PROLOGUE

His collar was crisply folded and perfectly pressed. The four stars affixed upon the lapels of his jacket denoted his rank, but it was his steely gaze that proclaimed his power.

Workstations loaded with computers buzzed all around him, technicians working furiously at their posts, but the general didn’t even glance at them. His entire focus lay on the task at hand. Everything they’d been working toward had led to this point, and he would not allow anything to go wrong. Too much depended upon this.

“General,” requested one of the many scientists, interrupting his thoughts. “We are almost ready to power up the mechanism. Do we have permission to proceed?”

The general nodded slightly, his features not betraying his inner excitement in the slightest. The scientist scurried away.

“I have to voice my protestations again, General,” said the man beside him, an academic-looking figure in his early thirties, his hair short and dark, and his white lab coat creased from long wear. “This machine hasn’t been operated in centuries. We have no idea what it might do. The writings –”

“The writings don’t mean shit to me, Professor,” growled the general. “I want to see what this device does. This could be the greatest discovery mankind has ever known, and you’re here pissing in your britches when you should be over the moon to even be involved. You might go down in history as the one to unlock the instrument which led humanity to the next level of technology.”

“It might destroy the planet.”

The general stared at him blankly. “I have faith in our defenses, Professor. I think you should as well.”

“This machinery was shut down for a reason,” protested the professor, waving his hand in a sweep toward the enormous stone structures standing around the room, beyond the scientific equipment. “There is no clear reference as to what will happen in any of the writings. For all we know it might be a doomsday device, God knows they had the technology.”

“That is exactly why we must activate it. We need to know what it does and how to combat it. Can you imagine if there are more of these scattered around the planet? What if our country’s enemies found one and learned how to use it? How long do you think it would be until they turned it on us?”

“But General –”

“But nothing,” countered the general. “I need to ascertain if this device is a threat to the United States, and if so, we will either destroy it or relocate it to a more secure location. You have your orders, Professor. Turn the damn thing on.”

Muttering something under his breath, the professor moved compliantly to the enormous stone tablet, its inlaid inscriptions seeming to pulse with anticipation. They had determined months beforehand that this functioned as the equivalent of a control panel. One by one, he began brushing his fingers over the carvings, each glowing slightly as he did. He continued with this for several minutes, pressing different combinations until finally a low groan emitted from an area surrounded by monoliths similar to those located at Stonehenge. These stood nearly twice as large as the circle in Europe which had evoked so much conjecture over the decades.

The ground rumbled heavily and dust began to drift from the ceiling of the cavern. With a thunderous crack the monolithic circle erupted and flooded the area with light so bright all the surrounding personnel – including the forty heavily-armed marines ringing the outer wall – instinctively turned away, shielding their eyes.

And the circle began to rotate.

The light dulled enough for the workers to return their awed gazes to it, witnessing the breathtaking spectacle. The entire platform, including the monoliths, had begun to spin, slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed, starting to buzz with a high pitched whine which echoed from the walls. More than one scientist appeared to cower slightly, but all held steady. This was what they’d worked so long for.

The stone monoliths soundlessly flashed out of existence in an instant, no trace of them left, not even a grain of sand, replaced by an inky blackness which seemingly sucked the very illumination from the massive floodlights. Visibility dropped immediately, a cloak of gloom descending over everyone in a heartbeat.

“Secure this room!” ordered the general. Huge steel doors slammed into the ground from overhead crevices, blocking the ancient entrances. The external ring of marines snapped into action, stepping forward and taking up defensive positions, primed weapons aimed at the swirling darkness. The general noticed the annoying Australian soldier step in close to the professor, but for once he remained silent, all his attention seemingly centered on the swirling blackness.

An eerie silence descended upon the area, breaths held in anticipation. The professor moved swiftly back to the general’s side.

“What’s going on here, Professor?”

His question met with silence, and the general glanced away from the swirling black curtain, staring down at the smaller man. Sweat beaded upon the professor’s brow, and his hands were trembling, absolute terror etched across his features.

“Speak up, man!” barked the general.

The professor tore his gaze away from the scene before them, turning haunted eyes toward the general. “I-It can’t be,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

The professor swallowed. “It’s a doorway. A rift.”

“A doorway? A doorway to where?”

