Like my trend from punkG33K to plainBETA, shrugs has moved. But that’d probably be obvious due to my lack of posting here.
At any rate, check out Trip.Over.Nothing for all my short stories. But I don’t update it too often anyways…


This is the prologue to a book I’m writing that I (currently) plan on calling SupernaturalWarfare.

Utter darkness enveloped his soul; which left his heart empty. Demons reigned supreme; which left his body in sheer torment. Love was an unknown feeling; and the absence left his body contorted beyond reason. Satan had absolute control over his heart, mind, body, and soul.

However, someone completely new was on His way. The rumor of His coming was like a breath of cool air after a hard day’s labor, soothing to the heart, mind, and limbs. His arrival would throw Alex Chalk’s world upside down; everything he knew and depended on would change. But only Alex could choose if it was for his salvation, or his destruction.

Gradually, and almost imperceptibly, a light grew in the East, causing the darkness to fade. As the light grew, a deep box canyon revealed itself. It was about a two miles wide in each direction, forming a perfect square. The valley floor was perfectly flat; except for a rocky riverbed that cut through the middle of the valley floor, slicing the plain into two sections like a knife. The riverbed was dry, except for a slight trickle of water, flowing East to West. With an exception of the riverbed, the valley floor did not vary an inch until it jutted almost straight upward, forming the sides of the valley. The sides of the valley were sheer and lush, heavily wooded with towering pine trees and tangled shrubs. The valley’s sides were so thick with vegetation and so steep, it would take a week to cut a path through.

In the very center of the field, a massive statue of a young man standing upon a circular pedestal rose above the ground. What little that remained of the river trickled around the pedestal. The statue itself was charred, covered in grime, and was not something pleasing to look at. However, a faint sliver of gold could just be seen on the figure’s left breast, glinting in the new light. On the pedestal were many figures, words, and images; all reflected Alex’s past and present life. It portrayed his feelings, experiences, beliefs, and knowledge. If someone studied the statue and the pedestal, he could know Alex’s innermost secrets, his deepest emotions, the joy he felt, and the pain he has endured.

As the light grew, shadows formed, stretching their long fingers across the length of the valley. Dark hunched shapes could be glimpsed, moving in and out of the shadows, almost as if they did not want to be seen. As the light grew, a feeling of uneasiness mounted, until it could be felt almost as keenly as a thick fog. A harsh murmur could be heard, adding to the apprehension.

In the shadow of the stature, a figure stirred and raised its hideous head, gazing to the East at the growing light. The face, which was contorted in a hideous sneer, changed to utmost horror. The shape, with a shock, realized its danger and rose to its feet, suddenly revealing the demonic form it had concealed. The black demon was eight feet tall, had knobbed bowlegs and enormous wings tucked against its humped back. The wings were the color of a dried scab and as wide as the demon was tall. Each wing had a razor sharp hooked claw in place for tearing and destroying. The body was rough with folds of flesh that ran along its hideous and contorted form. Its face was a picture of pure evil, with slitted red eyes and yellow fangs that protruded from his mouth, which suddenly contorted into a snarl. With a bellow, the demon took two massive strides and leapt into the air, its massive wings straining. Roaring, the monster gained altitude sped to the south side of the valley.

As the light continued to grow, a colossal fortress could be seen, rising above the valley’s floor. Distorted figures ran along the ramparts with the same confusion and uneasiness that covered the field. The demon swooped low over the ramparts and roared, shaking the valley. All murmuring and movement ceased. With a rush of its wings, the demon flew to the top of the tower and landed with a thud on a small platform before a large black opening. The demon straightened up as best he could, folded its wings, and walked through the opening into the darkness. Despite the opening, the inside of the tower was blacker than a tomb. However, the eyes of a demon could pierce any darkness.

Before him, sitting on a black thrown sat not a demon, but an angel, perfect in every way. The angel’s robe was white, his posture perfect, his wings majestic, his skin flawless, and his face beautiful beyond comparison. Almost no one could compare to this angel in beauty. However, there was one flaw in perfect form, the eyes. The angel’s eyes were blood red, slitted, and hid an unmatched malice and hatred.

The demon bowed, placing his gnarled right fist on his left brest, and spoke. Its voice was the sound of pure hatred, raspy, harsh, and deep, “My Lord, I give you my soul.”

The reply however, was like a drink of cool fresh water in the desert, melodious, clear, and perfect, “And I gladly take it.” There was a pause. “Why have you come before me, Samyaza?”

“There is a disturbance outside O Lucifer. A light is growing in the East. The demons are restless.” His voice lowered to a half growl, half whisper, “There are rumors that He,” Samyaza spat, “is coming.”

