Psychic Odyssey is a dark fantasy adventure that will take you right to the very end, to the last frontier world.
"Step beyond the threshold of life and enter a world beyond time, where every step brings new revelations, where cosmic dreams come true. For in the shadow of death, the seed of a new soul will fall and a hero will rise with the power to unlock the secrets of the universe. All illusions will be shattered. The greatest mysteries of the cosmos revealed."
Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. © All rights reserved.
THE WORLDS OF THE DEAD
Psychic Odyssey - a Journey to the Upper and Lower Necrospheres.
PROLOGUE
With a violent reality shift, the future and the present converged. A necrophetic miasma, borne out of the collision, shimmered and swirled. Mysterious figures began to appear, forming out of the substrate.
There were armoured knights trampling a village green to mud. To those caught in their path, they resembled bizarre monsters, their humanity hidden beneath hard, chitinous shells; razor-sharp swords gilded red in the most precious of substances – life's blood.
Once the vision solidified, the future became clear. The invaders advanced, slaughtering the villagers as they ran. Each wore a filthy white surcoat emblazoned with the twin signets of faith. The ancient symbol, which comprised of two interlocking rings enclosing a stylistic pattern, represented the inherent link between heart and mind. Some of the village elders recognized it for what it truly was: a powerful sigil designed to give an Arch-Mage full control over the faculties of the soldiers.
A shrill cry cut through the clamour of battle as an Arch-Mage, dressed in bright ceremonial robes, gave a renewed call to arms. The animalistic scream took to the air: a symbiotic blood cry fashioned from a living soul, savagely pried loose from its previous corporeal holdings.
Blank eyes filled with righteous indignation; cold hearts blazed with a fervid lust for battle. A morbid cry, formed out of congealed screams, rose and fell with the reception of their crimson blades. Death it seemed now possessed its own ghastly voice.
All around, the air was thick with despair as the wounded reached out to one another with open hearts. The dead pretended to ignore their fate. Some lay with their ears pressed to the ground as if listening to the slow heartbeat of the earth. Others directed their eyes upwards, watching cinders arc through temperate skies.
In the midst of the carnage, the Arch-Mage outstretched his arms. As one, the magically controlled army came to a complete halt. The soulless invaders coldly perused the battlefield for survivors.
Nothing stirred but the passage of time itself –a new day unfurled, a day as bright as the blood spilt freely beneath it.
Awaiting instruction, the invaders just stood there motionless; their unseeing eyes staring out blankly from behind bloodied and battered helms. Yet despite being unable to read the collective intent on their deadpan faces, the message of the necrophecy was clear– a new, monstrous future was ready to be born.
