The Bandwagon of the 12

The whole 12/12/12 thing is apparently a pretty big deal, and apparently a lot of people are doing special things as celebration. One blogger I saw had the idea of posting the 12th page of her novel today. So I thought, why not do the same? Thus, here you go, a bit of the new edition of The Third Face.

Climactic Clash: An Excerpt

The main reason it's been most of a week since I posted here is because I've been hard at work trying to juggle homework with this novel! I'm so close to being done that I can taste it, but that only slows me down, I think.

Anyway, since I'm too busy writing it to say much else, have an excerpt from the final battle. This should be just enough to leave you completely confused! (But then again, what else do you expect from a NaNo novel?)

The corpse of Anise Black rushed forward across the Bridge of Time and slammed into Ed, knocking him to the ground and causing him to drop Das Ende.
He shot her several more times, point blank, until he was out of ammunition. Then, as Eibmoz had, she disintegrated.
Ed looked up to see the blade of a sword pointed at him.
“You killed Anise,” said Aaron.
“Yes. Why do you care? Run along back to your world. She's still alive there.”
“You really are stupid, aren't you, Doctor? Here, let me make it clear for you!”
With that, Aaron yelled and came down with his blade, chopping off Ed's left hand. The pistol fell down into the abyss.
Ed rolled the other way and got up. “How did you get such strength so quickly?”
“It's me, stupid! I came up with this plan! I wanted to get close to you instead of him, so I could finish you personally! And I wanted to see Anise up close one last time before it all fell apart!”
“Oh. Doomy. Didn't expect it to be you. Right then. Just one question before we fight.”
“What?”
“What did you do with Oliver?” 

The Man in the Brown Bandanna

Today you get a free short story that doubles as an introduction to The Third Face. Enjoy!

One Hour of NaNoWriMo...

Tonight I stayed up past midnight so I could get an hour of writing in before I head to the kickoff event tomorrow morning. It turns out that I was able to get exactly one day's work done in that time. I'd like to celebrate the beginning of this event by sharing part of that with you.

The man was not so concerned with his appearance as that of his rather strange-looking hat. You see, his hat had a special function. It was a secret function, so secret that even I, the narrator of this novel, have not been offered the privilege of knowing anything about it. But it would seem that this secret function was very important.

As I have said, the hat looked very strange. It had what appeared to be a golden satellite dish sticking out of one side, and a purple feather on the other. He changed this feather every day, but this purple one happened to be his Thursday feather, and today was indeed Thursday. Not that that mattered, as he had no job or anything that depended in any form upon the days of the week.

In fact, he only owned the raggy clothes on his back and this very hat, which in structure seemed similar to some sort of pirate hat and was black like one. However, it did not have a design on it, much less a skull and crossbones. So it would appear that its very secret and special function was not to serve as any sort of sign that he happened to be anything such as a pirate.

He did love the sea, however, but it was not for sailing or treasure or anything on a ship. He did not want to be involved in any naval battles or anything fancy like that. It was just that he liked going to the beach. In fact, he liked the beach much less for the water than for the sand. Sand was his favorite substance, and he enjoyed it much more than anything. He sometimes wished that he had a house with sand for the floor, although he then admitted to himself that that would be far too dirty a dwelling.

Still, he wished he had any house at all. As I have already said, he definitely did not have one because he did not have anything at all besides his strange-looking hat with the very special and secret function that neither you or I are likely to find out about any time soon.

If it had been that useful, however, he would have had some way of making money, I would think. And he really didn’t: he had no education and no family to speak of. Well, he did have a high school education, but this was today’s world, in which that hardly counts for anything when looking for a job. He had tried donating blood plasma for a small stream of income, but that was barely enough to feed himself with, and he wasn’t able to do that anymore now because his impoverished state of being was having awful effects on his health.

He was only 24, but he had the face of one who was 42 instead, due merely to his aforementioned health problems. His short brown hair was disheveled, at least as much as could be seen under the strange-looking hat with the special function. Which, by the way, he never ever took off, no matter what. Even when he slept he left his hat on.

Anyway, back to the point of the preceding paragraph, his wide brown eyes looked around the underside of the bridge he happened to be standing under. I don’t know why he was standing under a bridge, but we will get back to that later, once I’ve finished describing his appearance.

He had a long nose and thick, pouty lips that hadn’t smiled in weeks. His half-starved body was encased in a plain brown t-shirt, the only one he hadn’t been forced to sell for his survival. His jeans were ragged and covered in patches made from half of an old, ripped-up sweatshirt he’d been using. The other half was currently being used as a scarf, and was a faded black. There had been a little bit left over as well, so he had lined the inside of his worn sandals with it.

The Third Face Excerpt - Panic Attack

Rasuke's blood hurt.

The pain spread in thin, piercing lines through his body. He fought to control his breathing as it threatened to outrace even his own gunshot heartbeat.

He’s a Demon.

Imagined claws pulled at his own face as if pulling it off would save him from the agony, the fear, the rage. The three confused into a boiling mass and escaped his body as a vision, hideous and fearsome, tearing at Leo's form.

The Demon didn't react, knowing nothing of the imagined foe attacking him. But he looked upon Rasuke with concern. “You okay?”

It stopped.

He felt perfectly normal all at once, but for the difficulty in his breath. When it, too, had faded, he finally blurted out, “I feel like shit.”

Leo nodded. “At least they taught you fun stuff. What's wrong?”

Rasuke shrugged and shook his head. “I just... panicked. Just now. For no reason.”

“Oh, Phoenix,” Leo sighed. “You really think it was for no reason? None at all?”

“I think it had something to do with... you being a Demon,” Rasuke admitted. “I don't even know what they are.”

“It's okay to hate us,” the larger boy said. “I'm not at all proud of what I am. We're despicable—detested for good reason. My race is responsible for so much pain. Including part of yours.”

Rasuke looked up into Leo's blue eyes just then, suddenly interested and alert. “What do you mean?”

“The story begins in Hell, as most Demon stories do. That's where we're born, or made, as the case may be. Everyone there is subjected to so many awful conditions... and most importantly, the rage of the other Demons. I used to spend my days there, rescuing those who seemed unaffected. And that's how I first met you.”

Excerpt from The Third Face

Blood covered the gaping face, grey with death. The right arm ended in a shriveled stump, and a huge gash stretched across his torso. Internal organs had been torn out, and the Salamander looked like an empty sack.

But his ruined face was still that of Rasuke’s foster father, his only friend.

The boy’s body shook, his body that still had everything inside it, still carried life. He closed his eyes and looked back to the last time this man had been alive, kindly bringing him to that doctor’s office. And then the doctor did something, and it all went wrong...

Doctor Grin-that was the name of the man responsible for this. Rasuke saw himself in the past as if he’d resisted, struggled, grabbed the surgeon, destroyed him with his bare hands in front of his father, and then a shadowy figure came in the tent and leapt at him, and Windeater jumped in the way, and his arm was ripped off and then Rasuke ran in horror-

The boy opened his eyes, panting. “Where did that come from?” he asked himself.

Then he blacked out.