New Release | The Tempests of Time, Ages of Malice, Book IV by Lloyd Jeffries #thriller #religiousthriller #newrelease
- N. N. Light
- 5 hours ago
- 6 min read
Title The Tempests of Time, Ages of Malice, Book IV
Author Lloyd Jeffries
Genre Thriller; religious thriller; fantasy horror
Book Blurb:
Time Turns Deadly.
The world unravels in chaos, and for Emery Merrick and Rhyme Carter, the nightmare deepens when a cursed stranger hurls Emery through time’s shattered veins. Ancient wars, futures drowned in ash—every era whispers his name, as if he was destined to suffer.
A secret society lurks in the shadows, twisting history into a noose around their minds. Voices taunt from the void, splintering their grip on reality. Demonic faces leer from fractured memories, assassins strike from impossible angles, and a truth gnaws at their sanity: are they saviors, or pawns in a game they’ve already lost?
“Elite author Lloyd Jeffries, The Tempests of Time fuses relentless action with psyche-shredding horror, pulling the Ages of Malice saga into an abyss of mayhem, despair, and mind-shattering revelations that are both terrifying and thought-provoking. Perfect for fans of Stephen King and Dan Brown.” ~ BookLife
Can they stop the clock? Grab it now and brace yourself!
Gaze into Merrick’s mirror…and be forever changed.
Excerpt:
Thoughts from the Verge
Will anyone ever read this?
A common thought for word brokers, but one that looms as I ponder this volume and the events within.
Mysterious ways, indeed.
If you dare this twisted path, a word of advice: Venture at your own risk. The chasms are deep. The waters, foul and endless. The abyss, too cosmic.
This tome was written in scrawled words, jagged, streaked with blood. Ink forged from innocence, from deceit, from destiny and suffering. Turns out, this theater isn’t for the faint.
What lies ahead is singularly unique. I’ve tried to capture all I endured with precision and agility. The full, spectacular, soul scorching truths of humanity, religion, God, Satan and the hells that plague us all. As I’ve mentioned, fate is a tortured mistress. A lass over whom I hold no sway and for whose actions I take no responsibility. My apologies if this changes your paradigms as it changed mine. But alas, you’ve been warned.
God help us all.
Emery
Prologue
Flickering scarlet. Deep ebony. Stretching toward me. Thick, chunky, gripping, dragging.
The shriek of billions, a grating cacophony like all the Earth’s raptors.
Agony sizzles, overwhelms my body, my mind, my soul. Smoke rolls from my being; astonished eyes bulge. My scream strangles in my throat. My skin blisters, melts, hits the floor and sizzles. The drops pulse with heat and anguish.
My mind shreds. Great, winged things circle, then descend in a black mass I can’t possibly deflect. I raise my arms in horror. Barbed talons, then razor teeth, strip them to the bone. Blood vaporizes in a mist, becomes sticky, instantly congeals to new skin and muscle that covers my limbs.
They swarm again.
I lash, struggle, punch and scream. They tear me to shreds, these squawking beasts. Pointed claws rend an eyeball from my socket with a crunch that resonates through my skull. Two beasts fight for the morsel.
I’m fully aware, fully involved, no thought given to how I got here, the how’s and why’s made moot by ravenous furies and the decimation of all I am.
I’m overwhelmed, outmatched, helpless. Claws plunge and fangs shred, talons filet my torso, shred my neck and my face.
I wail, strangle. My mouth fills with ash.
Then a tooth’s torn free. A bloody nerve dangles from jagged enamel as blood drips to sanguine vapor.
A beast delights, dances, holds its prize high before downing it in a gulp.
Another demon pounces, then another, then ten more.
Their weight crushes me to blistered, molten stone. My mouth’s wrenched open, held fast by muscled arms.
My jaw cracks, then dangles like a windless flag.
They rip out all my teeth.
The anguish never ends. It coats me, defines primality in wrath and rage. It’s complete and utter despair, an indefensible torrent.
