tsunami's, earthquakes, violent storms, and unprecedented weather-patterns, striking every continent. :

Experts offer no explanation into the phenomena, while scientists still try to unravel the code of the Hidden Enemy--the unseen virus responsible for the Graver Epidemic

Martial Law now blankets the US. while other counties weigh their options...  

Friday, November 29, 2013


“This is Commander Detrick, USSTU,” he said, following the initialization of the com. “Aboard the USST Interceptor, off the coast of Nantucket at 1400 hours. Code DW-4, this is Report 7, Subject File: Project Black; sub/file: Mission Alpha.  This Report, File, and sub/file are Code 7-1—for eyes only, 446; any other personnel observing this file without proper authorization, will be subject to immediate termination.”

Detrick stopped momentarily to fill his shot-glass and hammer it down.
            “Anomalies and/or Aberrations have infiltrated the entire Eastern Seaboard. At this time there have been sightings in Canada, Connecticut, and New York. Operation Containment, Red Flag, and Triage, have been initiated. President of the United States, Obama is secure in the NORAD facility. We are currently at Defcon-Four.

“All but two members of Alpha Group are either dead, critically injured, or MIA. Gamma and Rogue Groups have been dispatched to try and contain Tesla, and retrieve any more survivors.
            “A civilian, Pamela Dempster, was attacked by an Aberration prior to Dust-off in Tesla. She was infected by the Aberration. The incubation to transformation was thirty minutes. Fifteen members of the crew were killed before the creature could be brought down. All other civilians are under close observation. There wasn’t enough tissue left of the late Mrs. Dempster to analyze. And the only consensus that the Specialists can agree on is that the Aberration is sulfur-based—not carbon. There has been no indication to determine whether or not the Aberration has DNA worth questioning. All that’s known at this time is that the Aberration is one tough motherfucker…but, it can be killed. N2 seems to be the most affective way of eradicating the creature; however after contact with the liquid-nitrogen, the Aberration literally disintegrates.”

“Testimonies from the civilians have stated that the Primary Aberration—which has been labeled, Wolf-wraith, is not the only Aberration that causes infection and transformation. The Secondary Aberration—quaintly referred to as Devil-wasp, also infects its prey; transforming them into still another Aberration, called Gravers...

Steps are currently being taken in an attempt to retrieve tissue samples from the Demon-wasps and/or Ghouls.
            Recordings and statements from Alpha Group have revealed isolated craters, with the nature of spacio-rifts, or…wormholes. People go in, but they don’t come out. Transmissions have been lost by those falling victim to these craters.

Thirteen Anomalies have appeared in Tesla, Sanford, Springdale, and Rochester, Maine; others have appeared in Redfield, New Hampshire. From the craters more Aberrations emerge. Main and New Hampshire are currently under quarantine, and only specific satellite-feed is beamed to the local news stations that are monitored by the Secret Service.”

            Another hammer of whiskey, and Detrick continued.

            “At this time there seems to be no way of stopping the Aberrations without inflicting collateral-damage.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013


As a child I was full of magic, wizards, dragons,  kings, and super-heroes.I couldn't wait for my favorite heroes to be in the movies. Twenty-five years later, the dream is  a  reality viewed by all. The  world changed me over the years--now I have added horror fantasy--not Twilight Forever--I don't consider that fantasy horror; more like paranormal romance-- and I write erotic science-fiction/fantasy, as well as paranormal crime dramas, and still more science-fiction fantasy to add to my  itinerary and genres of versatility. I hope you enjoy my work and find a genre to suit your taste for your reading pleasure.


—it took four years to write, and has been gathering dust for almost three years while I worked on Darkness Within. Tears of the Le’igro was considered by Tor for its prose and originality; unfortunately—there is that word again—Tor had filled its quota  for submissions that year. Tears of the Le’igro won the Redbubblle Alpha and Omega contest for best story--initially written for teens, I present to you, installments of the Epic Fantasy Adventure, Tears of the Le’igro

The Le’igro is dying…
The miraculous and enchanted Garden of Life and Illumination that has seen to the vitality and protection of the surrounding lands since the dawn of time has been poisoned.  Now the people of Caladashari face sickness and death.

