《An ordinary novel but every 10,000 words the audience kills the least interesting character》3.3
Advertisement
On layer three, Connie left Faust to peruse her vinyl collection while she bundled up a change of clothes and took to her bathroom for some self-care. Her face in the mirror looked younger, but those damn healing votes kept erasing her makeup. She enjoyed a hot blast in the shower, spent half an hour touching up and correcting imperfections in her appearance with all manner of cosmetics, then got into a tailored dress shirt and black trousers. Satisfied, she stepped back and regarded herself while she ran a comb through her hair. This was a face Connie was happy for the world to see.
She might have been putting it on a bit, but she was pretty upset about Tarquin. Revenge would be simple: she'd just have to stop the Scottish guy from dying, which would count as atoning for her actions to make the Djinn light up, and she was at an advantage there — she remembered what was going to happen. The Net of Lies was currently bunched up and slung off her hip.
She strutted back into the flat with a flourish of steam and peacocked her way over to Faust, who was fiddling with some equaliser settings. He'd put the fucking cuddly tiger on the table next to him.
"Well," she said, radiantly, "What do you think?"
He looked her up and down then said, "Yeah."
She glared at him. "Is that all you have to say? Come on, man, I just spent the better part of an hour on this. Give me some validation here."
"Alright," he said. "You look dressed to kill."
His stomach rumbled, and Connie felt a similar pang. An arrow extended out of their remotes, pointing to the cupboard where Connie kept the cereal bars she ate for breakfast every day.
"Hey, that's weird," she said, before he could open it. "What do you say we grab a bite to eat? It's still pretty early — I work 12 till 12. I’m a regular at this kooky cafe just down the road."
Faust shrugged, carefully unsheathing his Double Edged Sword. It resembled a quarterstaff, except it looked sharp and pointy enough to split atoms. He laid it down on her bed. Connie thought it was the most impractical weapon she'd ever seen.
She asked, "What, you're not taking your badass sword?"
Advertisement
He said, "Badass? If I go to a cafe with that fucking machete, people won't be thinking badass. They'll be thinking nutter!"
So she decanted the contents of yesterday's handbag into a nice faux-leather satchel, put on a blazer, and led him out into the corridor. From there, it was a short lift ride down a hundred-odd floors before they stepped into the streets of Barden City.
The roads, which wound chaotically through the city, were entombed by brick, glass, and steel. Connie looked up and saw only a thin sliver of sky enshrouded in smog so thick the sun barely pierced through. Pedestrians spilled off the pavement onto the road, and she could immediately tell Faust wasn't from here, because while she effortlessly leant back and forth to get out of their way, Faust was getting bumped around like a pinball.
She saw his lips move, but whatever he said was lost among the roar of traffic and construction, so she grabbed his arm and helped him weave through the gaps in the crowd. Soon enough, they turned onto a quieter side road where the traffic was actually moving.
"What the fuck," said Faust, coughing. "You LIVE here?"
She shrugged and nodded, sidestepping a flotilla of bikes. On the rare occasion she left for the country, she had to play white noise on her phone or else she'd lie awake all night.
"We're not too far from the cafe," she said. "I'm just gonna make a call."
It was quiet enough here, so she called up her boss, Gazzer. His voice was as greasy as his character — the guy slipped around regulations in the same way he avoided salads and responsible drinking. He generally treated his employees well, giving them a cut of every windfall he landed upon as long as they never asked him for a holiday. That sounded bad, but Connie had played him well enough. He thought she had an illness that meant she had to take 30 days off every year, and he paid her for it, too.
"This is Barden Fleet," said Gazzer. "How can I 'elp?"
"Gazzer!" shouted Connie. Walking on the phone in Barden meant constantly flipping the phone from your ear to your mouth.
"Alright, Connie? How's the endocriocitis treating you this morning?"
"It ain't flaring up too bad, man. Yourself?"
Advertisement
"Oh, I'm grand. Listen, you're on Newchurch from 12-6 and after that you got bookings the rest of the night. I ain't never seen you so popular! What's going on?"
"Faust, NO!" she tugged him back before he stepped out into a zebra crossing, presumably thinking the cars would actually stop. "About those bookings, Gaz. Would it so happen that one of them was a Scottish bloke?"
