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FICTION / Horror
Jan 05, 2008
Books by steven.rage
READ RAGE...."Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale" by Steven Rage by Mary on Sun Mar 16, 2008 9:28 am
This brilliant alteration of biblical accounts into a modernized tale of drugs, death and deception is not for the easily offended or faint of heart. With graphic scenes of violence, sex and torture Steven Rage has given us a view of Christ’s final days had he lived in our modern world. His unique cadence and elaborate descriptions vividly animates every aspect of his writing. Whether offended or captivated, whoever reads this book will not soon forget it. Mary Menzel for: allthesebooks.com
Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale
Outskirts Press, Apr 2008, $12.95
The Harbor is a crime filled, drug infested place. In that environs Pilate is a notorious drug dealer working for mob kingpin Herod. Over the past few months Pilate has failed to meet his assigned quota so his superior fires him and replaces him with an even more ruthless soul. He also has Mary Magdalene murdered. Pilate brings Mary to Immanuel, whose disciples insist she is the Christ. She raises Mary from the dead and kisses Pilate resulting in his remembering his past lives.
Except for his first life, Pilate was a vampire performing evil deeds during the Inquisition; during the California Gold Rush and he feasted while the plague devastated London. He kept on making the same errors and Immanuel knows her time has arrived to fulfill her mission on earth. Will Pilate betray her as he has done when she was Jesus or will he finally learn the eternal lessons?
This is not an inspirational work nor is it blasphemous (at least in my liberal mind). The story line uses biblical villains and places them reincarnated in the present where they repeat their evil deeds as they have done often in the past, but documented two millennia ago. Immanuel and the disciples with the exception of Judas, who finally remembers his first betrayal, are treated with respect and honor in this unique religious horror thriller. Steven Rage has written an enthralling tale that brings back the time Jesus walked Israel to her walking in the present,
Harriet Klausner for AMAZON.COM
Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale
Reviewed by Ashley Merrill
Disgusting, horrific, but oddly gravitating, this story follows the betrayal of Jesus in the bible, but in a dark fashion. Portrayed in a dark, frightening place called the Harbor, this book is filled with vampires, drug lords and plata, an extremely addictive and destructive drug. The story goes step by step along similar lines of the bible story, starting with Jesus finding disciples, and encompassing a following of drug addicts that are now becoming clean. The men and vampires that base their lively hood on selling drugs to these now clean men, are angered at the fact that this holy women has such a strong pull on everyone. They will do whatever it takes to see that order is restored and that plata continues to overtake the residents of the Harbor’s lives.
Lines such as, “A plump grub dragged its bulk across the pupil of Herod’s eye. The grub disappeared around the curve, back into the dark side of the socket. The grub left a long snotty string of bloody excrement in its wake (p. 178),” is enough to make even the strongest of stomachs curl. I asked myself many times why I continued to read the story, but found that the more disgusted I was, the more curious I was as to how far the author would take me.
Steven Rage delves into the dark side of humanity. He reaches into the sick and twisted recesses of our brain and feeds it, even though we try and deny that we may actually enjoy reading what he is giving us. He does an amazing job at keeping the reader interested and repulsed. I had a permanent look of sordid wonder on my face throughout the entire story. He takes you through Jesus’ betrayal and what happens to Judas as a result of the betrayal. This is a story that you do not want to miss. It is not for the faint of heart or for people that would be offended that this story was reshaped in such a ghastly way.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who is in touch with their darker side and is willing to admit that we all crave the taboo and brutal side of humanity. It is a great story with a sick twist and is highly entertaining.
Ashley Merrill for: frontstreetreviews.com
MORE on horror writer Steven Rage at: myspace.com/stevenrage. Visit today, or I shall tell the devil where ye lay....
