Knuckle’s Legacy is now.
The story is complete. Read the First Chapter below.
Amazon Links
📚 Volume 1: The Righteous Lie
📚 Volume 2: The Clockwork Citadel
THE SAGA
He walked away from the war to be a father. The war didn't care.
Clarence "Knuckle" Jackson is a retired Demon Hunter — legendary, feared, and deliberately buried in a quiet life with his wife and six sons. Then the angels come for his family, and in one devastating night he loses everything: his wife, his children, his home, and five years of his life to a dimensional prison designed to break him.
When he finally escapes, the world has moved on. His best friend has become his enemy. His wife is hiding a truth that will shatter everything he thought he knew. And a Time God named Asmodeus is pulling strings from outside reality — studying Knuckle like a specimen. Not to destroy him. To understand what he is.
The answer will cost him his soul.
The Righteous Lie is the first entry in the Knuckle's Legacy saga — a meta-progressive urban epic fantasy where power is earned through sacrifice, betrayal is the sharpest weapon, and the most dangerous man in the universe is a father with nothing left to lose.
Read for: Fathers who would burn the world for their children · Power systems that cost pieces of your soul · Psychological battles as brutal as physical ones · Betrayal that redefines the entire story · Series you can't stop once you start
Storyteller’s Note:
This book is not what you expect.
What began as a Hero’s Journey was dismantled. It became a demolition.
Knuckle’s Legacy is the thematic mirror to The Hollow Sword Master. Where that story explored the external becoming internal, this story forces the internal—a father’s grief, a husband’s rage—to become external reality.
This is a story about love. But not the soft kind. It is about the terrifying, violent purity of love that weaponizes a man. It asks what happens when you covet power strong enough to protect what you love, and the bill comes due after the war is over.
If you are looking for an escape, you will be disappointed.
If you are looking for comfort, you have chosen the wrong archive.
This story contains graphic violence, intense psychological trauma, and meta-narrative elements that break the fourth wall to challenge the nature of storytelling itself.
I did not hold back. The Entity did not erase me.
Welcome to the Thematic StoryTelling Lighthouse.
— Kevin
Chapter 1: The Day of Rain
Clarence “Knuckle” Jackson’s morning began in peace, but it would end in a nightmare.
On a lazy weekend in August, deep in the quiet hillside of one of the vast Japanese forests, masked by the talisman-warded woods near Kagamino, the Jackson vacation home kept its peace from the busy dealings of California.
Peace was the pause between battles. Peace was the quiet before another demon attack. Knuckle wanted a fight. And for the past three months, there were no battles. No demon attacks.
Because Knuckle retired. Sort of.
The days were supposed to be his vacation. Before Knuckle left for Japan, Syrus told him to, “Go and take your vacation. Your demons will wait until you come back.”
Indeed, the demons did wait. And he did what anyone would do on a day off. He slept in. Yes, Knuckle welcomed his so-called peaceful days until a time when the fragility of it all presented itself again.
***
This one particular morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and the laughter of his boys woke him up. Today was the day; hell, they all practically declared it an unofficial holiday. He wanted a few more hours of sleep, and when they robbed him of that opportunity, he eventually rolled out of bed.
Fastening his robe, he poked his head outside. The talisman swung like a metronome between the windows, as if it were counting the seconds he was awake. One of his sons, Carl, walked along the perimeter of trees heading toward the dojo. The dojo should have been cleaned before the sun rose, which means something, or someone, probably the other boys, kept Carl from completing that task. The young boy shook his head, turned to the house and saw a glimpse of his father staring at him, then walked faster.
Knuckle moved away from the window and proceeded to check the other rooms to see if the boys had also started on their chores. Depending on how close to completion they were, they would sprint as many laps to Kagamino as needed.
Carl, being late for his chores, started the beginning laps at ten…
No doubt they seized the opportunity to slack off in their duties. He could never take a day off because of his job. He couldn’t afford to. Which is why when his internal clock woke him up hours ago, he wasn’t going to give the children the benefit of the doubt. They need to be more disciplined. Demons will not wait for them to do so.
‘Wake before the sun rises, and prepare for the dawn,’ as he always told them.
Hearing cleaning sounds from the first open room, he stopped to peek inside.
“Dad, good morning,” Terry said, picking up the paper drawings scattered on the floor. Knuckle grabbed the furthest one away from him, a crude drawing of their family with a rough sketch of a dog, a large yellow dog, about as tall as the boys in the picture. “It’s a yellow… submarine with ears?”
“Dad, that’s Thunder, our dog.”
“You are not getting a dog.”
“Why not?”
Twenty laps for even suggesting getting a dog. A yapping dog to bark at false alarms with every butterfly. To give away positions. What ninja would have a dog? But the thought did cross his mind that a trained one with keen senses would be ideal, but a yellow one is way too noticeable. Wait, do they come in yellow?
