Seasons in the Abyss

The third and final book of the Brad the Impaler series releases on March 26, 2025!

The final and most epic level will rock you to your core!

Per tradition, I'm kicking off the new release with the first few chapters. Before we get to those, I don't want to spoil any of the fun, so if you haven't started the Brad the Impaler series yet, grab the first two books and begin your LitRPG adventure of a lifetime.

Okay, now that everyone is caught up, how about a little taste of what awaits?

Prologue

Seven pounds of terror. That’s where all of this began. My ultimate fate. If I’d adopted a cat, would things have turned out different? Hell, an iguana would have been safer. I’d have bought a parakeet if my girlfriend at the time had been okay with birds. A freaking chinchilla would have been perfect.

But no. Instead of taking the safe route, I’d fallen for the adorable soft eyes, the two tan dots hanging above them, the seven pounds of shivering fierceness named Slash.

Falling in love with that dog was the easiest thing that’d happened to me since my decision to leave the military. Chasing after him into the Olympia night to make sure he didn’t run out into the road was the next easiest.

Ah, the things you do for those you love.

A handful of simple decisions and actions, mostly without thought, landed me here. In Darkworld. The medieval video game world where I’d been fighting for my life for a year. Maybe ten months. Maybe fourteen. Gauging time was impossible without the luxury of calendars, smartphones, or a routine.

Darkworld. The realm of Dark Dominion Games. The company behind this violent world, behind the mysterious chest Slash found in an Olympia park. The one I opened that thrust us into the craziest nightmare I’d ever had. Into the midst of madness. Facing an AI that forced me and my wee man to face challenge after challenge. To eat. To build a safe shelter. To defeat an endless slew of enemies spanning the animal kingdom. Dark Dominion Games. A corporation’s name I’d repeated often in the time since my guide shared the insight she’d gained about them. The basement dwellers who’d forced unknowing people to fall for their ploy, backed by powerful people, pulling us into the fight of our lives. The people I’d make pay for this if they ever had the guts to show their faces here.

When I thought of them, I couldn’t help but think of their trick of legality that pulled me into Darkworld, the first of many deceitful practices. They’d stoop to whatever low they could dream up if the circumstances were attractive enough. Biggest bang for their buck. Putting Slash in harm’s way with a vampire’s minions? No problem. Using a friend to lure me into a boss fight against Medusa’s uglier sister? I’d barely survived to save Kira. Showing cruelty beyond words by allowing her butcher to make an in-game purchase that flooded her camp. The disaster wiped away her hard work. A single click of a mouse button back in the real world. That said everything. Early on, I’d learned there wasn’t a low they’d stoop to in order to meet their aims.

I’ll admit. I’ve gotten pissed at Dark Dominion Games even before I knew them as the culprits behind Darkworld. Having a name made my anger more intimate. More intense. More focused. Their cruelty ratcheted up my anger a few dozen degrees. When they let my butcher buy a quest that resulted in my horse being zapped away from our camp to force me to find her, that was as low as it was pathetic. Even for Dark Dominion Games. That they did it just to kick off my fight against the level-three boss path was my final straw.

Before Darkworld, I had a lot of “final straws.” I was way too patient. Way too understanding. I’d considered it a sign of me growing up. Putting my dark past behind me. Shelving the version of me that evened the score with my high-school bullies. A child’s folly, that version. As an adult, especially one in the military, I couldn’t resolve my problems by being a brute. More importantly, I no longer wanted to.

Sure, I understood the reality that the world was full of tiny boys in grown men’s bodies. The type who lusted for violence. The type who adored, admired—hell, worshipped action movie heroes with take-no-prisoner attitudes. Didn’t matter that those heroes shared the same dimensions with a piece of paper. As complex as solving a two-plus-two equation. The Air Force was full of guys like that. The bars around Olympia were too. Bars everywhere were. Children, just with nut hair. Brains driven by testosterone. People I didn’t want to be around. The type of people I never wanted to be like.

