Sneak Preview of my Novel - Part 2

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thewormoftheworld'send
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Sneak Preview of my Novel - Part 2

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White Gold Versus Black Gold!
Not oil, but black gold.
Not gold really, just gold-colored flames against black-colored flames.
Not real flames, but they can still burn if hot enough.
This is not Thomas Covenant. Get over it!
It's hero versus anti-hero! (Think Linden versus Covenant with Lord Foul and his minions looking on.)

"Elijah: Black Crow" - Chapter 11

Dear Mr. Donaldson:
You wanted it; you got it! Again! This is my second novel.

Place - The evil person's hideout in Minnesota on top of Big Thunder Peak.
Characters -
Roy: Chemist and all-around MacGyver, one of the good guys.
Elijah: MC point-of-view, Servant of the arch-demon Turiel's sons; anti-hero turned evil.
Samyaza: Arch-demon, general of the armies of Hell, servant of Satan.
Manny: A Bigfoot researcher/bystander who got caught up in the action.
***********

“They won’t move while their mistress is in danger,� said White Buffalo.
“Now get the hell to that elevator and I’ll do the rest. You too, traitor!�

Manny strode gingerly past White Buffalo to the elevator. I didn’t move. Neither did Roy, but for a different reason.

“You may be wanting to know, how did I get here? I am living proof from God and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to the Illuminati and other groups that they should confess and repent their sins.�

That didn’t quite make sense to me, so I came back with, “I say you got here the same way you were born. You fell out of a hole and got confused. The noise I heard just before you showed up was you fumbling around trying to find a way out before you got in trouble. But you ended up here by mistake and are now trying to make the most of it because, like a typical bully, you’re also a coward.�

White Buffalo appeared to become enraged by my insult. Good! I thought. He can never think straight when he’s angry. Insults like that were his kryptonite. And while he seethed, the tip of my right pinkie finger was turning in small circles by my side.

“You always were a weak-minded punk,� he snarled. “Good only for demon bait. Every time you stand up you fall over again, you dizzy, clown-talking rapo. Keep running your mouth and I’ll drop you fast. I’m tired of your white people's games and lies. I am a North Family Royal! If I fall, you’ll all go down with me! You prop me up as a king with all your talk, you diaper-wearing, baby-raping assassin!�

The audience of Followers and I laughed at this. We saw it as pompous talk from some scared little guy surrounded by enemies. But his weapon remained steadfastly pointed at Samyaza.

A sword formed in my right hand. More accurately it was an ancient Egyptian Khopesh, a curved sword somewhat like a scimitar. Forged with the aid of the sons of Turiel as I twirled my pinkie, its pure steel, forged from the fires of Hell, could endure any stresses. Two black snakes intertwined around the handle. Each had six wings delicately engraved upon their lithe bodies. Two snake heads rose above the handle to face each other.

Not one to waste time, I charged toward my old master White Buffalo, sword held high in both hands, before he had a chance to fire his weapon. If possible, I would cleave him in two right down the middle from head to groin. But this was not to be, as Buffalo blocked my Behemoth’s sword charge with a loud CLANG. His sword twisted with the impact, wrapping up my sword in his and flinging it to one side. I lost my grip on it. Terror overwhelmed me as I found myself so readily defeated by a master of the art of sword fighting.

He parried with a thrust to my midsection that connected, resulting in a superficial wound. I felt the sensation, but the pain didn’t bother me in the least. If it wasn’t for the sting of cold, sharp metal on skin I wouldn’t have noticed the wound at all.
I didn’t take the time to think about it. Instead, I raised my hands and countered with a roar of flames from my palms directed at Buffalo. He yelped and backed away, raising his sword to absorb the flames. But as the Sword of Christ’s Blood absorbed the flame attack, it became as hot as a skillet. With a single motion, Buffalo dropped the sword and Glock and cried out, “I AM ENOCH!�

Golden fire burst from his body. Tiny sword-wielding angelic beings swirled around him, sucking in the affect my flames should’ve had. Buffalo’s fire was supernatural; it didn’t affect him and produced no smoke as it didn’t consume his clothing or body.

