"Vince Churchill has created a violent and epic space opera with truly memorable villains, and a hero you cheer (and cringe) for at every turn. Then he throws in a trans-dimensional entity or entities who can warp the very fabric of reality and all bets are off."

-- Dave Wellington, author of acclaimed zombie novel Monster Island

. . . The Story . . .

Death

Descending from deep space like locusts, Yardon Wrath and his murderous band of men and mutants, the Plague, terrorize an isolated colony. Legendary lawman Thane Bishop is brutally beaten to death in front of his family by the inhuman psychopath he helped create. But the macabre half-man half machine's sinister plans call for much more than murder.

Much more...

Rebirth

Offered an unholy alliance with an entity from an alternate existence, Thane Bishop rises from the grave, his lust for revenge matched only by his adversary's own twisted plans for retribution.

Vengeance

All that's left for two men more dead than alive.

THE BLACKEST HEART

Death is just the beginning.

. . . Excerpt . . .

"Trouble, gentlemen?" The voice was controlled, authoritative. And it had an underlying tone that drew attention and commanded respect. All three of the men turned. Overstreet and Lake adjusted their positions to see the source of the voice. We may have just lucked out, Overstreet thought to herself as she took in the man's appearance.

He was on the young side, maybe mid-twenties. Better than average height, dark hair flowing to broad shoulders. He was cloaked in a floor length black duster. He stood partially in a shadow which masked his face.

"Mind your fucking business..." the bearded man bellowed blindly as he turned to face the owner of the voice. Whatever else he was going to say died in his throat. For a moment the room was silent. Overstreet's breath caught in her throat. She and Lake had really gotten lucky. The man half in the shadows took a small step forward, his face not yet visible but the platinum Star Marshal badge he wore on his coat shone like a real star across the low-lit room. Casually, he pushed back the flaps of his coat to reveal a holstered laser on each hip.

The bearded man's two companions moved a few steps to each side--- their attention swinging between the lawman and their friend. The bearded man seemed unsure of what to do, though his hand remained under the skins. His two companions had holstered guns and knives, but neither seemed anxious to start a firefight with a Marshal. Suddenly none of the men seemed happy to be there."Uh, sorry about that Marshal. I didn't realize...you know...uh..."

"What about the woman, Lomax?" The Marshal asked bluntly. The use of his name seemed to jar the bearded man, and his two friends looked to him nervously. One managed to speak.

"I had nothin' to do wit that, Marshal..."

"Shut your goddamn pie-hole, you twitch," the bearded man threatened with a low growl. But the twitch ignored Lomax, putting both hands in the air and edging forward slowly.

"I don't want no trouble Marshal and I ain't dying for nobody," the twitch spoke, shooting a glance at Lomax. "I don't want no part of this, and I never touched that woman. I'm a faithfully married man."

"That's dogshit!" the other man spoke out, hand floating to his pistol. "She earned her money from you as much as the rest of us." Twitch looked at the man.

"I ain't never hurt her like you two did. You treated her like a dog, Munson. Both of you did. Okay, sure, I admit it, I fucked her proper, but she had no complaints about me. I didn't kill her!"

The air seemed to rush out of the room, and there was a silence so perfect it was frightening. The shadow-masked Marshal stood tall and poised, not moving a muscle. The room was a living photograph as time stood still. An eating utensil dropped to the floor was the only sound. Suddenly the world blurred into action.

Twitch threw himself to the floor, diving for safety under a table. Lomax roared, jerking an old-fashioned force pistol out from under his animal skin poncho. Munson drew his illegal laser, turning to fire in the direction of Twitch.

A split second later, the Marshal drew. Both guns appeared like magic in his hands, each spitting out a deadly burst of blue light. Munson was able to squeeze off a burst of his own before the laser fire struck him at the shoulder of his shooting arm. The blue beam sliced through his clothing and his flesh so cleanly that by the time his severed arm touched the floor, the wound had been cauterized by the laser's heat. The trapper's hand was still gripping the gun as it bounced. Munson's shot missed the diving Twitch, grazing a customer in the line of fire. An old man cried out, grabbing his arm as he fell from his chair. Lomax's gun was between being drawn clear of the holster and in a position to fire when the laser beam burst from the Marshal's other weapon and sheared off the trapper's head from the bridge of his nose up. The dome of Lomax's head flipped into the air like a hairy saucer, hitting the floor with the moist smacking sound of a pie dropped bad side down. The rest of the man remained standing, shooting arm floating useless in mid-air, his body wobbling ever so slightly.

Then time snapped back, and the air was filled with screams, shouts and chaos. The laser in the Marshal's right hand returned to its holster as fast and smoothly as it was drawn; the laser in his left stayed trained on Munson as he folded screaming to the saloon floor, hand clutching at his now empty shoulder. Twitch was on the floor, yelling, "don't shoot, don't shoot" as the Marshal stepped forward. He watched as Lomax's body finally collapsed, bouncing off a table before landing on the floor with a definitive thud.

"Somebody call medical dispatch. Now." The Marshal ordered, never taking his attention from Munson. The one armed man was babbling a mixture of prayers and profanity as he worked up the courage to reach out and touch his severed limb. "Don't move," the Marshal directed to Twitch, who immediately stopped squirming around on the floor and slapped both hands on the top of the table he was hiding under.

"Take me in, Marshal. Take me in. I'll tell you what happened to Letty out there. I'll tell you what happened, I swear on my mother's..." The Marshal cut him off, his tone as threatening as his words.

"Shut. Up." Twitch stopped talking and stared at the floor as the Marshal walked past.

Overstreet stood, mouth open in amazement. The speed of the Marshal's draw was impossibly fast. The Marshal moved forward from shadow to shadow until he was just an arm's reach away from her. Somehow his face was still not discernible. A weird trick of the light?

"Are you okay?" The Marshal asked. Overstreet looked into his eyes and was suddenly sober. She still hadn't spoken as Lake stepped up next to her, offering his hand to the lawman.

"Lieutenant John Lake of the local enforcement unit, Marshal. This is Samantha Overstreet, one of our new recruits. We weren't expecting a Marshal's visit, sir." The Marshal half-turned to grasp Lake's hand, his face finally visible. Lake's expression slid from relief to confusion to shock. "Oh my God...oh my God..." Overstreet looked at both men, not understanding the shock on Lake's face. Something was terribly wrong. Lake tried to pull his hand from the Marshal's, even as his eyes rolled back into his head and his knees buckled. He slumped to the floor, Lake's head bouncing off the floor. The Marshal immediately dropped to a knee. Overstreet squatted by the two men, staring at the Marshal. He looked vaguely familiar, but for the moment couldn't place him.

"What happened? He looked like he saw a ghost." The Marshal smirked as he stood back up. His attention was already focused elsewhere.

"He did."