They crush, flap, writhe, rend in ravenous delight.
A tempest of black drops—my own blood— burns to steam before my eyes. Flames wash over. New skin appears in the next instant, and I watch as blisters spread, congeal, and burst a serous rain that sizzles and steams.
I clamp my mouth shut, press my jaw with both hands.
Then they’re back, prying my jaw, stealing my teeth, munching my bones to splinters.
Apologies fly from my shredded face.
A monster yanks my tongue and devours, shrieks at other beasts to keep their distance.
The torture’s otherworldly, unbearable, molten, as demons dance in embers of shadow.
Then, I see the monster who possessed me, the one Cain exorcised. Somehow, its name floods my memory. Acedia, the demon of addiction.
I raise a hand, hear my own shriek as a powerful jaw rips it from my arm then spits it to sizzle in flames. I watch through a single remaining eye as a thousand demons leap after. Then, eight beastly arms, stronger than any twenty men, enwrap my torso and lift me high.
Demons gouge my back, gnaw at my head, tear my groin.
I’m an endless buffet.
My heart boils as it’s ripped from my chest to coat my vision in clotted crimson.
The demon grins vicious teeth, chomps into it as more blood surges, as other beasts leap in.
A great howl sends them streaking away, leaves the first to feast on its prize.
Slobber drips neon green as the creature enjoys its meal.
The misery is unquenchable. I struggle, reach for my heart, try to reclaim it.
Above, a thousand furies swirl before swooping down and claiming the leftovers.
Hope’s fled.
Mercy’s unknown.
There’s only torment.
There’s only suffering.
Only ash-filled lungs and twisted eons.
I wish for death, cling desperate to finality.
But I’m struck. I shall not die.
I’m the main course. For any and everything that dwells here.
I raise new arms, try to fight, to defend, but they’re ripped from my torso at first twitch.
Fetid mists rise as blood clots my throat, then mixes with a spiraling ash to become demonic clouds.
Arms regrow. My mouth fills again with teeth.
The demon drops my beating heart like a half-eaten apple. It sizzles like raw meat even as I grab it up, blow on it to clear the soot, then attempt to stuff it back in my chest.
Great blisters form, ripple, bubble, then burst in an explosion of crimson goo.
I hear my own anguish, feel my tongue like a swollen slug, choking my breath.
Then, a great winged dragon, larger by leagues than any other, absorbing wretched colors as smoke and hate and bile flow from scales in gleaming crimson.
Cracks spread on boiling stone. Geysers of vapor rise to mingle with the shriek of billions.
Demons cackle, howl, speed beyond the dark haze, away from the massive winged beast.
I crumple, trembling, weeping. An agony of burnt skin and renewed flesh.
The dragon looms.
My terror reflects in its eyes.
My mind fills with images of what it will do.
Nothing good dwells here.
Nothing good can dwell here.
Visions assault: Rhyme, nude, spitted, roasting above a bed of flaming lava and sizzling coal. Auburn locks singe to blistered scalp. Her face chars to black leather, leaves only gleaming emeralds that don’t release my gaze.
She fades to ash, drifts to the hopeless mist.
Then my mother: chased by ravenous beasts, consumed again and again, her screams drenched in endless despair.
I cower, squeeze my arms close, pour tears, beg for mercy.
My skin renews, reblisters.
Then, Cain, framed in smoke, sharp eyebrows angled to acute points. His mark glows, throbs, flows everywhere to irradiate the horrible expanse.
Blood drips from his mouth. “Dearest Emery, welcome to immortality.”
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Author Biography
Lloyd Jeffries enjoys dark comedies, philosophy, clever turns of phrase, religious studies and thought experiments involving the esoteric and legendary. A decorated veteran of numerous conflicts, he served in the U.S. military and has practiced Emergency, Trauma and Wilderness medicine for more than twenty years. He hides out in Florida with his family and Buck the Wonder Dog.
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