Stymied for the moment, I came up with a plan. As White Buffalo had cried out his arch-angel’s name, thus binding him, I cried out my own master’s name. “I AM THE SONS OF TURIEL!� I shouted. Flames burst from his palms in a desperate counter-maneuver, but it was too late. The ebony fire that now surrounded me absorbed his golden flames.

It worked! Turiel’s sons had come to my rescue just as Enoch had come to his. But our respective magics were ineffective against steel. White Buffalo-Enoch retrieved his sword just as I ran and retrieved my Khopesh. This time, it felt feather-light in my hands. As I ran I almost felt as if I was floating. Supernatural law surpassed natural law. I now possessed the strength of a Titan.

I strode forward through the cascades of flames flung by Buffalo/Enoch. His fire came at me from all sides, sometimes from above like a waterfall, other times shaped like swords and missiles. But unless he could quench my dark flames, none of it could have any effect. The heat from his attack was so intense that Samyaza’s followers were forced to back away, shielding their faces with their arms. Amongst those in the audience, only Samyaza herself was able to withstand the heat and brilliant glare from the flames.

The room around us was beginning to scorch and melt. Our supernatural fire wasn’t the problem. The issue was the fire produced by magic. Buffalo/Enoch was chanting a spell that could bring calamity down upon all of us, just as he had done in Aasgard Pass. I did not know the words he spoke, nor the direction he was going to take. But the walls, floor and ceiling of this area, already weakened by the intense heat, were emitting shrieks of distress as if they had reached their breaking point.

“Brother, please stop,� I said through the flames. “It’s not a choice between victory and suicide. These people are innocent. You said once that even as you hated them you would also save them. Now, prove it to me or we will both have more lost lives on our conscience.�

“You go first.� I don’t trust you.

“No, you.� I don’t trust you, either.

***

I found myself in a mountainous realm with a crowd of dozens of people, even children. Buildings and trees stood nearby. The buildings were of a medieval variety, made of rough-hewn stone and wood. I knew then that this was a vision.

Two small, ugly imps from Hell were coaxing me to continue along the path, dragging me by my arms, wheedling and cajoling. But I didn’t want to go.

“Come on! You have to go, so let’s get moving!�

“Why do I have to go?� I asked. I simply wouldn’t go without a logical reason. And there was no reasoning in any of this, no bargaining, just a command that I felt was irrational.

“Go! Just go! You have to because you have to!� they said as they pulled me forward down the hill toward the trees.

Their commands were inexorable. But inwardly, I refused to see myself as just another one of these sheeple around me walking blindly to their dooms. I had no passion for such all-or-nothing certitude. Whether it was right or not, nothing was going to make me go. Nothing!

With all the willpower I could muster, I broke away from the imps and, with a sense of relief, started marching uphill against the crowd the way we had come. But the imps followed behind, yelling at me.

“You can’t do this… You’ll go anyway… There’s no way out…�

A giant humanoid covered in black fur appeared in the crowd. He was giving me a stern look. This was no mere imp. I thought of him at once as the “bouncer� for those souls who rebelled against their fate. Except, instead of bouncing me out of Hell, he would bounce me into it. They were right all along; there was no escape, no way out. Fate had me by the kahunas.

The ebony-furred giant yanked me by an arm and pulled me downhill.

“You have to go… you have to go…� he said. The imps who were still accompanying me said,

“See, I told you! I told you! There’s no way out for you.�

The giant stopped in front of a squat, stone building with a small, opalescent window next to an ancient door. A faint glow came through the window. I wanted to bash that building into non-existence, so I grabbed a strong stick I found and pounded on what seemed to be its weakest point – the window. After a few moments of pounding, the glass didn’t shatter, but I did cave in one edge just far enough to peer inside. What I saw gave me further reason for apprehension, as there appeared to be a floor covered in red-hot coals.