I’d stayed true to the maturer version of myself throughout the early days and weeks of my life in Darkworld. I swore I’d beat the game without resorting to becoming a club-wielding Neanderthal. Leave that shit for the gamers who can’t watch movies with a plot because they’re “too confusing.”

Funny, really, how life moves in cycles. It may never replicate earlier stages accurately, but it can come damn close at times. I wasn’t the adolescent tower of rage I’d been in high school, looking to beat the desire to bully others out of my bullies, but Darkworld had pushed me.

All because of my seven-pound terror.

Not that I blamed Slash. Nothing better had happened to me. Not in my entire life. Not my high-school accomplishments. Definitely not the military career. Not even the rewarding, if not ill-timed, relationship with Tess. Loving parents. No. The tiny black-and-tan Chihuahua had brought a sense of peace to my life. When Darkworld gave him the ability to speak, our mutual love had only deepened.

Had the circumstances been different, I might have been grateful to the game for giving him that power. It’d helped us grow closer than any man and his best friend could hope for in their wildest dreams.

Slash.

That stubborn, foul-mouthed brat. Goddamn. What he’d accomplished in Darkworld. People could have picked on him about being frightened by a blowing leaf or a weed that snagged his legs on walks or the chittering of a squirrel. I sure did. Before Darkworld, that little guy had pissed in my apartment after being scared by outside sounds so often that I had more potty pads on the floor than bricks in the Yellow Brick Road.

In the end, Darkworld had made him better, even if it’d made me worse. I-----

***

I sat back, looking up at the clear sky. Sighing.

Another pen run dry in my journaling.

I’d gone through a lot of the gel pens, a convenient loot drop from weeks ago, while I captured my experience in Darkworld before time committed it to the deepest reaches of my memory. 

I didn’t want to forget a thing. Not about Darkworld, why it existed, what it’d pushed me to become, or what I’d given over to it. Most importantly, I wanted to be sure I’d always remember those who’d been part of my life because of it. People who’d helped me change and become the best version of me I could be. People and creatures who’d laughed, sacrificed, loved, and hated. Creatures and people who’d only wanted to live their lives. Not all of them had. Journaling about them was my small, way-too-little, way-too-late way of keeping them alive.

I wanted to. I needed to. It was important.

I looked down at my side where I’d laid the fresh pens and bundle of parchment. Funny, that a loot drop contained items that weren’t supposed to be included in the game. Items that served as my means of keeping its secrets alive. Exposing them. Ensuring something like this would never happen again. The gel pens and the parchment would help me reach that objective. My last objective.

1 - One-Trick Pony

“This will be difficult, Brad.”

Fortune was limited to my mindscreen, but she paced in tight steps. From my perspective they only carried her inches, but she could have been cutting a path across a carpet in hers.

“We’ll be fine.” I tried to choke my chuckle at her concern, stroking Lady Sparklehoof’s mane. The horse snorted in pleasure.

“Yeah,” Slash said, sitting swiftly like he did those times when I struggled to pull a training treat from the pouch I’d bring on walks. Impatient little dude. “We’re almost level ten now. Both of us. We’ve got this.”

“I’ve got to say, buddy. We found this a lot faster than I thought.”

He tilted his small chin. Four black whiskers poked out. “That’s what happens when you actually use your map, Brad.”

“I know.”

“What’s your Map Reading skill?”

“You know what it is. You can see my stats.”

“Come on. Don’t be shy. I’ll share mine if you share yours.”

“Just look at my—”

“Sixteen. What’s yours?”

“Will you stop asking if I tell you?”

“Sure.” But he winked after that.

“Two.”

Slash rolled onto his side. His paws went to his belly, and he held it as he curled his hind legs. “Two. Two. Pathetic, Brad.”

“You’re the map reader in the party. And you’re a brat. Get up so we can get this over with.”

He did, but not before another round of dog chuckles that sounded like a long-time smoker going through a bout of asthma. “Two.”

“Keep acting like that and some of the people watching the live stream will start disliking you. Lots of people have issues with small dogs.”

“Pffft. Let them hate. They’re just jealous because they’re not nearly as cool as me.”

“Very true.”

