Shadows of Divinity

by Luke Mitchell

  The more I thought about Carlisle, the more I wished I could have talked to him about the things I’d seen in Al’Kundesha’s memories. Visions of Urth haunted my dreams, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to those strange distant people who’d somehow touched the raknoth with the sickness that had apparently driven them here.

  Could Urth still be out there, turning happily along, holding some answer to the raknoth threat?

  I cautiously talked to Franco about it. I didn’t want to be the one to suggest we go looking for the alien spaceship that must still be hidden somewhere on Enochia. I definitely didn’t want to be the one to propose the possibility of one day finding Urth ourselves. But luckily, Franco was Franco. Once the seed was planted, he needed to know too. He couldn’t help but start digging.

  In the meantime, I tried to convince myself the entire thing was nothing more than an idle musing. More of a daydream fantasy than a real intention. After all, there was certainly no shortage of messes to be cleaned up on Enochia before we worried about Urth.

  I just wasn’t sure where my place was in all of it.

  Johnny didn’t hesitate to return to Legion duty, convinced as he was that it was the best way he could help. I was less than certain, but maybe my view had been skewed by my stint as a hunted man. Either way, I refrained from making any plans for official Legion reinstatement. I kind of doubted they would’ve taken me even if I did.

  I couldn’t deny that I longed for vengeance, but with Al’Kundesha and Zar’Faenor dead, I wasn’t entirely sure where I should expect to find it. The raknoth were still out there, recovering and doing Alpha knew what else. I needed to know they’d face justice for what they’d done. But right then, I also needed time. Time to recover. Time to train Elise to use her new abilities.

  So when the day came that Johnny was set to ship off to his new position at Haven, I offered my hand and tried to sound believable as I told him I’d be right behind him when the time came.

  He frowned down at my hand, then slapped it aside and wrapped me in a bear hug. “Broto,” he said, still hugging me, “when the scud hits, I’ll never doubt again that you’re the one standing firm behind me.”

  I smiled a little despite myself. “You want a redo on that one?”

  I felt him shaking his head as he gave me a few pats on the back. “Nah. That came out perfect.” He finally stepped back, his grin sobering as he studied my face. “You take care of yourself, okay buddy?”

  I nodded.

  “Who knows,” he added. “With a little luck, maybe I can even see to it they don’t call you a terrorist next time we need your help.”

  I smiled. “Crazier things have happened, I guess.”

  “No kidding. Secret powers. Alien invasions. You scoring a girlfriend before me.” He shook his head. “Boggles the mind, it does.” He glanced at his waiting transport, which was nearly loaded now. “Anyway…”

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t let them give you any scud at Haven, okay?”

  “Of course not. I’ve got a whole plan figured out.”

  I smiled. “Oh yeah? Just gonna tell them to grop off and regale them with your record as a war hero?”

  He grinned, shaking his head. “Nah. I think I’ll probably just tell ‘em I’m best friends with the Demon of Divinity.”

  END BOOK ONE

  Author’s Note

  (Updated September 7th, 2020)

  Let me ask you something, Dear Reader:

  * * *

  Do you remember the worst nightmare you've ever had?

  * * *

  It’s probably a rhetorical question here, given that it’s kinda hard to reply via book back matter. But, if you're like me, you probably have a few (thousand) you'll never forget.

  * * *

  Truth be told, when I was a wee little lad, it was actually a rare occasion I didn’t jolt awake at least once to go running and crying to dear ol’ Mom about the nightmare flavor of the night. It was pretty bad.

  * * *

  There were the running-from-monsters dreams (legs like Jello in quicksand).

  * * *

  There were the random falling dreams (I never woke up in time to avoid impact).

  * * *

  There were the midnight murder castle sagas (embarrassingly gratuitous for the mind of a five-year-old child).

  * * *

  There was even a gang of persistent mobsters who’d often chase me from one shifting dreamscape to the next, beating me bloody whenever they caught me (my guidance counselor recommended I try sprouting wings and flying away from them—those cheeky pricks sprouted handguns and shot me down).

