With the upcoming release of Soul Resurrected, I thought I'd share the snippet that I wrote for J.A. Belfield's stop on the Soul Avenged Blog Tour last February. For those who may not yet be familiar with the story, Obsidius is the much-feared prison in the demon realm where tortures and punishments are doled, mostly by these big scary ass Enforcer demons. Even the toughest supes have nightmares about this place. In the story, Logan is sentenced to fifty years in the place--reduced to half the time, thanks to his brother, Gavin, signing up to be his Brozszius, a demon advocate, to share the punishment. (click HERE for glossary)

I cannot write this place without Avenged Sevenfold's Nightmare playing an endless loop inside my head. It's the perfect song for this inferno of pain and suffering.

*~*~*M. Shadows*~*~*~ Le sigh ...

As an added treat for the Gavin fans, this is written from his POV. So without further delay, I give you ...

A Night in Obsidius

The bone gavel cracked against the sound block. Its echo traveled Gavin’s spine and for a brief moment, tested his nerve. Jaw clenched, he leveled his gaze in the direction of the high demon official who’d just committed him to fifty years in the most feared prison of the Underworld.

Obsidius.

Only the craziest bastards were sent to Obsidius. Gavin questioned his own sanity as held out his hands, allowing the Enforcer Demon to shackle him. What the hell kind of freak volunteers to spend five decades in hell’s prison? No doubt his brother was thinking the same thing.

Gavin looked beside him.

Logan—the youngest of Wrath’s sons—stood with a frown, his gaze cast downward, away from Gavin. “Why?”

“Because whether you believe me or not, I am your brother. You are a son of Wrath. We are bound by blood.”

“They say that even those who survive here never escape the hell.”Logan’s voice carried a chilling edge of intrigue, more so than despair.

“All the more reason I’m glad to have cut your sentence in half,” Gavin said before the yank to his bindings jerked him forward.

A century of misery had been doled out to Logan for killing a high-ranking demon official who murdered his mother. As his brother’s Brozszius, or advocate in the demon realm, Gavin agreed to half of the punishment.

A door on the opposite side of the Orcosii’s court opened to a dark corridor and silence. Only the drag of chains against the concrete sliced through what felt like a momentary suspension of Gavin’s existence. Like the final breath just before death seeped out from the shadows to swallow his soul.

As if being sentenced to five decades of torture wasn’t enough, the Enforcer that led them down the path to this twisted Disneyland of pain had to be one of the meanest looking bastards in Orcosia. Enforcer Demons, their breed designed to dish punishment as both tormentors and mercenaries, were often hired as bounty hunters in the human realm. Covered in a black carapace with a medieval looking weapon like a double sickle sword, they were about the most intimidating beasts Gavin had ever seen—and Wrath Demons weren’t easily intimidated.

Pulling a set of keys from its holster, the Enforcer stopped before a black door that Gavin estimated to be about ten feet in height. Heat bled through the gaps—an ominous sensation that crawled over Gavin’s skin. The patterns of rot etched into the wood looked almost like the blackened souls of the victims punching through from the other side, eternally trapped within its threshold.

No going back.

Not that he would. No brother of Gavin’s was going to take a full term punishment in this place. Even if Logan hadn’t yet accepted him as his own blood, Gavin couldn’t bring himself to let his brother suffer an unjust sentence.

He shot one glance at Logan, whose face remained stoic as ever. Christ, did the kid ever show the slightest bit of fear? His nerves must’ve been fashioned with some impenetrable grade of steel only found in the ‘batshit crazy’ bin of demon body parts.

The door swung open to the orange glow of flames in the center of a circular path. Hell’s fire burned much hotter than the earthly variety—the same brand of pain that his brother Ferno carried, making him the one of the more dangerous Wrath Demons.

Impervious black doors lined multiple levels overlooking the pyre that licked the boundless darkness above them. Ash rained from the sky like snowflakes and for a moment Gavin wondered if they were the vestiges of victims who’d been burned alive. With a sharp exhale from the corner of his mouth he blew the hot cinders off his cheek. Screams echoed from all directions, a blanket of suffering that settled over him as he scanned the surroundings, squinting his eyes to keep the ash out. The cries weren’t the shallow screams of new horrors, but the tired wailing of long-lived agony.

The words of his Divine Matron drifted through his mind. Stay strong. Stay true. And above all else, never let it break you. She’d also called him insane. But then, for whatever reason, Cefirina had always harbored some distaste for Logan.

His vision told him at the very least, he’d survive it in the end. But fuck if it didn’t give him a single clue as to what happened in between. The down side of being half-seer: half-ass predictions of his future.

