Visual, Visceral, Thrilling...

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About the Author

JG Koratzanis was born in Brooklyn and raised in Staten Island, NY. He is a fiction author and novelist, writing within the fringes of dark fantasy and horror genres. His approach to writing is to fast and furious, leaving little room to breath.

His stories, though dark and suspensful thirllers, are all designed to keep your pulse pounding and your eyes racing. When he is not intriguing readers with his works, he is most likely imagining the darkness that lurks within the shadows of the human psyche.

JG's books are a mixture of fantasy, action, and the human experience. If you're looking for a good place to start, take a look at his first novel Repentant, available now.

JG is aslo an established in fine arts and comic artist as well as web development and design. To see more of his works, head over to JKOR Graffix.

Available on Amazon, Kindle, and everywhere online books are sold

Repentant: The Road to Hell

He thought ending his life would stop the pain. He was so very wrong.

Chase Romano never had a chance. Plummeting further into the abyss of his own torment, he abandoned the little he had left; his love, his dignity and his life.

After descending into hell, the mysterious Edison Rowley offered him one last chance at redemption. To face his demons and suffer trials in a tournament of damnation.

But Chase can sense a darker, more sinister impulse behind Edison’s words. As in hell, a twisted mirror reality of the normal world, not is all as it seems.

All he wants now is to be forgiven. For what he had done. And for what he left undone.

Can Chase be forgiven after the lives he condemned and the love he cursed?

Find out in this contemporary horror, dark, paranormal urban fantasy series!

Repentant is the first book of JG Koratzanis’ the Road To Hell series; a story originally inspired by the epic poem, the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.

Available on Kindle and Amazon.




Below the Glass Sky

A short life, a dark secret, and a soul condemned to hell.

As the soul-claiming hand of death caresses Misa’s weary head, she glimpses the fleeting light of a life forever lost. The loves and the losses. The nightmares and the dark secret she tried to forget.

Plummeting under the dark expanse that separates this world from the next, the uncertainty of what fate lies in store is answered in the past.

Will she be forgiven for what happened in the cabin? Or will she travel down the road to hell for all eternity?

Below the Glass Sky is a dark urban fantasy, following the life and death of a strong woman as she watches the moments that shaped her destiny, flash before her dying eyes, and the torments she is condemned to face in the twisted reality of the afterlife.

*WARNING! - Contains adult situations. Intended for Mature Audiences.


If you’re a fan of Clive Barker, William Peter Blatty and Stephen King, then you will love this relentless, dark and thrilling fantasy.

Available on Kindle and Amazon.




Coward: A Dark Tragedy

A hope lost, a love broken and a life destroyed.

As the darkness erodes his every desire, a terrifying crisis looms in the obscure recesses of Chase’s mind.

Through his life of violence, hatred and self-loathing, he continues to push everyone he loves away. Especially the ones he needs, more than he could ever imagine.

Can he turn his life around before it's too late?

Will he?

This dark, tragic novel follows the downward spiral of a young man's life, and the ultimate decision that could claim his life.

Coward: A Dark Tragedy, is the prequel to Repentant: The Road to Hell.

*eBook Available for FREE only by signing up at JGKOR.com

***Print copies unfortunately will require trade for paper with deceased notables on them (a few bucks).***

Free Desktop Wallpapers

Download your free wallpapers of the Repentant, Below the Glass Sky and Coward book covers.



REPENTANT
Below the Glass Sky
Coward

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EXERPT FROM Coward: A Dark Tragedy

***Warning! Contains adult language not suitable for children.***

PART ONE

DARKNESS, MY FRIEND

DAY 6

1

Chase stared at the nothingness before him and the emptiness within.

The moonlight cascaded lackadaisically through the battered blinds as the normal bustle of the Ridge Boulevard waned into unconsciousness, save for the late night drunks looking for one last fix from the Convenient-Mart corner deli.

