Novels by Joseph Abayomi

When Ryker straightened and looked back, the pain finally loosening its grip, he met a pair of blue eyes—cold, clear and old.They watched him the way mountains watched storms. They belonged to a woman standing a few steps behind him, untouched by the ruin around her. Broken walls leaned away from her boots. Dust never settled on her skin. Smoke bent aside as if it had learned obedience.She did not look surprised by the destruction. She looked like she had expected it.She wore black. The fabric was layered and sharp, cut in strange lines that didn’t belong to any era Ryker recognized. It flowed and held at the same time, refusing gravity when it pleased. The cloth shimmered faintly, like night water under moonlight. Silver thread traced symbols along the hem—old shapes, worn smooth by time rather than fashion.Her sleeves hung loose, but her posture was controlled. Balanced. Like violence was something she kept folded neatly inside herself, ready to unfold if required.She walked cl

The beast stood in the middle of his living room. Too large for the space. Too real for logic.Its four heads hung from a thick, corded neck, each one different. One hissed. One growled low. One breathed slowly and measured. The last grinned, lips pulled back over too many teeth.Cracked tiles bent under its weight. The floor had already begun to cave. Framed photos lay shattered beneath its claws. The couch sagged, half-melted, half-crushed, like the room itself had tried to escape and failed.Ryker stood near the doorway, shoulders squared, heart beating too loud in his ears. His body knew before his mind accepted it.This thing was not meant to exist here.“I guess you’re one of Clark’s experiments,” Ryker said. His voice didn’t shake, though pressure crawled up his spine, cold and invasive. “What should I call you before I kill you?”The beast went still.All four heads stopped moving at once.No breath. No sound.The silence pressed down harder than the noise had. It lasted half a

The sky above Helheim did not move. It never did.Ash hung in the air like a held breath. Rivers of black fire crawled through the land in slow, deliberate veins. The throne spire rose at the center, jagged and alive, carved from the remains of wars that never ended.Two gods stood at its edge.Iroas stood with his chin up—armor layered his body like memory hardened into steel. Every plate bore scars. His presence bent the space around him—not violently, but with certainty. As if the world already knew better than to resist.Keranos stood opposite him, staff grounded against the stone. Lightning crawled lazily along its length, crackling, restless. His eyes were narrowed, unfocused, staring through the realm instead of at it.“He’s awake,” Keranos said.Not loudly. Not urgently. Just truth.Iroas did not respond at first.Below them, something howled. A distant sound. Old. Familiar.“How much?” Iroas finally asked.Keranos exhaled. The air shuddered.“Very little,” he said. “Fragments

The chopper touched down hard on the roof of Clark Industries.Wind tore across the platform. Rotors screamed like something alive and angry. Ryker stepped out without hesitation. Two days ago, he had left this place as cargo. Now, eyes followed him.Not curiosity. Assessment.Workers paused mid-step. Guards straightened without being told. Scientists stopped, pretending to stare at their tablets. Something about him felt off. Wrong in a way no chart explained. His frame was broader. Not bulky, not exaggerated. Dense. Compact. His posture had settled differently, like his bones had finally agreed on their purpose.Ryker felt it too.The world no longer pressed in on him. It no longer felt heavier than it should.His boots hit the concrete with a weight that carried authority, even if he didn’t try to claim it. He moved forward, unhurried, and the crowd parted a fraction too late, like animals reacting after the presence was already past them.Henry was leaning against the wall near th

The war zone was already dying when Ryker arrived.Smoke hung low over the land, thick and gray, dragging the sky down with it. Trenches had collapsed into mud. Burned vehicles lay scattered like carcasses. The air smelled of iron, oil, and rot. Soldiers moved without urgency, rifles hanging loose in their hands, eyes hollow. This was not a battlefield anymore. It was a place waiting to lose.The chopper didn’t linger.It dropped Ryker at the edge of the camp and lifted off immediately, blades screaming as it vanished into the clouds. Two soldiers stood waiting for him. Their uniforms were torn. Their boots were caked with dried blood.They didn’t ask questions. They escorted him straight through the camp.Ryker felt it as they walked—the absence of command. No structure. No tension holding the men together. Just exhaustion and quiet resentment. Soldiers glanced at him, then away. Some didn’t even bother to look.The commander’s tent was untouched by the war.Bright fabric. Clean floo

Ryker woke up suspended in liquid. Cold pressed against his skin from every direction. Thick. Heavy. It filled his mouth, his nose, his ears. His chest tightened before he understood why—something had been forced between his lips, a tube driven deep, feeding air directly into his lungs. He tried to gasp and couldn’t. Panic flared, sharp and violent, then stalled when his body realized breathing was being handled for him.When he opened his eyes. Blurred shapes hovered beyond curved glass. White coats. Masks. Hands moving with careful speed. Lights blinked in sterile patterns. Voices existed, but only as vibration, muted and distant, like sound heard through stone.He turned his head a fraction.Pain didn’t follow. That was strange. His body felt numb, suspended, unreal.Scientists stood nearby, watching him like a problem that had finally reacted. Not with concern or relief, but with interest.One of them noticed his eyes. Everything shifted.Notes dropped. Screens went dark. Hands pu