The weather soon threatens crops and life, and the dead rise, even as darkness falls.

Cities crumble under the onslaught of sorcerers, dragons, and devils.

The only possibility of salvation for the Le’igro lies in the tears of the one that breathed life into her at the beginning of time.


Once a god of goodness and beauty, now after thousands of years of disreputable treatment by the other gods—Parthalamas has grown embittered and callous, and now finds his home in the nether regions of the hellish realm of Infer’nos.

Only the most elite of heroes has a chance of braving the realm of darkness and demons, and petitioning the tears from the Lord of Flame and Shadow, in hope of restoring the Le’igro, and bringing life and peace once again to the surrounding lands…but can the tears of a dark god save the Garden, or is she doomed to die?

Deriic Moriin was hysterical. He believed that it was quite conceivable that he had never known such stark terror and utter horror. Not in this lifetime. Not until now. The worst phantasm dredged up from a child’s nightmarish imagination was insignificant, save for musing, to this circumstance. His wife and children were dead, even if they were cognitive, like he was. He knew this now, even if he didn’t realize it when the sickness had been upon him. During that time it seemed as if he were moving through a veil of surrealism so acute that everything and nothing at all had seemed real. And when Dalin had finally passed, being the third in line to succumb to the sickness, Deriic made himself believe that his son had merely fallen into a deep sleep. And even when all the color had left Dalin’s face, his father was made to believe that there was still a glow about his son’s countenance.


But there wasn’t. Life had left him. And so did his color.

Entropy had been Deriic’s rationale then, everything was possible. And when he put his hand to his heart and failed to feel it beating, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the picture’s presentation. It was just a little off-centered is all, just a little off-centered. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed.

(He had been healed…)

If he tried real hard at this very moment he could further believe that his heart was still beating. And maybe somewhere else it still was. It was hard to make out anything in the wavering and intermittently fluctuating darkness. It was hard to know what was real in the haze. And

(A man of God had touched him…)

the eerie green illumination that flared periodically, merely stretched the shadows of his imagination. And what was it that he imagined he saw? Currently it was the smile that was in his wife’s eyes. So beautiful she was. So beautiful. Her eyes, just like the day when he danced with her in the Hall of Caliisdan, on the same day that she had admitted to herself that her heart no longer belonged to a pompous noble, if her heart had ever belonged to him at all

. Her name was Monique, daughter of Laddon and Priscilla Coradine, a merchant’s daughter, with long flaxen curls that spilled down to the small of her back, and eyes the color of a misty sea; her voice was not unlike music when she spoke, and smiles came easily to her--that is, at least for a little while.

            Monique had caught the eye of Bodin Estrese, son of a noble, Patriic Estrese, while the Coradines were in Calohraad selling weapons and traveling goods during the Trystese Fair. And Bodin had charmed Monique then, while he was still a young man, before his true colors were shown, before it was seen how he treated people that he considered lower class, before the poison of arrogance infected his soul.

This side of Bodin would be seen three years later at a banquet for the noble families and their merchants, and Monique witnessed Bodin speaking to a servant like a dog. She was appalled by the noble’s performance.

            During that three year interim Monique would meet Deriic Morin who would touch her heart in ways that Bodin couldn’t begin to fathom. Deriic, a man of not just a few talents such as hunting and fishing, with long black hair and dark eyes set low below his high forehead, with a nose that was nondescript, and lips that were full and sensual.

Deriic was as humble as he was confidant in who he was, he was as generous as he was tenderhearted. Who would have though that the man would be interested in joining the military?

            But he was. And almost two years later, on the dance floor, the night before he enlisted, Deriic told Monique that he loved her, that he had always loved her, and would always love her. And although she might have been willing to wait for him, Monique’s mother would not, she had other plans; marriage to a noble would be very lucrative and would ensure that the Coradines wouldn’t have to work near as hard for—well, for anything at all.


So a month before the wedding Monique ran away from her home. And although Bodin had sent the best men that he could afford to look for her, Monique could not be--would not be found.

