Immortals' Requiem by Vincent Bobbe

Immortals' Requiemby Vincent BobbeGenre: Epic Grimdark Fantasy

There are beings that live a shadow's breadth from our reality...

They are the dreams and nightmares of humanity, the ancient seeds of fairy-tale and superstition. These are the Immortals, creatures of magic that should live forever... and they are fading.When a horror two thousand years dead returns to contemporary England, creatures long thought lost to myth and legend collide in a scramble for survival that could tumble civilization back into the dark ages of blood and death.Immortals’ Requiem is a Tolkienesque grimdark fantasy based in both a modern day city and vast supernatural worlds. If you like the idea of a drunken elf with a shotgun, an ancient warrior with a chainsaw and a whole host of violent supernatural beings you’ll love this gritty Amazon Number 1 Bestseller.

Buy Immortals' Requiem to lose yourself in this epic award winning dark fantasy adventure today!

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Sharp-tipped tentacles writhedin his torso. Mark felt them tearing into his organs, ripping them up within his ribcage and gut. It was excruciating. The thing smelled like bleach and sulphur, a pungent acid stench that made his eyes water.
Entangling limbs held him tight, and slime burned cold on his flesh. He struggled while the spikes inside his body did their vicious work. He managed to pull his sword arm free and swung it down hard, slicing some of the snake-like appendages away, freeing his other arm.The black sword sang its song of death, and the monster recoiled from the attack and roared its strange, gurgling roar. Before it could strike again, Mark pulled a grenade from his armor and yanked the pin out. The thing darted in towards him, its massive jaw open, to clamp around his body while its strange trunk coiled out to totally engulf him. Mark thrust the hand holding the grenade deep into the open mouth. The monster bit down reflexively, and Mark bellowed as his arm was severed just above the elbow.Tentacles slipped almost lovingly around him and pulled him in towards its oozing maw. Mark counted … one … two … three. ‘Fuck you,’ he hissed through the agony. Then the world exploded in a flash of white, made a thousand times brighter by the night vision goggles.

Vincent Bobbe is nearly forty years old. When he was about ten, he tripped on an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel and fell into his own brain. He's not quite managed to climb out yet, because the things that found him in there keep clawing him back in. He's happily married with two young children and lives in Manchester, England. His wife is horrifically allergic to pretty much everything, so he doesn't have any pets. This suits him.
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