A Genetic Mutation Adventure
Heroic Anthology: Book 1
Once a god, now a prey.
Mr. Artino and others with a genetic mutation need help.
He and his closest friend must come up with a solution before it’s too late.
Follow their adventure as the two scouts the bars, clubs, and skies for answers.
Can Mr. Artino hold off his inner demons and bring his kind out of the dark?
Incorporation is a mix of action, genetic mutations, and supernatural lore.
Here's a sample...
A scarlet robe filled with darkness within its cracks hurries between a pair of girthy decrepit stone pillars.
A dim chain with thick rings following the fluttering garment’s baggy sleeves comes into sight.
As many withered fingers tug against it, a shadow of a person on all fours hobbles forward.
Several clacks echo through the void surrounding the couple as the veiled figure’s heels slap against a sea of dingy bricks while making their way through the room.
As the silhouette fades, it unmasks the bounded as a girl with a maroon cloth over her eyes.
Flesh-colored bumps erupt across her nude body as she grinds her reddened knees against the floor.
Droplets leak from the young woman’s gunmetal eyes as a sizzling sensation surges through her shins.
As she pulls her leg, the hooded figure whips their gripped metal links, slapping the chain collar against the girl’s peanut-butter tinged neck.
The pair enters the center of a circle of red spray-paint.
Candles positioned throughout erupt into dancing flames.
The twinkling lights show several shrouded beings circling the holder and the naked girl.
A symphony of multi-sexed hums pours from the figures’ lips as the bounded girl’s eyes dart across the wall of humming robes.
The hooded figure operating the leash loosens a couple buttons sealing their robe, revealing part of an ebony suit.
The bony hand dives into their jacket’s inner pocket and flashes a dull dirk.
They ram a thick heel against the adolescent’s skull, mashing her cheeks against the cold stones.
As they raise the knife above their shoulder, a flicker reflects off its surface as the girl’s eyelids collapse.
Several high-pitched clanks burst from the ground before the bounded girl’s face.
As her eyelids widen, a crimson splattered dagger appears before her.
In its reflection, a distant massive figure garbed in a shining breastplate erupts into a silhouette of ash.
Many screams blended with hushed murmurs flow throughout the chamber.
The wall of veiled characters scatters.
They dash at the ocean of blackness surrounding the makeshift altar.
Crimson geysers erupt from various sliced corpses and dances throughout the arena like waterworks.
A prancing claymore the size of a car rips through several figures running alongside each other.
High-pitched chuckles follow each blow as the sword appears, fades, and waves in different parts of the room.
As the screams fade to silence, a breeze sweeps across the girl’s face. A rumble erupts from the skin and bones surrounding her gut.
A warm pocket of air hovers above her back as the tightened leather strap bounding her wrists loosens.
“Are you okay, Miss Pacquiao?” A soft, gravelly voice scrapes the girl’s ears. “Did they steal any?”
“N-no, Mister Artino, sir”—her eyelids rise to present a sparkling auburn stare—“but I am in your life debt—”
“Unnecessary.” A pair of massive golden gauntlets rests a thick helmet against the stone tiles. “Just feed me your memories. Did the ritualists mention any plans in regards to their witch-hunt?”
The young woman’s gaze locks onto the head adornment’s iron crown of thorns and gaps lining the eyes, nose, and mouth.
She scrunches her palms against the ground and presses herself onto her feet.
As she reaches eye level of the kneeling figure, her stare intercepts an emerald gaze surrounded by tight olive skin.
“Th-they did not. Just t-talked about sharing my blood and gaining my ‘power’ to help them rise in power.”
The warrior rises, towering above the girl.
He makes his way toward a set of stone pillars surrounding a darkened hall. “I’ll Blink you into a hotel room.”
The girl pulls her gaze away from an oblong face and locks it on a fallen robe.
She cranes her neck to a claymore leaking crimson droplets strapped to the plated man’s back.
She dashes at the wall of darkness.
Several moist patters echo through the room while the man cocks his head to the side.
“Remember this,” the gravelly voice echoes in the shadows, “I cannot always protect you.”
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