“Plus, I’ll get their names when Fortune reads the game logs. When we get out of Darkworld, I’ll have you drive me to their house and I’ll—”

“Poop in their beds,” I said, finishing for him.

“You know me so well.”

Fortune smiled. “Little Sir, you’re so adorable. I don’t know why anyone would dislike you.”

“Because they’re morons, Fortune. You’d be amazed how many stupid people we have back home.”

“Forget about them. They’re not worth your time or attention.” I gave him a quick butt rubbing. His eyes narrowed to a satisfied squint. “And let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, wee man. Just like with the level-three boss, we can’t walk right through this one.”

He turned his head, looking down the long sloping hill. “I’ll do what I want. You’re not the boss of me.”

When we defeated the level-three boss, a giant spider named Arachne Monet, we’d leveled up, earning so much XP that we were now on the verge of leveling again. Throughout our time in Darkworld, Slash remained fixated on becoming a level ten. It was significant in that it’d allow us to join alliances, but beyond that this upcoming level wouldn’t change our game much. It wouldn’t have to either. We’d done that ourselves ever since freeing Kira from the snake queen’s grip.

After seeing the lengths Darkworld went, the extent of what it was willing to do with living, breathing people to make us fight its beasts, and after learning that the company behind the game had an incredibly successful IPO launch, funneling untold riches into its coffers, I couldn’t sit by anymore. The game was expanding, and no one seemed willing to stop it. With Fortune’s invaluable advice and Slash’s inner murderhobo coming out, we took the game to the… well, game.

We’d cruised through quest after obstacle after objective. We’d expanded the camp. We’d worked to get Kira the precious XP she needed. She still didn’t have her PvP kill. Without it, she wasn’t eligible to face the level-two boss. A major problem. But we were doing everything in our power, short of walking into the nearest city to find a player and standing by while she assassinated them.

We’d gained bags full of cool loot. Thousands of gold. Tens of thousands of XP. Magical Chimera cloth, which ended up being a rare loot drop. New greaves. A new skill called Bodyguard. My Annihilator’s Shadow spell leveled.

Slash, not to be left behind, gained a passive skill called Breakfast of Champions and a new spell called Chihuahua Chant. He pouted when I wouldn’t hand over “his share” of the gold, even though he already knew mascots, the game’s term for pets of players, couldn’t hold it. He could be a brat like that.

Kira had gained tons of loot, gold, a new spell called Arrow’s Head, and was still stuck looking for a PvP kill. Though our game was rocking along, hers was at a near standstill. While she racked up the riches of her efforts, she wasn’t any closer to leveling. It was becoming a problem.

Right now, though, we had a bigger one.

“I wish Kira could have come with us,” Slash said as we made our way toward the maze entrance.

“Me too.” What more could I say? I couldn’t, wouldn’t, get a PvP kill for her. The task was hers to complete. Since she hadn’t, she couldn’t fight this boss with us.

Slash stopped and raised a paw. He looked like a small, furry version of a kid in a classroom needing to get the teacher’s attention. Lady Sparklehoof shifted her head to look down at him, mimicking his stance the best she could with her front leg. “I also wish,” he said, stressing the second word, dropping his paw and aiming it at my new greaves, “those stupid things would be quiet.”

He was talking about the jingle bells sewn into the top seam of the greaves. Tucked into the folds of leather, I’d tried and failed to pull most of them out when I picked up the armor in a loot drop. “They have advantages.”

“They’re annoying.”

“So are you, and you don’t see me wishing you’d be quiet.”

Fortune giggled. Lately she seemed much happier. I liked that. Didn’t enjoy that it lined up with our decision to go at the game. Would have been nice to experience earlier, when we played at a more casual pace.

Slash hacked. A gross sound. Like the times he had an upset stomach, eating grass to help himself vomit. He’d spend twenty minutes walking around the park with his maw cranked up while he hacked and sniffed and did everything in the world except throw up. “Bull. That one time, when Tess was over and you’d made her that really cheap spaghetti dinner and you had all those candles on the table because you were hoping to trick her into humping you—”

“Yeah. Yeah. What about it?”