“I didn’t think it was possible,” he replied, his voice trembling so erratically it seemed he might choke on the words. “I thought I’d misinterpreted what the runes said. It can’t be true.”

“Will you tell me what the hell is going on here? Where does this doorway lead?”

“We’ve opened a temporal split, General,” answered the professor. “It’s a gateway between dimensions.”

“What are you talking about, man? I need to know exactly where this thing goes.”

“The writings spoke of the machinery we’ve just started. They told of a power so immense it would unleash absolute evil upon the world if ever it were restarted. I assumed they were being metaphorical, that it was merely a weapon. I had trouble with a section which told exactly what would happen when the machinery restarted. The wording seemed open to a great many interpretations, but now I see it was, in fact, literal.”

“What did it say?”

“It told of the machinery’s ability to unleash something so horrible nothing on this planet could stand against it.”

An ominous lamentation sounded from the rift, echoing around the room, the flood lamps flickering in unison as though a surge of power followed the noise.

The professor assumed an expression of total resignation. “This machine is designed for one purpose,” he said, his tone neutral. “It opens a doorway into a place men were never supposed to go.”

“Where?” demanded the general. “Tell me where this thing goes.”

“Into Hell.”

Bestial howling roared through the cavernous room. The lights exploded, thrusting them into the bowels of darkness….

BEYOND HADES will be unleashed worldwide on kindle

Monday, 16th April, 2012.

Print version will follow very soon after .

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Hope resides within us all for a greater life, a richer existence, but sometimes the road to that dream is paved with broken glass, and the goal you find is empty, a shrouded thing, shimmering within your grasp, yet hollow and worthless.

I fear such a thing.

The grass is always greener on the other side because the gardener is full of shit. He will hold up dung and tell you it is gold, touting its glory for all who will hear, trapping any who dare dream of living in his garden.

But true gold exists, I know it, I’ve seen it. It hides not in the ground, nor in a fat man’s wallet, but in the eyes of the one who grasps it true. That is the goal, the existence we all crave, though some know not. The paths to this quest vary greatly, but the goal is the same. It is purpose, it is fulfillment, it is worth.

Some already have it, walking through life unknowing of what they possess. They appear charmed in all they do, but it’s an illusion. The true source of their wealth resides in their soul, a certain completeness within them they bear like a talisman. Watch them, envy them, and believe what they have is out of reach.

Or maybe not….

Happiness is within reach for all who truly seek it, though most don’t know how. They reside within chasms of loss, hiding behind walls of trepidation, desperate for another to show them the route which they alone can find.

You must seek it with all your soul. Hunting, like a predator in the darkness, for that first tiny flicker of the wealth you so covet.

It could be something so simple as a flower, the only one of its kind, that will mean nothing to any other living thing for all eternity, but means everything to you, because it’s yours. Or it might be so vast as world domination, in all its shapes and forms, that eludes you, and it is only at its loss that you realize you held it all along.

I hold no answers. There is no simple solution or else this world would be a paradise and not a bucket of fools all clamoring about unfairness, crying to whatever deity they worship to make their lives right.

Save your breath; help yourself.

The treasure you yearn can only come from struggling through the mire of odds to a glorious horizon. There is no easy route, and to think so is to set yourself upon a course doomed to failure. Prepare for all hardships and your way will run strong, and if by chance you arrive sooner than you thought, smile. You’ve found your way home.

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Your passion can rush loose from all constraints, tearing through your project like a forest fire, leaving only ashes in its wake. You must control it, binding it with focus, making a scalpel and not an axe.

But what I say is a contradiction, yes? How can you be passionate and yet contained, emotional and distant? Alas this is the quest we all pursue if we hope to succeed as artists.

Think of yourself as a blank canvas. Unconstrained emotion is like flinging tins of paint at your canvas, bludgeoning art which may appeal to some but will take incredible luck to be accepted as talent and not mess.

But on the other end of the scale is the technical skill of a draftsman. Such artistry is misplaced upon a canvas because it lacks life and passion, and as such imparts nothing upon the viewer.

And so a medium must be found, a common ground where both skills meet and tell a story upon your life canvas. This is the greatness people strive for, and it seems so simple, but to be out by even a fraction can be disastrous.

So what is the answer?

