Hey folks! Long time no talk. In the last year, I've started my own publishing company called Amber Cove Publishing to publish other people's novels. (www.ambercovepublishing.com)

Anyway, I've got this post apocalyptic cyberpunk novel by MK Gibson and I'm looking for honest reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. I think this one is up DLP's alley and I wanted to offer kindle or pdf copies to anyone who wants to give it a shot. Just send me a PM.

Here's the pitch for To Beat the Devil - (http://www.amazon.com/Beat-Devil-Technomancer-Novels-Book-ebook/dp/B01DDXP046)

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175 years have passed since God quit on mankind. Without his blessing, Hell itself, along with the ancient power of The Deep, were unleashed upon the world. Two world wars and oceans of blood later, a balance was reached. Demonkind took its place as the ruling aristocracy. Mankind, thanks to its ability to create, fell to the position of working proletariat. Alive, but not living.

Lucky Us.

Welcome to New Golgotha, the East Coast supercity. In it you will find sins and cyborgs, magic and mystery, vices without virtue and hell without the hope of heaven. In the middle of it all is Salem, smuggler extraordinaire and recluse immortal, who has lived and fought through the last two centuries, but his biggest battle is just beginning.

To Beat The Devil: A technomancer Novel is an incredible adventure full of cyborgs and demons, gods, magic, guns, puns and whiskey, humor and heart. Follow Salem as he embarks to discover the meaning of the very nature of what mankind is: our souls. And, who is trying to steal them.​

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Here is chapter 1 so you can check it out for yourself and decide if it is something you might like.

Chapter One

A Faint Whiff of Decadence and Sulfur
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I was being followed by at least three demons. From the footfalls I guessed they had something else with them. Something big.

Shit.

I continued walking at a steady pace, trying not to let on that I was aware of the tail. Puddles of rainwater and piss splashed under my boots as I made my way through the night. Garbage littered the cheap side docks of Razor Bay. The garbage reek of the slums made it harder to separate the various smells. Walking made it worse. Stopping, I leaned against an old black steel rail overlooking the bay. I fumbled in my coat pockets for a smoke, lit up, and listened.

For the last couple minutes I had been altering my footsteps every few beats, intentionally aiming for puddles or stepping over trash. The footfalls mimicked mine, but just slightly out of time. Splashes and long pauses. Yeah, I was being followed.

Double shit.

I took a few drags of my smoke and stared off into what used to be old Baltimore’s Inner harbor, now a DMZ full of metal starlings and old sea mines left over from the wars. The Chesapeake isn’t what it used to be. But the ordnance and defenses serve a purpose. You can’t be too careful. Sometimes, the Lesser Deep Ones try to come up on shore. And the poor bastards who can’t afford to live further inland are always on guard. Trust me, a fast-moving tentacled bug beast from Lovecraft’s wet dreams is a great way to fuck up your day. But those are New Golgotha slums. Mostly just places to dump garbage while waiting to die. And the district of Razor Bay, the former Baltimore city and county, is one massive technological slum.

Hell, half the time we don’t even know who the local demon district lord is. Demon infighting ensures frequent assassination and ascension.

When I’m on a job, I usually take to the slums at night. It’s quiet. It’s dark. The streets are generally deserted, which lets me know when others are around. Sure, you get a few people who try and curry favor with the local bishop. But most poor people know to shut their mouths, stay indoors, look the other way, and never talk to the authorities. I heard a can clink against stone. Something was definitely out there coming my way.

Hmmm, am I becoming predictable? Did one of these dockside lowlifes sell me out? I looked around at the old, crumbling high-rise buildings. There were a few people closing their blinds and turning out lights just as I heard overt footfalls coming my way. Yeah. I got sold out. Eh, I can’t blame them.

I continued leaning on the railing and took a few more drags of my smoke. I closed my eyes, listened, breathed, and let my senses tell the story. Three sets of footfalls, one heavy and two lighter. And…a quadruped? I breathed in deep. Oh yeah, that stink isn’t from the slums or the harbor. That’s a kudja. A freaking hellhound. Triple shit. Oh, and that name isn’t a coincidence. Demons often inspire great writing. All you have to do is give up some of your soul.

Through the grimy gloom of dockside streetlights, I could see hellspawn coming my way. They were about fifty yards away and they didn’t seem to be in a rush. The tall one in back was the district’s local bishop and the enforcer of the district lord’s will. A bishop runs the district’s police force—well, what passes for one these days.

