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Richard Fierce

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Member Since: Apr, 2009

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Liberation: Book Two
by Richard Fierce   

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Books by Richard Fierce
· Oppression: Book One
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Category: 

Fantasy

Publisher:  Createspace ISBN-10:  1442177497 Type: 
Pages: 

108

Copyright:  Oct 1, 2010 ISBN-13:  9781442177499
Fiction

The sequel to Oppression.

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Liberation, the second and final book of the series, picks up where Oppression left off. As the invasion comes to an end, Orin leads the last remaining people in a battle against Amadeus and his demonic host. Sorely outnumbered, they fight for the survival of the human race.

The priest Tymothy awakens in the Coalition fortress to find himself alone. With a task given to him by God, he begins his search for the remnant of people left in the world. But an ancient evil stirs in the earth, roused by the holy power that surrounds Tymothy. Using its foul powers, the creature begins causing strife among the people. Can Tymothy reach them in time? Or will the ancient evil consume all in its path?


Excerpt

They were fighting for their very lives …
Chaos was everywhere. Tymothy stared in horror as he saw Raven leap off the western wall of the castle. The priest was already running toward the bulwark, but at the horrific sight he ran even faster, driving his body harder. He bounded up the steps so quickly he almost lost his balance and tumbled back down. He reached the wall and—with just a slight hesitation—looked down to see the gruesome sight that he knew awaited him. He saw Raven plummeting toward the ground. As the wizard’s body was inevitably about to hit the stone walkway that led to the fortress’ blasted gates, Tymothy wanted to turn his head. He didn’t want to see the death of his friend, knew that it would leave a devastating scar upon him forever. But he couldn’t force himself to look away.
Mere inches from hitting the stones, Raven’s body burst into a glaring white light. Tymothy could see nothing but a harsh luminosity, seemingly brighter than the sun itself. And then …
… there was absolute darkness.
And the world shook violently to its very core. The most disturbing thing that stood out to Tymothy was the sound—the utter lack of it. The sheer silence was like a thick cloud weighing down on him. It was all he could do to stay on his feet. His senses became clouded. He couldn’t tell up from down or how much time had passed.
He thought he could see a light; a tiny speck in the immense blackness that seemed to cover everything. His legs felt as heavy as if they were stone, but he forced them to move. Slowly the light seemed to draw closer. He would have doubted that he was even moving except for the fact that the fleck of light gradually began to grow. Time ceased to exist for him; it had no concept anymore. As he got closer to the light, he began to feel as though it were eternal. And then he stood before the light. It wasn’t like anything he had seen before. It wasn’t like the sun, and it wasn’t like the artificial light of magic or torches. It was wholesome, pure, and rich. Tymothy reached out his hand to touch the light, but his hand stopped and could go no further.
Odd, he thought. He realized his hand was on a surface, an invisible barrier and that the light was shining through.
“It’s a door.”
As the realization struck him, he began to look for a handle of some sort to open it. He found none. Tymothy glanced back over his shoulder and saw nothing but complete and total darkness. He didn’t want to go back and try to find a way out. The blackness seemed to grasp at him, trying to suffocate him.
He turned his attention back to the door. With no handle, he wondered if maybe the door would open by words. He stared at the light and knew that behind the door must be something important, something holy. He knelt down before the door and clasped his hands together. Closing his eyes, he began to pray aloud:
“One True God, I pray that you allow me to enter this door that I might escape the darkness behind me. It pulls at me like the claws of death. Lord, save me …”
The door swung open and the light increased tenfold. Tymothy rose to his feet and walked blindly through the doorway, his eyes watering from the brightness of the light. He blinked away the tears and tried in vain to see his surroundings. In every direction, as far as he could see, there was nothing but light … and the sound of singing. And then he heard a voice call out to him. It surrounded him like armor and pierced through his very bones. There was no pain; only peace.
“Tymothy, my faithful servant. What do you seek, my child?”
“A way out, Lord.” He answered without thinking, and then he sensed that there was something deeper to the question, so he offered another answer. “I seek the truth.”
“Truth is revealed to those who seek it. Ask what is in your heart, and I shall answer.”
The priest paused to consider what he wanted to know the truth about. There were so many thing that he wanted—that he needed—to know that he couldn’t get his mind in order. “Who created the world, Lord?”
“I.”
“Then why don’t we know that? Why do we teach false things?”
“Truth, when spoken by men, gets diluted. As my people ceased to pray, they lost their focus and began to fall away. They conformed to the ways of the flesh, of the world, and became lost. It has been many years since one of righteousness has arose. I am pleased with you, Tymothy.”
It made sense. And he believed it. All of it. Even amidst all the light and singing he felt as though he were stained from his beliefs that there were many gods and not a single God. The God. “How are you pleased with me, Lord? I have not followed you. I am lost like those you speak of.”
“You did not follow me in name, but in your heart. Good works cannot be given credit to the enemy, for the enemy is wicked and destroys the innocent. Just as the works of the enemy cannot be claimed by me. I am holy, therefore any who works in my name must be holy. I sanctify you, Tymothy. You will be my Voice. You will speak my Truth to those who can hear it. I am raising you up from the ashes of the world. My Word will burn within you as a passion. You are no longer a priest, but a prophet of my Holy Word. Go forth, Tymothy, and gather the lost unto Me …”




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