It was late dusk in The Harbor and shadows deepened quickly. The man with yellow eyes within the yawning gloom of a crumbling vacant building stared with great interest at the group manning his corner. The drug runners, their dealer, and the cops protecting them stood his spot. The man with yellow eyes chose the dealer. This dirty cop will die first. The vampire could smell his blood. Pilate thought he smelled delicious. Pilate recently awakened from daytime slumber. He crouched now in deepening shadows and gazed in silence at the police officer and entourage. The mortal wasn't wearing a uniform, but Pilate recognized him. Theodosius was one of Mayor's up and comers. Pilate began to breathe as hunger for oxygen-rich blood grew strong. Breathing was pain for a vampire - a not so subtle reminder of physiologic need. Pilate's need was food. He needed it soon. Theodosius was standing Pilate's spot, talking animatedly with other cops. There was a whole grip of his young niggas milling about them, acting tough. The cop's crew was shutting Pilate's doors and opening their own shop. None of Pilate's shorties were anywhere to be found. And with the presence of Theodosius, Pilate knew Herod the Mayor's blessing had been procured. Enraged, the vampire's jaw clenched and bit. A thin string of brackish blood slid down his chin. Pilate considered the corner and its profit his minus, of course, the quota. He saw himself as a private contractor and not beholding to the organized power structure. Herod, longtime Mayor of The Harbor, answered only to Caiaphas and Annas Pharisee. This closely held organized crime syndicate controlled all Plata distribution in the Midwest. Plata originates in The Harbor. Up until recently, business had been booming. "I'll have his teeth," grunted Pilate, "hanging from my neck." Pilate yawned deeply, stretched out muscles in his back. He stepped with purposeful noise from gloomy shadows to dying sunlight. The mortals turned to look. Pilate listened as he pulled tightly curled hair into one long ponytail. He was just out of earshot, for a mortal. Theodosius and crew caught Pilate's movement from the shadows. They could see him, but just barely. "Who's that?" Theodosius asked. He stood straight as a shorty answered. "That nigga's Pilate." "You sure?" Theodosius snapped, gripping the boy's shoulders. The shorty snuck a quick peek. Pilate stood waiting. His eyes twin orbs of murky yellow, backlit like a beast. "Yeah," shorty replied, "that's him." Theodosius broke from the boy and turned to Pilate. The vampire eyes made the cop gasp. He'd heard stories. "Pilate," he said, oh, no." Vampire hearing brought it crisp to Pilate, where he waited for more. "Never thought I'd see him," shorty said, "wasn't sure he's real." Theodosius grimanced at the fear building inside him. It was crazy, this fear. Pilate's just a man, whereas he's a cop in tight with Herod and by extension, the Pharisees. This Pilate motherfucker could not stop him. He appraised the growing state of affairs. Shit like this spin out of control in no time. Theodosius tried to size it up quickly, but Mayor Herod neglected to tell him Pilate would not abide losing this spot. Theodosius wasn't sure what he should do. Pilate's shorty told him earlier he'd come hard. Theodosius put on a brave front, but fear was leaking from him. His boys noticed this fear he could not hide and that decided it. "I'm gonna give him what he come for!" Theodosius declared, fear exploding. He shoved his right hand beneath loose fitting coat, found the weapon and pulled it. Pilate stared intently, sensing the group's growing concern. It made his head swim. Delicious smells of the fearful herd bombarded his senses. He could hear their hearts' increased force and speed, doing little trip-hammer dances in collective chests. Lungs suck in air to saturate hemoglobin in the blood with volumes of oxygen. This oxygen made his mouth water. Pilate's pupils dilated, murky yellow surrounding black holes growing in intensity. The rich, heady scent of the blood clouded Pilate's reaction and spray from the cop's concealed auto pistol cut a furrow through his left shoulder. The stream of rapid fire bullets pulverized muscle tissue as he leaped backward and down into gloom. Pilate ran, unseen, across the street from shadows. He watched second quick spray tattoo the old brick facade of the crumbling building where Pilate stood a moment before. Firing stopped. Pilate squatted behind a stripped sedan, to the right of Theodosius' crew. They were looking left still at the cement dust kicked up by bullets. He lowered his face and folded hands as in prayer. Pilate welcomed the exquisite pain of lengthening fangs and pointed growth of talons as they