The door opened. I noticed as I was forced inside that the door was a foot thick. Inside was a classic torture dungeon.

I was afraid but not defeated. For I was Elijah, brought down from Heaven itself for a particular task. Perhaps I had strayed from the path I was given. Or perhaps this Hellish place was part of it. Either way, I thought of a way out.

I prayed to Satan.

An imp brought forth from a brazier filled with glowing coals a white-hot piece of metal. It placed the metal in front of my eyes, so I could feel extra terror, and applied it to one of my hands. Yes, it burned. So I began to say Satan’s name. The metal piece cooled quickly so another was brought. With each excruciating fire applied to my hands, I said His name louder and louder.

“This doesn’t hurt,� I bragged to the imp. But it was becoming true. The torture was becoming less bothersome to me. I grabbed a piece of fiery metal that was brought to bear and gripped it in my hand. I felt the fire, but I no longer felt the pain of burning.

I learned that the key to understanding pain was that it was part physical, part psychological, and part spiritual. By calling on Satan’s power, I was able to separate the physical sensation of heat from the psychological experience of suffering.

Jesus could have cried out to Satan while on the Cross and during the scourging. But He was meant to suffer the torments of the crucifixion. His miracle was not merely to defeat suffering; it was beyond that. Through His resurrection, the purpose of the crucifixion was to defeat death itself.
Holding the white-hot piece of metal in my hand without suffering, I praised Satan for this revelation and…

…suddenly found myself in another place. I had broken out of Hell itself, just as White Buffalo did many years ago. I was now in what I recognized to be my aunt’s mobile home back when I was a motherless and fatherless teenager. There I saw bunches of grapes and various other fruits lying around waiting to be eaten. I guessed that my aunt had purchased this bounty from a local farmer’s market and left it there for us to enjoy at our leisure. Other people were in the mobile home, some relatives I remember from the past who were probably dead by now.

But the imps came back, begging me to return to Hell with them. I was the only person who could see them. They somehow placed me under a spell that transported me to another place. I don’t think it was Hell. Although there were mountains and houses again, this new place was flat and the buildings were modern. I prayed to Satan again. The sky was overcast, gray, and there in the clouds I saw Satan Himself in all His Glory. He had deigned to show Himself to me for some reason I cannot fathom.

Enraged hornets and wasps swarmed around suddenly. I ran into the house to get my uncle. He told me to get inside his time machine so we could escape. It was shaped more or less like an airplane but parked outside his home. We took off after only a short forward roll. But instead of climbing through the air, we rose through dimensions of time and space.

My uncle was giving me a tour of the multiverse. I will try to describe it, but not all was clear or comprehensible. I watched millions of screaming Blemmyae marching into a gigantic portal, dark beings orbiting the portal like demented moons – stick-like beings weaving in and out of a hole bedizened with stars – clear, crystal spires created by creatures with unimaginably powerful intellects – an Earth filled with factories run by robots serving humans living in a peaceful utopia – more future humans with enlarged heads surrounding a craft of their own devising, operated by mind alone and running on unlimited fuel – two hobos discussing, with English accents, a subject of incredible complexity – angel-like beings falling from a red and purple sky, trailing behind them meteoric streaks of fire. We ended up back in the dimension with the two imps from Hell.

The imps dragged me out of the time-ship, despite my uncle’s protests, and brought me before a woman whom they said was a prophet. She spoke to me slowly in a deep, sinuous voice that was neither kind nor gentle. I couldn’t follow all the words that were spoken to me, but I now notate them according to my comprehension of that time:
“You brought forth a child on June 27th, 1929. The child’s name was… Pewtrid.� This regarded my previous incarnation on Earth. I felt that “Pewtrid� couldn’t be a baby’s name. I thought perhaps she intended it to point to the idea that my heritage was stained.

The prophetess continued: “When… you are 65…� But she faded out, leaving behind dark laughter as if an insidious fate was being held in store for me, and the details were being kept hidden for some malicious purpose.
A feeling came over me – that the baby I brought forth in 1929 was my daughter, and that her adult name was Samyaza.

