Preview of Book II (First Draft)

 Book II, page one.

The God Breakers, Book II

Straight down rain on London black streets. Mirror hard roads echo splashing tires. We stand back on the old brick, between buildings. Wait, then. Let them sneak and creep. Behind, in front, above.

We left Colorado without a plan. The GPS Sara sketched in her note to me is our destination. Karnak, Egypt. They found her, she said. Inanna, the queen of heaven. “Find us.” She said.

Johnny threatened me in his letter that day on the beach. “Keep your mouth shut.” I have. He never said not to travel. Colorado behind us, we landed in New York, and could feel them—the Order of Enlil. Lorraine has an above-average sense for these things. Perception; an elixir mixed with secrets she doesn’t share. It works as described.

With cash, our layover became a transfer. Two economy-class seats. This took us far off our flight path to find my children. Twins, Sara and Justin. Twenty-three. Trained and trapped in the cult of Enlil. Some members of that cult were in our orbit when we got to the airport. Lorraine sensed them on the plane. We played innocent on the flight from New York and walked from the terminal, strapping on our backpacks. Too crowded for an attack. Rising population on a scarred Earth. The sound of children again. Hope. Hethro behind us, we jumped from a black cab onto Dufferin Street. Standing in a cold alley waiting for a fight.

I whisper to my love, “Let’s get out of the rain.”

She nods to a building across the street. Boarded. Possibly empty. We walk casually, her arm in mine. Then it tightens. A quick pace gets us to a side door. I pick the locks the way Emilia taught me. I think on her eyes, lunar eclipsed. Blackened by the poison of Plunge. And the infection of Enlil. Once, she was my wife.

Lorraine detects my disturbance. Rubs my back the way she does. Through the doorway, boxes, trash, and frayed wiring decorate older offices. The dead elevators display ten floors. The stairway is open. We take it. I look to my lover as we climb. She answers my unspoken question.

“Twelve, maybe fourteen. Let’s go to the top. Make them work for it,” she says.

We step in tandem until the top floor opens into a large office reception area—an executive suite. The double door is unlocked, and we close it behind us. Lorraine squeezes my arm.

Her head tips, but the eyes stay. Black strands fall around her long lashes. An outline frames her focus on you—only you, Marcus. Rose blooming lips open from the middle. Each word chimes and vibrates from her throat. I dare not speak before her mouth softly closes, for fear of missing the way she says my name. Gunpowder and blood. They are closer. Determined. Relentless. My body draws to her. Feet move on their own, merging with her. Lorraine stops mid-sentence, forming the pink oval before the kiss, inhaling for both of us, pulling on me without hands. Her face still tipped, knowing, inviting. Pedals part as I enter, and we waltz slowly in our mouths.

Boots and blood. Here they come.

We part. Our hands trail over our clothes, reluctant to leave. Lorraine likes to scratch down my arm—return soon…

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Return of the Anunnaki

 When Will the Anunnaki Return?

Creators of men. First aliens. First Gods?

The Anunnaki landed on our planet at least 100,000 years ago. Those who built the pyramids across the globe. They who seeded the race of (hu)men. Altering our DNA when we were dragging knuckles on the new Earth. 

Ten to thirteen feet tall, they stood above prehistoric humans. An ancient race, according to the Sumerian Tablets and the Epic of Gilgamesh. Written in Cuniform script, tales told of travelling through the hammered bracelet: The Kuiper Belt. Knowledge of space travel and energy weapons. Before proto-humans knew what a telescope was. Adding their distinctiveness to our own through a multitude of experiments. We began walking upright enough to work the mines for gold. The required element to shield their atmosphere. Their planet. Nibiru (Planet X).

Our history, passed from village to village, from cave paintings to papyrus, tells of the beings who ruled us all. From Peru to the Hopi of Arizona, Egypt to Nypal. The Anunnaki (The Anu) gave us law, farming, math, philosophy, metalurgy, and medicine. Each layer of sand and rubble removes lost knowledge from a history forgotten. Rewriting the legends of humanity and religion. 

The God Breakers - Assassins of the Anunnaki novel.
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The God Breakers Chapter 35 Free Preview

The God Breakers – Ch. 35
In The Lair of The Unseen

Dinner done. The silver plates wiped clean. Everyone joins in clearing the aftermath. Justin and I stand to assist, but they gesture for us to stay in our places. Sara is unmoving. Musical instruments carried by gossamer-clad musicians. Set to play in the far corner of the hall. They begin to play after everyone is re-seated. Through the huge doors, ten ladies dance between the tables. Wearing only wreaths of flowers. Their movement is free. Whirling on their toes and bending knees to rise again to celebrate the freedom of their existence. It is hypnotic. I look at Justin, and his usual stoicism is absent as he loses himself in the mesmerizing jubilee. I have meant to ask him if he has a partner, but something usually distracts us.

