Mental Damnation: Reality
Book 1
by Konn Lavery
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Banished to the Underworld. A Ritual. The Disease.
Enter the rich mythical world of Konn Lavery’s debut novel containing a military dictatorship, cults, and politically-driven gangs.
After Krista’s people were banished from the surface by the humans, they were reduced to violence and hatred.
She and her only friend, Darkwing, survive as street kids as their people’s leaders become crazed from an unknown disease – Mental Damnation. After their infection, the Guardians develop a bizarre interest in her, claiming they must reap her innocence for their newfound master, the Weaver.
Krista has limited options for survival: Does she fend for her life in the City of Renascence, or risk leaving everything behind and enter the uncharted realm of the underworld?
——
“Konn Lavery has taken me into his mind and carried me on a richly woven tapestry of metaphors for the human condition.”- Amber, Goodreads Reviewer
“Both well-written and well thought out, Mental Damnation is an instant classic and I can’t wait to see what happens next!”
– Joshua Grant, Goodreads Reviewer
“When I finally got into the actual book, I found myself unable to put it down, even reading it on my break at work”
– Dawn Herbert, Goodreads Reviewer
**Only .99 cents!**
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Mental Damnation: Dream
Book 2
A Fallen God. The Marking. Damnation Has Begun.
The ritual set everything in motion for Krista in the continuation of the Mental Damnation series hinting at the afterlife, and a lurking evil.
Gatekeeper Danil found and used her in an unholy event which completes Krista’s infection of Mental Damnation.
It is the very disease that collapsed her leaders and wreaked havoc among her people, how will she maintain her sanity through the visions of hell?
——
“Lavery writes an extremely good book: captivating, highly descriptive, emotional and hauntingly poignant.”
– G.J. Griffiths, Goodreads Reviewer
“The world Mr. Lavery created is absolutely captivating and the illustrations beautiful!”
– Cassandra Larsen, Goodreads Reviewer
“I’m invested now an will continue to follow this story in the next book.”
– Jenae (Jeni), Goodreads Reviewer
Mental Damnation: Purity
Book 3
Krista allies with a fallen paladin as the Weaver sends his deadliest servant after her.
The Mental Damnation series continues in a high fantasy tale of forbidden love, banishment, and fallen warriors.
Krista’s hope of escaping Dreadweave Pass lessens as the Weaver sends a fallen angel to capture her. Will her allegiance with a corrupt paladin be enough to triumph?
——
“Book three in the Mental Damnation series picks up perfectly and continues with Krista’s story. There is a lot of action, drama and suspense”
– Sheri, Goodreads Reviewer
Mental Damnation: Mortal
Book 4
Damnation ends. The Afterlife is at war. Krista must fend for herself.
Mortal is the concluding novel of the dark fantasy series Mental Damnation. Follow Krista as she descends further into Dreadweave Pass and fulfilling the path of a warrior set by her father, reinforced by her allies. Will Krista manage to escape the land of the damned? She fights to return to Darkwing in the mortal realm, as he struggles to rescue her. Home is no safe haven either, for her people and the humans are on the brink of an all-out-war.
Excerpt:
The entrance to the Weaver’s prison closed behind Rahiie, eliminating the blinding light. Dievourse’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see the angel’s features better. Her fine skin and toned body—truly sculpted by the gods. The confidence in her walk created a strange sense of arousal and fear. More emotions that were once long forgotten.
Her power, Dievourse thought. He was drawn to strength. The attraction was what had made him a successful warlord in the mortal realm and a general in the Weaver’s Army. Power was his fixation and freedom was his dream. Rahiie had both. Even though the angel was immoral, she managed to stand amongst those in heaven. Unlike Dievourse, down in hell, a slave to the Weaver.
“Weaver,” Rahiie said. Her strident voice boomed through the chamber, causing El Aguro and Dievourse to straighten their posture. “Your aggressive behaviour is beginning to raise awareness amongst the gods.”