“Good morning, Dad,” Quorell greeted, continuing to perfect the corners on his bed. He was having a rough go at it, as every time Quorell pulls on one, the other corner pulls away, increasing the frustration from the effort.
“Hang on, pull.” Knuckle moved to one end, had him pull, and secured the sheets in place.
“Thanks, Dad, we will start on our chores in a second. Mom wanted us to clean our room first.”
Ok, the youngest two will only sprint ten times to the town. At least they were busy.
Which finally led to the laughter in the kitchen belonging to his wife, Coraline, and the three oldest, Kenny, Patrick, and Junior, who were about to discover extra laps as there was no doubt they had even started their chores.
He leaned near the door frame. Coraline spotted him first; she always had that knack of doing so, and pulled out a coffee cup from the pantry. The boys, of course, were goofing off and had not realized that their father was waiting near the door. He could surprise them, of course, but he figured that Kenny was about to do something stupid, and other than stopping him before he did, he let whatever shenanigans play out and punish them after.
“…and watch, when you do… this…” Kenny shifted his foot and yelled, “Kamikaze Wave-Kick!” He jumped and turned, haphazardly swinging the ball of his foot around his body in a poor attempt to clear the table, slamming the side of his leg directly onto it, knocking the salt and pepper shakers along with several filled cups of milk onto the floor. “Ow! Son of a—” He caught himself before Coraline turned around, but before she scolded him, Patrick and Junior burst into a laugh which caused his wife to stop and giggle as well. Coraline’s laughter softened his heart. However.
Goofing off. In the house. In the kitchen.
Patrick reached under the table to retrieve the fallen shakers. “Dude, Pops is going to mess you up if he sees you doing that dumb shit. Cut it out. Besides, he will never go for it in training.”
“Yo, he is still sleeping… day off, remember?” Kenny shot back. “And he will definitely approve of this shit. Hell, he might try it himself one day.”
“Boys, language,” Coraline piped back, pouring the coffee into the mug. “Kenny, are you ok?”
Before his wild child answered, Junior glanced at his father’s coffee mug, went into a cold silence, and nudged Patrick before straightening in his seat.
Kenny, the last to become aware, quickly changed his tune. “I mean, I was only warming up. You know… to run.”
Knuckle stepped from around the beam and kissed Coraline, accepting the morning joe. “Exactly,” he said, taking his first sip. The coffee soothed his temperament, sparing the boys from an extreme version of their impending punishment. “Take the other two jokesters with you, as they are complicit in seeing you act a fool. In the kitchen, for God’s sake. And why are you calling out your attacks like those damn cartoons ya’ll watch?”
“Dad, they are called anime, and well, you know, calling them out strikes fear in your opponent so that when they get their ass kicked, they say… I got my ass beat by a Kamikaze Wave!”
“They are called what?” Knuckle said, not caring what they were called at this point.
Patrick immediately pulled Kenny aside and covered his mouth. “Sorry, Pops, we will teach him better.”
“No, you won’t, because you will be out of breath to teach him anything. And mind your mother and watch your language with that silly nonsense. You three will be last for the bacon. Now go before I take the grits, too. Stupid cartoon anime bullshit.”
Knuckle kept on past the kitchen, heading out to his usual spot on the front porch, all while listening to the groan and bicker between them. After everything he’d encountered in his life… the wars, the supernatural, the endless supply of demons, all their training resulted in nothing if the enemy preempted the attacks. Kamikaze Wave Kick. Cartoon nonsense indeed.
These moments of bliss returned his payment in kind. His boys, safe, content, and…
…the outside air on fire. The air changed drastically, from the maple aroma of cooked bacon to the sterile air of a hospital.
He reached for where his sword usually rested on his back. He set the cup near the windowsill. The hair on his arms stood rigid, and his eyes quickly inventoried the space around him.
A tree caught fire. His eyes refused to acknowledge what his senses screamed. The tree acted as if it burned for days, yet no leaves fell or disintegrated. Every leaf stood perfectly, except the tree would not speak to him; in fact, no sound reached out at all from the burning.
Each leaf darkened its color, and every branch grew another leaf. The tree became more of a tree than most trees would become. One full of life, nourished by the earth, and the care of a thousand gardeners watching over it.
The rain fell soon after. A torrent of water loosened the dirt and upended the rocks, all of it threatening to take his house and carry it down to the river at the bottom of the hills.
“Patrick, Junior, come out here!” Knuckle yelled.
The boys stepped outside to witness his fragile peace deteriorate. “Dad, what’s up? Did Q forget to take the trash out again?” Patrick asked. “Oh, man, what is with the rain?”
More trees, each one perfectly lined around the perimeter, caught on fire as if an invisible ghost marched alongside them and told them to blow aflame—all the signs of a demon infestation.
“Dad, look at the pattern,” Patrick replied. “It’s circling the house.”
Junior stepped off the porch, letting the rain bathe him. “Father, there are no clouds. And the grass smells like someone dumped chlorine everywhere. Look.”
There were no clouds in the sky to produce the rain, and this was a first for him. His nerves wavered.
