‘TRVE CVLT’: Tenebrous Press Releases Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Style Heavy Metal Horror Novel [Exclusive]
If you grew up reading choose-your-own-adventure novels, then you simply must check out Tenebrous Press’ latest release, TRVE CVLT, from author Michael Bettendorf. Their new horror novel is a gamebook, an adult-focused version of a choose-your-own-adventure style story where you get to follow your own path through the narrative. Bettendorf’s novel is described as “a meta-exploration of religious trauma, arrested adolescence and anxiety…and its Metal as F$%k”. If that sounds fun to you, then keep reading for our exclusive excerpt from the novel!
Read the full synopsis:
You wake with a brutal hangover, but that can’t crush your spirits: you’ve been invited to take back the drum throne for Abyss, the cult band you co-founded!
It means quashing a turbulent history with Abyss’ vocalist, Austin. You aren’t sure if he’s invited you back to bury the hatchet, or if he’s just desperate because infamous black metal legends Waste Doctrine are rolling through town. They’ve given you the opportunity to open for them and maybe, finally, get the hell out of this nowhere town.
The promise of the upcoming gig doesn’t come without its share of hurdles. Austin’s hellbent on creating a ritualistic experience out of the performance, turning the abandoned roadhouse he’s chosen as a venue into a bloody, occult nightmare. Yes, it’s black f$%king metal, but is it too far?
Only you can decide.
Get the gig. Ditch this town. Burn them all alive.
Bettendorf is a speculative fiction writer from Nebraska, primarily interested in genre blending sci-fi, horror, and crime, often inspired by growing up in the Midwest. TRVE CVLT is his debut novel.
TRVE CVLT is available now wherever you buy books.
Now read our exclusive excerpt and go on your own adventure through the new hellish novel…
You’ve been here before. This pit. This blackened headspace where all of your memories are blurry. They’re jumbled and soft-edged and don’t fit together like they should, but instead, they melt into one another until they become a collage of mental ichor that resembles everything you know and yet nothing at all. Maybe that’s all life is. A dance between everything and nothing.
It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been awake. There are no windows in this room, a term you use loosely. It’s more of a closet. It’s pitch dark, and judging by the fire webbing across your skull, you believe that’s for the best. Your teeth are gritty, and your tongue feels heavy and bloated, weighed down by whisky breath and poor decisions.
You feel around for anything within arm’s reach. Something to align your senses and give you any hint where you are. To your left, a box of bottles clinks together. Soft cloth—robes—hang above you. Candles, some smooth, some disfigured, wicks crispy, lay spilled all over the floor. Despite the fog of a brutal hangover, you’re beginning to piece it together. A wedding reception, not just another night of getting fucked up because there was nothing else to do.
Your stomach writhes in cruel response.
The deafening chord from an organ vibrates into the small, enclosed room. Soon, there’s chanting. You burp. Bile snakes its way up your throat, coating your esophagus in venom. You choke it down. Oh fuck, you know nothing good is going to come from this.
Both the hymn and the pressure in your gut crescendo.
You stand—instinctual, but too quickly—and you know it’s now or never.
You run to find a bathroom—go to 2.
You take a deep breath and wait it out—go to 3.
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