The Weaver chuckled. “We will discuss this soon. Please, I would like you to meet my two most prized creations.” Tentacle-like arms moved out from the darkness past Dievourse and El Aguro. The arms ended in large long-fingered hands with an additional thumb on the opposite side. They extended toward Dievourse and El Aguro, gesturing the pair to speak. “Please introduce yourselves.”
Rahiie didn’t blink, waiting for Dievourse to speak. Her face was cold. A slight hint of anger was clear from the slant of the spikes that formed her eyebrows. No angel had horns and spikes. Her passion seeded from the poison. She didn’t need to say it for Dievourse to know. She oozed it.
Dievourse took a bow, sending his bone-thin white hair draping in front of his face. The green glowing circles directly below him and El Aguro cast a soft light over them. Dievourse stood, directing his voice toward the angel. “Rahiie, I am General Dievourse. I lead the Weaver’s Army. He has spoken many words of you, and yet never revealed your name. It is a great honour to meet you at last.”
Rahiie nodded at Dievourse and awaited the feathered beast’s introduction.
El Aguro bowed as well, extending both hands, palms facing Rahiie. His feathers ruffled against the bone breastplate he wore. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rahiie. I am El Aguro.” His voice echoed from inside his helmet, projecting from his throat.
Disgusting, Dievourse thought, glaring at El Aguro. The gatekeeper’s long black kilt was a displeasure to be near, for it was fused from the feathers, bones, and flesh of countless crows.
El Aguro stood up. “The Weaver has assigned me to champion the gatekeepers, for I am the eldest of them.”
Rahiie folded her arms. “You’re the one responsible for the increased reaping of souls?”
El Aguro shrugged. “I suppose you could say such a thing. I am only as active as the will of the Weaver. My actions are not my own.”
“Right,” Rahiie said, staring into the darkness behind El Aguro and Dievourse. “Care to explain yourself, Weaver?”
The Weaver’s hands retracted back into the darkness behind Dievourse. “Now, now, Rahiie. You have always known what the endgame was.”
“Yes, but the aggressiveness of the reaping?”
One of the Weaver’s two-thumbed hands appeared again. “My children, as you can see, Rahiie is always on the conservative side. It is the base of her reasoning, and she stands by it. This gives her an edge. This is what made her so bold as to come face-to-face with Dega’Mostikas himself.”
“Brave girl,” El Aguro said.
Rahiie’s nostrils flared. “And foolish. Now the devil himself haunts my mind.”
The Weaver raised his index finger. “Perhaps, yes. But not as foolish as your brother Craeso . . . or is it Sporathun now?”
“Show him to me,” Rahiie said.
“You have no power to demand, Rahiie. You know of our deal.” The Weaver’s hand extended past Dievourse and gently caressed Rahiie’s cheek. “A poor, lost sister, tormented by Dega’Mostikas, who only wishes for the comfort of her dear brother.”
Rahiie remained silent as the Weaver’s second thumb brushed by her chin and returned to the darkness.
Dievourse pressed his lips together while taking a deep breath through his nose, gathering himself, because he knew that his master was lying. Rahiie thought the Weaver had her brother, Sporathun. It was half true. The other half was that Dievourse was responsible for Sporathun. He knew where the fallen angel was. The general had found himself in a unique position. His strategic mind began to work.
The entrance to the Weaver’s prison closed behind Rahiie, eliminating the blinding light. Dievourse’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see the angel’s features better. Her fine skin and toned body—truly sculpted by the gods. The confidence in her walk created a strange sense of arousal and fear. More emotions that were once long forgotten.
Her power, Dievourse thought. He was drawn to strength. The attraction was what had made him a successful warlord in the mortal realm and a general in the Weaver’s Army. Power was his fixation and freedom was his dream. Rahiie had both. Even though the angel was immoral, she managed to stand amongst those in heaven. Unlike Dievourse, down in hell, a slave to the Weaver.
“Weaver,” Rahiie said. Her strident voice boomed through the chamber, causing El Aguro and Dievourse to straighten their posture. “Your aggressive behaviour is beginning to raise awareness amongst the gods.”