Shirtless, he wore an old gray raincoat and a black cloak of his office, complete with mantel, all cut in the demonic fashion to give freedom of movement for his wings. An inferium warblade sword hung by his side, which meant he was operating in official capacity and as an executioner. The Hell-wrought steel was necrotic to most living things and slightly radioactive. The best way to think of inferium was as purgatory plutonium.

The bishop’s hair hung long, lank, and black against his pureblood red skin and horns. Bishop Maz’Zael. The two smaller brown demons, hellion mutt mongrels, flanked the bishop. One hellion held the chains to the kudja, while the other held a flanged basalt mace. They all made their way toward me. I turned around with my back against the rail and watched them come.

“Evening.” I nodded toward them.

The group continued walking toward me—sauntering, actually. Seriously, they sauntered. Freaking demons. I already hated the cliché tough guy walk. But watching this group come at me almost made me laugh.

Demons and hellions learned most of their topside manner and pop culture from old human movies and TV. As they got closer, one of the hellions growled at me. The other grumbled, “Hey meat. Out late tonight?” His voice was high-pitched and grating.

“I got lost on my way to church.” I chuckled to myself. The bishop grinned a little while the hellions looked perplexed. Hellions, while good for muscle, were little more than demons’ inbred cousins. And you can’t fuck your cousin over and over and expect good things to come from it. They were barely more intelligent than the hellhound they had with them.

“Evening,” I repeated, nodding to the bishop directly, blatantly ignoring the hellions. They growled a little at the disrespect. I rolled my eyes.

“Evening,” he answered back. He stood a safe distance away, keeping the hellions in front of him. He was easily seven feet tall and the Hell Steel sword could make up the reach between us. But his body language said he was being “respectful.” His heartbeat was steady against the irregular rhythm of the lapping waves in the harbor behind me.

“You should know, good citizen, we have received reports of an unsavory type prowling the area. A possible smuggler. According to the reports, the individual in question frequents this route on an atypical basis.” The bishop crossed his arms and stood askance, staring me down.

Damn. I guess I have been getting predictable. It figures. After making this particular route to avoid moments like these for the last few years, I guess it was only a matter of time. And here I was thinking I was kicking back enough to the locals to keep me in their good graces.

The bishop’s goons were starting to salivate. They came here looking for pain and blood. They saw me as a lone human and an easy target. Good. Let’s see if we can have some fun with this.

“So, Bish, why would you bother a respectable citizen like me?” I said, continuing to lean against the railing. I took another puff of my smoke and slowly crossed my legs to look casual.

The bishop showed a mouthful of white pointed teeth. “The reports were of a human male, around six feet tall, buzzed hair, brown antique motorcycle jacket. Also, he appeared to be chain smoking.”

I raised my eyebrow at that last one, feigned surprise, and took another drag.

“Oh,” the bishop continued, “apparently he is a smart ass. You haven’t seen anyone matching that description this evening, have you?”

I shook my head “no” in response to the bishop’s question. Then I took my pack of smokes from my motorcycle jacket’s pocket, removed one deliberately, and lit it off the one I already had. I exhaled the smoke, rubbed my hand over the stubble of my buzzed hair, and flicked the old butt into the bay.

“Wow, they could tell that he was a smart ass from their window? Impressive. Maybe you should hire them, help with your police force and all,” I said to the bishop.

“Perhaps,” he said. He drew his sword and rested it point down. I could smell the venom of the weapon. “Will you submit to a search?”

“Nope,” I said. “I’m a good citizen in good standing. I pay my regular tithe to the order and my Lethality License is up to date.”

Yellow-eyed bastard didn’t seem to care. “Oh well.” He shrugged. The hellions were getting worked up. I could hear their heartbeats getting faster. They were on edge and just waiting for the signal. The hellions would charge in, letting the hellhound off its leash.
I would have to be fast.

“Sic ’em,” the bishop said.

I quickly drew my pistol and popped three bursts of plasma into the first hellion. Two to the chest, one to the head. The heat cauterized the wounds almost instantly. Only minimal blood sprayed. The second came in and he was fast. Even holding back, I was much faster. I sidestepped, grabbed the hellion by the scruff, and bounced his skull off the metal railing. His skull cracked and his teeth broke. As an afterthought I heaved him into the harbor, launching him an easy fifteen yards.

In the few seconds it took me to deal with the two idiots, I had completely blanked on the hellhound. Over 300 pounds of leathery skin and teeth flanked me, driving me into the ground. The beast had a lock on my left forearm and was trying like hell to rip my arm off.

