War in Heaven audiobook sample

War in Heaven, The Arterran Chronicles and Resurrected Destiny, along with an updated encyclopedia featuring new art and character entries, the Arterran language, maps and more!
All for the same price of three paperbacks!

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This is the cover for The Last Witness Omnibus which will be available in the next few weeks!

The hardback is 7.5" x 9.25" and 414 pages! It includes War in Heaven, The Arterran Chronices, Resurrected Destiny, maps, an exhaustive character index and much more!


If you have a moment, please share with your friends!

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The Last Witness added 3 new photos to the album: Characters.
March 20

The people who populate the TLW universe

Sneak peek at the new character entry for Apollo!

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2018 will be a good year for The Last Witness. Not only will book 6 "Body of Lies" be out near the end of the summer, we will be releasing a special collector's item HARDBACK edition which will include War in Heaven, The Arterran Chronicles, Resurrected Destiny a new Encyclopedia Arterra as well as formative discussions on the new Arterran language I am developing!
Oh and a possible Graphic Novel of War in Heaven!

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The Last Witness updated their cover photo.
March 1
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Alright, everyone, time for a contest!!! Here's the deal: Write a couple of paragraphs describing Gerah Maugaine based on this picture.
Send your entry to me by private message. Winner gets an autographed copy of Shattered Prophecy and will be publicly posted here.
The contest will be open until November 11th.
Oh, I uploaded a lot of Gerah drawings to make things interesting, but remember, the description has to be based on this picture!

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The Last Witness

Definitive Gerah armor. Gentry is mounted in his belt. The four shiny things on his torso collect ambient energy. The diadem in the middle focuses it.

Alright, everyone, time for a contest!!! Here's the deal: Write a couple of paragraphs describing Gerah Maugaine based on this picture.

Send your entry to me by private message. Winner gets an autographed copy of Shattered Prophecy and will be publicly posted here.

The contest will be open until November 11th.


Oh, I uploaded a lot of Gerah drawings to make things interesting, but remember, the description has to be based on this picture!

See More
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The Last Witness

Definitive Gerah armor. Gentry is mounted in his belt. The four shiny things on his torso collect ambient energy. The diadem in the middle focuses it.

The Last Witness added 8 new photos to the album: Gerah.

Various sketches and pictures of Shiloh's favorite protector!

The Last Witness: Shattered Prophecy is LIVE in both paperback and Kindle!…

God cannot lie...but a long-dormant demon is willing to bet everything that His Word can be broken. Can Shiloh and Gerah set aside their personal problems long enough to stop the demon from destroying a prophecy that must be fulfilled?

Shattered Prophecy, the next book in The Last Witness series is done! It's currently in editing and should be available soon!

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The Last Witness, book V (Shattered Prophecy) approaches readiness, so I thought I would post the prologue. Those who have read my last Legacy book just might recognize someone.

Gerald Welch

The next Last Witness book is approaching readiness, so I thought I'd share the prologue with you. If you read the last Legacy book, Laughing Matter, you will r...ecognize someone.


