Author Steven Clark Bradley is a multifaceted, professionally published author. Because of Steven’s unique experience as a world-traveling author, he is able to very vividly and authentically write about place that many have only read about and few have actually seen. Steven simply loves writing, and he has been blessed to travel extensively and loves to see the world. His travels around the world to 35 countries give him a really interesting amount and unique ways of explaining the characters in his stories. The driving force of his life is to tell the world around him what he has seen and how it impacts our lives today, how yesterday brought us to where we are now, and how it will certainly affect us all in the future.

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Nimrod Rising - Sincere and Dedicated Part One

Continue your glance into the world of Nimrod Rising as Alex Maefield takes further fatalistic steps into the darkness that has invaded his very being. Many of us find the spirit world hard to fathom and difficult to believe. During my research for Nimrod Rising, I came to the shock and realization of just how real the spiritual world truly is. I realized that Watchers are simply created beings, like unto ourselves, prone to do the wrong and tempted to rebel, also like the tragedy of the Human Race. Yet, the Watchers who turned against Elyon (God) are bitter and angry and determined to get the kingdom they ruled on the Earth before they were cast out and mankind was created. Witness the power and the confusion in this young man, Alex as he both feels the terror and allure of his new-found power that makes him special in the realm of the physical.

In Part one of Nimrod Rising - Sincere and Dedicated, you can feel this young man's fear and speculation. He knows he needs to reject the call from darkness and turn his life over to the true force of power for good, but he he wants to continue to let this evil call fill his life as well. I think you you may be able to see the same decisions in your own life when you, and like all the rest of us, you have to make a conscious determination to follow the right whether than the wrong that eventually infects every area of our lives. In America today, we are all faced with the same kind of decisions. Will we, as a nation, choose to listen to the calls from the forces of good or will we finally give way to the natural instincts to let evil pervade us? With the deaths of 37 million babies through abortion, the calls for same-sex marriage and the recent loss of dignity through the forces of the culture of death, America is at a crossroads, just like Alex himself, we must choose today whom we will serve. Read this excerpt from Nimrod Rising and decide for yourself...

Nimrod Rising - Sincere and Dedicated Part One

Alex finally made it to the Vineyard base. The Ford transit, carrying Sally to Islamabad, had already departed. Alex had hoped to at least wish Sally a safe trip. He had just wanted to see her enticing face one more time; to let her look in his eyes and see the confusion that was leading him to madness. She would have immediately understood. She would at least see that there was something very wrong with him. Instead, Alex and his team leader, Mike Wakely would travel to Islamabad together.

“Alex! Great to see you man! I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Mike Wakely was a gentle soul. He had the usual quaintness of speech and movement of the British. Yet, there was a certain toughness, a genuine grit that had been built up inside him after having been in India and Pakistan for so many years. Mike was one of the “Founding Fathers” of the Vineyard. He had been with the mission since its inception. He was responsible for all the teams in India, Pakistan and the rest of the Far East. As for Alex, Mike had a certain appreciation for the young man. He felt that Alex was sincere in his desire to spread the gospel to the lost religious followers of Mohammed throughout Pakistan and India.

Americans had always been very successful at rubbing the Brits the wrong way. Mike had a way of laughing it off. He was a true gentleman.

“You and I are going together.” Mike said with a muffled voice with his head under the hood of his tiny Suzuki minivan.

“What’s wrong with the baby carriage?” asked Alex

“The what? Oh, the van? I don’t know really. It starts and takes off then it just loses power.”

“Mike, the word ‘power’ just doesn’t fit in respect to this buggy.”

Mike chuckled. “Alex, could you look through the tool chest and find me a #10 wrench?” Alex looked for the tool as Mike waited patiently with his head under the hood singing softly, “Onward Christian Soldiers, marching on to war…”

Alex handed Mike the wrench and Mike saw the scrapes and bruises around Alex’s wrist. Mike panicked and tried not to think the worst of it or to show his concern. Mike had known for a while that Alex seemed more perplexed than normal. He thought it to be just a bit of lost zeal that every worker experienced after a certain amount of time on the field. Alex felt that Mike had been troubled in his spirit and then began to see a sort of strange green colored light around Mike’s shoulders, arms and head. It was like the rays given off of a florescent light that glowed but never quite lit completely. Mike’s mind began to analyze the bruises around Alex’s wrist.