His expression dropped. Flat. Unhumored. “You told me to be quiet then.”

Fortune’s mouth dropped open. “You did? But Little Sir is so adorable when he shares his thoughts.”

“Oh, not always. Trust me. And, Slash, it was because you were constantly yapping and ruining the mood.”

“Trust me, Brad. I tried the spaghetti when you weren’t looking. If anything ruined the mood, it was your cooking. I mean, who messes up spaghetti?”

“Slash, I’ve had the boots for weeks now. You’re going to have to get used to the jingling. Plus, the bells make your job easier.”

“All they do it make a racket whenever a monster or enemy is close.”

“And,” I said, emphasizing the word and hopefully driving home the point, “that only helps you. Since you’re the sleuth in the party, nothing gets by you. Think of the bells as a backup system so you can spend your energy on other things.”

He cocked his head, seeming to consider the point I’d already made twenty times since equipping the items that improved my Dodge score by two points. “The name is still stupid.”

Lady Sparklehoof snorted.

“Jingle Bells of Doom.” He tossed his head, making his tiny ears flap. “Are the douches who write the scripts for this game in their freshman lit 101 course? They couldn’t come up with anything better? It’s like they’re writing for the lowest common denominator.”

“Don’t disagree, buddy. That sort of stuff appeals to the greatest number. Low-hanging fruit.”

One corner of his snout crinkled in a tiny snarl. “Brad, we’re not talking about fruit. We’re talking about the juvenile writers for the game. And those stupid bells. I swear, I’m going to cut their threads when you take them off.”

“I would advise against that,” Fortune said.

“Do that and I lose my bonus.” I pointed at the maze entrance. A squared arch. Not wood. Not steel. Not even anachronistic plastic. The smell of something sickly sweet hung in the air. The beams of the arch were covered in skin. Human skin. The maze’s name was written in red. Blood. I just hoped it was NPC blood. Fyndor’s Funhouse, it read. “And I think we’re about to find out how invaluable of a bonus it is.”

2 - (Not So) Funhouse

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help after this,” Fortune said, her head hanging and her long, loose curls swaying in the ever-present wind that I never felt off my mindscreen. “You’ve made it farther than any other Entrant I’ve assisted. My use will be limited after this battle.”

“Fortune, you’re already a friend. That’s all we need,” I said, reassuring her as I took in the grotesque entrance to the maze.

“Yeah,” Slash said with a sudden yip. “Unlike all the other women in Brad’s life, he doesn’t keep you around just to use you.”

“I never kept—”

“This one time,” Slash continued over the top of my protestations, “Brad had this girlfriend. Her name was Janine. She was mean. Janine the Mean, I used to call her behind her back. When he was at work, she’d look through his drawers or read his emails or open his bills and scribble down notes about his information.”

“She did?”

As if he didn’t hear me, Slash continued. “I told her to leave his stuff alone. But, of course, she didn’t listen. Just another stupid human who expects all animals to speak their garbled language. Kind of like those guys in the Air Force Brad used to complain about. They’d get stationed overseas in cool places like Germany and Italy. Way cooler than places like Alabama. And these jack wagons expected the Germans and Italians to speak English. Can you believe that? How audacious.”

Lady Sparklehoof snorted as if she understood.

Fortune looked helpless. “No. I can’t.”

Without context or any experience of the real world, I’m sure she was simply entertaining Slash. Time to move along. Plus, I didn’t want to think about “Janine the Mean” possibly stealing my identity. “Did you have a point? We’re about to face another boss. I’d like to get in the headspace. Not just me. You too.”

“I’m always in game mode, Brad. My point was, Fortune, that Brad dumped Janine pretty quick, and he didn’t even know about that stuff she did.”

“Dumped?” Fortune asked, crossing her arms. “You threw a woman on the ground?”

I chuckled. “No. That’s a way of saying that a couple broke up. Split apart. Separated.”

“Ah. Okay. I knew you weren’t that type of person.”

I gave my friend a smile. “If I was, would you advise me into troubles against this boss?”

“Maybe.” Her tone was playful. “But I wish I could do more for you before you face Fyndor the Trickster.”