Aha! I knew you’d ask. Truth is there is no answer, merely an everlasting quest called life. Balance must be found, but this does not mean both sides remain equal. They are as shifting as desert sands, sometimes one demanding attention, the other occasionally pushing it aside.

Just as life isn’t neutral, so must your soul shift like lava through ice. Such extremes combine to create true wonders and without them all you have are shades of gray. While gray is essential to exist through monotony, striving for wonderment is not capable with mere tedium. Explode and contract in the same movement, inhale and exhale in an instant and think without thought in order to create that which already exists… in your mind’s eye.

Sweet anguish awaits down this road, but marvels beyond imagining can been made. Search each day for more, and more, and more. There is no answer, only more questions, but those questions bring with them revelations of what you require for the next step.

The next step on a staircase of your journey through life.

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Is it money? Some financial reward for a job well done? A grand home and sprawling estates to display all that has been earned from a life of hard work? The ability to buy any item one might imagine, to go anywhere, be anything you want in a world dominated by cash?

If so, then what about Buddha, Jesus, and Mohammad? What about Mother Theresa, Ghandi, or the Dalai Lama? These selfless souls probably never saw piles of gold and yet their success is undoubted, their names living on long after their deaths.

But why are they successful? Why do their names live on? What did these people do in their lives (yes I know the Dalai Lama still lives, but bear with me) that makes them focal points for so much of the world? Is it their striving for success through poverty?

I doubt it. Seems to me their poverty just came along for the ride.

Was it their selflessness? Their need to do what they thought was right in the face of all opposition? Were they right?

Is it right to eschew riches in the face of one’s beliefs? Could Jesus have not done so much more with buckets of gold to feed the poor? If Buddha had owned worldwide television networks, could he have not better reached those with his messages of peace? If Mohammad had ruled countries, couldn’t he have proclaimed the glory of God to all those living within them?

If right is so powerful, then why are those proclaiming it so weakened in a world ruled by gold?

But I’m getting sidetracked and I need to get back to my original point:

What is success?

I believe it’s following a dream to fruition, pursuing a vision to its definitive summit. Success can be an ant rolling a single grain of sand across a desert, dying with its last push, but knowing it has accomplished something it set out to do. It can be a withered old woman vowing to see her grandchild take its first step, and collapsing with that footfall, knowing her dream has been fulfilled. It can be working so hard your life slips by unnoticed as wealth drips into an unseen vat and you step away one day dying, knowing you can buy almost anything or anyone you wish. Or it can be following a belief of what is right against those who would see wrong done, fighting them with every breath until your very death accomplishes everything you’ve tried so hard in life to achieve.

It is personal, and each person must find their own path to what they perceive their life is supposed to mean. Find your grain of sand and begin pushing it today, because tomorrow it might wash away.

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Time, energy, life, love, hate, hope, fear, words, water.

The list goes on….

What makes humans such wasteful creatures? Is it in our innate nature to simply throw away needlessly? Or is it something deeper, some devilish conspiracy against us, connived by some malevolent force within the universe, intent on the slow wasteful destruction of us, a single piece at a time?

Probably not.

Chances are we’re simply too lazy to save these things for important times when we need them most. It’s too easy to sit around as opposed to being constructive. Life is too hard, too complex, to waste it on not being wasteful, right?

BZZZZZZZZ!

And the answer is: NO!

Excuses come at half-price these days and society coddles the wasteful. It’s perfectly acceptable to do nothing with your life, nobody will condemn you, and if they try they will be condemned for condemning. God forbid you tell someone to do something! That would go against the lazy-ass constitution!

Not THE Constitution, of course, meaning the United States Constitution, I mean the invisible contract society created when blame became customary, when waste stepped up and applied for the position of ruling thought.

Remember your parents? If you’re still young, then try to remember their parents. They got up before dawn each day to milk the cows before plowing the fields and then catching the train to work in the factory for fifteen hours and they still had energy to come home and play ball with the kids before walking the hills for a recycled picnic and then bed where they made more kids.

Okay, maybe not.

But they made it seem that way.

