The story’s gene thrives on the collision of the sacred and the grotesque, where power is both a lie and a literal skin-suit.

On a dying world, ancient cosmic gods starve for the only sustenance they cannot find—human souls, blazing with celestial fire. After eons of searching, Earth becomes their ultimate prey, with seven demigod-spirits disguised as humans converging under Gavin Percy's ruthless command to execute a ritual that will unleash unimaginable horror.

As global chaos unfolds, political power succumbs to supernatural terror when Senator Hudson McCky’s identity is grotesquely overtaken by a demigod. Humanity's only hope rests with Father Hallelujah, a fugitive priest whose battle against zombie-angels transcends bullets, becoming a terrifying clash of wills as apocalypse breaches reality, politics, and sanity itself.

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Excerpt from The War Of Ascension And The Angels Were Hungry © Copyright 2025 Enock Mose

CHAPTER ONE

Planet X

The streets of Tirana sprawled in a grotesque mockery of life, a city hollowed out, a carcass left to rot beneath a sky that no longer remembered the sun. Time had not merely stopped here it had been violated, split open like a gutted animal, leaving behind only this; a frozen, trembling illusion of reality, teetering on the edge of some unimaginable end. The air clung thick with something worse than silence; a slow, seeping terror, a nervousness without name or source, oozing into the lungs of those few doomed enough to still walk these streets.

Even the city’s witches, priests and monks, those feared manipulators of the unseen, those lords of psychic dominion, had been reduced to shells. Their power was gone. Not stolen. Not broken but erased, as if it had never been. No one dared challenge the newcomers, the ones who stood in doorways without casting shadows, whose voices slithered from mouths that never moved; the ones who neither sleeps nor dies.

They were the Reawakened ones, things that had crawled free from the dungeons of planet X, a world once ruled by warrior-emperors clad in the skins of conquered gods, by monarchs who drank the light from stars, by creatures whose very existence was oppression given form. For a thousand years, they had pirated the cosmos, carving their way across galaxies, leaving behind only scorched shells of planets and the echoes of screams. Until the sky split open. Until in an instant, their planet collided with another scudding planet, and became a funeral pyre for quadrillions of lives ignited into embers.

But from the ashes, something worse emerged, horrifying immortals, their bodies unmade and remade by the comet’s fire, twisted into forms that defied language. They were no longer creatures of flesh. They were dust given sentience, nightmares pulled from the void and stitched together with dying starlight.

Deep in planet X’s abysses, in its lightless gulfs and jagged valleys where darkness gnawed at the edges of existence, these barbaric demigods, ratty and cursed, thrived. They waged wars that had no beginning and would have no end, clan tearing into clan like a pack of night-roaming werewolves, their battles lit only by the sickly glow of dying suns. Their rule was not one of order, not one of law. It was a reign of pure, unfiltered horror, their incantations birthing leagues of malevolent power.

And then, inevitably came, the worst of them.

A clan more vicious, more deranged, than all the rest, stole the unthinkable. They breached the holy pantheon of their ancestors, their claws scraping against the doors of realms never meant to be touched. And there, in that sacred, screaming dark, they stole it, the spirit of the seal of light and form, the inner spark of creation itself.

With this newfound power, they ascended to become deities, indomitable crowned rulers of the forsaken, commanding the boundless hellscape of planet X and its dungeons. Over time, these deities developed supernatural abilities, their true selves flickering between dimensions, their outward appearances shifting in threatening and mysterious ways.

It was with these powers that they discovered Earth, and the most elusive prize of all, the soul, concealed within the inner bodies of humans. The soul, the seventh spirit of life’s essence, was the key to their ultimate ascension, an unrelenting godhood beyond even their fathomless ravenousness.

By harvesting these souls, they would complete the hierarchy of their power, becoming godlike. It was the only force capable of granting them true form, freeing them from their formless existence. Among its many capabilities, the soul was imbued with the strongest flares of thought and action, valid for all time into infinity, a flame that burned ceaselessly.

And so they set their sights on Earth, determined to conquer it, to harvest its souls and ascend to ultimate power.

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