Please welcome Wulf Francu Godgluck with
Of Gods And Monsters: Hades
This is not a story about a hero, or some bad boy-badass-antihero.
This is a love story between two monstrous villains and one valiant kid, held together by their entwined heartstrings.
It won't be pretty.
It won't be pleasant.
There's no fluffy good feelings about it.
It will rip out your heart and never give it back.
Breno Hades el Oscuro took no bullshit from anyone. He ruled the crime world of the United States. When the King fell, what was left in the ashes was not the small boy that grew up without his father, not the same kid that chose a life of crime at seventeen, nor was it the King who had killed and clawed through a river of blood to stand at the top.
The King was dragged from his throne of bones into a deep dark pit, leaving only the raw flesh of a savage monster to crawl out of Hell.
One that knew love, but didn't want it again.
Kemono Orochi was destined to inherit the legacy of his father, known as The Dragon's Tongue. It was an inheritance he never wanted, never desiring the power that came with the title of Dragon. Kemono ended it all by tearing off the Dragon's head, watching the serpent's remains be consumed in hellfire. Now tormented by the scars of his past inflicted by his father, he is struggling to come to terms with the Akuma he has become.
One that wants to devour everyone in his path to protect the only one that matters to him.
The only person that had ever made his icy heart beat.
His heart. His love. His beautiful pride.
Rex Hunter dreams of becoming a principal ballerino...all fierce, like a Phoenix. But this Phoenix has lost his wings and fallen prey, straight into the clutched claws and callus hands of two vicious beasts. Each bore the blackest of hearts, each desiring to keep him safe, cherished and loved unconditionally. Or was Rex just destined to be the goo that would stick two shattered souls together and prevent them from forever falling to pieces?
There will be blood, gore and nasty shit.
There will be watersports, crude, angry, sometimes sensual and other times just downright dirty and dysfunctional sex.
There will always be LOVE...
Because even villains understand the tortured scars love leaves in her wake.
Kemono’s veins pulsed with cold death, bulging, ready to burst. He was pulling so much air into his lungs, hissing and heaving, he wasn’t sure he was breathing. The blaze danced before him, the heat searing his face while Yasushi and Tsuyoshi clawed at him with all their strength to stop him from entering the warehouse.
His promise was broken, being eaten away by hot flames, a fire that devoured without mercy. His Shuiro was in that building, the one burning before him, the blaze as alive as it had been at the temple four years ago.
His hands clenched, muscles tight, but he still managed to tremble. His vision blurred as his eyes stung. A choke spilled from his lips, angry pain ripped through his chest. It left him breathless and defeated. With a last strangling cry he collapsed to his knees, the gravel slicing into his kneecaps, the pain nothing compared as he bled from his raw insides.
How much havoc could one man endure before he took his own life? How far did they need to be driven to take that fearless act? How many scars could one heart carry before it crumbled into dust to be carried away in the breeze...?
Kemono didn’t know those answers, but he did know—as his fingernails scraped and hands dragged through dirt, clutching clumps of sharp rock in his palms so hard that blood flowed—he couldn’t take anymore. He had reached kuebiko. The scarecrow with its ferocious appearance, watching over a field set alight, yet rooted in the ground, powerless to do anything about it. Rex was his, the single person who had held Kemono’s fractured existence together. With his sutoroberī gone, nothing was left for him in this cruel, cold world of quietus. He could already feel the raw, frigid chill of dolor clawing into him again; its icy breath on his spine as its black tongue licked over his skin.
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They come to me in the night, creeping into my head. Their voices are all different, their stories all dissimilar, but they keep saying the same thing…
“Show us, tell us, bring us into your world, and make us known.”
Then I sit and they take over. They tell their tales of love, loss and sinister misfortune. Not all of them get a happy ending, but they are pleased when their part is written.
I sometimes find myself lost in my own mind; a world very similar to our own yet so different. Things don’t go bump in the night— they squeal and crawl under your skin, making you grind your teeth, and making your stomach turn over and putting your nerves on edge. Then there’s the drama. Oh, the drama!
Wulf Francú Godgluck hails from South Africa. His work is not for the faint-hearted! In his books you'll find... all the beasties with their nasty claws and teeth, and some you didn't even know existed.
But the monsters aren't all real. Some live inside us. Who knows what he will make you discover about yourself, lurking in your heart, behind the closed walls in the deep, black recesses where no light penetrates? Wulf will steal your heart and never give it back. More than likely, he'll pin it to the wall with a bobbypin and sit there sipping his tea while you writhe and squeal on the floor...
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