The following is a sample from the first part of our soon to be released fantasy novel series, The Twisted World.
Twists are… strange things. Some are beautiful, some are peculiar, and others are flat out dangerous. They are localized phenomenon that can appear without warning practically anywhere, and usually cannot be seen, touched, or smelled.
Typically, the only way to detect a twist is to see what kind of effect it has on the local environment, and carefully marking its location to warn others.
As stated, some Twists can be beautiful, such as the town of Flickering where the entirety of the living area is trapped inside of a Twist; it manifests as small almost will-o-wisp type orbs of light that gently light the city. Some can create impossible oddities that change the properties of whatever wanders into it, such as the legendary tree that grows and produces not apples but rubies in the shape of apples, and then finally dangerous Twists that… do things like you’re about to read.
The following is an encounter with a twist of the dangerous variety. Be forewarned, it is a gruesome sequence.
“The sound was slow at first, subtle under the rain. Piotr couldn’t say when he first was aware of the sound of metal teeth gnashing, but his skin erupted in goosebumps.
Lib wheeled the gelding around, stopping in his tracks. “Stay still!” He called to Piotr. “You know what to do!”
Piotr nodded. Hold still, he thought. Don’t go running off half crazy. Let it come. He tried to look all around at once. The hair on his head blew out in all directions, nearly crackling with tension. The crashing, shattering sound pushed all other thoughts out of his head.
Lib looked back over his shoulder, back at the road where Piotr waited. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout at him. The Twist cut his face in half.
One moment, he was fat, disappointed Lib, annoyed at Piotr and drenched with rain. Then he was meat. The top of his balding head slid loose, just above his eyes, and tumbled to the ground. The gelding dropped to its knees. Piotr realized it wasn’t kneeling at all; its forelegs were shorn off cleanly. The proud head slipped free of the thick neck, spraying ripe, bright blood. It was startling in the dark, all over the ground. The gelding rolled forward. It’s hindquarters were separated neatly, jointed like meat in a butcher’s window. The momentum dropped Lib into the underbrush, scattering parts of him all over the ground. Glowing wetmites rose in the disturbance and then settled, brilliantly illuminating the scene.
The world shifted, slipped sideways, and Piotr found himself on his side in the road. A piece of Lib’s forearm rolled to a stop before him. The sleeve still clothing it was cut perfectly; there wasn’t a single loose thread or snag. He looked down. Sections of the grey mare lay at his feet, spilling out her lifeblood into the muddy road. A tiny wetmite tumbled in the air, sliced cleanly in half. Each section glowed briefly and then winked out. The glassine shattercrash Twist sound rose in pitch, almost a plaintive wail.”