My first ever novel, completed quite a few years ago when I first started writing, will be getting a total rewrite in the future, but for now here are some excerpts from the original manuscript.
From Chapter 7: Jonathan Does Battle
As he ran, Jon pulled the long object loose from the bindings on his backpack. He held the item and let slip the pack down his arm until gripping the strap in his hand.
Jon stopped in his tracks, turned, threw the backpack into the face of the closest pursuer, momentarily blinding him; while the other agents, too fast to stop as easily as Jonathan, overstepped the mark and dashed past. One end of the long item held in his hands was thrust into the throat of the blind agent, the area of the strike crumpled while the agent’s legs continued forward. His feet flew into the air and his back met the ground. Jonathan turned toward the others as they came to face him, allowing the cloth to unravel from the object and fall to the wind as he drew away from the strike. Black lacquer gleamed down the length of a sword scabbard, silver ornaments shone in the light of the day, and the reflected sunlight played across Jonathan’s hand as he pulled apart both hilt and sheath.
Together the agents charged, leaving no room or time for Jonathan to deal with them one by one. This was their mistake.
From the scabbard, Jon drew the long blade of a katana, the sword of the Samurai. The sound of metal sliding against wood rang out in the ears of everyone, and as the sword was drawn, light caught the rolling waves of the tempered blade and beamed down the sharpened edge. When the tip was fully revealed and the weapon cut through the air, the mingled noise of vibrating steel and the swooshing atmosphere sounded like a wave crashing against the shore. It flared in the light of the sun, slicing at the agents in one sweeping motion…
From Chapter 9: Jonathan Is Incarcerated
The red light of the camera flickered on and off, on and off. It was the only thing that could be seen in the dark room. When the L.E.D was on, Jonathan could not sleep, he felt like someone was watching him. When it went off, he felt alone and safe. But the light never stayed off for long, it was like a red eye blinking between states each second. It teased him: Sleep. Don’t sleep. Sleep. Don’t sleep. Every night was spent awake, his face barely looking over the bed covers, watching the torturous red winking L.E.D and listening to the moan of the camera lens readjusting its focus.
From Chapter 13: Paul Dies
Blood dripped from Paul’s scalp, soaking the soft forest floor. His two companions had been taken first, easy targets due to their injuries. Paul was badly beaten, but managed to run away somehow.
The wood was dark and the night quiet, and in his panic presented to him hallucinogenic memories that danced between trees. Franky and Jonathan’s warnings repeated in his head, and the safety he once had in the group was like a white rabbit he now chased through the wood. It was his unwavering desire to return to the others that stopped his wounds from finally killing him, his will to live was strong. His body was weak and slow.
There was a flash of silver, light before sound, then the end came. Paul slumped to the ground, his body slashed open. His blood poured out, sand from a split sack.
His own ability was of no use here. He was not like the rest, unable to move objects with his mind, read the thoughts of those around him, nor run faster than a person should be able to. No, his power was of no use. Maybe it did allow him to smell the enemy coming, allowed him to hear their footsteps in the dark. But his heightened senses couldn’t make him run away faster, they couldn’t make him stronger. They could only let him know when the harsh end was coming.
He looked down to the ground. The soil had once appeared darker than black when running away, but now the pooled blood caught the reflection from something above… It was the clear night sky. There must have been a break in the canopy, and the blood that he knelt over showed the stars as clearly as a polished mirror could. ‘…Beautiful…’
'He's still alive. For a minute I thought he'd died on his knees.' A voice muttered with amusement.
'Just finish him off, Gabriel.' Another replied.
Paul was indifferent to the conversation. He continued to stare down. He smelt the air, the forest and the blood. The area seemed calm of wind, but with his power he could hear it somewhere in the distance, blowing against the trees.
Then he could see. He looked deep into his own life as it poured from him, and it showed him the stars. It showed him heaven. White spiral galaxies in black space, then black space in a blue ocean of pure energy and emotion, and then existence turned golden.
'In my blood… The stars are-'
The final stroke came.