This would be the first of many nights. Daylight never touched Obsidius—only nightmares that arrived in a relentless stretch of midnight—or so the rumors went. He’d be tortured in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

The clinking of chains tapped an unfaltering cadence as they clambered the black tarry-looking stairs to the second level. Gavin peered over the railless ledge at the other Enforcers moving below with purpose, like oversized warrior ants at a flesh picnic. The one leading him came to a halt in front of two adjacent doors.Dread churned in Gavin’s stomach. Their chambers were side by side—meaning his brother’s sufferance would be his own.

Logan stood behind his assigned Enforcer who unlocked the door, and glanced over at Gavin. “See you on the other side.” Not an ounce of humility in his voice. His eyes appeared focused and unfettered as if his mind was resolved to the possibility that his immortal body might be sacrificed for the gruesome torment that awaited him.

Gavin nodded and entered his own chamber. In spite of the fire that burned outside of the room, a cold emptiness lingered on the inside. Gray stone walls didn’t carry evidence of life like many prisons with markings and chipping. Instead their dull, smooth surface told a story of forgotten death.

The slab of concrete in the center of the room, with spattered flecks of blood, would serve as Gavin’s bed for the next fifty years. A tug on his shackles brought him standing before the Enforcer Demon. His binds were removed and the Enforcer paused, a silent command that prompted Gavin to climb atop. The uneven surface bit into his flesh—a far cry from the plush mattress and satin sheets of his own bed back at the manor. One by one his hands and legs were bound at the corners. The flicker of light from outside the room faded to complete blackness and the thump of the door. A soft white glow blossomed from somewhere below Gavin, casting enough light to see his reflection in the mirrored ceiling.What kind of twisted bullshit … and yet at the same time, it didn’t surprise him.

Lifeless, beady eyes of Gavin’s captor obstructed his view and stared down at him like those of a shark—undeterred by emotions, driven by instincts. Sick fucks were masters of both physical and mental torture. There’d be no mercy. No admiration for volunteering on his brother’s behalf. Only pain. The kind of dark shadows that nested deep inside the soul and remained dormant.

Wrath demons didn’t register pain like most species of the Underworld—their bodies were designed to endure physical destruction. Yeah they had nerves and could sense an assault to the flesh, but their wounds healed so quickly, the agony tended to be short-lived. Obsidius had methods of punishing all breeds of demon though, with centuries of effective torture tactics, perfected to break a victim—by any means.

The Enforcer pulled a small blade from a side holster and as he held the gleaming metal in front Gavin’s face, tipped his head. Goddamn if those beady eyes didn’t squint into something of a smile. The blade disappeared from Gavin’s view and he lifted his gaze once more toward the ceiling. In the reflection, the Enforcer zipped the blade across his chest, the sound of tearing trailing his movement as he sliced away Gavin’s black t-shirt, exposing his bare skin. He tried to imagine what his flesh might look like near the end of his punishment.

Gavin sucked in a breath through his nose, rolled his shoulders back against the rough concrete, flexed his arms and gave a sharp tug of his bindings. “Let the fucking games begin,” he muttered.

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I grew up believing that if I wanted something bad enough, I’d get it. It was just a thought that I kept in my back pocket.

I’d had things come up throughout the years that may have lightly touched on this theory, but nothing I would consider a real test of dedication. A prom dress that I so wanted, only cost me a few extra chores during the week, not much sacrifice there; the car that my father bought for me wasn’t perfect and new, but perfect enough for me, and cost me nothing but a promise of responsible driving.

There are 3 things in this life that I love most: my kids, my husband and writing. So it stands to reason that I would be challenged to have each of them.

I suppose the first test came when I met my husband 10 years ago. At the time, we lived nearly two hours away from one another and only got to see each other on the weekends. Because of the distance and other forces that interfered like work and school, there were some weeks we couldn’t see each other at all. Instead we’d talk on the phone. How could we sustain a relationship this way? It wasn’t easy, but I was determined to make it work. So we kept at it in spite of the roadblocks along the way.

The second test came with my youngest daughter. I was pretty certain that having another child would be easy; I didn’t have much trouble with my first. But when an entire year passed and I still wasn’t pregnant, I began to worry a little. The second year, with my share of loss, put me on the brink of giving up. Maybe I was only meant to have one. But I’d never wanted something so much in my whole life, so I gave her a chance and was beyond elation when that digital test smiled back at me.

When my husband recently approached me with a crazy, summer work schedule that would put him anywhere from about 60-70 hours a week, I nearly panicked. This could only mean one thing for me with my 40-hr work week: good-bye writing. I suddenly felt familiar pains of loss.