split his bleeding fingertips. Blood shimmered where he'd been shot. Then he stood. A shorty spun around and beheld Pilate. His smile, full on, teeth long and sharp, displayed in an opened mouth. Shorty's eyes rolled up in his head. He fainted dead away. He crumpled as Theodosius turned and raised his weapon a second time. Pilate closed the distance of twenty feet in the blink of an eye. First he was beside wrecked sedan and next instant Pilate was six inches from Theodosius. The cop's face was vacant. Comprehension had not set in. Shorties followed their leader's arm as it arced, staring where Pilate had been beside the car. Before anything registered, Pilate had his talons imbedded in the mortal. Theodosius glanced from yellow vampire eyes, to already healing shoulder, to Pilate's fingers sunk deep in his very own belly. "Bullshit..." Theodosius managed. Pilate ignored him. Instead, Pilate beheld the crew and pulled attention to him. It was magnetic and they could not resist. Pilate scanned the group and gleaned the herd's weakest, easiest to mentally control. The vampire turned to him. "Shut your eyes," he whispered to shorty, not even old enough to drive, "but stay alert." Rest of the crew Pilate ordered quiet stillness. "You do not witness," he told them. The boy's eyes were closed as commanded and Pilate refocused his hold on him. The boy stood rigid, at attention. "Why are you here?" Pilate asked. "Mayor Herod say you missed quota three months in a row, so he give this spot to Theodosius." "Impossible," Pilate angrily replied, "This here is my spot. I brought it to Herod. It belongs to me." Pilate's voice was rasping, dry and painful. "He can't give away what don't belong to him." The boy just shivered in response. He's very healthy with lots of bright red life inside, sludgy-thick with oxygen. Pilate's patience thinned. His hunger deep, clawing at him. Soon it would uncheck. "When this shit happen?" Pilate snapped. "Yesterday," choked the boy, tears welling, lips quivering. "Be calm," Pilate advised and the boy tried. The others, standing statues: ignorant, motionless and awaiting their next command. Pilate boiled with rage. The monthly quota was missed, but only by a few grams of Plata. This powerfully synthetic heroin-meth mixture makes slaves of users and normally had hordes of fans. In the last few months, however, the trend reversed. Now, niggas are getting all pissed, because their pockets aren't as swole. The missed quota gave Pilate pause, but was not validation for losing The Harbor's most lucrative spot to peddle drugs. Even short, Pilate and his niggas pushing more cake than any, so Herod's logic is suspect. The boy waited silently. Only chattering teeth could be heard as darkness snuffed out dusk. What lie beyond pale streetlight glow succumbed and became deep shadow. "Open your eyes and see," Pilate commanded. All attention the boy could muster was aimed at the vampire. The boy, his captive audience, spellbound in stunned silence as Pilate lifted rapidly dying Theodosius, talons seeking spine. Pilate grasped hard, knobby bone, lifting still. Pilate's left hand reached over back. Pierced rib and muscle with three inch talons, below where neck joins spine. He grabbed hold. Pilate brought torso to him and bit below where left and right sides of ribcage met in the center. He chewed gobbets of flesh and spat them onto cracked sidewalk. He punctured a big artery with his pointed tongue. Pilate raised Theodosius above his head and the jaw unhinged, as would a predatory snake. He twisted the mortal like he was but wringing out a soggy rag. Blood from ruptured abdominal aorta spewed forth in an orgy of velvet fluid. The spine popped bubble wrap staccatos. Pilate twisted and drained Theodosius of every last drop of his living blood. Pilate finished and breathing abated, as did the mortal he emptied. He dropped the limp bag of bones and eased his lower jaw back into place. The blood delivered oxygen to Pilate's starved body. Subtle, steady euphoria rippled from the center of his chest to every square inch of his cold, hypersensitive skin. Pilate calmly sucked remnants from his fingers as talons receded. The crew waited. Pilate spoke. "Tell Herod," he said, "Pilate does not get replaced." The boy waited. Pilate nodded. The boy turned and ran fast out of sight. His untied sneeks left where he'd jumped out of them. Pilate walked away. He neared the periphery of deep shadows and raised a hand above his shoulder. The crew scattered. They dissolved into darkness, shelter seeking roaches escaping the instant kitchen light. Pilate was done here. He stepped over the bodies dead at his feet and melted into darkness. The night was his ally. It swallowed the vampire whole.
