QSFer Kashel Char has a new MM sci-fantasy book out: The Brawl King.
It’s the year 21 A.T. Time to face the truth. We are not alone.
Enjoy a fast-paced rescue mission led by Gen. Brad McCormick, who uncovers and retrieves so much more than their abducted children from the gold mines in South Africa. EP-III hides millennia-old secrets that no one could have foreseen or predicted. DNA manipulation, rocketry, and moon landings are seemingly everyday occurrences, except no one informed Phoenix about it all.
Why? Mika and Connor struggle to come to terms with their twins’ infatuation with their abductor, who has some kind of spell on them. Maybe this is a case of Stockholm Syndrome, but one thing is for sure, he’s double-dipping; Eryn wants both of them. He will go to lengths to make them happy and please them simultaneously. Sharing comes naturally to Ivan and Cian, so why not? It’s just like sharing an ice cream.
What to expect:⇶ M/M/M Hard Science Fiction Paranormal Romance
⇶ Abduction/Rescue Mission
⇶ Frog People
⇶ Rebirth of Anunnaki and Anubis
⇶ Rebirth of Atlantis, only now it’s called Phoenix
⇶ Rebirth of Life in Space
⇶ TWISTED FLAMING HOTNESS!!!
Disclaimer: The Brawl King was inspired by the Characters, Place, and Time who appeared in Men of Phoenix, written by Stefan Pride. Stefan invited Kashel to co-author and update it with fresh thoughts preparing it for audiobook recording. It had been retitled Phoenix Code: New Beginnings . And now, Kashel Char introduces their debut novel, The Brawl King – We are not alone – New Beginnings Trilogy – Part Two Copyright © 2022 Kashel Char published with cooperation from Stefan Pride. All rights reserved. This novel can be read as a standalone but would be most enjoyed by getting to know the Characters, Place, and Time appearing in Phoenix Code: New Beginnings.
Warnings: This book contains graphic scenes of imprisonment, violence, blood, and gore. Expect to hear male/male sex between consenting adults, all eighteen years of age or older. Sensitive readers triggered by this may want to skip or tread carefully.
General Brad McCormick
Phoenix, Glass-Domed City, Antarctica.
Brad curled himself tightly into the fetal position. It seemed hell had finally frozen over, and he lay at the bottom of it. His mind spun like a disco ball, reflecting a kaleidoscope of thoughts, feelings, and emotions on the insides of his skull. It’d been twenty-seven years since Doomsday. It had been twenty-one years since the earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and the great tsunami threatened to destroy their great city of glass domes. He achieved the inconceivable and had accomplished so much. And now, here I lay, dying alone, due to my stupidity.
Struggling to think coherently, his jumbled thoughts, worries, prayers, and wishes that someone would find his stupid arse flashed and sparked at the speed of light behind his eyelids. They are slight electric jolts from the dying synapses in my freezing brain. He described the steps of his dying mind to himself. Just little backfires, my mind conjures up in protest of dying.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so cold and numb. He was so hypothermic he was incapable of shivering, and his eyelids were frozen shut. It’s only a matter of minutes, then I’ll be dead.
His chest and ribcage were frozen stiff, making it almost impossible for him to take another last breath, and each time he thought he’d taken his last breath, his mouth opened on its own, so he gasped like a fish out of water.
For fuck’s sake! He dreaded the cycle of gasping and waiting for all the disco lights to finally go out. Someone needs to hurry up and find me, or I better hurry up and die already. He cringed mentally. He really didn’t want to die, so when his body took another involuntary breath, he welcomed it. Fucking Peter with his, take-this-and-live-forever capsules. He fought against taking the next breath and slowed his mind, willing the thoughts to subside, forcing his mind to shut down as he prepared his soul to leave for oblivion.
The last Glupidone shot he injected into the side of his neck prolonged his chance of survival by about fifteen minutes. Its working mechanism was a mixture of life-saving chemicals and hormones to boost the body’s ability to survive frigid temperatures by reducing lung edema, spiking abnormally high blood sugar levels for energy, a bit of epinephrine and methamphetamine to soldier up the victim, and lastly, cryoprotectant to preserve cells from ice damage. In theory, prolonged consciousness meant prolonged life. Earlier, just as Brad injected his last syringe, he decided to use its needle to tear the skin and muscles over his upper left pectoral wide open, to remove his Peter Pan Cap. It made perfect sense at the time to chew on it like bubble gum since his injections had given him hope to last long enough in the freezing cold until someone might find and rescue him. He thought it was probably futile, but he’d never been a man who would just give up. So instead of dying like a typical soldier, he would lie there like a pathetic dying shrimp on the bottom of the ocean with the worst medicine aftertaste ever in his mouth. Fucking Peter with his fucking capsules. He mentally attacked Peter, but he was fuming at himself as he traced back his steps of the night.
He remembered seeing the lights of a flashlight moving across the ice, and he could have sworn he saw men running in this direction. But like the fucking idiot I am, he reprimanded himself for not radioing security to inform them about the sighting of strange men running outside Phoenix. Instead, he ran after the lights like the fucking Mothman on acid, thinking, no not thinking at all, to investigate, no also not investigate, instead running around like a fucking imbecile searching for a crack in the ice to run into.
Now the pain in his arse made sense as he recalled how he’d fallen onto his butt so hard and knocked the wind out of his lungs. I could have bitten my tongue off. When he finally managed to scope his surroundings, he realized the immense size of the gigantic crevice he’d managed to run into. How the fuck did I miss the mammoth split in the ice sheet? Luckily, I managed to land on a ledge. Unfortunately, he lost both his radio and flashlight in the process. The only thing he could do was try to stay alive for as long as possible until someone could find him.
Motherfucker, I’m fucking fucked. He cussed himself out as he counted the minutes he had left. He struggled to remember how many injections he’d given himself already.
When or how long ago did I inject the syringes? Did I call for help, or did I think I should call for help? Those thoughts rushed through his mind as he became more disorientated.
The hollow canyon of ice surrounding him echoed and then swallowed his moans and groans of pain and despair. The wind blew tiny snow crystals over the surface edge from above, reflecting the Aurora Borealis’ light into millions of shades of green, pink and blue. It reminded him of the world he didn’t want to leave behind, so the reality of his perilous situation hit him again.
Kashel Char means Castle Black. Chosen for the obvious reason that Kashel is a Game Of Thrones fan.
“I found it surprisingly beautiful. In a brutal, horribly uncomfortable sort of way.”―Tyrion Lannister to Janos Slynt
Kashel resides in the southern parts of the Rocky Mountains of BC, Canada. Co-writer and author of dark and ominous characters.
Kashel creates worlds centered around gay characters who are perhaps a tiny bit sick and twisted – but in an appealing way. Worlds where Anti-Heroes are born and peppered with taboo kinks and sexy, foul-mouthed lovers who struggle and strive for a life filled with humor, pleasure, and freedom. Who doesn’t?
Their stories reflect not only Kashel’s wild and erotic imagination but also pieces from their day-to-day life.
Pronoun: They/Them Gender Fluid.