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The Suicidal God
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ISBN-10: 1-77115-277-X
Genre: Fantasy/SF/Medieval
eBook Length: 308 Pages
Published: January 2016
Total Readers: 1

From inside the flap

The two gods, the Lord of Salvation and the Prince of Dusk, have been warring with one another for ten thousand years, pitting their followers against one another in a constant struggle for dominance. Every five hundred years they are reborn into flesh forms to walk among their followers, and between rebirths communicate to their priests through the Eye. However, this rebirth, the god of the elves, humans, and dwarves is missing, while the underbeings and the Dusk Prince ready their attack. When an undercover dragon tells an unsuspecting young woman named Rynna that she is the reincarnation of the Lord, the two set off to the capital city to help save their people.

However, in the absence of any memories of past lives or supernatural abilities, Rynna has only the dragon's assurances that she is who and what he claims her to be. More ominously, a strange disease has plagued Rynna since her childhood, one of continually and inexplicably trying to take her own life. Leaving behind a murdered mother, angry groups of suspicious countrymen, and all her belongings, Rynna must learn to master her own doubts and fears, all the while avoiding capture by the enemy so that she can be the leader her people need.

The Suicidal God (Excerpt)


After a three and a half billion year relationship, all Thom had to say was, "fuck you," as he tried to prevent the three-inch dagger from sinking any further into his stomach.

Edmund smiled. "Don't swear, Thom. It's rude."

Thom grunted and started to pale under the blood loss. Then, his eyes widened as a new pain seared through his gut.

Edmund's smile widened. "Like that one, do you? A friend helped me whip it up. Lethorsum. Smells of apricots and is completely harmless unless it comes in contact with your blood. In that case, even a single drop is enough to ensure death. There is no antidote. Not even lifeblood can cure it. And the more liberal the application of the poison, the more painful and horrifying is the death." Edmund tightened his grip on the blade and chuckled. "Can you guess how much I used?"

Thom spit blood onto the ground. It was shiny and frothy. His fingers were becoming slippery with his own fluids and it was now harder to keep his grip on the knife. His words were bitten off in anger and pain, but also in grim satisfaction. "It's too late to kill me. Time is up."

"Kill you?" Edmund's mouth quirked. "I never want to actually kill you. Incapacitation, yes, torture, yes, painful and horrifying near death, yes. Actual death? No, not at all. Why do you think I waited until this late to use the poison? It gives the troops morale when I painfully disembowel people, and if the person in question just happens to be in possession of cosmic powers, all the better. But I don't want to kill you. What fun would it be if there was only one god?"

Thom shook his head in anger. "The blood is dying. The mortals . . . your playthings . . . . We'll be alone again if you don't stop this madness. We are not meant to be in this world and we are killing it."

Once more came that deep chuckle. "My dear Thom, always the pessimist, now aren't we? Right, then. See you in four hundred years."

And with that, Edmund thrust the blade through the last of Thom's resistance to put an eight-inch long gash into his lungs. His scream of pain was interrupted when both he and his assailant disintegrated into a fine dust.