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Is it more than just a game?

A global spectacle of triumph and anguish.

A grand pageant of violence and drama.

America’s game has now become the world’s favorite pastime, and she is not just the WFFL’s latest superstar…but the future of humanity!

In a world secretly ruled by an organized crime pyramid with strange and mystical powers known as the Octagonal, and while a legend who harbors a dark secret strives for one last shot at glory in the twilight of his career, crime lord Gigi Salerno is the sinister hand casting the ultimate fate of victory or defeat.

And, he will utilize any means necessary to ensure the Octagonal remains in control of the world’s most popular game.

But when a brilliant team doctor envisions future WFFL rosters filled out with AI, Salerno’s masters secretly decide he’s expendable.

Now threatened by the intrepid ambitions of a young sports columnist determined to expose the Octagonal, and faced with the covert maneuvering of a once trusted lieutenant and the conflicted loyalties of an unscrupulous team general manager, Salerno is confronted with a dilemma: he may have to befriend one of his enemies to vanquish his double crossing masters.

Will he survive long enough to capture what he secretly desires most – the reluctant affections of a beautiful woman?

EXCERPT from Chapter 1 of Twilight’s Last Glory:

Winchester, Massachusetts (sometime before Christmas 2030)

The morning’s golden bloom withered beneath the melancholy winter’s gray haze.

Foggy mists like strange sea monsters swam over a blissful suburbia’s snowflake-white castles drowned in the dark hues of a menacing ocean’s murky depths.

Stiffer than a coroner’s cadaver, on his black leather couch, Rivers was stirred from dreamless slumber with a convulsing tug to his naked ebony shoulder.

Vibrant recollections quickly stirred. Ghosts from the previous evening’s wanton bacchanalia at the casino hotel suite haunted his woozy brain’s cobwebbed catacombs, and he desperately hoped the rough trade he and Coach McCrae got into with some of Gigi Salerno’s high-end but underage escort girls at the party would somehow never go public.

Then, something monstrous, what appeared to be perhaps some misshapen apparition, rudely converged into his blurred vision.

Had some surreal nightmare disturbed his peaceful slumber?

Am I now truly awake, Rivers wondered, or…Oh god, No! Gigi Salerno!

Clarity’s brutal truncheon threatened to shatter his egg shell skull and pound away the brain’s stubborn sloth. Invading armies of crude vibrations pillaged the vulnerable ramparts of his shaken senses.

Rivers found himself confronted by a woeful countenance: a crypt gray foghorn nose bulging from gobbets of pasty flesh and pitiless tarantula black eyes lingered in fearful proximity.

Cement-laden limbs felt instantly shot with nitroglycerin, and that year’s top New England Rebel’s draft pick began to clumsily scurry as if he were a skittish rabbit in desperate flight from a vicious predator. But the gorilla-sized hand rousted Rivers awake seized him in a cast iron grip, and pushed him back down on the couch in a disheveled heap.

“Haven’t you ever heard too much of a good thing isn’t good for you, Jay,” Rivers heard the dooming whisper of a husky baritone.

Rivers felt the veins beneath his skin begin to convulse like unsteady fault lines. The floor beneath the couch seemed to transform to a bottomless pit rimmed with purgatory’s flames.

Is there a chance I might fall in? Rivers mulled.