“Had the boy tried to kill himself? What’s troubling him? He hadn’t been normal at the prayer meeting this morning.”

Alex was reading Mike’s thoughts. Mike’s mental words entered Alex’s mind as though they had been verbally uttered. Alex could hear the words though Mike had not spoken a thing. Suddenly, Alex realized that Mike had seen his wrist.

“He thinks that I tried to…” Alex panicked!

There was no way that Alex would be able to explain the dream to Mike, or to anyone, for that matter. Even Sally would have a hard time digesting it. They would all think he had a serious case of homesickness, or worse yet, that he had been possessed by demons.

“Why not?” Alex thought. “Was it not true?”

It seemed to be exactly plausible. Yet, it couldn’t be! Alex looked at his wrists and felt along his chest and torso. The burning pain bore witness to the fact. He had not invited any evil thing to entertain his thoughts. He had not dwelt with the wicked. He had consistently confessed his sins,
fasted, prayed and had stayed in the Word.

“They will all try to cast the demons out of me, as simplistic as they are!” Alex speculated.

They would call for a meeting, place their hands all over him and pray for a cleansing spirit to cast out the evil one! He couldn’t bear it! He would most certainly not allow it. He’d be called rebellious and sinful.

“Alex, can you give me the black adhesive in the tool box?” Mike asked Alex.

Mike didn’t really need the tape. It was a good excuse to see Alex’s wrists again. Mike grabbed Alex’s arm. He had to know how that had happened. He was genuinely concerned for the boy. But when Mike looked at Alex’s wrist, the bruise that he had been absolutely sure he had seen was gone! Mike was so startled that he jerked his head upward from beneath the hood of the Suzuki minivan and caught his balding spot on the latch! The tip of the latch had embedded itself just under the thin skin of his scalp. When Mike had detached himself, a small but deep cut began to ooze blood. Almost instinctively, Alex reached up his left hand and touched the grease-soiled cut. When his palm drew close to the contusion, Alex felt energy leave his body. That thin green light shot out again from between his palm and Mike’s scalp. Alex watched as the abrasion closed up without even leaving a scar. These miracles, as Alex had interpreted them to be, seemed more commonplace now to Alex. He was not afraid anymore.


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“Did I cut myself, Alex?”

“No, you just gave it a good thud is all.”

“That’s impossible! I felt the tip of that thing clinging to the inside of my skin.”

“Well Mike, it must have only felt that way, cause there isn’t even a red spot.”

Alex felt a wave of conviction pour over him. Here was his chance, perhaps his only one, to tell someone he knew he could trust about what was going on in his life.

“See Mike, I met this demon last night and he tied me to a chair and poured tar and bugs all over me and then crawled behind my eye!”

The sound of it all playing back inside Alex’s head convinced him to leave it all alone. He was certain that if he told Mike about the satanic attacks of the morning and afternoon, Mike would be able to cast it all away through prayer and fasting. He trusted Mike. He knew Mike would keep it quiet. Still, Alex did not want to lose this power either. Had it not come to him without his desiring it? Had he not, in the past two hours, saved a family from certain starvation by mending their transportation and the healing of an ugly wound on the top of Mike’s head? He liked the power! He was somebody special now! Did it really matter where this power came from as long as it wrought well for the world, Manassa Dormin’s world? Could Satan cast out Satan? The answer was “yes” if it caused deception and illusion enough to deceive the lost masses of humanity, and Alex knew it! Yet, talking to Mike was out of the question. Situational ethics were wrong!

Alex knew it! Helping people was right, even if he actually wanted it all. A small, whispering voice told him that he loved the power. He loved the fear! He loved the shock effect on those around him! He loved the final results! He loved that lizard-looking, nostril-puffing, yellow-eyed demon, Abaddon that seemed permanently stuck in the corner of his right eye! The narrow road on which Alex was walking was needle thin. He would just have to walk down it. It tantalized him now. It wasn’t the mere babbling of some mentally induced gibberjabber that he had been participating in called the tongues of angels. He was actually sending power from himself to others! Where the power originated did not matter anymore. Alex was not about to give it up!

Mike still had hold of Alex’s arm. He stared at the wrist unbelievingly.

