PREQUEL TO GRUBBY ANGELS

Father Ronan McGuiness woke up with a snort. His bleary red eyes opened for a second then quickly closed again as pain shot through his skull.

The pounding in his head seemed to match the relentless pounding he could hear on the massive church doors.

He opened his eyes again, this time a little more cautiously and tried to lift his head. It seemed to be too heavy to lift until he realised his face was stuck to the desk with a combination of dried whiskey and drool. With an effort he pulled his head clear and was rewarded with more pain and nausea. (more…)

“Your real father, Devil’s Palm, he is a very bad man. He killed thousands of innocent people, and most of them died in a cruel and horrible fashion, either by his devices, diseases, or by his insane experimentations. You must understand, I ended him, for the greater good,” the Herbalist said before he left.

“And how dare he insult my father! So what if he killed many people? In this world, in this jianghu, it is kill or be killed! Much must be sacrificed to push the boundaries further in the name of science. My father was a radical man, but the Herbalist is not that different. He kills too. He uses beautiful reasons and excuses, the ‘failures’ he regretted. And no one blames him for that. But I know his dirty secrets,” (more…)

Josh shielded his eyes from the hot sun, and saw the same unremarkable view he had seen for about a week now; nothing but blue, rolling waves. He reached down and grabbed a half-full bottle of water, taking a sip. He sat back down onto the bow and let his head hang between his knees while the cruel rays of the summer sun beat on the back of his neck. (more…)