The six men who had gathered around the burnished walnut table might as well been smoking. In fact, had they had known that the stereotype for backroom meetings included smoke-filled rooms, so strong were their superstitious beliefs, they would have brought cigars. And though they were dressed identically, it was obvious by the physical distance between them that the men were allies, not friends. They were bound only by oil money and the ancient traditions of their fathers.
The trials that had once forged an alliance between the six great warlords of the Bughanum a thousand years earlier had been replaced with expensive sports cars and fine houses purchased by the oil fields that were scattered across the land. Two of the warlords no longer even pretended to live in Bughanum and thus, no longer felt obliged to the blood bonds of their shared ancestors. If not for the monetary roots that forced them to return to the backward country of their birth, they would have gladly taken what money they could and renounced their citizenships long ago.
The largest of the men in both height and girth sat at the head of the table. At forty-one years old, Colonel Adim Musobote was considered an elder, passing the average lifespan of his countrymen by nearly a decade. The men in his family had always lived long lives. He was assured by his grandfather that it was their superior genes, and had nothing to do with the fact that they had access to food and doctors that the rest of the population knew nothing about.
Musobote was the last warlord of his era. Each of the warlords seated around him were children of the next generation, soft and needy, weaned on silk sheets and air conditioning.
Immediately after the mysterious drowning death of his father and his nine brothers, Musobote took charge of his father’s house. His first rule of order was to investigate his father’s untimely death and, with far less money than he had planned, orchestrated a trial that proved the guilt of the other five warlords. After the warlord’s executions, their heirs - the five men sitting around him - understood their place. They would be allowed to continue their extravagant lives on the condition that they give total and absolute control to Colonel Musobote.
The men acquiesced and Musobote was anointed as Eternal Monarch.
After consolidating power, Musobote began changing things. The old stone palace was replaced with a new concrete and steel reinforced edifice twice its size. While tearing down the old palace, he found a hidden room. He had heard of this place when he was a child. It was where his father hid all of his true wealth. Once the lock had been broken, Musobote ordered everyone out. Only he would see the treasures that his father had stored over the past four decades of rule.
He was disappointed when he only found several crates and some large computer devices that he did not understand. The crates were filled with even more computer devices and some locked boxes. Each box had a symbol painted on the top, a symbol Musobote had never seen before: three red triangles, each pointing to a small circle in the center. Musobote studied the symbol for many days before giving up and asking his chief advisor. The man said that the symbol represented radioactivity. Musobote ordered him to explain radioactivity and the man began spouting nonsense about magical waves erupting from rocks that would slowly kill people.
Musobote did not believe his lies and to prove it, locked the man in the room and gave him ample food and water. When the man did not die after fourteen days, Musobote had him shot and ordered his guards to find an elder in the city to be his new adviser before returning to more important things, like ordering a new uniform befitting his new position of Eternal Monarch. Unlike the simple maroon and black striped robe worn by his ancestors, Musobote wanted to be seen as something new and powerful. He hired the most expensive fashion designer he could find in France to design a totally new uniform.
And while it was true that at one point, Terrance Bowling had been one of France’s hottest fashion designers, that was many years and several styles ago. Even Terrance could tell that his star was beginning to fade. So when he received a telegram from an African warlord asking him to design a new uniform, Terrance actually read it.
The price offered was in the seven-digit range to design and produce a dozen new uniforms for the Eternal Monarch of some tiny country in Africa. Most importantly, half would be paid up front. Since Terrance had never heard of the country in question, he looked it up on the internet and was appalled at what he found. The people still lived in small mud huts. They were obviously undernourished and their clothes were worn. He could not find a single picture of a person smiling until he came across an image of the Eternal Monarch in his new palace, where everything was shiny and new. It was almost enough to make Terrance reject the money.
He looked closely at some of the elements in Musobote’s current uniform. It was primarily maroon with small black stripes, no doubt the color of blood and whip marks, but then Terrance had an idea. The red could be made brighter and yes, there was a small patch of green on the shoulders as some kind of historical tribute. Add some strips of white and yes, it might just work.
Terrance smiled and cleared his calendar for the week. He cashed the check and finished the design in less than two hours, immediately giving copies of the uniform to his team. They looked back at him with wide, gaping eyes and open jaws, but no one said a word.
Terrance smiled and clapped his hands and everyone began to work. Some of his team saw it as a sign of insanity, an artist’s last gasp at relevance. It took his team almost a month to finish the uniforms because of Musobote’s desire for Kevlar to practically line the entire suit.
Terrance complied, but he made sure that only non-critical parts of his body were covered. The chest was fitted with a thin plate of tin, which was then covered with hard-soaked wool to give the appearance of strength. Terrance was not worried. One of the things that he demanded was the right to substitute materials as he saw fit. Besides, if Musobote was ever shot, he would not be around to complain.