When their physical motions reach a crescendo, the room erupts with the call of "Hoopta!"

The dancers are then driven to further frenzy.

As they flutter to exit through the large doors, applause follows them. During the dance, my cup is filled and drained repeatedly—with an intoxicating purple liquor. There are no concerns in this place.

Lorraine touches my arm and tips her head for me to follow. I do.

We leave through a side door and into the forest courtyard at dusk. The sun melts. The sea rolls up and down the rocky shoal, licking the dark rocks. Mountains and trees stretch past the horizon without a city in sight. Lorraine takes my hand and mounts a smooth boulder at the water's edge. She stands before me, looking deep into my soul as she always could. The past, the future, pain, gain, and loss fade from this moment that belongs only to us. Her robes fall before I realize my hands are undressing her. Lorraine inhales and removes my linens, our eyes locked on each other. The endurance of my new body drives us into the night. Lorraine is a strong woman—I will speak no more of this. We get very little sleep.

The morning shines down on us. Brush strokes of gold over the ocean. Still intoxicated. I think of Emilia. But was she ever my wife? Our love was never this peaceful as I feel right now. I lost all care for chasing ancient gods or saving the world. Or ex-wives. Everything I am, chasing the dead. I have passed through the veil and been remade. This is my world now, and I want more of it.

A call comes from behind us.

"My lady!"

Lorraine gets up and dons her robes. I dress, and one of her supplicants runs to us, huffing and puffing.

"Numita, calm yourself."

The God Breakers Free Preview

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. Fiction This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental. Moral rights Dennis M. Sweatt (D.M.S.) asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Sweatt, Dennis M., [2020-2026] The God Breakers, Book 1– The Plunge Mystery: a novel/ by Dennis M. Sweatt First Edition ISBN: 979-8-218-59834-1 ISBN: 979-8-234-04964-3 Lore—Ancient Mystery—Action—Urban Fiction Chase—Human Origin—Dark Romance—Mythology Cover Design: by DMS - Photoshop CS2 - Canva Eye Of Horus, God - Pixabay by Kyraxys Cover Photo: Dr. Kyle Snook Copyright © <2026> All rights reserved.

The God Breakers – Ch. 1 Daughter of the Assassin

“…Sara, so like her mother, I could be dead within the hour…” 

Now 

The broken body of a stranger on a living room floor. Guts seep into pearl-white carpet. Thirsty shag drinks our blood. These hands again. 

Before you turn away, I wear a suit jacket off the rack. Book bag, day-old stubble, worn-out shoes. Once a professor of ancient knowledge. I do not get mad in traffic. I am agreeable. You wouldn’t point a finger and cry, killer.

 

Then

Withering Lane—homes dark, cadaverous. Street lights dying. Frozen ground numbs my knees. Watching this house for a day. Grey clouds hide the half-moon. A last lead to a child I never knew existed. A midnight storm threatens my safety. Shadowy contacts—spooks and ghouls, gone like winter moonlight. One shot. Then nothing. Emilia left me a gift I did not imagine. I couldn't save my wife. I vowed to save our child. Sara is here. She must be. 

A thin light beckons through a curtain darkly. Hope has lied to me before. The horizontal cellar door, a weak point. I swallow the liquid, a promised insanity. An acrid purple solution—Plunge. Tinged with the blood of the Anunnaki. The old gods. The first gods. Their rage, their strength. Pristine focus. Eight minutes.  

 

An old model Jeep in the driveway. At the cellar door, I use the pick-tools—resisting the urge to twist it free with the strength of Plunge. The old door protests. The basement exhales mold and darkness. Down the moss-covered steps, across the dark, up the broken stairs. Crossing the kitchen floor. Silence. Should have been a warning. I control my heavy breath and my threatening heartbeat. The first creak at the living room—the dying room. 

