Requirements: .ePUB reader, 1.5mb
Overview: Brandon Baltes is on a mission to conquer the world. Wand in hand, he shall gallop across the land atop his steed, mystors thudding in his wrists, armor glinting in the sunlight, wind swishing through his beautiful hair. The women will swoon. The men will follow. And forward will Brandon go on his conquest to glory. The only question: Will you follow him, or be trampled by him?
Genre: Fiction > Sci-Fi/Fantasy
1.Verelyn the Dastardly
Hate changes a man who’s betrayed.
Friends, family, kingdoms, these things inevitably betray you. Hate doesn’t. It rampages, smoldering molten through your veins, skewering the enemy.
But at what cost?
A man thinks his battle is with the Risen, but perhaps his true battle lies with the Fallen. For war centuries in the making cascades upon those chosen in Verelyn’s darkest hour. Forced to lead, forced to fight, forced to die, he must walk the line between good and evil, honor and hate, truth and temptation. And choose which side he wishes to serve.
Risen. Fallen. One must be forgotten.
Spiral down the past to find the secret to the afterlife in Verelyn the Dastardly.
Eternity beckons the Risen. Hellfire bathes the Fallen.
2.The Lord of the Fallen
Rebirth. Pain.
Morose searched for a path back home. Sadly, her eyes caught nothing but the dancing flames before they stopped working. That was okay. The heat that’d burned her eye sockets out didn’t hurt so bad. It never did . . . at the start.
Adrenaline battled the waves of pain. Well, the first ones, at least.
Flames crackled crazily as they consumed patch after patch of her juicy flesh. She coughed, fighting to find pockets of fresh air. But what was the point? There was no escaping the afterlife, not for her, nor her brethren. Only burning, then waking and doing it again, trapped like the Fallen she was. Because they were trapped together, burning in the hellfire forever.
Unless the Lord saves us, she thought, and screamed as the hellfire spurred the pain. Her skin blistered. Her fingernails melted. Her eyes liquefied. Let the Lord wake, at last. Please.
Twinging and tingling until all feeling from her head vanished, her lack of sight and senses like a missing hand. Please.
And then the lack of care in the moment just before death, like always, a reminder from the hellfire of her insignificance, of how little her feelings meant to its unquenchable thirst to burn.
Death. Rebirth. Pain.
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