He had the uniforms crated and was prepared to send them to the Eternal Monarch when another telegram appeared. The Eternal Monarch officially demanded that the designer accompany the uniforms for proper fitting. Terrance almost had a panic attack. He had not planned on being there when Musobote put the uniform on.
If it were not for the final payment, Terrance would have declined. He flew to Egypt, where he was ushered onto a small private jet to take him to his destination. When the plane touched down, he was in the bathroom throwing up. The uniforms were taken from the hold and Terrance exited the plane, only to be escorted by a pair of the Monarch’s personal guard.
When he appeared at the palace, he could not help but crinkle his nose. Whoever had designed the new palace was worried only about being attacked. The unpainted blocks of concrete were oversized and angular. The inside faired only a little better, with the occasional carpet and wall ornament. If Terrance survived this meeting, he would place a bid to redesign the palace.
The throne room doors were opened at his approach and Terrance saw the Eternal Monarch sitting on his throne. The throne room was as wide as a love seat, with arms wide enough to seat three scantily-clad women on each side.
Musobote grunted as he saw Terrance enter. The man was thin and effete and, Musobote thought, had he been a citizen of Bughanum, he would have been executed for his weakness. But he was France’s problem, not his, so he ignored the man’s appearance and granted him an audience.
The palace guard gestured to him and Terrance approached the throne.
“Greetings,” Colonel Musobote said. “Welcome to the kingdom of Bughanum!”
Terrance noted that the arms of the throne curved in, as if it had been designed to hide some of his fat. The women seated around him maintained their fake smiles, thinly hiding their disgust.
“Did you get my pictures?” Musobote asked, shooing away the women. “I have not seen any progress on your designs.”
Terrance smiled.
“The colors were all wrong,” Terrance said. “Maroon is too dark of a color.”
Musobote leaned forward. He was not used to being questioned, much less corrected. The words hung in the air as a challenge and Terrance wondered if he had just said something that had cost him his life.
After a tense few seconds, Musobote leaned back in his throne. “Maroon is the color of my people! It shows strength by emulation of blood.”
“That’s not what maroon means anymore,” Terrance said and then looked around as if to see if anyone else could hear him. “To be honest with you, your majesty, maroon is the new liberation color for transgender people.”
Musobote’s eyes popped wide open. He had heard of the gender chimera that existed in America and Europe and had passed decrees outlawing their existence in Musobote. As such, none existed in his fair lands.
“It cannot be,” Musobote said. “I will not be represented by such a color!”
“Red is the new maroon,” Terrance said with a showman’s smile, opening his briefcase. He pulled out several different shades of color for Musobote to see, separating one from the rest. “This shade of red means ‘power’ these days.”
Musobote held up a cartoon-red piece of paper. It was the color of a ripe apple if a bright light had somehow been stuck inside. He had never seen such a bright red in his life.
“This color means power?” he asked, quizzically.
“Surely you have noticed other world leaders wearing red ties lately? It is their small attempt to show power, but your entire uniform is designed around this color! Your enemies will fear you and your allies will respect you! The traditional colors were maroon and black, so that is where I started.”
Terrance pulled out a long swatch of white fur.
“This is produced from the finest alpaca fur available. It is both soft and durable.”
Musobote held the fur in his hands. It was softer than cotton.
“Will this not be…unbearably hot?”
“It is only used to line the edges of your uniform to show the world your mercy.”
“Mercy is for the weak!” Musobote hissed.
Terrance leaned in.
“Men like you and I know this, but you must think about how these things look at the UN.”
“Hmmmf,” Musobote snorted, begrudingly accepting the concept of mercy. “Show me more.”
Terrance spent twenty minutes talking about fabric and texture and color until Musobote’s eyes were dry. Finally, he could take no more.
“Enough!” he shouted. “What will this uniform say about me?”
Terrance sat back a moment and then cleared his throat. “Besides being the most stylized uniform on the face of this planet, it will demonstrate your power, but show respect for your culture and traditions and declare your mercy to other nations.”
“And you have finished the uniforms already?” Musobote asked.
“Your soldiers brought them,” Terrance said, hoping that Musobote did not detect the worry in his voice.
Musobote waved his guards away. They moved toward the door, but remained in the throne room. Terrance approached and Musobote leaned down to whisper to him.
“I want to make sure that the telegrams were explicit about one area. My…girth has proven somewhat of a challenge for my belts. You have taken steps to address this?”
If you took steps each day, you would not weigh this much you cow, Terrance thought. “Of course. We have a premium fabric that I backed with Kevlar at your request. It will easily handle any problems you might have had with inferior belts in the past.”
“Good, good, good,” Musobote said. “You will speak to no man about my special belt.”
“Customer/tailor privilege is always assured,” Terrance swore, holding up his left hand.
As the uniforms were brought in, Terrance’s blood pressure rose. Either he would win the approval of the dictator, or, if he were even remotely familiar with western mythology, he would be shot.
Musobote ordered his guards to open the first crate. Terrance had the first uniform placed on a mannequin for display purposes. He wanted Musobote to see the uniform in all of its glory.
“Turn around!” Musobote ordered Terrance.
Terrance complied and he felt his heart begin to beat erratically.
Musobote looked at the uniform. The red was as bright as described and Musobote groaned a moment. It would take time to get used to this new color. The fur edges were just as soft as the samples. He rapped his knuckles on the chest, feeling the strong backing that would protect his heart from an assassin’s bullet and Musobote smiled.
