Release date: August 1, 2018
Subgenre: Dark Fantasy, Horror
About The Lord of Always:
Can this really be the remains of an angel? And if it is, shouldn't we all tremble in anticipation of what awaits at our end?
For Frank and Roz Tanner, booking a honeymoon at Penhale House, set amid beautiful Cornish landscapes, should have been the perfect getaway. But the house sits on a nexus point; a gateway to demonic realms.
Amid a turbulence of twisting realities, and facing legions of fallen angels and nightmarish servitors, Frank and Roz become separated. Frank turns to a local pensioner for assistance. But the enigmatic George Smoke is a man who offers more questions than answers.
Confronted by dark gods and cosmic abominations, Frank faces a battle for his wife's soul. It seems a fight he is destined to lose... but he must succeed. Saving Roz is the key to everything.
For Frank and Roz Tanner, booking a honeymoon at Penhale House, set amid beautiful Cornish landscapes, should have been the perfect getaway. But the house sits on a nexus point; a gateway to demonic realms.
Amid a turbulence of twisting realities, and facing legions of fallen angels and nightmarish servitors, Frank and Roz become separated. Frank turns to a local pensioner for assistance. But the enigmatic George Smoke is a man who offers more questions than answers.
Confronted by dark gods and cosmic abominations, Frank faces a battle for his wife's soul. It seems a fight he is destined to lose... but he must succeed. Saving Roz is the key to everything.
Excerpt:
The
monkeys surrounded us, hissing, spitting, pissing, and pelting us with a
barrage of half-eaten and rotting projectiles, while all the time remaining
beyond the reach of my staff. Roz was panic stricken, rigid with fear and
screaming in terror. I knew it was only a matter of time before the animals
became brave enough to launch a full-on attack. We were in trouble…
And then we heard it.
It began as a rhythmic hum, at first its
volume barely competing with the war cries of the irate monkeys. But the tone
increased exponentially, both in beat and volume, until the whoops of the
animals began to lessen and fade. The monkeys’ attention shifted from us, heads
turned toward the depths of the forest. Fur bristled and bodies set with fear
as widened eyes scanned the boundary of the farthest tree line. We stood
frozen, unsure of the source for the bizarre industrial sound which now
encompassed the entirety of the trees. I was also aware that, whatever this
noise was, it had succeeded in terrifying the monkeys – though it is also fair
to say this self-same contagion of fear seeped into us.
I dropped the stick and took Roz by the
hand, wanting to turn and run, but unsure as to whether this action would reignite
the animals’ interest. Roz remained rooted. She was either unwilling or unable
to speak, though she did manage to lift her arm and point into the woods.
Eyes narrowing, I peered into the distance
in time to see a flash of white light emanate from amid the thickets and trees.
It was at this moment I realized the sound – it had started out as a hum, but
contained within its rhythm was a pulsing thrump
thrump – had risen even higher in tone. A high-pitched ear-piercing whine
engulfed the forest, and this, in turn, was creating a panicked frenzy among
the woodland creatures. Overhead, birds took to the skies, cawing and chirping
with frantic alarm; in the bushes around us, skittish creatures moved at speed
through the undergrowth and then a young gray rabbit broke cover and ran across
the toe of my shoe. The monkeys began toing and froing, fidgeting back and
forth along the branches supporting them, calling out noisily for the support
and guidance of their leaders in what they perceived as the face of this coming
threat.
I balked as, only several feet above the
ground and barely twenty feet in front of us, a translucent egg of rainbow
light winked into existence – and then it was gone. I wondered if I experienced
a stress induced hallucination, but the look on Roz’s face confirmed the egg –
which was just large enough to contain a glowing, seemingly humanoid figure within its shell – had been real.
And then it returned. Blinking into our
world, it pulsed with every color of a storm-rainbow, expanding then
contracting with the steady rhythm of a beating heart.
The first was swiftly followed by a second
luminous orb.
And then another.
Several more arrived in quick succession.
It was at this point the first monkey
exploded…
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About David Brian:
David Brian knew from an early age that he was going to be a
writer. He also knew his writing would cover metaphysical subjects. As a
child he was often accused of having a 'weird and disturbed'
imagination. This was a good thing, right?
Born in the shire county of Northamptonshire, in the very heart of England, much off his childhood was spent listening to dark folktales, and learning of mysterious happenings.
Unlike a majority of his peers - who tended towards dreams involving superheroes, or space roving astronauts, or finding themselves stranded alongside pirates on the shores of some far flung desert island, or locked in life and death battles with marauding hordes of Viking invaders - David preferred spending his days mulling over the prospect (and possible perks) of becoming a werewolf or vampire (either would have done). Having failed miserably in achieving either of these two goals, he has instead set about crafting stories of haunted places, shape-shifting monsters, and other monstrosities that make real our nightmares by way of inter-dimensional rifts, genetic manipulation, and via the curse of ancient, tainted bloodlines.
Born in the shire county of Northamptonshire, in the very heart of England, much off his childhood was spent listening to dark folktales, and learning of mysterious happenings.
Unlike a majority of his peers - who tended towards dreams involving superheroes, or space roving astronauts, or finding themselves stranded alongside pirates on the shores of some far flung desert island, or locked in life and death battles with marauding hordes of Viking invaders - David preferred spending his days mulling over the prospect (and possible perks) of becoming a werewolf or vampire (either would have done). Having failed miserably in achieving either of these two goals, he has instead set about crafting stories of haunted places, shape-shifting monsters, and other monstrosities that make real our nightmares by way of inter-dimensional rifts, genetic manipulation, and via the curse of ancient, tainted bloodlines.
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