 

Stone-faced. His fists flurry with machine mayhem. Emilia’s training my shield. Minutes pass like seconds, my blood drips. Vision double. What you get when the bricks hit back. Plunge lasts for eight minutes. I slip left and right, running the room, running out of time. Throwing chairs, books, and the couch. Desperation has poor aim. Plunge will burn off soon—I'll be defenseless. My chest heaving. He’s getting warmed up. His knees hinge like a trap. Veins pulse in his arms and neck. This soldier of Enlil paces me in tandem. Those eyes, black as the void—the Anunnaki blood raising his endurance. I drank my last bottle, taken from the dead. Fractured frames, fake family photos, lay about white shag. A spill of puzzles. What could have been. Vase fragments at my feet—I'm sure two of my ribs are shattered. A silent fish gasps last its breaths in a wet glass mosaic. Questions unanswered. We understand each other, dying. 

 

Sara’s guardian speaks, "Professor Marcus Mitchell, husband to Emilia Margaret Mitchell," his voice baritone, "You have disrupted The Order." 

"Asshole..." Not my best. Blood filling my mouth. 

I have learned to adapt—by force. University professors aren't trained for witty repartee. We live in the footnotes and die of old age. 

"I'm just getting started!” 

My middle finger the exclamation point. Better. 

 

I slip left, behind the overturned couch. He steps to the same music—a dance macabre. Below me, a spear of wood. Fractured from the innocent bookshelf. It see-saws across a large crystal bowl. Red and green potpourri, blood and leaves, Christmas without her. He focuses on me, the couch between us, the wood unnoticed. Plunge, nitrous in my veins—my heart a blood-hammered piston. A broken clock. The last beats of Marcus Mitchell. 

 

My face, fear, and desperation. He reacts with revulsion and jumps. I raise my arms to keep his eyes up. I kick down, the board rises. It drinks deep from his liver. The wood, sharp, Cathedral. His hands fall short of my throat. Heavy and fast, he is. The board stops at his spine, bending him over. The machine breaks. He looks up from the floor to speak a final warning or curse—he manages a phlegmy gurgle. Blood flows dark from his ulcerated gut, soaking his shirt. It sparkles with Plunge. Blood of the Anunnaki can also heal him. I use the crystal bowl as my final epithet as it rings his skull—blacken pupils roll up into his brain. Death takes him. 

In the kitchen, I wipe blood from my ear and wash my hands of it. The killing bowl filling with water. The fish darts inside the stained glass. Seconds from death and caged again. Something of madness in its look. Judging me. Now, time to save my daughter from these insane killers. 

 

Once a hunter of ancient secrets in the blaze of desert sun. My hands claw the sands of foreign soil, digging for bits of bone—shards of forgotten stories. Much of the me I hoped to be, missing then. Then she was there. Then she was not. Emilia fell. She didn't scream. 

My wife gave birth to Sara before the fall. Emilia kept our daughter in secret. Both lived in the barbed embrace of a power older than the pyramids. The old gods, and their modern servants. The Order of Enlil. They used my life to their own ends twice. I helped them do it. Once upon a time, I taught Ancient Mesopotamian history, the first Sumerian civilizations. You’re nodding off. I get it. No lectures. This is a story of the roads we are all forced to travel. I have touched a sleeping god—one of the Anunnaki—they who created us. 

Prepare yourself for their return. 

This is a field manual. 

 

Now.

Sara Margaret Mitchell, the daughter I do not know. Tied to a chair. My knots. Emilia, mother to Sara, fell from Coit Tower. From these hands. I am not the hero of this story. A year of wandering, lost without her, searching for reason. Living after the rain of fire, when the satellites lit the sky. Slept with my back to a cold wall, dreaming of my wife. The nightmares of Emilia falling to her death began to fade. The ivy halls of my university were rebuilt, my absence forgiven. I threw myself into the work, pursuing tenure as Professor Emeritus. 

 

We wait for Sara to be conscious. 

I removed myself from a killing life. Alone as intended for twenty years, partially retired. Teaching part-time in relative safety. One day, lost in melancholy over what could have been, an old man reeking of death appeared from a shadow in my office. "This is your daughter. They have her." He refused to reveal his motives or identity. I argued the impossibility until I saw her photo. Hair of fire, eyes of jade. Fierce and beautiful. Emilia's child. My legs gave out. Looking up from my office chair to find him gone. 

He gave numbers of two contacts. If they were willing, if I could afford the bribes. Those contacts lead to others. My dead wife had secrets. I didn't know she was a killer when we met. She smelled of garden flowers after cold rain. Gems for eyes. If she had a title, it would have been "Ancient Cult Murder Queen," though, at times, she answered to Mrs. Mitchell. 