The Weaver chuckled. “We will discuss this soon. Please, I would like you to meet my two most prized creations.” Tentacle-like arms moved out from the darkness past Dievourse and El Aguro. The arms ended in large long-fingered hands with an additional thumb on the opposite side. They extended toward Dievourse and El Aguro, gesturing the pair to speak. “Please introduce yourselves.”
Rahiie didn’t blink, waiting for Dievourse to speak. Her face was cold. A slight hint of anger was clear from the slant of the spikes that formed her eyebrows. No angel had horns and spikes. Her passion seeded from the poison. She didn’t need to say it for Dievourse to know. She oozed it.
Dievourse took a bow, sending his bone-thin white hair draping in front of his face. The green glowing circles directly below him and El Aguro cast a soft light over them. Dievourse stood, directing his voice toward the angel. “Rahiie, I am General Dievourse. I lead the Weaver’s Army. He has spoken many words of you, and yet never revealed your name. It is a great honour to meet you at last.”
Rahiie nodded at Dievourse and awaited the feathered beast’s introduction.
El Aguro bowed as well, extending both hands, palms facing Rahiie. His feathers ruffled against the bone breastplate he wore. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rahiie. I am El Aguro.” His voice echoed from inside his helmet, projecting from his throat.
Disgusting, Dievourse thought, glaring at El Aguro. The gatekeeper’s long black kilt was a displeasure to be near, for it was fused from the feathers, bones, and flesh of countless crows.
El Aguro stood up. “The Weaver has assigned me to champion the gatekeepers, for I am the eldest of them.”
Rahiie folded her arms. “You’re the one responsible for the increased reaping of souls?”
El Aguro shrugged. “I suppose you could say such a thing. I am only as active as the will of the Weaver. My actions are not my own.”
“Right,” Rahiie said, staring into the darkness behind El Aguro and Dievourse. “Care to explain yourself, Weaver?”
The Weaver’s hands retracted back into the darkness behind Dievourse. “Now, now, Rahiie. You have always known what the endgame was.”
“Yes, but the aggressiveness of the reaping?”
One of the Weaver’s two-thumbed hands appeared again. “My children, as you can see, Rahiie is always on the conservative side. It is the base of her reasoning, and she stands by it. This gives her an edge. This is what made her so bold as to come face-to-face with Dega’Mostikas himself.”
“Brave girl,” El Aguro said.
Rahiie’s nostrils flared. “And foolish. Now the devil himself haunts my mind.”
The Weaver raised his index finger. “Perhaps, yes. But not as foolish as your brother Craeso . . . or is it Sporathun now?”
“Show him to me,” Rahiie said.
“You have no power to demand, Rahiie. You know of our deal.” The Weaver’s hand extended past Dievourse and gently caressed Rahiie’s cheek. “A poor, lost sister, tormented by Dega’Mostikas, who only wishes for the comfort of her dear brother.”
Rahiie remained silent as the Weaver’s second thumb brushed by her chin and returned to the darkness.
Dievourse pressed his lips together while taking a deep breath through his nose, gathering himself, because he knew that his master was lying. Rahiie thought the Weaver had her brother, Sporathun. It was half true. The other half was that Dievourse was responsible for Sporathun. He knew where the fallen angel was. The general had found himself in a unique position. His strategic mind began to work.
The entrance to the Weaver’s prison closed behind Rahiie, eliminating the blinding light. Dievourse’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see the angel’s features better. Her fine skin and toned body—truly sculpted by the gods. The confidence in her walk created a strange sense of arousal and fear. More emotions that were once long forgotten.
Her power, Dievourse thought. He was drawn to strength. The attraction was what had made him a successful warlord in the mortal realm and a general in the Weaver’s Army. Power was his fixation and freedom was his dream. Rahiie had both. Even though the angel was immoral, she managed to stand amongst those in heaven. Unlike Dievourse, down in hell, a slave to the Weaver.