At the mentioning of whoever ‘He’ is, Lucifer howled in rage, a noise dreadful to hear. Suddenly, Lucifer transformed into a figure hideous and terrible to behold. Lucifer’s face became like a dead animal, hideous and beyond recognition of the beauty it possessed not a moment before. His body was transformed, filled with an inner flame of hatred for everything good. The once perfect body became twisted, hunched, and hard. Darkness belched through his fangs and out his mouth. But it only lasted a second. In a moment, Lucifer controlled himself and slowly transformed back into a creature of beauty. Lucifer took a deep breath, and after a moment, spoke quickly with the same liquid voice, but with a hint of the hatred he contained, “Ready the troops, war is about to begin. Summon the leaders of the Grigori, I wish to speak with them as soon as possible.”

“Yes O Lucifer, your desire is my hatred.” Samyaza bowed, again, placing his right fist on his left breast in a salute, and exited the room. On the balcony, Samyaza paused and gazed to the North, opening his mouth in a snarl, which emitted a putrid odor. Samyaza stepped forward, placing one clawed foot on the railing. After a pause, he threw himself into space, stretching his wings to their full length. Swooping above the field, Samyaza roared, echoing across the valley. Below him the demons leapt to action, preparing themselves for battle. However, a few of the demons looked up, stretched their folded wings and launched themselves into the air, circling the fortress and field before it. One of the winged demons swooped towards the statue and perched upon it, growling menacingly to the North.
In the tower, Lucifer did not move, but sat, motionless, staring out of the opening deep in thought. At length, Lucifer stood, walked out the doorway and surveyed the land before his castle. Eighteen winged demons soared high above the plain and fortress, bellowing the call to arms. On the field and ramparts, there was a blur of activity as the demons readied themselves for war. Lucifer lifted his piercing glance and looked to the east where the sun was rising, a sliver of radiant gold rising over the hills. Flinching, he turned his gaze northward, to the other side of the valley. There stood another fortress, not black and ghastly like Lucifer’s, but white, beautiful, and gleaming in the morning’s light. Before it was a legion of white angels, in perfect formation, their Armor of God reflecting the morning light like fire. A single clear trumpet sounded from the top of the highest tower. As one body, the angels began marching toward the statue in the center of the field.

The seed of Christ had been planted in Alex’s heart; the battle for his soul was about to begin.

Brian Purkiss

Bring It


The two young men were at arms length physically, but as in your face as you could get, and they were as tense as a bowstring and ready to snap.

The Young One appeared like an average young man in his late teens. He was fairly well built, average height, dark hair, and ice blue eyes that were on fire. The Dark One appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was tall and built like a bear. His hair was jet black and his eyes were piercing.

The Dark One spoke, his words hissed like venom, “Step aside, she’s mine.”

The Young One didn’t even blink, but calmly responded, “No.”

The Dark One’s eyes narrowed, “Then I shall have to take you down, and still sieze her.”

The Young One smiled menacingly, “Bring it.”

The Dark One moved like lightning, hurtling his right fist at the Young One’s gut. The Young One spun around, evaded the blow, and swung his right fist, making contact with the back of the Dark One’s head. But before the Young One could get in another blow, the Dark One recovered and kicked back with his left foot, making contact with the Young One’s gut. The Young One fell onto his back.

A girl screamed.

The Young One was up in an instant.

The Dark One had seized the Young Woman and was dragging her away; he had already put twenty feet between him and the Young One. The Young Woman was struggling but to no avail, until she brought her heel onto his toes. The Dark One grunted and lost his grip. As desperate as she was, it was no problem to break free from his momentarily slack grip. She took off running. The Dark One cursed, and began his pursuit. But before he could take two steps the Young One smashed into the Dark One – sending him sprawling.

When the Dark One arose, it was like a demon was rising from the depths of Hell. He stood, staring at the Young One, much like their original stance. When he spoke, it was like he was cursing with every word, “That is it. You shall not live to see another day.” He then reached into his jacket and drew a Colt .45, cocked it, and pointed it at the Young Man.

Upon seeing the deadly firearm, the Young One launched himself into the air – hurtling himself at the Dark One. As he soared, he drew his trusty lock-blade and made to finish the fight. But before he reached the Dark One, a gunshot rang out.

The bullet hit Young One in the center of his chest, ricocheted off his spine, and exited just below his left shoulder blade – spraying blood onto the concrete. But one shot was all the Dark One could get off before the Young One’s left arm parried the firearm and his right arm drove the knife into the Dark One’s throat. The Young One’s momentum sent both of them to the ground, but the Dark One never rose again.

The Young One stood, and spat onto the ground.

“Don’t mess with my friends.”


April 2018
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