“You’ve done everything we needed and more,” Slash said. He sat on his hindquarters and wagged both front legs in the air. “We’re gonna hit him like a ton of bricks and finish this fight before lunch. Hey, speaking of. Do you know if Douche-dor has beefy treats in its loot drops?”

“I’m sorry. Douche-dor?”

I shook my head. “Fyndor. This boss. Slash just thinks he’s being clever.”

“Because I am.”

“Don’t worry about it, Fortune. He’s got plenty of beefy treats.”

“Do not.”

“I built you a container because you’ve got so many.”

“So?”

“How many treats are you storing in it?”

Still on his hindquarters, he crossed his front legs. “Noneya.”

I lifted a finger as if pointing to a physical representation of her menu. “You know I can see how many are in there, right? All I have to do is jump into your Inventory to check.”

“I jumped into your mom.”

“Don’t be gross.” I tipped my head at the flesh gate. “Ready?”

“I guess so. Hopefully we’ll beat his ass quickly. I miss Kira.”

I opened my Inventory, ensuring I had everything arranged in the order I wanted and that my quick select slots contained the potions and healing wraps. I’d checked before we left camp for this final objective of the fourth level. But if there was anything useful the military taught me, it was to double- and triple-check the important stuff. Processes. Results. Bullets in your clips. From the mundane to the ultra-important, the Air Force wanted to drill it into our heads until it was habit. They’d succeeded. I was okay with that.

I closed my Inventory window. “We just left her. She’ll be waiting. As soon as we’re done, we’ll catch up.”

“It’s not fair that she can’t come.”

“Nothing about Darkworld is fair, wee man.”

“Just stupid. I’m going to take my frustrations out on this boss’s ass. Like, really, how stupid is his name? I can’t wait to see his ugly face.”

Lady Sparklehoof stomped in agreement.

“Please be careful,” Fortune said, turning on my mindscreen to face the direction of the grotesque maze entrance.

“We’ll see you on the other side.”

Fortune stayed turned away before facing me. “I’ll keep reading the game logs while you’re gone.”

“Thank you.”

Fortune explored the nooks and crannies of the game logs every minute she wasn’t interacting with us. They contained an unimaginable wealth of information. She’d found great tidbits and secrets, but each reading seemed to uncover more. The past months helped us to understand Darkworld on a level no other player could. Not one without an NPC who’d somehow unlocked her sentience. Her new mission was to see what she could find. About the game. The corporate secrets of Dark Dominion Games. The unspoken rules of the levels. And, of course, about my butcher.

She blinked away. I pushed thoughts of my butcher out of my head. Getting distracted by him, what he knew about us, both in the game world and our lives back home, did nothing. Not in this moment, at least. About to face a boss fight, the last thing I needed to think about was the fact that he knew my real name. That wasn’t all. He had my home address, was too familiar with who my parents were, and had access to the layout of our Darkworld camp. Distracting myself with those reminders wouldn’t do anything to help us defeat Fyndor, and if we fell to this boss, nothing my butcher knew about me and Slash would matter.

Equipping Venom Fang, my reliable, dependable sword, I looked down at my Chihuahua. My best friend. Covered by his spiked leather jacket, he looked every bit of heavy metal badassery as seven pounds could. Before we stepped into boss fights, I found myself sinking into a brief flash of sentiment. Throughout my life, I’d had great friends, supportive parents, and a few kickass girlfriends. But none of them came close to the fidelity Slash displayed. Always by my side. Always ready to challenge his fears. Insightful. Protective. Unquestionably faithful. Looking at him, I knew I was the luckiest player in Darkworld.

“Stop looking at me like that, Brad. It’s creepy,” my dedicated brat said, looking like he was hiding a smirk. On all fours again, he wiggled his nose toward the entrance.

“Get a whiff of anything?”

His snout rippled in a snarl. “Like cotton candy. Just… rotten.”

“Gross.”

“Only going to get worse when we get inside.” His tiny nose, about the size of a half-teaspoon measuring cup, wiggled again. “It smells like blood. Sort of like when we found that river in the Vampire King’s manor. Just different. Kind of sweet.”