“Weaver,” Rahiie said. Her strident voice boomed through the chamber, causing El Aguro and Dievourse to straighten their posture. “Your aggressive behaviour is beginning to raise awareness amongst the gods.”
The Weaver chuckled. “We will discuss this soon. Please, I would like you to meet my two most prized creations.” Tentacle-like arms moved out from the darkness past Dievourse and El Aguro. The arms ended in large long-fingered hands with an additional thumb on the opposite side. They extended toward Dievourse and El Aguro, gesturing the pair to speak. “Please introduce yourselves.”
Rahiie didn’t blink, waiting for Dievourse to speak. Her face was cold. A slight hint of anger was clear from the slant of the spikes that formed her eyebrows. No angel had horns and spikes. Her passion seeded from the poison. She didn’t need to say it for Dievourse to know. She oozed it.
Dievourse took a bow, sending his bone-thin white hair draping in front of his face. The green glowing circles directly below him and El Aguro cast a soft light over them. Dievourse stood, directing his voice toward the angel. “Rahiie, I am General Dievourse. I lead the Weaver’s Army. He has spoken many words of you, and yet never revealed your name. It is a great honour to meet you at last.”
Rahiie nodded at Dievourse and awaited the feathered beast’s introduction.
El Aguro bowed as well, extending both hands, palms facing Rahiie. His feathers ruffled against the bone breastplate he wore. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rahiie. I am El Aguro.” His voice echoed from inside his helmet, projecting from his throat.
Disgusting, Dievourse thought, glaring at El Aguro. The gatekeeper’s long black kilt was a displeasure to be near, for it was fused from the feathers, bones, and flesh of countless crows.
El Aguro stood up. “The Weaver has assigned me to champion the gatekeepers, for I am the eldest of them.”
Rahiie folded her arms. “You’re the one responsible for the increased reaping of souls?”
El Aguro shrugged. “I suppose you could say such a thing. I am only as active as the will of the Weaver. My actions are not my own.”
“Right,” Rahiie said, staring into the darkness behind El Aguro and Dievourse. “Care to explain yourself, Weaver?”
The Weaver’s hands retracted back into the darkness behind Dievourse. “Now, now, Rahiie. You have always known what the endgame was.”
“Yes, but the aggressiveness of the reaping?”
One of the Weaver’s two-thumbed hands appeared again. “My children, as you can see, Rahiie is always on the conservative side. It is the base of her reasoning, and she stands by it. This gives her an edge. This is what made her so bold as to come face-to-face with Dega’Mostikas himself.”
“Brave girl,” El Aguro said.
Rahiie’s nostrils flared. “And foolish. Now the devil himself haunts my mind.”
The Weaver raised his index finger. “Perhaps, yes. But not as foolish as your brother Craeso . . . or is it Sporathun now?”
“Show him to me,” Rahiie said.
“You have no power to demand, Rahiie. You know of our deal.” The Weaver’s hand extended past Dievourse and gently caressed Rahiie’s cheek. “A poor, lost sister, tormented by Dega’Mostikas, who only wishes for the comfort of her dear brother.”
Rahiie remained silent as the Weaver’s second thumb brushed by her chin and returned to the darkness.
Dievourse pressed his lips together while taking a deep breath through his nose, gathering himself, because he knew that his master was lying. Rahiie thought the Weaver had her brother, Sporathun. It was half true. The other half was that Dievourse was responsible for Sporathun. He knew where the fallen angel was. The general had found himself in a unique position. His strategic mind began to work.
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About the Author
Konn Lavery is a Canadian author whose work has been recognized by Edmonton’s top five bestseller charts and by reviewers such as Readers’ Favorite, and Literary Titan.
He started writing stories at a young age while being homeschooled. After graduating from graphic design college, he began professionally pursuing his writing with his first release, Reality. He continues to write in the thriller, horror, and fantasy genres.
He balances his literary work along with his own graphic design and website development business, titled Reveal Design (www.revealdesign.ca). His visual communication skills have been transcribed into the formatting and artwork found within his publications supporting his fascination of transmedia storytelling.
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