Herod was in his bedchamber pinned against the wall, a full foot off the ground. His testicles crushed in a vice of a grip. The other hand held Herod by his throat. Herod's fear made him breathe. Icy cold exhalations plume about the face of the Diabolous. The devil's dark eyes sparkled as he spoke. His voice low, ominous and did not invite questioning. "I want bones broken," he told Herod, "blood spilled. I want humiliation, pain and fear. I want to hear begging and pleas for mercy." Herod was passing out: pain ripening beyond his capacity to endure. Only fear kept him from doing so. "A crown of thorns, the side pierced," he continued, spittle from the devil's mouth sizzling Herod's face. Hissing blisters instantly formed. "I want to see stripes, the back laid open." The Diabolous close to Herod's face, only a sliver separating them. "Hear ye my command," he said: "She must be defiled." He released Herod. The Mayor crumpled to the floor, a shaking epileptic. "Forgo the truce. Do with the vampire what ye will," the devil told him. He turned to make his leave. "Pilate I cannot touch," he paused, "this time." Blisters erupted on Herod's face everywhere the spittle did touch. The blisters grew, rapidly filling with diseased crawly things. Ice formed. It hung from the ceiling in thick blocks. Foot shaped dents, inches deep in concrete, followed the devil as he walked toward the wall. "Hear ye well, Herod," the devil said as he vanished into the bricks: "I want Her violated, this little Christ." Herod looked up and beheld an eight foot tall shield of bulky ice on the wall of his bedchamber. In his mind he heard the devil's voice one last time. "Pay heed," warned the Mighty One, "I shall notice if you fail me." The vampire stared at the wall, ice already melting as the Diabolous made his exit. Chunks of ice fell from the ceiling. Water formed and left behind icy liquid an inch deep. When it dried, Herod would plainly and forever see Satan's footprints etched permanent in the floor. Herod struggled to stand. He heard the devil laugh as blistering sores erupted all over him.
"You do not have to apologize for them," she said as they drove. Pilate snapped shut his mouth. He was about to do exactly that. "How did you know? he asked her. Pilate peeked at her as his car climbed the steeper street. How did you know I was going to apologize for Herod's police?" Immanuel the Christ was slumped in the front seat. The handcuffs on her wrists were gone. He gasped at the surprise of it. He blinked once and they were back on, hands folded obediently in her lap. "Are you going to answer me?" "Yes," she replied, "as soon as you ask real questions." They were getting closer to Herod's compound and Pilate wanted some hard answers from her. "When I brought Mary to you, remember?" "Of course," she said, "you need to know why I touched you, why I made you remember." Pilate nodded. "You need to know what all those visions mean, don't you, Pilate?" "Yes," he replied, slowing to stop at a light, "Tell me." With Immanuel's head still lowered and her body slumped, he looked at her. She reached up with a freed, cuffless hand and scratched her chin. Pilate did a double-take and the cuffs were once more secured to her wrists. She was quiet. Pilate looked at her and waited. The light turned green and he sped through the intersection. "Well," he asked her, "are you going to tell me?" "There were hints, of course," she explained, "Woven throughout your past lives, a redundant thread. It played out time and time again, you simply refused to see it." "Bullshit," he hissed. "The next one," she said, "that is when all will be made clear to you." Pilate's hands began to burn. He removed them one at a time and rubbed them on the material of his pant legs. "Perhaps your hands need to be washed," Immanuel told him while staring out her passenger side window into the night. As soon as this was said, the sensation ceased and Pilate quit rubbing them. More bullshit games and Pilate had enough. He screeched a rubber laying stop in the middle of the busy street. People began shouting curses and they hurled rough insults. The vampire didn't care. He had his full attention played on his prisoner, yelling at her: "BULLSHIT!" he cried, "This is all such bullshit! Why can't you talk me straight?" Pilate's eyes were yellow warning signs, but the vampire sensed no fear from Immanuel. "There is no common thread except I was a vampire in the visions you cursed me with. Is that my hint?" he asked, "because if it is I sure as shit don't know what it means." Pilate punched a gauge on the dashboard and cracked it, bleeding his hand a moment before it began to heal itself. He sucked a bit of hard plastic from his hand and spat it out the window. He turned to her: "I'm warning you," he growled, "tell me what you fucking know." Immanuel threw hair out of her face and glared right back at the vampire. "Hold your foul tongue, young man," she told him. He jerked away from her, recoiling in pure raw primal fear. He began to fumble with the door handle to escape. He'd never known such terror. Then, as quickly as it came, the fear leaked away. Pilate was left breathing heavy and heart pounding, but feeling as peaceful as if