Some stories are written to entertain.
Some to distract.
I write to disturb the silence.
When I sat down to create Shock and Awe, I wasn’t chasing genre or trends. I was digging into something deeper: the invisible machinery behind power, war, betrayal—and the possibility of redemption through fire.
James Cobalt wasn’t born as a hero. He didn’t get the clean arc or the polished origin. He came from blood and ruin, from Bangkok gutters and broken vows. And through him, I explore a truth that most fiction won’t touch:
Spiritual awakening doesn’t always look like light. Sometimes it looks like destruction.
These are dangerous stories. Not because of violence or shadows—but because they whisper things that readers aren’t supposed to hear:
- That the system was never built to save you.
- That your soul is more than a role.
- That remembering who you are might get you killed—but forgetting is worse.
I don’t write from a place of safety. I write from lived experience. From the things that nearly broke me. From the moments I stood at the edge of a life and chose to leap anyway.
That’s why Shock and Awe is more than a book. It’s an initiation. A serialized spiritual thriller wrapped in ghost-soldier myth and jungle grit. A modern myth for people who’ve already died once inside and are looking for something real.
But it’s not just Shock and Awe.
Every piece of fiction I’ve written—Mia’s Journey, Three Pagoda Pass, Bad Karma, and those yet to be born—reflects a soul’s journey through fire. The stories are raw because the transformation is. I don’t soften the edges. I don’t hand out neat endings. That’s not what the path looks like.
Sometimes you wake up in a temple.
Sometimes in a cage.
Sometimes with blood on your hands and no memory of how it got there.
These books aren't escapism. They're a mirror. They ask: What part of you still wants to run? What part of you is ready to burn?
Readers who come to my work expecting a formulaic hero’s journey often get blindsided. Good. That means it’s working. That means you’ve stumbled into something real.
There’s a reason why the mystics say, “You must die before you die.”
Because what waits on the other side isn’t comfort. It’s clarity.
If you’ve read this far, I’m not just writing for you—I’m writing with you.
The fire’s already burning. Come walk with me.
Also, tell me what you think of my fiction. Good or bad.
—John Rebell