My days, already riddled with stresses, would be a challenge of endurance: running my kids to and fro; single-handedly managing the household; and doing my best not to destroy basic meals that I’d be forced to cook now that my husband would be home late. Every minute would be consumed with preparing for the next day. And so on. And so on. No time for the little respites, sipping on wine while writing away the frustrations of my day.

It was as if some of the oxygen had begun to escape my one and only lifeline. I refused. And like everything else I’ve loved before the writing, I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. My very first step was recognizing and accepting that it was going to be difficult.

And then, as they do in life, things began to fall in place.

So do you wanna know what I came up with?

I’ll just warn you now: this lifestyle isn’t for everyone. In fact, it may just make you run away from this blog post screaming. But I can tell you from experience that it works, because here I am as I’ve been all along, writing my usual Sunday post on a blissfully quiet morning.

Focused Concentration

Having grown up in a family of small business owners, I know there are certain tricks to getting the job done. One such trick, is making your brain believe that an inflexible deadline exists and is about half of the time you originally anticipated to complete the job. If you have four hours on your hands to get some writing done, convince yourself that you really only have two hours and see what you can accomplish. It’s surprising how focused your thoughts can become. Those hours of fruitless daydreaming are suddenly a covert mission to dredge ideas from some untapped reservoir in your mind.

2. Get Organized

You may think you’ve exhausted every ounce of organizational know-how packaged within your DNA. But I’m here to tell you, there’s opportunity for more. Here’s what I know about myself: if given the task of planning dinners, perfectly matched outfits for my kids and cleaning toilets during the week, chances are, disaster is going to strike. The end result? Fast food every night, mismatched clothing and mold in the toilet bowl. Disaster.

Again, maybe this isn’t for everyone, but what I’ve found success in, is designating 1 day of the week that I refer to as ‘A Day in Hell’. It typically occurs on the weekend. And sure, I could use this day to write for about 10 hours straight. But I’d also have a couple of naps peppered in along with moments of staring off, stressing about the week to come. This marathon day of writing would also leave NO time for writing during the week, as I’m desperately researching quick meal ideas on the internet.

So my solution is to complete everything that would normally eat up those few hours each day. Everything? Like what? In celebration of Hell, I try to cook and freeze about 3 meals for the week. Yes, the beauty of it is, my husband is there to keep me from destroying it.

I gather all of my kids’ outfits for the week and set them out in nifty little closet organizers (Martha Stewart would be proud). I even go so far as to select matching hair accessories to save a seemingly simple step each day. In fact, all of the laundry, including my drycleaning is done on this special little day, so if I’m REALLY ambitious, I can set aside two week’s worth of outfits (ain’t been that ambitious yet).

Finally, I make other preparations like washing and cutting fruits & veggies for my kids’ lunches, paying bills, scrubbing bathrooms and making sure I have an empty dishwasher to start the week. It may sound like a lot of work. I’m not going to lie, it is. But you’d be surprised how many extra minutes a day can be skimmed just by performing these simple tasks at the beginning of the week. All those hours of pondering ingredients for some casserole I’m sure to screw up can be spent appeasing my muse.

3, Push and Pull

Anyone who knows me well enough can attest that I’m not afraid to push myself to the edge of insanity. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’d tell you I’ve already gone over. But what’s important, when your fuse has been nipped by half, is maintaining some sense of balance. Sure the kiddos might get a kick out of toying with a zombified mom at the end of the day, (think of Goldie Hawn in the movie Overboard when she can only muster ‘buh buh buh buh buh buh’) but what good does that do?

There may be nights (yes, I’m going to say this) when you just can’t write. Say what? WHAT?! No! Ditch the guilt and make up for it the next day with a fresh new start. Staring off at a blank screen for two hours just to make a poor attempt at word quota for the day is senseless. Ideally, you should write something every day in order to sharpen the craft. But if you can’t because your brain has officially gone on strike, then leave it alone and perhaps even get up earlier the next day. When faced with the option of missing 1 day of writing versus not writing at all, the answer takes very little brainpower.

4. Eye on the Prize

Success is much easier to come by if you know what you’re working toward. Set your goal. This can be anything from 500 words a night, to publication by the end of the month. Distractions will inevitably begin to blur your path, making it less obvious where you’re headed, leading to moments of frustration and defeat. Don’t lose sight. This is what life does. It tests your dedication to a cause. Why? Who knows. But these small ripples shouldn’t break you.

Just remember, if you want something bad enough, you’ll get it. Might not come easy, and you might be subject to a bit of hell along the way, but don’t give up on it.