they were in grandma's chocolate chip cookie scented kitchen. "But I saved your life," he whined without thinking. "I just want to know what to do...." As Pilate trailed off in a little boy voice, Immanuel smiled at him. "You will, Pilate," she assured him, "I promise." She looked away once more, stating as a matter-of-fact: "When you experience your very last vision," she said, "of your very first life. Then I will keep my promise to you and ye shall know all." Immanuel looked skyward and raised he cuffed hands. "But what will he do then, Father?" she asked the heavens, "When we give to him a second chance?" Pilate was straight up fucking losing it. He couldn't seem to keep his wits around her. To give himself a moment, he pulled over to the curb. He put the stick-shift into neutral, set the parking brake. He turned to her. "One more question," he said, "You do know where I am taking you, don't you?" "Yes," she replied, "now ask your real question." He paused, taking the sight of her in: powerful, subdued: allowing herself to remain cuffed. He asked: "who are you?" Without hesitation she told him: "I am Truth." Pilate glanced out at the street, jaw clenching from frustration. He vividly recalled the terror he felt, so no more angry shouting at her from this boy, he thought. Blowing air out through clenched teeth, Pilate gunned the engine and merged into the center lane, driving once more. Pilate's fingers bloodless pale as he gripped the wheel and cracked his tense neck. "Truth," he muttered low, "just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He forced himself to ignore the anger now boiling inside him. Pilate turned to her once more and asked: "Truth? Are you for real?"" The soft question opened the dam to his frustrated anger, spittle rained from lips as he demanded: "What the fuck is TRUTH?" Pilate's aggressive driving had caught them up to the thin night time traffic. He weaved in and out of it. The Harbor was a blur as he drove by. She sighed and said gently to him: "I am the Alpha and the Omega," she explained, raspy and tired. "I am the Beginning and the End. I am," she stated firmly, "Truth." Immanuel let hair fall over her face. "I answered all your questions," she told him. "Now leave me alone."
Herod's compound loomed ahead, towering over The Harbor as a plague. Lights showed, here and there, in the old steel refinery. The wind howled like the unseen demons that were shrieking throughout the complex. Pilate hated this place he had brought the Christ, but his master, the Pharisees, demanded such. Pilate looked at Immanuel. Her wrists were bare once again. Pilate sighed and shook his head. He exited the car, came round to the passenger side. He opened the door and needed to help her out. She seemed so small to him then, so deflated. Pilate could no longer sense her abundant power. She was drained, leeched...ordinary. Immanuel stood beside the car, saying nothing. Herod's cops pulled up and parked behind Pilate. They filed out of their vehicles. Pilate saw a small glint of shiny metal, the cuffs returned to Immanuel's wrists. Pilate looked at her and she not back. She was staring, out of focus, at the ground. She appeared to be praying. Herod's boys aligned themselves in a concave wall in front of Immanuel and her captor. They did not take eyes off Pilate, their guns only a quick snatch away. No matter what their boss said, if Pilate even so much as thought of pulling any more shit on them, the cops were going to pull his motherfucking card. Dear God in Heaven did they wish he would. But the police smiled to themselves, secure in the knowledge that in the end, the vampire will get what's coming to him. Pilate, sensing this, gripped Immanuel's bicep. He very carefully proceeded through the hole they made in their cop wall. Pilate guided a subdued Immanuel toward the entrance. The cops followed close behind as they entered the compound. Immanuel remained a passive prisoner as they made their progressive way through the layers of security to Herod's Throne Room, deep in the sub-basement of the refinery. Pilate knew the bastard would be waiting for them there. Pilate was bringing Herod the Christ. He felt like he was drowning a puppy, but tried his level best to shake it off. His entire existence depended on the next few hours. Immanuel moved slowly, walking in her gallows gait like guilty prisoners whom had made their peace and resigned their fate. But, Pilate knew she hadn't done a fucking thing to deserve what's to be done to her. It made his hands burn. They were nearing the Throne Room entrance. They could hear Herod laughing right through the wall. It was well-oiled, Herod's evil. Pilate could feel its thickness and depth. Herod was completely insane and his evil was true. He felt the unseen things whipping all around them, their shrieks of damnation he could hear. Pilate did not fear the unseen, but he was getting scared at what he was about to do. Pilate now realized this was not to be a simple execution. It was more than a business decision to correct their errant bottom line. It made Pilate's heart lurch. The Pharisees were going to allow Herod to have his wicked way with this little one. He remembered when he saved her from