  * * *

  (In hindsight, it's possible I was wound a bit tight for a child.)

  * * *

  Through it all, though, there was one nightmare that I'll always remember above all the rest. The one that struck me straight to the core.

  * * *

  See, by that point, the nightmares had become so frequent and multilayered (a nightmare within a nightmare, Inception-style) that I could never really trust that I was actually safe until I’d made it to dear ol’ Ma’s arms.

  * * *

  Expanding on the Inception metaphor, she was basically the totem (bless her friggin’ heart) that anchored me back to the real world and convinced me that I was actually awake and everything was okay. (For real this time. )

  * * *

  Then came that fateful night.

  * * *

  That night, I was running from the red-eyed lizard people at the carnival (you know, THAT old chestnut). Running straight to dear ol’ Ma, in that particular dream.

  * * *

  I still remember the way she reached for me in that yellow pajama dress of hers, beckoning me into the safety of her embrace.

  * * *

  And I'll never forget the stomach-clenching horror I felt as she morphed into one of the monsters right before my eyes.

  * * *

  (We’re talking full-on green, scaly Mama-monster in a friggin’ yellow nightgown. Which, admittedly, sounds kinda comical nowadays. But back then…)

  * * *

  Imagine, little Momma’s Boy waking from yet another terrible nightmare only to find, for the first time ever, that he had no one to run to. That he was in fact suddenly TERRIFIED of the one person who was always supposed to be there, no matter what.

  * * *

  That night, for the first time ever, I felt what it was like to lose my trusted totem. Reality was broken. Nowhere was safe.

  * * *

  Of course, I got over it in the light of day. But that feeling? It stuck with me. I’ll never forget it. I'm pretty sure it was the first time I'd ever felt truly unsafe—my first naive little inkling that the world, for all its bubbly "rightness," could also be a dangerous place, and that even the people we trust the most can sometimes fail us without warning, sometimes for reasons beyond their control.

  * * *

  Momma couldn't protect me from everything, after all.

  * * *

  (How's that for a sobering tale of five-year-old disillusionment?!)

  * * *

  And while I’d totally be lying if I said I ever suspected back then that this experience had planted the seeds of what would eventually grow into an epic dystopian alien invasion trilogy...

  * * *

  Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what I suspected. Because that’s totally what happened. (Or so I tell myself now, looking back through narrative-colored glasses.)

  * * *

  It's often said that most writers' first novels end up being highly autobiographical, whether they like it or not (and even if that "autobiographical" nature ends up hidden beneath several layers of otherworldly magic powers and alien incursions and whatnot).

  * * *

  To that end, you probably won’t be all that surprised to hear that this story—that of a young man finding his once-unshakeable world suddenly overturned by insidious alien invasion—was a
ctually the first full-length novel I ever wrote.

  * * *

  (It probably also doesn’t come as a surprise that the red-eyed lizard people made their triumphant return as the culprits of this shadowy planetary heist.)

  * * *

  What you might NOT have guessed (unless you happen to be quite the shrewd psychoanalyst) is that I also lost my father to pancreatic cancer in the middle of writing this book.

  * * *

  And while that’s not something I just toss casually into discussion most days, in this case it seems particularly pertinent.

  * * *

  See, it's probably no coincidence that this story begins and ends with Hal losing father figures. I still remember the first night I sat down and started writing. I'd just gotten home from grad school to visit my father as he began chemo in the wake of his diagnosis.

  * * *

  Interestingly enough, the very first draft actually didn't even show Hal's life in Sanctuary before Kublich's attack. It opened (perhaps cringe-worthily) directly with Hal hearing his mother scream and racing out of the sim room to find a red-eyed monster laying into his parents.

  * * *

  That same draft made it about as far as Hal's trial at the White Tower before I finally realized the rather obvious fact that I had no clue how to finish the story.

  * * *

  It was only months after my father had passed that I finally came back to the manuscript and saw Carlisle's sacrifice sitting there clear as day, just waiting to be written. Once that was done, I returned to the opening chapter to add an actual opening and properly explore what it was Hal had had before that red-eyed monster came bursting in to take it all away.