Gaz had a coughing fit so awful she thought the phlegm would drip out her speakers. Then he said, "Yeah, funny sounding feller that couldn't pronounce nothing right. He booked you for eleven in—"
"A pub in Slumsfield, right? Now, Faust, walk! Hurry it up, man!"
Gaz asked, "Hey, how'd you know that? I ain't sent you the email yet. He your friend or summat?"
The car sailing towards them honked its horn, and they just managed to cross the road before it barrelled past.
Faust pat himself down, looking absolutely distraught and said, "You know, I actually preferred the underworld to this."
"Not quite a friend, no, Gaz," said Connie. "You got a name or a number for this guy?
"MacCain, I think. I can text you 'is number. But why you gotta speak to him so bad?"
"Thanks, man," said Connie, and hung up. "Sorry about that, Faust. You hanging in there?"
He was taking a breather, pressed up against the wall of some shop while the crowd streamed in front of him.
"This is shit," he said. "Utter fucking shit. Where are all these people coming from? Where are they going? Is there any greater purpose to all this movement?"
She shrugged. "Look, the cafe's right there."
It was a cross between a greasy diner and a gastro pub, that was to say it had the food of a greasy diner and the decor/prices of a gastro pub; taxidermied collections of butterflies on the walls lit by chandeliers. Before they hefted open the portcullis to get in, Connie had a thought to check her purse. She popped it open and sure enough, it was empty, so she made them double-back to an ATM.
"This city is about as dystopian cyberpunk as you can get," said Faust. "Are you telling me you can't pay by card in there?"
"It's buggy," she lied. "Best to have some cash in hand just in case."
She put the card in while Faust hovered annoyingly close, and it told her the bank balance on this one was -135,000 down, but she put her hand on the screen such a way that it covered the minus.
"Oh, shit," said Faust, his eyes widening at what looked like a seven figure account. "As if I needed another reminder of why I amount to nothing. What do you do for a living, exactly?"
"I'm a chauffeur," said Connie, which was technically true. The bank only let her withdraw £20, but it was better than nothing.
They went into the cafe, and tried to locate an empty table among the hundreds that had been converted into desks by grazing tele-workers. There was one in the corner, under a gigantic taxidermied stag's head. Connie’s lungs thanked the filtered air, and took deep, grateful breaths.
"Not bad," said Faust, stroking it to admire the handiwork.
A waiter came carrying a tablet — dressed far less sharp than she was — and stared at them expectantly.
Feeling pressured, Connie picked the first thing she saw on the menu under a tenner.
"Eggs benedict and a double espresso, please," she said.
The waiter tapped it in, and Connie was glad to have his searching gaze fixed on Faust instead.
"Give me," said Faust, hiding behind the menu. "A um, uhhh... can I get a, um, uhhh..."
"Does sir need more time?" asked the waiter, in a tone that implied he wouldn't be coming back.
"I resent your challenge, and your attitude," he said. "I demand the fullest English breakfast you can get me, and I want like, a frappucino with every flavoured syrup you have."
The waiter tapped it in and fluttered off while Connie did the maths in her head and frowned when it came to about £30. Well, she'd blag it somehow. Her phone buzzed — Gazzer had texted her MacCain's number, along with an onslaught of nosy questions that she didn't waste a second reading.
She tapped the number, and put it on speaker phone.
She said, "Let's see if we can't have a chat with the guy I killed."
Advertisement
The Queensguard: An Isekai Love Story
Hundreds of years ago, the Empire of Asgardia ruled all of the Frostlands with an iron fist. The dark elves subjugated the high elves and the dwarves, enslaving them and abusing them to bring further prosperity to the Empire of Asgardia and the dark elf race. One day a high elf warrior led a rebellion to liberate her people from their dark elven oppressors. She was aided by a small group of elite warriors with unyielding loyalty. That warrior would be crowned as the First Queen of the newly established Kingdom of Alfheim, and her loyal band of warriors would come to be known as the Queensguard. Today, the Kingdom of Alfheim is now the most powerful nation in the world, and the tradition of the Queensguard has continued on. Warriors from all over the land aspire to join the ranks, but only a select few will have the honor to be chosen. Tetsuya Miyazaki is an eighteen year old high school boy from another world. A social outcast searching for a purpose to fight for. Chelsea the Fierce is a half-orc orphan, cast aside by the world and saved only by the kindness of a stranger. This is the story of the monster and the hero. An unlikely pair of underdogs and their extraordinary journey into the world of the Queensguard.