The talismans hanging on the porch sparked and crumbled into ashes. They were demon warding, only breakable when humans purposely destroyed them. No demons should be able to even touch the perimeter fence.
“Dad, Mom is acting weird,” Terry said with Quorell right behind him. “She is like a statue when she started pouring our juice.”
Knuckle turned to check on his wife—
But Junior pulled on his shoulder to stop him, “Dad, it’s Carl, what is he doing?”
Carl stood in the rain to stare at the burning trees, frozen stiff, yet the rain refused to touch him; in fact, it avoided him. “Carl! Get inside, now!”
Junior stepped near him, shook his brother, then backed away a few steps. “Dad, you’d better come see this.”
“Patrick,” Knuckle said, his mind re-strategizing. “Go check on your mom, and take these two back in the house. And grab the salt purification pouches underneath the sink!”
“On it, Pops,” Patrick said. “Let’s go, you too, show me what Mom is doing.”
Knuckle stepped off the porch, the rain hitting his skin. He wished he weren’t in his robe. “Carl, what is wrong with—”
Carl’s eyes were not the eyes of his son. They were someone else’s. A glowing azure light pulsed as if a flashlight going in and out, and for a split second, the aura had no connection to him, yet his mind told him otherwise.
Carl spoke, and not with his voice Knuckle was accustomed to hearing, but of someone else. Something else.
You must end where it all begins.
Lightning struck the sky, followed by three comets in rapid succession, landing in the forest. Knuckle expected several impacts, only to drop in pressure and the tinnitus that followed.
“Carl! Carl!” Knuckle slapped him.
Carl stared at his dad, and whatever wrongness overcame him left his body. Rain soaked his hair, and he also became a wet rag, joining his father and brother. “Yes, that is not creepy at all,” Carl said. “My ears hurt. Kevin, so this is how you start it.”
Knuckle checked the boy’s eyes, back to their usual black. “Son, are you ok? What is it that I start? Who is Kevin?”
“What?” Carl said, shaking his head. “What are you talking about, Father? Why are we in the rain?”
“Never mind that now. Junior, get him inside, and bring me Kaze, now!” Knuckle yelled.
By the time they crossed onto the porch, he turned his head to the sounds of movement in the forest behind him. Three figures step out of the woods and into the boundaries of his house. They were giants, easily seven feet tall. They stood at the border, staring at the house in their white three-piece suits, which were out of place. If he had seen them elsewhere, he might have mistaken them for foreign businesspeople.
Knuckle grabbed his chair and broke it in several pieces. Choosing the largest piece, he drew a makeshift runic symbol in the dirt. “That is far enough. You obviously want to pick a fight. Regardless of your intentions, you will not make it back to hell in one piece. In fact, you can tell your demon lords that I am now pissed off, and I will come for them next.”
A sharp wind blew across the yard, wiping the sigil clean. No demon could do that.
Coraline acted worse than they described her. She stood right outside the door, holding the glass juice pitcher, and dropped it on the ground, shattering it into several pieces.
For the first time in twenty years, he backed away from her, his body begging him to strike at the demon wearing her skin.
A clear chorus of voices seemed to come from all three men at once, a sound that resonated deep in the bones of his body. “Return and face Judgement for violating the Carnesha Accords. Your status is arrested, and the High Seraph has deemed your actions blasphemous. You will prepare for Commencement.”
The words came through as clean and pure as the rain itself. No messy dialect, and for a bit, he did not think it was the English language.
The way the rain bounced off them, shielding them from the entire concept of getting wet. Coraline stepped forward as the sounds of cracked glass permeated the air. She was barefoot, not wearing her usual sandals, and yet she moved onto the porch, stepping on the broken glass. There was no blood coming from her feet. The sound of crunching followed like an afterthought.
“Love, your feet, get back in the house—”
“Clarence,” she said, through a voice inside his head, “For the first time since I met you, I never told you these words, until now. Stop talking.”
“Like hell,” Knuckle replied, kneeling and picking up a shard of glass. Slicing a finger, he used his blood to draw repulsion sigils on the porch frames.
Her voice, elegant and pure, returned, though this time it was spoken aloud. “This violation of the agreement will not stand.”
The chorus from the men in white returned its rebuttal. “The High Seraph’s orders are absolute. Be warned, the subjects you harbor are to be arrested, not purged.”
Her voice changed again, this time back to her normal voice. “You have your orders, and I understand the position I have put you in. But go to hell.”
The rain stopped.
A momentary silence, only the pattering of rain hitting the roof. The voice spoke again, this time louder. The chorus of voices spoke the single, final word.
Commencement.
On that front porch, standing with his boys, versus a trio of supernatural threats that had come to the Jackson home…
Knuckle’s peace was forever shattered.
Continue the Story on Amazon Kindle and Paperback. Experience the Legacy.
Amazon Links
📚 Volume 1: The Righteous Lie
📚 Volume 2: The Clockwork Citadel