Birds of a feather flock together, darling Elijah.

“Yes, my dear Elijah,� crooned young Mother Samyaza. “I was a product of your seed in your previous lifetime. Then I birthed a new you named the Black Crow at the battle of Aasgard Pass. I am your sweet, little darling Pewtrid.� Samyaza morphed into a 93-year-old witch hag as she said this. “White Buffalo was quite instrumental in bringing us back together in your present incarnation. He truly is a prophet. But he’s not much of a warrior.� Her old voice quivered as she spoke.

Buffalo raised his sword to attack, but I stomped once with my foot, creating a minor earthquake that knocked us off balance. Followers stumbled and fell to the floor. I myself fell on my back, but with the intent of performing a kip up, a maneuver designed to enable a quick resuming of the standing position.

Samyaza, who had resumed her normal appearance, wasn’t affected in the slightest by my small earthquake. She was as stalwart and magnificent as ever. She was my mother Samyaza, but also my daughter Pewtrid from my previous lifetime.

White Buffalo didn’t have to hurry onto his feet. I ran over to attack him while he was down, but a swarm of angels came at me. I guessed they were his army numbering around 30,000, not counting those that were devoured by Hellhounds at the Battle of Bliss. The angels transformed into a thick swarm of flies surrounding me, landing on me, suffocating me. They were unaffected by my dark flames, so I tried futilely to bat them away. The mass was so thick that I could cleave it with my sword.

The last thing I remember before giving in to the darkness was the sound of insect invaders buzzing inside my ears.
***********
What did you think?
Tales of a Warrior-Prophet has gone Live on Amazon KDP Vella! I'm very excited to offer the first three chapters for free. Please comment, review and rate, and of course Follow to receive more episodes. Two hundred free tokens may be available for purchases. https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/episode/B09YQQYMKH

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Post by samrw3 »

Very nice imagery. The story keep my engaged and interested.

Reading in the middle of a work is difficult because I kep asking myself questions like what is this scenes the characters are talking about? Why are these people fighting?questions like that would be resolved if I knew the earlier parts of the story. I know that was intentional ...just commenting
Not every person is going to understand you and that's okay. They have a right to their opinion and you have every right to ignore it.
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Post by thewormoftheworld'send »

samrw3 wrote:Very nice imagery. The story keep my engaged and interested.

Reading in the middle of a work is difficult because I kep asking myself questions like what is this scenes the characters are talking about? Why are these people fighting?questions like that would be resolved if I knew the earlier parts of the story. I know that was intentional ...just commenting
Thank you! Those are all very good questions at this point. The Gradual Interview thread is the perfect place for them.

I posted my responses to your questions in the GI on this sub-forum.
Tales of a Warrior-Prophet has gone Live on Amazon KDP Vella! I'm very excited to offer the first three chapters for free. Please comment, review and rate, and of course Follow to receive more episodes. Two hundred free tokens may be available for purchases. https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/episode/B09YQQYMKH

Read my Whachichun Tatanka (White Buffalo) Blog: https://www.blogger.com/blog/posts/8175040473578337186
FB: https://www.facebook.com/WhiteBuffalo.W ... unTatanka/
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/white_buffalo
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thewormoftheworld'send
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Post by thewormoftheworld'send »

Allison's summoning song:

Allison, O Allison sweet daughter, warrior-princess, love of mine. O daughter thou wilt come to me as I please. O daughter Allison come to me!
Tales of a Warrior-Prophet has gone Live on Amazon KDP Vella! I'm very excited to offer the first three chapters for free. Please comment, review and rate, and of course Follow to receive more episodes. Two hundred free tokens may be available for purchases. https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/episode/B09YQQYMKH

Read my Whachichun Tatanka (White Buffalo) Blog: https://www.blogger.com/blog/posts/8175040473578337186
FB: https://www.facebook.com/WhiteBuffalo.W ... unTatanka/
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/white_buffalo
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