8 209Extreme Heights: Face Your Fear
Katsai Cree, a seventeen-year-old thief has done something she has always wanted to do. Steal from the King. Now on the run for her life, she must face her fear or risk losing it all to a tyrannical power. Kagin Lunern, a nineteen-year-old half-elf, just so happens to be dragged into it all. Following his friend of five years, Kagin must force down his emotions in order to keep her safe. Genesis Eral, a sixteen-year-old who has a unique gift, must come to terms with what happened in her past. But, there is one issue, she's alone. With our band of criminals, she must make the decision to either join them or remain in her solitude. Sonorus Balor, a twenty-year-old royal guard, is nothing more than just a guard. No magic, no courage, and most definitely no brawn. What happens when he is forced to track down this dangerous group of criminals? Follow four protagonists as they travel across magical and dangerous lands to escape the tyrannical hold of supreme power. These characters will have to face their fears along the way. Are you ready to face those fears along with them? Warning: This story does contain profanity and possible triggers. It is not necessarily rated-R but be warned if strong language is not your thing, please do not read. Critique is welcomed but please do not be rude to me or fellow readers, for that is very disheartening.
8 68Son of the Night
Since the dawn of time, the Demon race and Humans fought each other over land and resources. Neither side could gain a decisive advantage. Was history determined to endlessly repeat itself? Everything changed once the mysterious demigods appeared and took the humans' side. Clueless of this struggle Akira tries to find his own path in this war-torn society. Why should he care about the fight between the demon race and demigods? Honor! Survival! Fighting for friends and family! These were the values he believed in. However, soon his heritage would come to haunt this son of the night (Those looking for Romance it is there just in the later chapters.)
8 202Stray Kids Imagines/ as your boyfriend
Stray kids imagines (as your boyfriend, this book was used to warm up to wattpad when I first started, but I will love to continue as other roles if you'd like!) that I'll write about here and there :)
8 209Ask Nico di Angelo | √
This is an ask book where you can comment different question/challenges to me, the lovely little Italian Death Angel. Send me questions on anything you would like to know; I'll do my best to answer them.(Please refrain from super sexual anything because I am a fifteen year old virgin gay boy in his first ever relationship.) I will also be adding random thoughts and ideas that come to my head, but they won't come as often as ask answers.Thank you,Nico di Angelo.
8 125Conquest Of Mortem
*NOTE* This novel is a war of attrition. To say anything less is a disservice to its demand. While comparable to other such works as Ulysses or Moby Dick, each sentence in Conquest is an enemy to be tackled. Not in the ways of difficulty but in absurd density that wishes nothing more than to destroy what patience you may have. Do not tackle chapters as you would ordinary chapters in an ordinary book. Tackle each chapter as a book unto itself. A foe to be vanquished, a period of life to leave behind. Seek to be master of this work. Seek to overcome. For in its design is the willpower, and the perseverance, and the strength of someone who sought meaning in struggle. As I discovered these in times of ultimate desperation, so I hope for you to discover these things. This novel is a love letter to your trials. May you overcome them. May you master them. May you become conquerer.- SeedSagaA literary epic for logophiles, philosophers, and poets alike. A journey into zeitgeist, the impact of media on culture, and the endurance of morality against an onslaught of hatred. These vague descriptions do little to compact Conquest's density into a bite-size summary. They do however relate the basest themes found within. A plot, if such can be surmised, is strung thinly across multiple perspectives, weaving together these concepts into a seemingly distorted tapestry of indecipherable events. Inspired by early 20th century modernism, Conquest will challenge the reader, and provide critique on the medium upon which all great stories are derived. Further interpretation is up to you now; an explorer among a sea of words. Venture on and discover what lies ahead, in...CONQUEST OF MORTEM
8 161