Good luck getting through this coat, asshole, I thought, as the beast was atop me. On both forearms I wore tech bracers of my own design. With a flick of my free arm, a wide collapsible eighteen-inch blade sprang out, and I drove it deep into the hellhound’s side between the ribs and twisted, gouging a deep, wide wound. The blade retracted and I reached into my coat pocket, found the antique pineapple grenade, thumbed the pin off, and shoved the explosive into the gaping wound.

My left tech bracer, which was wedged into the beast’s mouth, emitted an electric shock, and the hellhound roared, letting me go. I rolled away and balled up. Quickly I tapped a servo relay on my belt and the density of my coat turned from semi to max. The grenade went off in a muffled crump. I dialed back the coat and stood, dusting myself off.
Hellhound guts painted the wet asphalt. Blood mingled with rain, and it all flowed into the harbor.

The bishop was about ten yards away, his sword still drawn. He looked me up and down. I stared back, dead in the eye.

“Bishop,” I said, “you are out of idiots.”

“There are always more.” He started swaying the tip of his sword in an intricate pattern.
I looked around and windows were open, but lights were off. Locals were watching, but they did not want to announce it. All right, let’s give them a show. I drew both pistols, dialed down the damage to a hard stun, and leveled them at the bishop.

“Your move, Sally,” I taunted him.

I began a slow circle to my left. The bishop held his sword in two hands, watching me and grinning. Quick as a viper, he lunged at me. I spun away and fired a quick succession of blasts at his back. The plasma discharge staggered him and set his cloak and coat on fire. He shrugged off the burned garments, freeing his leathery wings. The wings denoted his demon heritage, vastly more purebred than a simple hellion. His red skin and scales looked slick in the lamplight. Blue-white Denochian script tattoos stood out along his chest and arms, intricate and chaotic patterns that denoted his family lineage and battles won in Hell.

Probably Heaven as well.

The bishop looked every inch of a classic devil, from the protruding white bone accents along his body and horned head to his tail, reverse-jointed legs, and cloven hooves.

Adorable.

The bishop came at me in a flurry. Not mindless chopping, but controlled and practiced motions. While he had height and reach, I had speed and strength. He attacked rhythmically and I evaded. We continued this for several minutes and the bishop was beginning to lose his patience and get winded. His attacks were becoming wilder, more ferocious. I used my pistols to deflect the blade and fire off the occasional shot near his cloven feet, making him misstep and stumble. As much as I was starting to enjoy this little dance, I figured it was time to put it to an end.

I put my pistols back in their holsters and charged up my tech bracers. As the bishop lunged, I spun to one side and grabbed his sword at the hilt with one hand, wrapping my other arm around his arms at the elbows and locking him into place. Once the bracers reached full charge, I released his arms quickly. He brought his sword into an overhand chop and I slapped a palm against his chest. The bracers released an electro-pulse like a massive taser through my synth-skin glove. The bishop’s jaw locked open in a soundless scream. He went rigid and fell over. The body spasm caused him to drop his sword. I couldn’t help myself; I had to kick the weapon into the harbor. Blame it on the movies. I heard a few hoots and hollers of excitement from the dark windows surrounding us. The locals were enjoying seeing someone make a district’s bishop look foolish.

I actually stood, arms wide, and gloated for a moment. I turned to face the high-rise slums and loudly voiced in a bad Gladiator impersonation, “Are you not entertained?!”
That was when the bishop got up and shoulder tackled me from behind into the nearest building. My face made solid impact with duracrete. The bishop grabbed me by the back of the neck and repeated the blow; I felt my nose break and my cheekbone fracture. Blood gushed and I could faintly hear a gasp or two from the windows. That was what I got for showing off.

A surge of adrenaline hit my system a second later. I pushed off the building wall very hard and threw my head back. The back of my head connected with the bishop’s jaw with a loud crack. He reeled back, his wings extending to buffer his fall and provide balance. I turned left and threw a straight overhand right to the bishop’s nose. I felt it break. Purple-black demon blood spurted from the point of impact.

We stood there huffing, facing each other with matching fractures and bleeding openly. I brushed the remnants of concrete from my face and body while the bishop spat out a cracked tooth and some more blood.

“So,” the bishop started, staring me down, “now what?”