Then Terrance heard Musobote whisper to his guards, but he could not tell what was being said because he was no longer speaking French.
This is it, Terrance thought. This brute is going to have me shot right here.
After a few minutes, Musobote let out a loud cry and Terrance screamed with him.
“Little French man! You cannot withstand the war cry of the Bughanum,” he said, laughing.
Terrance opened his eyes and Musobote stood before him in what could only be described as a fancy Santa Claus suit.
“The belt is a bit wide, but comfortable. There is even room to hide my knives,” Musobote said. “This is a good belt! I cannot burst it, even when I try! The chest is very impressive,” he said, rapping on it again with his knuckles.
“I do not understand the significance of this cap,” Musobote said, playing with the ball of white fur hanging off the end.
“Large caps indicate intelligence,” Terrance said, desperately trying to explain. “And a trailing cap indicates the…reach of your intellect, but as always, it is tempered by mercy.”
“I still do not like this concept of mercy,” Musobote said and then turned toward his guards. “Let no man in Bughanum know of my mercy!”
As one, the men saluted and bowed.
Terrance survived the meeting and was given a bonus of chickens and cows, which he took with him to France without question. Successfully leaving the country with his life, Terrance never contacted Musobote about redecorating the palace.
There is not enough money on Earth to make me deal with that man again, he thought.
Musobote decided that his first public appearance in his new uniform would be at the United Nations gathering in America. It was being held in the winter and Musobote was looking forward to the trip. He had never seen snow before and he had wanted to visit America ever since he was a small child. America was a land of plenty where even the poorest citizen had fine shoes and running water.
But when he arrived at the largest airport he had ever seen, his chief advisor ran to his side. The man had been sent ahead to scout the area. Musobote did not believe what he was saying and ordered a limousine to verify his chief advisor’s story. The joy of seeing snow and flashing colored lights was instantly extinguished.
Everywhere he was taken through the hedonistic city of New York, men were dressed up on street corners to mock him, wearing cheap red and white copies of his uniform, padded to look like they had large bellies, laughing like fools and begging for money. When he saw the beggars’ fake white beards mocking his regal gray beard, he knew that America was truly an evil place.
Musobote returned to his embassy and called for the United States ambassador. The man arrived within the hour wearing a crocheted maroon Kufi. Remembering what the Frenchman had said about the color, he wondered if this was once a woman. He could never tell with Americans. The males were so androgynous.
Musobote motioned the man into his office and pointed to a chair. The man was already making excuses by the time he sat down.
“Look, I don’t know who made that suit or what they told you, but Santa Claus has been a part of our culture for over a century!”
“You expect me to believe that this is a mere coincidence? I am mocked on every street corner! I have not come to your country as a beggar!”
“What do you suggest we do?”
“Round up these imposters and have them shot!”
The ambassador’s face lost all pretense at empathy. He stood and leaned over Musobote’s desk.
“Yeah, that is not going to happen. Let's be honest. We both know that you’re not here to attend the UN gathering. You’re here to peddle the two ancient nukes you found after you killed your father. We’ve already reviewed the information you’ve been handing around and, to be honest, they’re barely worth the cost of the plane trip to pick them up.”
Musobote grabbed the edge of his desk with both hands and shook in his seat. No man had ever spoken to him in this manner and lived.
“You…you are not interested in our nuclear might?” Musobote stammered.
“Bughanum might?” the ambassador asked, laughing. “Between you and me, I was ordered to come here on Christmas Eve because I lost a bet. Had I won the bet, we would have just sent you a post card. Ironically, it probably would have had Santa Claus on it. You can skip the UN meeting. No one cares about your crappy little country,” the man said, turning to leave and then turned back at the door. “Merry Christmas.”
The door closed behind him and Musobote began destroying his office. He tried to uplift the desk, but it was far too heavy to move, much less lift, so he threw his chair at the window, which bounced back off the bulletproof glass. One of the legs struck him in the nose, causing it to bleed.
Did the Americans truly believe Musobote was that gullible? The mockeries looked too much like him to be a coincidence, even down to the white trim on the edges of his sleeves. He would not be set up to appear a foolish beggar. So he left America never to return. If they could casually mock a man of Musobote's stature, they obviously were as evil as he had been taught.


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Time to download The Last Witness for your Kindle! Best of all, THEY WILL BE FREE FOR FIVE DAYS!

Between May 12 and May 16, just go to and you will be able to download all five ebooks for free! Yes, that includes War in Heaven!

All we ask in return is a fair review. How's that for cool?

An excerpt from the next Last Witness, book 5: Shattered Prophecy

Colonel Musobote did not want to admit to his scientists that he did not know what the nuclear devices could do. He had thought that he could sell them for tens of millions of American dollars, but he could not forget the sneering words of the American ambassador. The man treated him as if he were the beggar they mocked in the streets. What made Musobote even more angry was that, until he found a way to prove might to the international community, the man was right.

One of Musobote’s top scientists had made a plan to build an army of supermen, using slivers of iridium and chemical treatments. This sparked hope in Musobote. He gave the scientist two hundred thousand dollars and sent him to America to purchase the iridium he needed.

The man defected, keeping the money.

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