These days you crawl out of an air-conditioned bedroom, have a three-hour steaming-hot shower – wasting both water and electricity, blend the crap out of breakfast while using any multitude of other electrical appliances before throwing half our breakfast in the garbage. Jump in the car and burn fossils fuels while stuck in traffic with a million other people burning fossil fuels, all the while blaring music, talking on your cell phone, with the A/C or heater blasting. And then you get to a job you complain about where you do nothing and wait for a lunch hour where you eat garbage that ends up mostly being thrown into the trash. The rest of the day drags by until you trundle off to the car once more and sit in traffic yet again before you get home, ignore the kids who in turn ignore you while playing their console games or chatting with weirdos on Facebook. You turn on every possible appliance before you end up ordering take-out and sitting on your ever-widening ass and wondering where your life went and blaming everyone imaginable for the things that have gone wrong in the world.

Dumbass.

Get up, pull your underpants out of your ass crack and scratch your balls (or equivalent female asset) before going to the mirror and taking a long, hard look at the person you see there. This is the only person you can control and the only one to blame for your life. Stop wasting and start saving, every moment you breathe is an opportunity for greatness beyond anything you could possibly imagine. Don’t fear the effort involved, rather you should embrace the challenge before you like a voyage through unseen lands, and every obstacle is merely a new opportunity to learn and experience something exciting. Money is a tool, not a goal, and how much or how little you have is immaterial.

We all end up in the same place, so why poison your time alive by dragging your heels and complaining all the way. LIVE life, don’t waste it.

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You can get BLACKLISTED in paperback or ebook by clicking  HERE.

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This is an incredibly odd inquiry. Why not ask me why I want to walk on two legs instead of flapping around the ocean like a penguin? I am a writer. I have not become a writer, nor have I somehow learned some secret which nobody else knows.

Perhaps it would be easier explained by me calling myself a storyteller. I have, since emerging from my mother’s womb, been a storyteller. This does not mean I have lied and created stories about who I am or what I do. Reality is still firmly in place for me, and those who know me will tell you I am one of the bluntest and most honest people around. I say it how it is.

No, being a storyteller is something else completely. Imagination has constantly battled within me to break free of the confines of my mind, and it was only when I found the release of writing that I realized what my true calling was.

I remember lying awake at night, creating worlds within my mind, stories I fled into, realms no other could enter. This was my escape from things I had no control over, especially after my father was killed and I began to lose control of my external world – but that’s another story altogether.

These imaginary lands were my escape. Words weren’t my expression then, merely imagination, and I exercised it innately in ways I am astounded I was able to tap into. I was then able to turn these realms into words, another skill I have always found simple.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have my head up my ass and think I know all the answers, because there’s a mountain of stuff for me yet to learn. I’m not blind to reality and know my weaknesses even more than my strengths. I work daily to learn more and more about my craft in the hopes that one day my words might rise up to sit beside those of the greats. What I am saying is that the passion was always there, for as long as I can recall.

I suppose actors might go through similar experiences, as would anyone in the arts. There is a fire inside that burns beyond the barriers that hold others back. There is no time limit, no final goal, merely the need to create more and more, hoping each one is better than the last. Because there is no going back, no quitting, no matter how hard the road seems and regardless of how many tears are shed along the way.

I am a writer. There is no other way.

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I demand from it with questions, yet know they will go unanswered. What is my purpose; why am I here; how can I make it better?

Go to Hell.

Why am I beleaguered by such torments? Why, when my nature screams out for something else completely? Do I have no choice in this venture? No choice… or no chance?

I thrust forward laughter but my heart grows tired, exhausted by the daily toils of all it must face. Part of me knows this is a fool’s quest, and yet I go on, forever forward, determined not to fall as so many others have before me.

There is something within me that can win, but it knows not how. It fights all adversaries, but fails to move forward, grows weary in its stagnancy. Within time a pale wind will fell it, no longer strong enough to raise a defense. I fear this time.

Fear brings strength, however; strength to fight, to refute the unavoidable.

But is it so unavoidable? Why can I not win? Am I not the same man I once was? The poet warrior staring down all adversity, all negativity, all logic which screamed what I have already achieved was impossible?

I am he. The eye of the maelstrom, the mirror within a mirror, battling more within myself than ever without.

There is one course, one way through the canyon of failure which beckons me. Beyond the path of shattered dreams lies more pain, more heartache then ever realized, and yet it still remains beauteous and irresistible. For to have one I need the other, there is no option.