I gave him two middle fingers, turned, and sprinted toward the nearest alley. I may be able to go toe-to-toe with most demons, but I still had a job to do that night, and he was keeping me from it. How did that Robert Frost poem go again? And miles to go before I sleep…

The bishop pursued. I heard the clip-clop of his hooves on the pavement, his wings giving him the occasional boost of several extra steps per leap. I turned multiple times until I reached a windowless dark alley. Only a single street light in the distance. Perfect.
I pulled both pistols and waited. Come on you bastard, time is ticking, I thought. In a few moments the bishop caught up to me. He turned down the alley and walked toward me.

“God damn, Maz!” I yelled at the bishop. “Did you have to go all nine levels of Hell on my face?”

Bishop Maz’Zael laughed out loud. I quickly held up my pistol to my lips and tried to quiet him. “Shhh! You idiot, you want people to hear?” But in a few moments I realized I was laughing as well. Maz came close and gave me a giant demon hug. A demon hug is like a bear hug, only more diabolic with a faint whiff of decadence and sulfur.

“You big baby,” Maz said to me, putting me down and looking me over. “Besides, it looks like you are almost healed. Damn, how do you do that?”

It was true, I was almost completely healed. And I know it infuriated him. No reason to tell him all my secrets.

Speaking of secrets.

“Hey, who tipped you off I would be coming through this way tonight?” I asked.

“Some hopeless case thought it would put him in my good graces. And I let him think that. I always let them think that. Secret is, if you never really show favor, they try, try, try again to win you over.”

Lessons in demonic manipulation. What a night. At least now I knew that this route was compromised. As I felt the last of my jaw realign and my nose finish resetting, I stared up at my friend.

“Did you have to ram my head into the wall?”

Bishop Maz waved his hand dismissively. “It had to look good. Word of mouth has to spread with those bottom feeders by the docks. After that show, they will step in line. And well, honestly …” Maz stopped mid-thought to grin like only a demon can. “It was fun. I am a demon, after all,” he said, winking at me.

I stared at him, itching to perform fast and violent acts upon him. Perhaps pull my weapons and pistol whip him just on principle? Maybe a nice puncture wound to go with it?

“How did me beating the crap out of you help you with the locals?” I asked.
Maz raised his eyebrow. “Beating me? We had a draw and you ran away. The locals know your infamous status. They also know they’re nowhere near your level. If their beloved champion could only get in a few licks and run away, then what could they possibly do to the bishop? No, my friend, you helped me make their miserable lives just that much worse. My word is once again law.”

Crap. He was right. Damn demon used me and I walked into it. “And here I thought we were friends,” I said in a sarcastic tone.

Bishop Maz shrugged. “Whatever.”

I shook my head. I was applying human emotions and way of thinking to a creature that never was human. Even at my age, I am still learning. We may be “friends,” but Maz would sell me down the river if it meant an advantage for him. But it at least made him predictable. I filed that insight away to revisit later. I decided to change the topic to important matters.

“Are you going to get in trouble for the loss of the hellions tonight?” I asked.

“No, the archbishop doesn’t give two soulless shits about the loss of hellions. Those two in particular were serving as informants to another district’s bishop. In fact, since I staged a way to have them killed without doing it myself, by influencing a human to do it for me, it should curry favor. I may get a promotion.” The demon smiled.

“So they were spying on you?”

Maz shrugged. “Probably.”

I laughed. The demon didn’t.

“Were you telling the truth about your LL? Otherwise it would be a lot of paperwork and I would probably have to organize a squad to kill you. You understand, of course. The death of a deputized hellion killed in the line of duty by an unlicensed wouldn’t fly in my district.”

“Yeah yeah. I was telling the truth.” I nodded as I lit up another smoke. “But even if I was lapsed, couldn’t you backdate a MP for me?”

“I could, if you paid. But I wouldn’t. A murder permit would mean you had intent against those specific hellions. The intent to have them killed could be linked back to me, and interpreted as me setting it up. I’d be exposed, and then suddenly my cleverness would look petty and pedestrian.”

And that, in a nutshell, was the world we lived in. One-time-use murder permits and renewable lethality licenses were just the tip. When the Lords of Hell became the new masters, all the old sins were no longer looked down upon, outlawed, or punished. Instead permits, taxes, and tithes replaced morality. Hell, maybe it was always that way and we just finally accepted it. You want to kill a motherfucker? Apply for a permit. Prove your worth is greater than his, pay the 20% down of his annual taxation, cover the remaining 80% over the course of a year and a day and BAM, you have your own murder permit. Don’t like long lines and complicated math? Have credits to spare? Get a lethality license. Costs more, sure, but in the long run it is cheaper and you can renew it via the Ultra Net.

