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Immortals' Requiem by Vincent Bobbe - Book Tour + Giveaway

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Immortals' Requiem
by Vincent Bobbe

Genre: Epic Grimdark Fantasy

There are beings that live a shadow's breadth from our reality...
They are the dreams and nightmares of humanity, the ancient seeds of
fairy-tale and superstition. These are the Immortals, creatures of
magic that should live forever... 
they are fading
When a horror two thousand years dead returns to contemporary England,
creatures long thought lost to myth and legend collide in a scramble
for survival that could tumble civilisation back into the dark ages
of blood and death.
Immortals’ Requiem is a Tolkienesque grimdark fantasy based in both a modern day city and
vast supernatural worlds. If you like the idea of a drunken elf with
a shotgun, an ancient warrior with a chainsaw and a whole host of
violent supernatural beings you’ll love this gritty 
Amazon Number 1 Bestseller.

Buy Immortals' Requiem to lose yourself in this epic award
 dark fantasy adventure today!

Or, Get the Book FREE HERE!

The car pulled up a few feet from Sam, and the occupants poured out. ‘What the fuck? Did you think you could outrun a Ferrari? You stupid fucking prick.’ The four men walked towards him, Skinhead at the front. Sam waited patiently. Skinhead stopped a foot from Sam.
Skinhead lashed out at him, his fist slamming into Sam’s face. Sam felt it, but it was as if the sensation came from a distance. He registered the impact, but he did not feel pain, nor did he feel any need to move. It was like being hit by a wet sponge.
‘The problem with you lot,’ he said as he casually reached out and gripped Skinhead by the throat, ‘is that you do not recognise a demigod when you see one.’ Sam tossed the bigger man to the ground.
‘What?’ Spiky Hair whined. His eyes were wide, and they were stuck on Skinhead who was lying on the ground holding his throat.
‘Why are you driving around like this anyway? The cost of renting this thing … and the petrol … it’d be cheaper to go and have a few drinks. You might actually meet someone the old-fashioned way, rather than trying to pick up some poor little bitch, too pissed to know what she’s doing. That’s what you’re up to, right? It’s pathetic.’
Skinhead had gotten back to his feet. His face was a mask of anger. Sam was enjoying himself. ‘I’m warning you,’ Skinhead said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
‘What? You’re going to assault my fingers with your throat again? I like this car; I think I’m going to keep it.’
‘I’m going to kill you,’ said Skinhead.
‘You’d be surprised at how hard that is.’ Sam looked at the men and realised he was already bored. ‘Go on, get lost before I decide to actually hurt you.’
Skinhead marched up to him and started waving his hands around in Sam’s face. ‘I’m not some little bitch, you know. I’ll fucking kill you. You can’t come over here and threaten me. Do you know who I am? Do you?’ Spiky Hair and Pink Polo Shirt came and grabbed Skinhead by the arms to hold him back. Sam watched the act with bemusement. ‘You motherfucker,’ Skinhead raged on. ‘You motherfucker. You pansy ass, queer fucking bastard. You think you’re hard; you think you’re some kind of hard man – I’ll fucking smoke you.’ A fleck of spittle landed on Sam’s face.
‘Go home. You’re getting boring.’
‘Boring? I’ll show you fucking boring – I’ll show your wife fucking boring. I’ll stuff my fucking cock in her mouth, you homo bastard. I’ll …’
Sam had stopped listening. With the mention of his wife, amusement had tripped over into pure, unadulterated rage. His face twisted up, and a low growl issued from his throat. He fixed his eyes on Skinhead, who met his gaze and stopped speaking. Fear crossed his face.
‘Fuck, look at his eyes,’ Mobile Phone mumbled from behind them.
‘Let him go,’ Sam said to Spiky Hair and Pink Polo Shirt. ‘Let him go and then start running, because as soon as I’m done with him, I’m coming for you. That’ll give you maybe ten seconds. Run and hide.’ The other three turned and ran back across the car park together. ‘You want to fight me? You’ve got your wish,’ Sam said in a harsh voice.
‘I don’t want to fight you,’ Skinhead said. A thick waft of urine rose from the man.
‘Too late,’ Sam said.
‘Please?’ Skinhead begged softly. Sam snarled. Skinhead’s screams were cut off before they even started. Then Sam went after the others.

Vincent Bobbe is nearly forty years old. When he was about ten, he tripped on
an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel and fell into his own brain. He's not
quite managed to climb out yet, because the things that found him in
there keep clawing him back in. 

He's happily married with two young children and lives in Manchester,
England. His wife is horrifically allergic to pretty much everything,
so he doesn't have any pets. This suits him.

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive content and a giveaway!

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