My Youtube Promo Video

So I made this promo video on Youtube to ... promo me. The video has a few fantasy elements in it, therefore I thought it appropriate to place here on the Watchers. It's a tough world out there; jobs are hard to come by. In any case, here' the promo for Alten Ink. Thanks for watching.

my youtube promo video Alten Ink

Guest Post by Rikki Strong: Superheroes of the Bible

I love superheroes. I always have. After watching the old ‘60s Batman series on reruns with my folks, I was hooked. Superheroes are just incredibly awesome. They can do things I cannot, like fly. Superheroes are everywhere—from movies, to books, to our soft drink cans, to the Bible. No, really, the Bible.

There are all kinds of superpowers in the Bible. Here is a far-from-exhaustive list:

 

• Magneto is a villain with the ability to control metal objects. But the prophet Elisha did it first. (2 Kings 6)
• Superman’s super strength has nothing on Samson (Judges 14 – 16).
• Wolverine’s amazing healing powers? Paul was bit by a snake and just shook it off into the fire (Acts 28).
• Peter was, in effect, invisible during a prison break (Acts 12).
• The Flash and his super speed? Well, Elisha outran war horses (2 Kings 5).
• Pyro and his ability to control fire? Elijah got it first (1 Kings 18).

Many superheroes have some the ability of precognition (seeing the future). But they stole that from the major and minor prophets.

 

• Jonah was indigestible (Jonah 2).
• Storm has nothing on Jesus (Luke 8)—in more ways than one.
• Tarzan wasn’t the first to be able to speak with animals, but in one case, the animal spoke back (Numbers 22).
• Elijah and many other prophets were given the ability to raise one person from the dead, but Ezekiel raised a whole army (Ezekiel 37).

So, if God gave those prophets and followers awesome superpowers, why doesn’t he give his followers superpowers now? Well, the good news is, he does. They’re called “Spiritual Gifts” and can range from compassion for those less fortunate to being able to raise the dead. The gifts he gives every single person who believes, though, are the superpowers of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5).

Many people have accused my crossover superhero series (Karis, Flash) of being rote, predictable and nothing more than un-glorified fan fiction with a religious twist. To them I say: It is the comic books from which I—I will freely admit—borrowed concepts that are the fanfic. And God gave real people real superpowers. We need more Christian superheroes, so I wrote some. Not only do my new Christian superheroes in Flash have awesome super powers and help Tamara kick some butt but also help her recognize God’s will for her life—and helping others find God’s will for their lives is something of a superpower itself, and one we can all have.

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Rikki Strong has always been enamored with superheroes, and started writing the My Life as a Superhero series (currently Karis and Flash) when she was a sophomore in high school. She began writing for fun and profit in 2006 and has since written or ghostwritten more than 10 books and over 50 web articles. When not writing—which is most of the time—she is a stay-at-home wife and mom to a very active 6-year-old boy who has already about 500 words and 25 chapters into writing his own book.

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Visit Rikki on ...
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Rikki Strong My Life as a Superhero

Easter Flash Fiction: Priest: Truth and Consequences

“Make certain the tower is locked, and the priest still breathes. Then get out. The portal closes within the hour.” Gad retracted his battle-torn wings as he gave J’than his orders.

The soldier nodded and reached for his M16.

“Don’t bother.” Gad shook his head. “Your weapons cannot go through the portal. However, the Watcher’s sword rests atop the tower. The Nephilim left it there. For the priest I suppose.”

J’than frowned. He clenched his fists which wrapped his body armor around him from head to foot. Taking a breath, he stepped through the portal. But on the other side, hydrogen sulfide infiltrated his lungs. He coughed till he managed to activate his oxygen pack. This was the unfamiliar world. The one men tried not to believe in.

The Glory of Reims

J’than located the tower. Horrid cries, voices within the walls—exhausted voices—screamed for mercy. The soldier stood both in awe and fear of the tower. Yellowy-brown mortar oozed between the bricks, spitting out drops of red. Blood. “Still fresh.” Vines and roots choked the craggy stones, strangling life from each layer. The roots dripped with pungent liquid. And a constant banging of broken bones clanged through living walls.

He ignored the pleas. His job was to secure the tower. “Flight.” J’than’s voice-command equipped his body armor with wings: F22-Raptor particles. He fortified the tower, every lock he bolted, every crack and hole he sealed.

He found the sword. It was longer than he expected and heavier. With weapon in hand he walked into a cold cave. There he saw the priest. A pouch of coins dangled from his tattered belt. His pale blue hand clutched a bloody sword. Red veins lined his black eyes. And an open wound, unable to heal, scarred his neck. “Where is your sign? Let me see your forehead.”

J’than’s grip on his sword tightened. “No sign.”

“No sign! No pass!” Then, with unexpected velocity, the priest charged toward J’than.

They clashed midair. Sword upon sword, resonating through cavern walls.

“Who are you?” J’than hollered as iron ignited.

“You can’t kill me. I’m already dead. We could fight for eternity.”

“You wouldn’t last. Just tell me who you are and I might let you live.” J’than backed away, though his sword pointed at the priest’s face.

“I betrayed Him, you know. With a kiss no less.” Saliva trickled from the priest’s lips.

“This I knew,” J’than replied, “I just needed to hear you confess it.” The soldier slashed the pouch with his sword which scattered the silver coins. “Your reward!”

The priest scrambled to gather his coins but J’than grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him off the ground. “Scelestus. Traitor! You truly are lost.” He threw the priest’s body onto the parched ground. Thump! Bones rattled and broke.

The priest staggered to his feet. “Go then. Perdition waits. Why you travel here is none of my concern. You will not return.”

“I came to make sure you had not found a way out.”

The priest stroked the wound on his neck. “Did they kill Him?”

“Who?”