“Mmm. Bloody cotton candy smell.” The mouth of the entrance, as black as night, beckoned. “Great.”

Lady Sparklehoof snorted.

I patted her neck. “I know, girl. Me too.”

“I’m ready if you are,” Slash said, starting toward the entrance.

In the past he would have ridden her into the fight. He said it made him look like a conquering knight. What he actually looked like was far different. Though I didn’t know her age or her actual breed, Lady Sparklehoof’s withers reached the top of my head. She had to be pulling in at around a thousand pounds. She was a healthy girl. Atop her, Slash looked like a bobblehead on someone’s desk in an office setting. Just without the bobble.

“Just like with the last boss—”

He rocked his head. One of his ears flopped over, exposing the pink underside. “I know. I know. Slow and steady.”

“Yep.”

“Booooooooring.”

“Slash,” I said with a slice of parental warning.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Right outside the entrance, the sickly sweet smell emanating from within became pungent. I covered my nose and mouth with the back of my free hand. “Oh, God.”

Even Lady Sparklehoof sniffed, giving her head a shake.

“Tell me about it,” Slash said, his word muted like he’d come down with a sudden head cold. “I’m only breathing through my mouth and I can still smell it.”

I took a deep breath, exhaling. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Slash walked slightly ahead. A tactic we’d learned to appreciate in our time in Darkworld. One I had to accept. The thought of my wee man being in the lead made me uneasy. The game assigned attributes based on what the AI knew about Entrants when they entered the game. A big guy like me was assigned “big guy”-type stats that would make any table-top barbarian jealous. This world’s version of bullet sponges. Someone like Kira was far faster. Her agility score was so high, she could outmaneuver me in her sleep. I’m not sure how the AI assigned attributes for our mental capacity. It seemed far more arbitrary than our physical nature. But Darkworld had proven long ago that it was far from perfect, so I gave little thought to the “whys” of things. Wasted energy.

Not only did the game base our game stats on our at least outward abilities, but it did the same for our pets. When someone opened one of the game’s chests back in the real world, if their pet was with them, they were pulled in as well. In Darkworld, pets were known as mascots. A moniker Slash still hadn’t accepted. Due to their smaller stature, their stats were proportionally affected. A dog’s Speed score would shame mine, but their Strength or Damage scores were far inferior. Even for big dogs, I’d learned. A dog the size of Slash would suffer a far worse fate to a Siberian Husky or Doberman in almost every way. Just don’t tell him that.

One area where my wee man didn’t suffer was in skills related to his awareness. That little guy could sniff out a steak bite from a mile away. Traps wouldn’t be a problem for him unless we shot way over our level. With Fyndor as the fourth-level boss, that wouldn’t be an issue. I never planned to make it one.

“Just be careful. Please.” I couldn’t help myself.

“I always am,” he somehow managed as his nose went to work. He swung his head from side to side as we neared and cleared the entrance. When we entered the enclosed tunnel, Slash pulled back. “Oh. Yuck! That smells as bad as one of your bouts with diarrhea when you had that sniffling problem for two days.”

“I had the flu. And it lasted for four days.”

Above us, a canvas of loose human skin hung.

Slash hacked. “Ew.”

“What?”

“There are bone chunks in the… tarp.”

Sure enough, small jagged slices of white poked through the loose skin tarp that flapped as if air or heat were being blown through it. Up and down the length of the narrowing tunnel of flapping skin, white shards punctured it. I wondered how many broken bodies went into the making of that effect. NPC or real, it didn’t matter.

Somewhere, deep in the darkness ahead, rippling along the loose folds of skin, a giggle. Pitched. Teasing. Antagonistic.

Slash turned to me. He blinked with snaps of his eyelids. “Well, bet this’ll be one fucked-up adventure.”

Looking ahead, realizing I was gripping Venom Fang in a fist, I nodded. “What was your first clue?”

Did you enjoy this preview? Finish the adventure alongside Brad and Slash by picking up your copy of "Seasons in the Abyss" by clicking here.