 

The guardian has fallen. Servant of an ancient cult no more. Plunge is closing my wounds. I sift through the house for crumbs to their trail—The Order of Enlil. Attempt to grasp their essence, you clutch gossamer threads. Ten thousand years of smoke gone in a breath. This cult is more murder than metaphor. They invite you to the knife. I have the scars. This lead promised my daughter would be here. I search the fallen. Hundreds, perfectly stacked. Drained Plunge bottle. One key. Strange angles. No lock I recognize. I take it anyway. 

 

My hands in dead pockets—hair aflame, Sara erupted from the closet. Heel kick. A blur. Her foot whistles past my jaw. Fast. Sharp. Tempered. The last vial of Plunge swallowed eight minutes before. My blood is lava. A god's blood, before the fade. The warning bell sounds. She weaves through my defenses, knowing my every move. Not this: The Water Strike. Emilia taught her everything. Everything but this. Months to learn and months to recover. Her mother's daughter, student of the world—our violence in common, we fight. "Sara, stop!" The response is left, right, left, swift, accurate. Her fists seek vengeance. Her kicks scythe through the silent air. No choice. My fingers a knife's edge strike her artery. I reduce speed to avoid permanent harm. The impact stops blood from reaching the brain. Enough for a short nap. She drops. My guts braid themselves. 

 

With frayed rope from the basement, I tie her to a chair from the kitchen. Staring at her slumped body, trying to imagine her childhood. Riding bikes, birthday cake, laughing with Emilia. No avail. Plunge sharpens my focus, burning off dopamine, blunting my imagination. This ancient liquid is destroying my body as it alters my destiny. Feeding me—Power. She stirs. I wait for Sara's green eyes to focus on me. I lean forward, hands woven over my knees. Through her copper hair, she leers, straining the ropes. 

"Your struggles can cease. Your mother taught me those knots. Listen to my side, then decide. Or get disappeared, as your mom would say." 

An angry, flightless bird, Emilia's lessons hold her there. 

"I am, was…disappeared. I know why she kept me from you..." 

"...Not the reasons you think." I sit in the other kitchen chair, "Sorry about your friend." I nod at her guardian. 

"I knew him as well as I know you. I don't want to in 5 either case." 

"Your mother warned the Order of Enlil will tighten its grip. Those people are evil, Sara. Whether a person is good or bad, it won't make a difference. It's about population control and some nutty prophecy." 

"You really think I need to be saved?” Sara squints, “Are you going to fight The Order all by your lonesome? One aging professor against a global cabal. Get bent." 

"There must be a price. This is not my life. I'm drowning in blood!" Not my voice. 

 

She glances at the body and the new color of carpet. 

"For what they did to my wife...I need more Plunge. I need to find the head of your cult. And you, my daughter, will help me get it. Who is the Adashur?" Her eyes widen, "I need to find them. Face the head of The Order." 

 

Under a tight brow, hers were Emilia's eyes, too. Wide from revelation and anger, and so green. "Look at your protector with a bowl-sized cavity in his head. How many false leads, how many countries, how many times they made me hunt for you? I didn't give up." Sara Margaret Mitchell raises her head. 

"She was using you as cover. Someone's probably using you right now. I hate you. She hated you." 

...ouch 

"Your lies are the lies they gave you. Yes, I was being used in the beginning. And from the beginning, I loved her. Nothing these cultists said, or you believe, will change this," I centered my eyes on hers, "Nothing." 

"Ha. You’re insane—Plunge has ruined your mind." 

The effect of the ancient liquid still dilating my pupils. 

"How’s your neck?" I walk around the body and to the window, pretending to peer through the louvers. "This house is deep black. Your mother taught you to fight well. Who feeds the fish? Did your mother tell you how we met?" 

The concoction wearing off, I am rambling. 

"It doesn’t matter," Sara says, looking away from me, "You let her die." 

"No. Not ever. She is my world. Your mother was leaving The Order."

 

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New! The God Breakers Novel

 Description: "Marcus watched as his wife Emilia, fell from Coit Tower—murdered by an ancient cult worshipping Sumerian gods. Emilia was their assassin. She kept secrets.

Alien gods—the Anunnaki—seeded the human race 100,000 years ago. They sleep now in the halls of Amenti, waiting to rule again.
Using Plunge, an elixir tainted with the blood of gods, Marcus gains eight minutes of strength, speed, and rage. They call it The Mind Breaker. Each dose brings Marcus closer to oblivion as he pursues Sara—Emilia's secret daughter. His daughter.
One step behind the cult that keeps her—and controls her mind."

Published in 2026. 300+ pages. (Written by human hands and a human mind)