“The One who sang all worlds into being.”

J’than walked toward the closing portal. “Yes, they did. But three days later he rose. I didn’t believe it myself until I saw you. I’m guessing it’s why they sent me.”

The portal closed. The soldier was gone. Pockets of lava seeped through the parched land. The gnashing of teeth grew louder. The ancient tree appeared and a noose slithered down. The priest hung himself … again. Three days later, breath returned to him. He sighed. Eternity … “This is Hell.”

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Easter Poems
(support the Gatekeeper with a simple click on any of the following)

King On A Cross
The Fray:
It's only hell when Heaven's in your view ... but you can't get there.
The Cross Is Still Divine

Easter Flash Fiction Judas Priest

The Flash Fiction Chronicles of Eamane

There are worlds beyond our own, don't you know? Some of them beneath us, and above ... way above. We might even be sharing the same space, those dimensions can get pretty tricky. The universe is ever expanding, and no one has returned from black holes ... or have they? Nonetheless, we are not alone. How many times must we tell you that? I've been there, to other worlds. I've seen them, those who are not quite human but human still. I am the Gatekeeper, and you've been warned.

 

 

Coming soon to your world.

flash fiction Christian horror

Flash Fiction: Beneath the Blithe of Silver Moonlight

(or The Tortured Souls of Elmsley Village)
By Debby Alten



As mist descended upon Elmsley village, a young man, wrapped within a heavy cloak, snuck upon the grey-stone cottage; set between two elms at the edge of the frozen forest. He was drawn to the lights of burning candles flickering through foggy windows. Then, as he backed up against the cold, moss-covered stones, a soft snarl escaped his lips. And breath became one with the mist.

A wooden bench in front of the cottage labored beneath a layer of fresh snow. There, he thought, he would end it all: just one sturdy stab to the heart with his silver dagger. Surely the gods of winter would not frown upon him now. Surely no other had ever bore such a burden as his.

Read more ...



Flash Fiction
Christian fantasy
Grey Wolf from Wikimedia Commons

A Valentine's Day Flash: Unless Death Be Our Bridegroom

By Andy Poole

Shekel & Raza: copyright, 2013 by Andy Poole

The solemn procession marched down the lonely path. Dust loomed overhead like Djinns, stirred up by moaning winds. The daughters of Ishbane, captain of the Night Jackal, came to lay their father to rest in the Necropolis, ancient city of the dead. Silent tears trailed down Raza’s cheeks as she led the procession in her sister’s stead; Shekel lay propped on a litter, fresh blood oozing beneath her bandages.

They had flown through hostile skies to fulfill their vow: “Until our father is laid to rest in the ancestral tomb, we, the daughters of Ishbane, shall not take a husband, unless Death be our bridegroom.”

§

They took to the skies early that morning, with a corpse for cargo and dirges for shanties. Their nimble machine had slipped past the Corsair fleet, but a lighter craft overtook them. The two ships rent the air with the lead of their guns, but cold steel decided the day.

The Corsair hooked on the Night Jackal and the flying brigands strapped on their propulsion packs to board. The swarthy crew of the Jackal each donned a crimson battle scarf and twenty-five sabres gleamed along the deck. Corsairs hurtled to the deck from their body-mounted engines; the clash of arms and human cries succeeded the rockets’ scream.

§

 

Shekel lay back her head on the litter as her strength now waned. Her face greyed beneath the battering dust. The eldest daughter of Ishbane had bled for her father’s honour. “We are almost there, Shekel. There, see?” The procession came near to the vaulted gate of the Ishbane tomb. Yet before their eyes had seen the mosaic face of the tomb, they had seen blood.

When the Corsairs boarded, the Jackal crew wavered. The pirates drove them to the rail and there would have killed them to a man when shrill voices cried, “Honour for Ishbane!” The sword of Ishbane extended from Shekel’s grip; Raza charged with her sister and plunged her khanjar dagger into the heart of a Corsair.

The sisters’ courage inspired the crew who fought with the hearts of lions. Snarls rumbled behind clenched teeth as the men of the Jackal battled back, striving to shield the daughters of the late Captain. They surrounded the young women with a hedge of sabres facing outward; the fury of the cutthroats broke on the human wall, but with their momentum spent they shattered under the counteroffensive. The last of them launched back to their own ship. The Corsair ship detached and sputtered back to its fleet.

The crewmen cheered at the backs of their foe, but Shekel collapsed in Raza’s arms. Raza laid her down and her heart chilled at the touch of her sister’s blood. She stared in horror as the scarlet flow ran down her fingers.

“Unless Death be our bridegroom.” Shekel’s voice cracked. “That was our vow. You will have to carry me there, these skies are not safe and I’ve come this far.”

§

The procession passed from the hot desert sands and into the cool shadow of the tomb. Shekel’s bearers lay her litter down and helped her to her feet. Both sisters tossed handfuls of dust in their long, dark locks. The walls echoed with haunting notes of the ancient death song borne on their wailing voices. But soon Raza was the only woman singing, and the song died on the lips of men as Shekel fell limp in the strong arms of the boatswain. Raza flew to her sister’s side. Shekel caressed her sister’s cheek with a weak hand. “Lay me at Father’s feet. Death is now my bridegroom.”

§

On the deck of the Night Jackal, Raza looked over her shoulders toward the Necropolis receding in the distance. As sand clouds cleared, the setting sun bathed the Necropolis in scarlet light.

“My Lady Raza.”

She turned to face Desh, the first mate. “Set course for Dezra. I want the ship re-outfitted to fly again.”

“You will fly with us?”

Raza shook her head. “I will run Father’s business as his sole remaining heiress, and take a husband. Father’s legacy shall live on in my children, unless of course Death is first my bridegroom.”

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Micah 6:8
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