My fellow author has started up a new cultivation series that can be found here:

Fight for your Death.

When regular high schooler Grady Hake is mistakenly taken by the Angel of Death, he thinks his life is over. Then he wakes up on a prison shuttle bound for Van Diemann’s Planet, a penal colony run by brutal gangs of criminal cultivators. This is his life now, and if he wants to survive it, he’ll have to learn to harness his unique Death Spirit, make friends with alien outcasts, appease a band of ancient hungry ghosts, and fight his way into one of the strongest gangs on the planet.

Death Cultivator is sci-fi / isekai / wuxia / western / whatever, sort of like Borderlands meets Hunter x Hunter. I wanted to write something entertaining and actiony with that shonen vibe, so here's hoping this hits the spot.

Chapter 1 - Fight in the Parking Lot

There’s an art to getting your butt kicked. You can see it about halfway through any kung fu movie. It’s the big fight that shows you how outclassed the main character is, where a dozen goons come beat him up, and he barely escapes with his life and has to recover while learning the skills to come back and kick butt later. Ideally, if you’re following the kung fu formula, you stay stoic throughout the fight, bleed dramatically from somewhere on your face, and above all, never stay down when they knock you down.

That’s not as easy to follow in real life. Especially when one of the goons punches you in the back of the head as you’re walking to your car after school.

I hit the asphalt hard, skinning my palms and chin and dumping pens and junk out of the pocket on my backpack that never stays shut. That didn’t bother me as much as almost biting my tongue in half, though. Blood flooded into my mouth.

“Get him, Blaise!”

“Show that loser what’s up!”

Blaise kicked my backpack, and the momentum turned me over to face him and the crowd of kids from our high school who’re always following him around.

“What happened to kicking my ass, Grody?” Blaise sneered. “When does the beat down begin? I’m ready when you are. Or was that all just talk?”

Actually, it had been about ninety percent talk.

Earlier that day, during third block Anatomy-Physiology, we’d been dissecting frogs. By some unlucky trick of the draw, I got paired up with Blaise. Cool rich guy, good at all the important sports, liked by all the girls and friends with all the other jerks in our class.

Except today Blaise hadn’t looked very cool after Mr. Meighan plopped our frog down in the dissection tray. Blaise had looked like he was about to barf up his lunch. His face didn’t get better when Mr. Meighan told us to use the pins to stick our frogs to the trays as shown on the smartboard. So, I opened my big fat mouth.

“I’ll do all the hands-on stuff if it makes you sick,” I said.

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About the author


Bio: I’ve been in Colorado since I was a young teenager. I live in the foothills of Pikes Peak with my wife, two children and various dogs and cats. I have a crazy technology background having founded several tech companies centering around human machine interfaces before I discovered a passion for writing.

When I’m not slinging the ink and trying to get paid to fabricate tales that entertain, I like to shoot competitively, drink craft beer, ride motorcycles and play games with friends.

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