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Humans Must Kneel – Possessive Aliens

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Loki Renard

Book Information:

Humans must kneel.
But she refuses.

She thinks the rules don’t apply to her.
She thinks she is special.
She thinks she is different.
She’s right.

My mission is to restore order to the rebel human colony.
It starts with bringing this girl to her knees.

Humans Must Kneel is a standalone novel set in USAT Bestseller Loki Renard’s new romantic sci-fi possessive alien universe.

Books by Author:

Loki Renard Books



I’m staring at a creature who is Absolutely. Not. Human.

He is massive. He has horns emerging from a skull fashioned from pure insanity. His eyes burn with an orange glow, his skin is silvery and sharp in places, glinting like he’s wearing a thousand Ginsu knives. Except he’s not wearing them, he is them. He’s effectively naked, I realize; his, er, appendage sitting hard between his thighs, pressed against his lower belly. Wait, is that his manhood? Or is it another ridge? It’s hard to tell. He is configured broadly in the human sense, but everything about him is brutally alien. There are ridges and channels, hard plates and sharp edges. When he sits forward, I see there is a carved slot in the back of the throne for the massive scimitar of a ridge which rises between his shoulder blades.

“What the… are you?”

“I am Krave,” he says. “Scythkin judiciar.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

He leans further forward, his lips splitting into a befanged smile.

“It means you fucked up.”

I have messed up a lot of things in my time. I have made many bad choices. I always told myself to never regret any of them because every bad decision always took me closer to a good one. Suddenly, I’m re-evaluating that stance. This vicious monster is right. I have fucked up. And right now, I would give absolutely anything to be able to do this day over. But that’s not possible.


Earlier that morning…


These three words are ruining my life. I found them by chance and now that I’ve read them, I can’t get them out of my mind. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin, unable to settle down and just chill, because every breath is another reminder how wrong everything is.

I sit in my hot pink sweatpants, playing with a strand of curly permed hair, and wonder why I feel as if the whole world has shifted several degrees in some unknown direction and I have stayed in the same place.

I’m missing someone. I can’t quite remember her. I can’t picture her face. I can’t think what her name would be. But I miss her. When I look at this note, I feel her.

I turn it over in my fingers. It’s not written on paper. It’s been scrawled on canvas of some kind. The backside of it is painted with nothing but an enigmatic smile, torn at the edges as if the original painting had been ripped from its frame and shredded. Instinct tells me that it is original and real. There’s a feeling I get when I hold it, a sense of authenticity which is absent from every other object in my apartment.


I flip the note over and read the words again. What do they mean? What’s not real? Anything? Everything?

When I look out the window, I could swear that the sign on the billboard across the street used to advertise a soft drink or a snack or something. Now it boldly and blankly declares three words:


As I look, it starts to flash, yellow text on black background, and the words themselves are intoned from on high in a deep, all encompassing voice which resonates to my core. I get up, along with everyone else in the building and go down to the street below. We do not speak to one another. We walk single file and find our assigned place.

I could have sworn it wasn’t always customary for us all to line the sidewalks and go to our knees once per day. Some people say it’s religious, but none of us know what we’re supposed to be worshipping, and at this point, we’re too afraid to ask.

With my knees on asphalt, a thought worms its way into my head. What if I stand up?

The idea is as subversive as screaming out loud in the middle of a grocery store for no reason, contrary to the public expectation which I feel pressing at me from all sides. Humans must kneel. That is what we do. It is what we were made for, at least, for several minutes every morning.

But what if I refuse?

What if I stand?

What if my knees are already rising from the ground, my legs straightening, my head rising. What if my hand is in my pocket, clutching the scrap of canvas which feels to me as though it comes from a place of great power. What if this isn’t real?

It doesn’t feel real.

It feels like a dream we are all trapped in.

What if we wake up?

I am standing now, the only person standing for many miles around. My feet feel powerful, pressed against the ground, my back straight, my head held high. This is an act of rebellion against the unknown.

A drone flits through the sky to center above me, and a voice which is as loud as it is aggressive rains down on me in ways voices don’t. Little droplets of sound dribble over my hair and shoulders, seeking their way over my body and into my skin.

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