Release Date:March 1st, 2011
Book Preview: "Mad Gods - Redux"
Mad Gods turns Bible Revelation & God's Armageddon upside down when the Antichrist refuses to follow Destiny. It's an apocalyptic escape from Satanists, Templars, New World Order & the Catholic Church.
Kostadino Paleologos roams in mysterious libraries all over the world, following clues in lost, forbidden texts to find the mythic Library of Alexandria. The clues tell of a soul searching for redemption. Its many lives protest history’s treatment and wish for a life more ordinary.
Kostadino finds the Idammah-Gan Codex, a catalogue of all the soul’s lives; it is a singularly dangerous book, safely read only in daylight. He decides to raise the soul’s next incarnation, Adam, to reject the prophesies and errors that all religions have in interpreting and explaining faith. Kostadino’s actions throw all these revelations into chaos. The Luciferian Church move heaven and earth to find them while the Vatican sends Templars to hunt them down.
Kostadino teaches Adam the secrets of his quest for the Library of Alexandria. Those far-flung, dusty old rooms were filled with the almost perfect thoughts and nearly complete ethics from the geniuses of history; however, no one had found the whole truth. All came as close as their cultures could bring them, but fell short. Kostadino shows Adam that we cannot see the truth to which every faith aspires because we are flawed. We see, hear, smell, taste and touch with inadequate tools. Even intellect is limited, unable to completely digest truth. Truth is either too large --or too small-- to see, and we absorb only what we can from our narrow perspectives.
Religions have faith outside reason, but lose truth in translation, hoping that reason can explain faith. Religions strive to interpret something too vast to be understood.
- Idammah-Gan Codex - Depth of Correction III -
TIME: AUGUST 19TH, 33 A.D. GOLGOTHA, JERUSALEM, ISREAL
My mind is in a complete fog. People are crying. I can’t tell how many and for whom. There is nothing of which I’m sure, except for the pain in my wrists and ankles. I try to look to my left and to my right, but I cannot see past my extremities. I only wish that I couldn’t even see that far. Try as I might, my glance keeps returning to the nails that hold my arms and ankles to this cross. This is the only way I know they’re still attached. Hours ago, they went numb. Hanging this way, I struggle to breathe. I only think about pushing my weight back up. There is no way in creation I will go through this again.
When they first hammered me to the wood, the pain nearly drove me mad. My mind threw screams out of my mouth – screams which continued well past when they turned me over to hammer the nails back, ensuring that I would stay on the cross. My mind gibbered disbelief at the fact that I was in this position. I think these words came out of my mouth, but of this I am not certain. “Oh, no. This is not possible. No, no, no, no.” These three phrases repeatedly chased each other out of someone’s head, through their mouth, and out past their lips, though I don’t know if it was me, or one of the other two.
The crying continues and I hope to die. Now, this pain is everything to me. It has taken over both my vision and hearing. I no longer know what is happening around me. I could be the one crying, but I’m very confused.
Someone screams, startled by the thunder and lightning around the hill on which they chose to plant these trees of pain. Rain comes down like fat tears and gives me a small relief, but does not restore my grasp of sight and sound. Time crawls by and I’m still breathing, living this misery.
“King of Jews. Why don’t you call upon your God and save us?” One of us says. Is it me? At such a time, could I be so cruel to another who shared my pain?
“He does not deserve to be here. We have done things in our lives to deserve this place. He has done nothing.” The response is instant and I instantly feel humiliated and exulted.
It must be days that we’ve been up here; still, I don’t know how to interpret my own senses. The rain continues and my tears join it. I’m sure that I sob with relief, because I feel my strength and life finally ebbing. Endurance is overrated. I wish I were weaker and able to endure far less.
“Father, why have you forsaken me?” The voice is filled with sobbing and comes from everywhere. It brings further darkness and depression. The sky has come closer to my face and reflects the bruises and blood that now describe my body. The tears and sobs leave me, unheard amid the rain and thunder.
“Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” Who does? Why does the voice seek this God, this treacherous Father, who allows this to be done to His son? For a few breaths, I am angry at the criminal violation, which this begged-for parent shows to all his children. Why do we look to Him for this withheld comfort and support?
My outrage continues and, in my death, it follows me to the void. In the nothing I now face, I am alone with my belief that no help shall ever be given, though it be earned a thousand times. I am on my own, to grow strong or be annihilated.
I also think that this seems oddly familiar. In my thoughts, this strange skewing of priorities is nothing new. A silent revelation envelops me and pushes all else aside. In violent death, this always happens. I remember past lives. I remember the death in the arena, as well as when I stood proud at Thermopylae. Not much else, apart from this, is important. Not my life then, nor any lives before, or since.