  * * *

  The reader needed to better understand what Hal had lost, I told myself. Which was probably true. But in hindsight, I can’t help but think now that the same thing was probably doubly true of myself.

  * * *

  The funniest part in all of this is that it took me well over a year to look back and realize what I'd actually done—how the pieces had fallen in such neat, predictable synchronicity with the events of my own life.

  * * *

  And if you’re currently wondering why in the name of Alpha I’m telling you ANY of this overly personal mumbo jumbo… well, amongst other things, I guess it’s because there's the stuff that we bumbling pen monkeys mean to say with our stories… and then there's the stuff that falls out of us whether we intend to let it or not.

  * * *

  In my limited experience, it’s that latter bit that tends to scratch at the good stuff.

  * * *

  All of which to say, I sure hope you’ve found something of value in these pages—even if it was just a compelling read. This story has meant a lot to me for a lot of different reasons, and I truly do appreciate you coming along for the ride.

  * * *

  In fact, now that we’re proper old chums, I’d love to give you something more than a simple thank you.

  * * *

  I’d love to give you the rest of the story.

  * * *

  See, the more I realized how much of me was tied up in this book, the more I was pulled to circle back and revisit the events surrounding Hal’s journey in Shadows of Divinity.

  * * *

  I ended up writing two additional stories. (In addition to the next two books of the main trilogy, that is.)

  * * *

  The first was a kind of eulogy for Carlisle, written in the format of a short story called Eye of the Storm.

  * * *

  The second was a full-length novel called Fallen, which explored the events both leading up to and throughout Shadows of Divinity through the eyes of none other than Garrett (AKA Smirks) the Seeker.

  * * *

  I was pleasantly surprised by what I found in writing them both. And today, I’d like to share them with you, free of charge. All you have to do is tell me where to send them.

  * * *

  Click here to join my mailing list and download your free copies of Fallen and Eye of the Storm today!

  * * *

  In addition to occasional behind-the-scenes notes like the one above (which was actually adapted from a few of my Sunday newsletters), as a member of the list, you’ll also get access to free books from all of my other fictional worlds as well as discounts and short stories you won’t find anywhere else.

  * * *

  (Carlisle’s Eye of the Storm story, for instance, is only available in the box set or to my mailing list readers.)

  * * *

  Sign up here to grab both Enochian War stories free today, and enjoy!

  * * *

  And if newsletters and email shenanigans aren’t your bag, no worries. You can also grab Demons of Divinity (Book Two) right here to continue the main series whenever you’re ready!

  * * *

  Or, if you’re fully invested and would like to save a good chunk on the full series (that is, the trilogy books and the extras, all in one), you can grab the Complete Enochian War Collection right here!

  * * *

  Whichever way you go, I sure do hope you enjoy your next adventure!

  * * *

  Thanks so much for reading.

  * * *

  We’ll see you on the other side.

  * * *

  Cheers,

  Luke Mitchell

  * * *

  P.S. If none of the links above point you exactly where you want to go, you can always find my full published catalog right here!

  * * *

  Happy reading, my friend.

  About the Author

  Luke is a storyteller whose dreams include learning the ways of the Force, becoming a sentient robot, and maybe even one day growing up. Also, lots of zombies… Don't ask.

  * * *

  Oh, and that "growing up" bit? That was a lie.

  * * *

  After studying engineering science at Penn State and neuroengineering at Drexel, Luke finally decided to throw in the towel on building a working Iron Man suit and opted instead to simply make things up and write them down. Boy, is he having more fun now.

  * * *

  When he's not holed up in his writing cave trying to string words together, he can often be found powerlifting, video-gaming, reading, and/or drinking the darkest, most roasty beers he can get his mitts on. Sometimes all at once.

  * * *

  But you know what? That’s enough about Luke. He's really not that interesting. Still, if you'd like to say hi to him for whatever reason, he'd probably be glad to hear from you!

  * * *

  Go to lukermitchell.com/shadows-of-divinity-signup to join the mailing list and grab your free copies of Fallen and the list-exclusive, Eye of the Storm!

  - Luke Mitchell