To reach the dream I must become the nightmare, drawing all I fear into me like embracing poison. Pain teaches more than happiness, and I have learned well, but am still a novice.

Cry not for dreams unrealized, cry for dreams never attempted.

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MOMENTOS from Nuno Rocha on Vimeo.

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Here it is, the cover of my next rampant action-thriller, Beyond Hades, due out early in 2012. Hot on the heels of the highly popular Blacklisted, this story is sure to blow more than a few minds.

  What if mythology isn’t myth? The ancient Greeks told fabulously detailed stories involving unbelievable creatures – monsters dominating all tales from that time. Were they just highly imaginative, or was their inspiration from somewhere else?

  Doctor Talbot Harrison, a professor in archeology, receives a phone call one day which will destroy everything he perceives as reality. His brother has been mysteriously killed and within moments the United States Military appear at his door, literally dragging him from his home. Thrown into a helicopter under intense armed guard, it doesn’t take long until they are attacked by something which cannot possibly exist, something drawn to destroy the one man who can stop the beasts from a land beyond Hades….

EXCERPT:

“Port side! Port side! Incoming!” he heard one of the marines call through his headphones.

A massive torrent of flames poured over the entire left side of the Super Stallion, licking and probing, tilting the huge helicopter to the right. Most of the marines had heard the warning and taken cover, but the port-side gunner was engulfed in a green liquid which rapidly burst into flames – a blaze which burned a sickly blue-green. His howls filled the cabin along with the stench of burning flesh. One of his fellows crashed the marine to the floor and tried to smother the conflagration, but only succeeded in transmitting the inferno to himself. A more sensible marine stepped up and used a small extinguisher to put out the flames on both men, but Talbot could see the body of the gunner, and it was crispy. The second man’s screams echoed through the enclosed chopper.

“It’s coming around to starboard!” one of the pilots called over the internal radio. The XM218 machine gun on the right hand side of the Super Stallion instantly erupted, firing thousands of rounds out at an incredible rate.

Talbot snapped his gaze around fearfully and saw something… something incredible!

It soared gracefully, gliding through the air against any reason of logic which said a creature of such size could not be so incredibly maneuverable or swift. It had the tail of a snake, body of a lion and head and wings of an eagle. The creature calmly weaving between the tracer rounds held no place in reality; it was something out of myth – Greek mythology to be exact, the same subject Talbot’s brother had been an expert in.

It was a gryphon.

It was impossible. There was no way the thing Talbot was seeing could be real, but there it was before him, majestic wings stretching for at least the equivalent length of the Super Stallion – about one hundred feet! The beast’s body was enormous too, slightly larger than an African bull elephant. There was no way it could possibly exist. No way.

Then the thing which couldn’t possibly exist hit them with another eruption of green liquid which immediately turned into blue-green flame once it mixed with the oxygen in the air. This time it struck the starboard side of the aircraft. Nobody made the same mistake as the gunner had the last time, every single marine finding secure cover as the horrendous blaze struck.

The Super Stallion was smashed sideways in the air by the strength of the attack. Talbot heard orders being screamed through his headphones and the methodical pounding sound of the rear gun trying vainly to take down the target.

“Well it’s about goddam time!” he heard Colonel Wilson yell.

Wondering what he was talking about, Talbot followed his gaze out the port-side window. Darting towards them were four AV-8B Harrier II jet fighters – more commonly known as Harrier Jump-Jets. Talbot would have whooped with joy… if he didn’t feel like he was about to crap his pants.

The fighter planes sped in and Talbot saw them all unanimously fire missiles –AIM-9 side-winders, he guessed. All four missiles shot in curving lines towards the gryphon, smoke trails blazing out behind them.

Simultaneous contact and detonation. Flames erupted from the enormous explosion and the gryphon was gone….

Only to emerge, charred and shaken, but otherwise unscathed. The huge beast beat its wings several times, seeming to consider another attack on the Super Stallion, but instead peeling away from the conflict and rapidly disappearing towards the horizon.

“Call off the fighters, we can’t afford to lose any more,” Talbot heard Colonel Wilson call over the headset. Talbot sat back on the bench seat and stared down at his shaking hands.

“Welcome to our nightmare, Dr. Harrison,” said Colonel Wilson grimly.

Stay tuned for updates.

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