“So, I have something going on later tonight. I’m meeting a new client at Dante’s. Think you could watch my back? Preferably without any demonic friendly fire in the process?”

“Depends. Are you carrying?” Maz asked, looking eager.

I pulled out a smoke, lit it off the one I already had burning, and flicked away the old butt.
“How bad do you want it? Maybe after that tango we just had, you don’t deserve it.”

Maz smiled and touched his nose and jaw, also already on the mend. “Good. Causing temptation and desire. I will make something evil of you yet. But you gave as good as you got. So cough it up. Unless you want another beating?”

“Please, goat boy. That act was for the townies. We both know I would make you my bitch in a fair fight,” I said, posturing with male bravado. Yet that had been the seventh time in recent memory Maz had made a passing reference to making me into something evil. Friend or not, I guess a demon will always do what is in its nature.

“Who said it would be fair?” said Maz. His tone indicated he was dead serious. Ahh, screw it.

From my inner pocket I pulled the object of his desire and tossed it to him. He caught it midair and unwrapped the bundle furiously, his eyes full of lust and glee.

“Settle, Maz, it’s just a Hostess pie,” I said to the ravenous demon. But by that point the wrapper was already off and he had eaten the whole thing. He started licking his fingers. I shuddered. If you feel like you need a diet, and want a way to avoid food and turn your stomach, just watch a sugar-starved demon make culinary love to the greatest preservative-filled dessert mankind ever produced.

“Correction, my friend—a Hostess vanilla pudding pie,” Maz said.

He fell to the ground and purred like a content cat and then played with his nipples while writhing. I nearly threw up a little and wanted to scour my eyes with bleach after that image. Demons.

“This mean you are coming tonight?” I asked.

“Mmmm, yes. I will be there. What does this mystery client look like?”

“Don’t know,” I said. “I got the message through Jensen, so I know it is reliable. Ricky himself set up the meet on this one. But before I begin work with a new client, I like to have him vetted. Thus far, I cannot dig anything up on him. No one knows him.”

“Or, no one is talking,” said Maz.

“Exactly. So I am intrigued and cautious. And the presence of an off-duty district bishop should curtail any asshole from trying to pull anything overt.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Maz said as he got to his feet. “I will be there.” He shook my hand and gave me brotherly hug with a firm punch in the back. I turned to leave.

“Hey Salem,” he called after me.

“Yeah?”

“Where do you get those pies?”

I chuckled to myself. He knows I would never tell him. If I did, he would just raid my stash and I wouldn’t have any leverage on him. And that is a personal rule: Never tell a Gluttony demon where to get a free meal.

“It’s my job to obtain the unobtainable. To locate the unlocatable. And to transport a myriad of goods at a nominal fee.” I smirked.

Maz rolled his eyes. “Your job is to be a pain in my ass. You owe me a new coat and sword, by the way.”

“Put it on my bill. See you tonight.”

***

So that's chapter 1. If you want an electronic copy, drop me a pm with your email and whether you'd like a pdf or a kindle version. After that read, enjoy and review. I still find it amazing how one chapter of fanfic would get me over a hundred reviews and how difficult it is to reach that number on Amazon. Mike will have the second book ready for an August release.

 

Sounds entertaining. Once my schedule clears up a bit I'll look into this more. Good to see you in these parts again jbern.

 

I'm definitely up to read and review; looks exactly like my kind of book!

 

Are you looking for a quick turn around, or just someone who'll guarantee a review once finished? If the latter, I'm happy to give it a read, but it might be a few weeks at the earliest.

 

I'm good with a few weeks, Shinysavage. Just let me know what email address and whether you would like a kindle version or a pdf.

 

jbern I did review on Amazon, but they rejected the review for...reasons? I dunno. The only thing I can think of is that they didn't like the word 'asshole', so I'm going to edit it and repost. For reference though, I'll post it here as well.

 

Shinysavage. They censor everything, shiny, everything.

Anyways, jbern, this is turning out to be pretty good, got me hooked with that line 'God quit on humanity', plus this seems just like the story I wanted.

It's gonna take a while to get accustomed to the characters, but if they turn out like I want them to, I'll be singing this stories praises.

And damn good review, Shiny for a damn good story.

 

Yeah. I replaced it with jerk and it's been accepted. Baffling.

 

Shinysavage. Truly?

Last time I reviewed, they didn't let me use the word 'Dang'.

 

I'll pass it on to the author. Thanks for reviewing. I appreciate it. Strange, Amazon doesn't show it yet. You may have to submit it again.