            Six years later and Deriic returned from the military a decorated Captain, and Monique sent a messenger to him, saying that she could be found in Windelport. The couple was soon married and Monique was pregnant with Dalin in the same year. Two years later and Maraline was brought into the world.


Life was hard. No one said it would be otherwise, sometimes it was hard to make ends meet, and sometimes Deriic was called away for service missions, but Deriic and Monique were both hard workers and in spite of these ups and downs, they always managed to find a way to make it through the hard times. That is until the sickness found them.

Dalin was seven when Deriic purchased a horse and wagon. And with it the Morins need not call anyplace their home lest they chose to, and often times they lived contentedly off the land. A week ago their intentions had been to make it to the concert in Palimaar, but they ran up against foul weather, then there was the sickness.


Deriic vaguely remembered the man in the black robes and hooded cloak,

            (A man of God had touched him…)

but remembered very little after that. Did he share his fire with the man in black? Deriic supposed that he probably had. And the next morning after the man had left, mother and daughter were struck down by a fever that stayed with them for days and grew increasingly worse as time slipped by. Now there was another reason to find Palimaar. One of pertinence. And then there was a moment that instilled an incomprehensible fear; it was so articulate that Deriic suspected it was even worse than when he feared that his wife and daughter were dying; that was in the midst of a severe coughing fit, one in which Deriic thought that his wife would never catch her breath.

Tears and perspiration spilled down her face, and she suffered spasms along with the wracking coughs, and then she spit up, and in her phlegm Deriic saw blood. The chill at the core of him grew colder.

            (But she too had been touched by

(Joshua Heit…

 a man of God…)

            When his son Dalin had finally passed--even though he didn’t accept the reality of it at the time--Deriic was hot with fever--but then…but then four men who had been hunting had come to his aid. One of them had run to get help, gauging Deriic’s condition to be more than that which they could handle. And before long a man had touched Deriic and his family, and he healed them! The man called himself Joshua Heit, and he professed that it was the power of Dhamara that had given Deriic and his family back their lives. Praise be to Dhamara! Following the miracle and epiphany and Deriic found himself suffering from a kind of short-term memory loss. Moreover he experienced it in a manner that would suggest that his loss of memory was actually protecting him from something. Almost as if, by remembering something that he would choose to forget, he might drive himself utterly mad.

It was quite possible.

Following a haze and intermittent moments of blackness there flared before him a fiery yellow-green light, which was quite hellish in its presentation, wherein Deriic found himself in an immense chamber that quite possibly had been a temple of old gods. He was able to see a great stone altar under the discontinuous flashes of fiery yellow-green luminosity that filled the cavern, but he could not turn his head to look around him, it was as if his head were fixed to look in one direction, straight ahead, toward the altar. Under the illumination of the light the whole place took on a hazy surrealistic nature which obscured reality and invited the imagination to dark phantasms.


His family was with him; he could see them to either side of him from the corners of his eyes. They too were apparently in a similar boat as Deriic, as they could not move their heads either, but were forced to stare straight ahead. 

In addition to the inability to move his head, Deriic realized that he could not feel his body; he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs or his hands, neither could he see them. Something decidedly nasty was going on here. But for the moment he knew not what.

(The man in black had returned…)

When the green fire faded and left Deriic in darkness he was able to think about what it was that led him to this circumstance. Heit took his family in, fed them, and made certain that they recovered fully from their ordeal. Not long after they had retired for the evening and Deriic was visited again by the man in black, but this time, framed in the hood of his cloak, and with a halo of long, wavy white hair, he wore the face of Heit, and as an unforeseen fear rose up like a wraith out of the darkness and gripped the man while he lay in his bed, that is when Deriic saw the massive blade flash under the dim moonlight. He heard a scream, and then everything was cast into a void of black

Now thoughts grew hazy again. A flash of light and Deriic saw several sable columns reaching up from the floor to a cloudy height beyond the range of the man’s vision. In the center of the cavern, over a wide pit glowing with yellow-green fire, squatted a lattice of steel, wood, and precious stones, the construct had spines and climbed a hundred feet into the air. Deriic was part of the lattice, he didn’t know how this was so, but another burst of acute fear confirmed his suspicions that couldn’t yet be explained.