The dark stillness of the studio apartment reeked of stale scotch, nicotine and regret. Every now and again, the cool breeze of Late-October or the diminishing wail of police sirens, filtered through the open window and made his head twitch.

How long had it been, he couldn't remember. The darkness, the loneliness and the pain had engulfed him and it ripped at his psyche with razor sharp claws.

His foot jerked and sent the overloaded TV tray crashing to the worn floor. The packed ashtray, empty bottles and half eaten container of Chinese food skittered about the already littered floor.

He looked down and resumed his motionless, unfocused gaze on the overly brilliant screen of the muted television as his cigarette hung loosely from his fingers. The crawl at the bottom of the newscast reading, Suicide by Cop, didn't register in his consciousness as his mind filtered out the flashing blue and red lights, the yellow police tape and the reporter who probably got her job on her Playboy Bunny looks rather than her journalistic prowess.

The full length of unsmoked ash arced and defied gravity above his hand. His middle finger would flick every now and again, but the burnt out remains held.

"Cock sucker!" he yelled as the final ember burned below the filter and between his knuckles.

He roared as he jumped from the chair and kicked the TV tray. The legs hooked around the heel of his boot. As he swung his foot back around, the tray caught between his knees and he crashed through his pressboard coffee table.

Laying there and staring at the ceiling, he tried to recall the events of the last week. The drunken haze sprinkled with lucid moments bled together in a muck of pain and deceit.

The beating into submission when he told the infamous Mister Baz that he was out, rang crystal clear.

"Let me tell you somethin, kid. You do as you're told. Nobody walks away from me and Mister Raguzzio," were Baz' last words before his lunchbox fists pounded Chase into hamburger.

But that was nothing compared to the letter he received, or the look in her eyes.

Fucking loser!

He rolled over and pushed back up to his feet. The rage erupted once more underneath his cracked, tectonic shell.

Bit by splintered bit, he hurtled pieces of the table throughout the room. One tore through the leaned stack of returned paintings from the Forever Yours Galleria, shearing a gruesome gash across the Man in the Sewers neck. Another caught the blinds and shattered the window. And another skipped across the entertainment center, knocking over framed photos and comic book memorabilia.

He stomped over to the dinette table, grunted and swiped his piled laundry, Wendy's cups and cell phone to the floor.

He picked up the phone and throttled it in his hands.

"Why? Why would you do this to me?" he screamed at the device.

Chase spun and chucked it into the wall unit. He watched in slow motion as it shot directly into a photo of Heather.

The clamor of obliterating glass pierced his ears and sent a chill down his spine.

He leapt over the debris field, scattering clothes, cigarette butts and broken wood as he tripped his way across.

Ignoring the broken glass slicing his palms and fingers, Chase clasped the frame with both hands.

"Why, God? Why?" he yelled. He clutched the frame tighter against his chest as it slipped in the flow of blood.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault!"

Chase collapsed to the floor. He heard the dull thud of a mop handle and a muffled woman's voice yelling for him to knock it off.

"Please, help me," he whimpered. An unintelligible wail burned his throat and churned the scotch and bile in his belly.

Chase grabbed a blade of the broken glass. It sliced his palm as he squeezed. Another keening growl, and he ran the jagged edge across his forearm. Droplets of blood squeezed from his pores.

"Fucking loser! Just do it!" he yelled.

Again, he brought it to his arm, and tore deeper. His blood flowed more greedily this time as he watched and waited. His hand shook and he dropped the glass. Chase gripped his forearm.

His eyes clamped shut and his rapid-fire gasps made his head go light. His head collapsed to the dingy floor, which his cheek almost immediately adhered with stale, dried booze and tears.

"Fuck you. Fuck you," he sniveled and clutched his arm tighter.

"I don't wanna-- Why won't you just let me--"

Chase rolled to his back and his arms splayed out. He gazed at the slivered arc of the moon and wept.

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