Malefic Time

LogoMaleficMalefic Time is a story that was born in 1993. From the beginning twenty years have passed. During this time, it has been developing, some small images with texts concerning it have appeared in several books until reaching Dead Moon Epilogue, where its final arrival is announced.

The Malefic Time project ( brings us closer to a society suffering extreme degradation that has led to its almost complete collapse. The structures have been weakened or simply dissapeared. Vanished, from a social point of view, governments, media, market and social cohesion. In biblical terms the “Apocalypse” has arrived. This end of the world is not the result of any external threat, a cataclysm or anything uncontrollable by mankind, it represents the failure of the model adopted by humans to live. However, there are forces that have emerged in this time of chaos and desolation, and have turned the planet in their particular field of battle. The Solar and the Lunar have their own interest in the immediate future of human society, in addition to resolve their own ancestral differences.

It is a story that Allen “the American” has brought from 2038. Not everything can be enclosed in the pages of a single book. Therefore, this story took us in the first book to explore the APOCALYPSE and the years of survival in a grim and rusty New York, meetings and conversations with Shamash, whom many believe to be Archangel Gabriel, and angles lost in the old Pharaonic Egypt where a foreign princess, who reigned with the name of Nefertiti, brought an old tradition of ancestral worship to the court of the Nile. In CODEX: APOCALYPSE we make a walk on the clues that link the past and present. Later, the story has led us to Tokyo, its ghosts and the moon cult 110 KATANAS. Then we discover Paris, haunted by superstitions, in AKELARRE. It is also the domain of the Fallen Prince Nergal. What awaits us can not be anticipated in just a few lines. You have to find out by yourself. These are the first lines of the three pictorial novels.


The Three Sources of Primitive Energy
The Lunar Grail, the Mirror without Ra
The Sword of the Nine Snakes

The Moon goes off to hide in the horizon, leaving the darkened cloud-crammed sky. A Dead Moon with its muted brightness. High rise buildings disappear in the thick fog. All the streets shine like cracked mirrors, still wet from the endless rain of the night. A lonely figure walks along Madison Square in the direction opposite to the usual one. He advances in a fast and strange way, backwards.

His long coat with marked shoulder pads, make it look like a ship with a threatening sail in the middle of a silver sea. His black hair is still wet, and it covers his magnetic and ambiguous features, which don’t define its sex. His imposing height and slender presence cast a disturbing reflection on the asphalt. At the beginning of the Fifth Avenue, a dark shape blocks his way and another two of similar appearance turn up on both sides. In an instant, they are standing only a few meters away.

Suddenly and advancing nonetheless, from the sleeves of the asexual being’s coat slide two clean black-metal swords, his hands reaching their hilts as if he were a magician. A sharp sound immediately cuts the air. The blades return to their confinement stained in red. Blood trickled down the long coat, bursting into a scarlet puddle at his feet. Three heads make a dull sound on hitting the asphalt. Their bodies fall like suicidal trees, and the grey figure keeps resumes his fast pace, walking backwards.




Primitive metal
Blood – Female – Regeneration
The Big Cauldron

The impoverished sunset light cuts them in line. There are eight girls. They stand in formation. Frozen in a pose that makes them look like porcelain dolls army. They line up in a large courtyard, perfect, square plan. They are facing a wall full of small squares of wood. The place has a Spartan austerity. Only a few bowls and large canvases of cloth can be noticed in that sober space. Only them, without adornment, no more objects. The position is firm and the hands are joined as if to formulate a prayer. From their lips escapes a vibrant sound like a mantra. A little black dress as a ceremonial cloth pants falls in front of their legs. From it, as if a paradox of nature is involved, looks out a phallic erect rod that breaks its exquisite vertical line.

The harmonic mantra volume decreases until it becomes imperceptible. All girls in unison take their hands with perfect coordination to those unusual penises coming out from their pubis. They are katana hilts. With a precise movement, the blade slides between their thighs with the cutting edge oriented to their ​​sex until they exit completely.

All swords are vertical with their ends pointing at the floor and the handles in front of their faces. In one smooth movement of wrist, the steel of katanas points to the sky.

A clap is heard from the other end of the yard. A figure hidden in intricate costumes extends the arm pointing towards the door. All girls leave. Only two of them are still in place. They have left a few drops of blood on the floor.




Creative thinking
NO – MI – AD
Denial – I exist – I decide
I guide myself

Zugaramurdi Caves , 1606.

Spring, it is getting dark. Three hooded figures descend the narrow path that leads to the mouth of a great cave. They walk hastily and throw occasionally restless glances behind them.

They come to a corner of the large central hall of the cave. There lit a small fire and discover their faces. There is terror on them. Three women. Three young, terrified women because they know that they are being sought.

– We can’t go home. At least for a while. – We may never go back. They know we celebrate the fertile season. Attended from all corners of many kingdoms. Too many people, we have failed to hide it. I fear the worst. – Have you been followed? – I hope not.

There are more women there. Women set aside in the mountains, accompanied only by their knowledge of plants, of words, of spells. Women to whom consult or seek healing. Women that celebrate rituals to fertility, to life, to nature.


Smells like stew in the fire. The newly arrived dispose of their dark cloaks. They are served with food. Everything seems to calm down for a moment. They are women who practice the ancient arts, who can perceive future events through the wind. Who understand the language of animals and dialects spoken by unknown forest creatures. Women whose soul is filled with a nameless panic when they hear sounds around. Sounds of breaking branches are heard. They extinguish the fire, cuddle between them. They are terrified women who are found by the mob that seals the cave entrances. Women that scream when a battalion of hands rip them of the floor. Women who hear their sentence from the lips of a Dominican friar.


No public trial for those women or bonfires set on main square. The righteousness of man is primed with them right there. Humiliated, lynched by blind people. Right there are opened their bellies. Right there they are dragged leaving a trail of blood that soaks the earth. “For release of your immortal souls” they are warned by the friars to justify the act. Dying to be released. Condemned by the mobs torches to not suffer the eternal damnation. The cruelty as mercy. Blood for the pot. Women, shrieking. Women, who die. Women, who are sacrified. Women they are, thirteen, are the stakes which are placed at the cave entrance. Women …