And then he saw the creatures bathed in the light, moving back and forth amidst the temple, and taking care of things that needed attending. And they were milky-white and grotesque, slippery things resembling amorphous bipedal toads with eyes on wavering stalks. They waddled busily about the temple, carrying bundles which they brought up to the lattice that climbed toward the skies. And what happened next would have driven a scream of insane revelation from the man known as Deriic Moriin, even as he saw the creatures open their bundles and produced what could only be severed heads.


And without a second thought, the monstrosities moved over and placed the heads on the spines of the lattice, one after another, pushing what remained of the hapless victim’s neck down on the sharp spikes, almost tenderly, fitting them in place. Yes, Deriic would have screamed had he been able to do so. The problem is that he could not. He had no throat for which to emit a voice of any kind. And that is when he realized that the reason he could no longer feel his arms or legs, feet or hands, was because he was just like those hapless victims; he was nothing more than a severed head now, trapped on a spine amidst hundreds of others melding into the lattice that squatted over a pit that could only lead to hell.

Rook turned and gestured to Lilimiist, Aliadaarnah, Sratos, Dalanrai, and Malachaar. His expression let them know that the time was now. "I leave you know Sire," Rook told Darion. "I wish you the best of good fortune. May the light of Tiisa’jhariana shine on you." Following this, the five followed their commander out to the dining hall. It wasn't difficult to discern who Gaarick's men were. They had a table to themselves and were making a raucous, pinching the bottoms of the serving wenches, and wanting to know when the dancing girls were going to be coming out. They were informed that it would be almost an hour before the girls would begin dancing. That didn't go over too well, and one of the men broke a bottle on the floor. And that was when Rook stepped in.

            "That's alcohol-abuse, soldier." the commander told the man who looked at him like he had just been insulted.

"What the hell is it to you, cleric?" The team was wearing large--if not heavy cloaks over their armor, Rook supposed they did look like clerics at that, or perhaps the man was just being insulting.

            "Firstly, I'm not a cleric," Rook told the man kindly. "I'm a fighter, much like yourself."

            "Of that I doubt," the man said. Then he looked passed Rook at Dalanrai, Alia. "Maybe you ladies would like to dance for us?"

            Alia said emotionlessly, "Maybe you would like to go straight to hell?"

            "Oh--you just said the wrong thing to the wrong person, little bitch." The fighter stood up, drawing his sword as he did so. He gleamed in chain mail armor. He moved toward Alia. Rook stepped in front of him. "Get out of my way crud, before I break you in half." Rook shrugged.

            "Just trying to save you from getting hurt." the commander told the man.

The fighter snorted. "Now, little bitch, I think you need to take back what you said. And then I think that you need to get your little ass up there and dance for me."


            And then it was almost as if Alia disappeared. She was no longer in front of the man. Somehow she got behind him, and as she did so, she grabbed his sword-arm, just a few inches from the wrist, and with the strength of the dragon that she was, she pulled back forcibly, so that the arm bent in half, backward at the elbow. A loud crack was heard in the process, and then the fighter was screaming as he dropped his sword from an arm that was bent in an unnatural position, he fell precariously to the floor.

"That is sure to leave a mark," Rook said commentarily.

            Of the three men that remained at the table there was one with a long blond mustache and studious brown eyes. "What do you want?"

            Rook looked over at him. "Ah, a civilized question. We don't wish to fight, you can be assured of that. What happened with your friend there was really quite unfortunate--"

            "What do you want?" the man said again.

            Without waiting for an open invitation, Rook sat down at the table with the three remaining men. They each regarded the man with a guarded expression, occasionally passing a glance over at their comrade rolling around on the floor. In time one of the men rose to give assistance to the man on the floor, he was lifted to his feet and led toward the door when Gaarick stepped through it.