Herod's cops in the chapel parking lot earlier. The police were ordered by Herod himself to damage Immanuel. He saw that now. And if the lower ranks were ordered to run a train of pigs on the little Christ, then what in holy hell does Herod have in store for her? The group made it to the Throne Room with Immanuel's cuffs still fixed firmly in place, her head lowered. She slumped submissively and resigned. She made not a sound. Wicked hatred filled the entire vicinity. It settled into the cracks and dark corners like a steamed mist. They stopped at the threshold. The big iron door was closed. Pilate reached out for the long handle to slide the door open, but stopped himself. This is wrong, he thought. Pilate turned back to the cops behind them. They had hands on their guns, taking no chances. They were aching for an excuse to end him. Immanuel remained impassive. It was at that moment, while he was on the verge of handing her over to Herod, that Pilate stopped fixating on revenge. He stopped worrying about the business that was stolen from him. He stopped using grief as the spark for his rage. And Pilate finally stopped brooding about his pilfered millions. Even though it was in his best interests, Pilate could not refrain from thinking how off beam this was. This thing he was helping to do to Immanuel was immoral and all the way wrong. He could not rationalize it away. Pilate removed his hand from the door. He bent and brushed away the hair from Immanuel's face. She was downtrodden, defeated. "Who are you, little preacher?" Pilate asked her, "Who are you, really?" Immanuel then raised her head, straightened to her full height. A quick flick and hair fell behind her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were full and gleaming at Pilate. A fog formed around them as her power heated the brisk, dank air. She looked him straight, eye to eye. "Know this, vampire," spoke Immanuel, "I am the Son of God." Her hand cuffs opened and fell to the floor. Herod's cops drew weapons. The guns cleared leather as one and Pilate stepped between them and Immanuel. His back was fully exposed as he scooped Immanuel up and hugged her to him. He covered her and her heat hissed against the cold vampire. Pilate grit his teeth as the fangs dropped. The talons burrowed into his arms enveloping her. He expected to be buffeted with countless bullets in the back for the tiny Christ, but they never came. He held on a bit longer and was shaking with adrenaline when Pilate finally put her down. He turned back and saw Herod's cops. The cops still had their guns tightly clenched in white-knuckled fists. Pilate felt a wave of relief, followed abruptly by confusion. Herod's cops were on their backs on the floor of the passageway. They were less than ten feet from the Throne Room door and almost posed in their positions. The cops were a triangle of heavy pins, knocked flat by a deaf bowler. It was a silent and deadly strike. Pilate looked from the cops to Immanuel. She graced him with a miniature smile. "That," she said, indicating the fallen pins, "has not been written." Pilate glanced back and saw that they were, all of them, dead. He stared at her and saw the cuffs gone. Pilate looked at the door separating them from the devil's desire. Pilate thought he saw hope in her eyes. A choice now had to be made. What'll it be, nigga? Is you in or is you out? Make your decision. There are only seconds left. Pilate made his decision. The vampire reached out for Immanuel's hand. "Let's get the hell out of here," he told her with a harsh whisper. Immanuel put her naked wrists up before his face and the cuffs reappeared. They closed on their own with a snicksnick and snapped into place. She lowered them and regarded Pilate with her gaze. "C'mon," he repeated in a whisper both harsh and impatient, "what the fuck's wrong with you, let's go!" "We stay," she stated, "The both of us." Immanuel's words stunned him. She really wasn't leaving and he couldn't leave her. He couldn't believe this was happening. She really wasn't leaving. What possible reason could she have for wanting to stay? Pilate knew she knew what was coming. She knew they were going to torture and kill her, and still Immanuel insisted on staying. Why? Their window of opportunity was closing fast. "We can make it," he pleaded. Motionless, she remained. "Why," he tried, "won't you let me save you?" "Why won't you let me," asked the Christ, "save you?" Before Pilate could consider that, the door slid open with a pounding metallic bang. Herod, the Mayor of The Harbor, stood in the threshold of the open door to his Throne Room. He smiled and bid them welcome
Steven Rage has created a starkly horrifying world of vengeance and redemption, played out on the wicked crime and drug fueled streets of The Harbor. These vampire, monster and demon filled re-tellings of familiar bible stories are, most definitely, not for the faint of heart. steven.rage pulls no punches in his vividly visual feast of bloody violence. PILATE is the first installment of the ground-breaking "Harborside" series of Brutal Bible Tales. Steven Rage is currently working on the follow-up "The Dope Fiend's Holy War".
VISIT Steven Rage at: authorsden.com/stevenrage today..