“Alex, I was sure that…”

“Sure of what?” Alex asked.

He was getting good at this, he thought, as Mike shook his head in confusion.

“Never mind.” Alex looked down at the minivan.

“Mike, have you checked the coil wire? Maybe it’s loose. I’m sure if you press down on it firmly, the engine will start.”

Alex pressed on the wire solidly and Mike went around to the ignition and turned the key. The motor roared to life.

“Mr. Maefield, you’re a good soul!” Mike said. “And a very troubled one too!” Mike thought. He looked down again at Alex’s wrist. It was clean and free of even the slightest bruise.

“Get in, Alex. Let’s go.”


The road between Lahore and Islamabad was at times wonderfully paved and then would break up first for great stretches of many kilometers into gravel, then into dirt, and, often, there was no road at all.

“You sure can tell which village is the home of a Member of Parliament,” Mike said to Alex. “Their roads are always well-preserved.”

Nevertheless, travel in the sub-continent was always dusty, dirty and hot. Alex would inevitably stick his arm out the window for a minute or two and pull it back inside semi-blackened. Alex thrived after the toughness of the land. He loved to see all the cultural aspects of the small villages. The various herdsmen driving their water buffaloes across the highway to a better grazing area somewhere on the other side always periodically impeded the travel.

“Why not? This is Pakistan,” Alex thought.

Uniquely beautiful, young Pakistani women seemed fatalistically denied their due moment of feminine splendor by virtue of their sensuous eyes and silky jet-black hair. There were lots of such beauties strutting along the sides of the road with large plastic basins planted firmly in the middle of the tops of their heads filled with the needed water for the first half of the day. Other women, usually the older ones, could be seen squatting on their haunches in the fields where the cattle had just deposited their smelly loads and sticking their prematurely-calloused hands in the fresh excrement, shaping handfuls into cakes which they would later stick and dry on the sides of their homes for future use as fuel for their cooking stoves.

As the two of them drove on through the Pakistani countryside, Alex spotted something in the road. One could always see many things lying in or on the sides of the roads; rusted out cars, dead horses and cows and buzzards as large as small children that seemed to be saying grace before devouring something dead for their next meal. Yet, what Alex saw was no broken down automobile or dead animal. It was a human body!

“Mike! Look there on your right!” Alex commanded.

Mike should have seen it as the steering column was on the right in India, but he had been busy trying to drive down this particularly rough stretch of road.

“What is it?”

“It’s a body….a dead body…at least it appears to be dead, just back there on the side of the road. Stop the car Mike!”

“Alex what if they think we did it? I know missionaries who’ve nearly lost their lives for hitting a Pakistani citizen!”

“Who cares, Mike? Stop now!”

Mike hit the breaks and threw the minivan into reverse. When they reversed to where the body was, they got out and looked at an obviously dead young man.

“You think he’s dead, Alex?”

Alex started waving his hand about three feet over the body.

“Yes, he’s dead, Mike. His spirit is still hovering over the body,” Alex said calmly and serenely.

Mike was dumbfounded. “His what is doing what? Are you going mad?”

Alex then looked at Mike and continued. “His name is Kamal Bhaktar and he’s from the village just over the hill behind you. He’s almost twenty years old and was struck by a passing bus about thirty-two minutes ago.”

“Alex! I really don’t think it is a good time for jokes!”

Alex looked over at Mike irately and shouted in some kind of strange, altered voice.

“Why do you call me Alex? My name is Dormin! Manassa Dormin, and I’ll dare you doubt me!”

Mike was sure that he saw something looking at him from the corner of Alex’s right eye. Alex then turned his head to the Suzuki and stared hard at it. The horn began blowing.

“What are you doing? What? You can’t be doing that! This is not of Elyon!”

Alex looked at Mike and spoke again in the voice that was not his own. “Mike, all that glitters is not gold and all that is powerful is not of Elyon.”

“Alex! What are you? Who are you?” “Alex!” Mike walked closer over to Alex.

“Listen to me!”

Alex cast a burning stare directly into Mike’s eyes.

“Who the Tenebre is Alex? I told you my name is Dormin, and, believe me, you’ll never forget it again!”

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Steven Clark Bradley - Nimrod Rising

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Nimrod Rising - As Real As It Gets!