Gaarick stepped across the threshold and his eyes grew wide. One of his men—Calbost, was helping another of his men—Harsil, walk while he observed that Harsil had one arm bent at an impossible angle behind him, tears of pain streaming down his face. Harsil was a powerful man, having seen many conflicts, he wasn’t easily beaten, and the captain had never seen tears in his eyes. But what Gaarick was seeing told him that the man had run into an opponent who was not only worthy of his skills but could easily surpass them, as it were, he didn’t see a single scratch on the man, indicating that the arm was a solitary attack.

What the hell happened?” Gaarick wanted to know.

            “Broken arm, sir.” Calbos spoke the obvious. “A woman,”

            “A woman broke his arm?”

            “Yes sir, she was fast. Didn’t even see her move. Harsil needs medical attention.”

            “I can see that. Get him back to the castle. Then bring another coach around.”

Captain Gaarick let the two men pass then he stepped into the Golden Sands. He looked over at the table that he usually shared with his men and saw a stranger sitting there. The figure appeared to be dressed like a druid, and there were three others that remained standing that were dressed in similar fashion. It was hard to fathom that one of these individuals here had broken Harsil’s’ arm, possibly the one sitting at the table with his men. He immediately took a disliking to him. Then he remembered it was a girl that had broken Harsil’s arm, and he saw two of them standing behind the one seated. His men stood at his approach, Rook remained where he was.


“Which one of you young women broke my soldier’s arm?” Gaarick demanded coldly.

            “That would be me,” Aliadaarnah stated plainly.

            “And why would you do that, my dear?”

            “Because the man’s a pig. He insulted me and my friend. Then he decided he wanted to fight.”

            “Is this what happened?” Gaarick asked, turning to his men for an answer.

            The two men nodded their heads.

            “In that case ladies, you have my sincerest apologies. And I will see to it that my soldier is properly reprimanded.”

            Even as he spoke the words, he couldn’t believe that his demeanor so easily leaned toward chivalry; very seldom had Gaarick reprimanded his men for insulting women, it wasn’t uncommon for him to offer a few chauvinistic remarks at one time or another. But something about these druids made him feel a little…charming, maybe it was something to do with the beauty of the women who were, he noted, quite striking in appearance. He wondered.

“What can I do for you folks?”

            Rook appeared to be looking at his hand for the moment, rubbing the tips of his fingers on one hand with his thumb. He looked up and smiled. “It’s not what you can do for us, Captain Gaarick; it’s what I think that I can do for your Duke.”

            “And what might that be?” Gaarick said, sitting down at the table, his soldiers following suit.

            “Well, I think showing you would be the easiest way of going about this.” Rook removed the amulet from around his neck. He placed it on the table.

            “What’s this?” Gaarick asked, looking at the smoky-blue amulet quizzically.

            “If Mjha’jhahadriin were here he would easily recognize it for what it is; the Amulet of Stalariis.”


“I recognize the name,” Gaarick said admittedly. “That would mean that this is…the key to Infer’nos.” 
Reaching for the amulet, the captain held it up for examination.

            “It is indeed.” Rook confirmed

            “How did you get a-hold of it?”

            “I’m a very good thief.”

            “I thought you were a druid.”

            “And a very deceptive thief as well.”

            “I see. Yes, I think that Duke Maladaan would be very interested in this.” Setting the amulet back down on the table, Gaarick said, “I will set up a meeting with you and the Duke, immediately; just as soon as the coach comes around. I will go to the castle and tell them about you—what is your name?”

            Ilan Palamos, but those who know me call me Rook.”

            “Rook. Very well. I will tell my Duke about you Rook, and about your talisman, and we should be able to send a coach back for you some time around sunset.”

With business seemingly out of the way, Gaarick wanted to drink. A serving wench saw to his wishes, ordering drinks for all those present. “Have your team sit down Rook, they are making me nervous.”

            Rook signaled to them and the four took the table next to their leader.

An inscription on the wall opens a veil between worlds. Beyond the veil is a dimension of unmitigated evil and diabolical perversity. In this realm there reside Dark Gods that challenge the other in a war, where the victor lays claim to the planet. Entities enter our world at the bidding of the Gods, to acclimate it for the coming of The Darkness.