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[WP] You’ve been bitten by a Zombie. You’ve already said tearful goodbyes to your loved ones as they leave you behind. The bite should make you turn in twenty minutes, so you sit down on a bench and wait… two hours later you’re still sitting there.
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What a time to be alive.
Or dead, I guess. Or somewhere in between? Mom was right; I should have been a doctor. Maybe if I was, I'd have some idea of what's happening to me. And, more specifically, what's *not* happening.
I'm not dying.
I should be a mindless shuffling maniac by now, slowly rotting from the inside. I know the infection has taken root; more than a few zombies have passed me by without a second glance.
Yet my heart still beats.
I can feel it. I can hear it. I can smell the blood flowing through my veins and it almost makes me sick. I sit for another few hours, quite sure that I've lost my mind, or that I've perhaps finally graduated to Hell Original Flavor as opposed to only Hell on Earth. A living breathing human runs up in a panic. I can hear every squishy thump of her heart hammering away in her chest.
"Oh thank God!" she says. I wish she hadn't brought him up. We're not on speaking terms. "I need your help, please! My son, he's trapped." I sigh and stand up. "Alright then, let's go." Not like I have anything to lose. She leads me through a series of back alleys, and I can hear more hearts thumping up ahead.
"Oh," I say. "An ambush." I feel a rush crash into me like a wave and time slows down. I see the woman open her mouth to shout at the others while she reaches for her pistol.
I see my hands wrap around her face and twist.
The snap did make me gag, but I recovered fast enough to take her pistol and kill the others. I don't feel too bad about it. Bandits deserve no mercy. I also feel rather proud of myself for not feasting on any of them. I didn't feel the urge to, but I am quite hungry. Luckily, their supply cache was nearby and well stocked enough that I could travel. I suppose I might as well catch up with my family. I'll insist that they lock me up but, if we get in a scrape, my new *talents* might come in handy.
What a time to be alive.
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Zombies shuffle through the park, completely oblivious to my existence. And yet somehow – I haven’t turned. Could I be immune? Is that a thing? I’ve just had the most heartbreaking farewell with loved ones, friends, family, ex-colleagues… I’m ready for the inevitable. Why won’t death come? Why am I still me?
Maybe all zombies feel this way… That’s a scary thought. Perhaps what we’ve come to know as a zombie are actually normal people trapped inside a body that’s driven by higher instincts. No... No that doesn’t quite add up. I must know how far this immunity goes. With a renewed sense of purpose I leap to my feet and rush the nearest zombie.
“Hello!!” I shout, trying to get his attention. This particular undead is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s wearing a blood-stained hoodie. A ghastly visage, truth be told. His once-pretty face is now marred by decaying skin and a smattering of blood dripping down his cheeks. And yet, he does not attack. It’s as if I’m invisible.
The realization dawns on me. I AM immune. This could be the break humanity needs to turn the tide of war. My head is spinning now. Could it be something in my blood? Is it mass-producible? Is there hope for humanity? Nobody has even dreamed a cure was possible. That’s the stuff of fairy tales. But I’m the living proof! I just need to make contact with the military. The resistance. Someone who can investigate further. I just need to stay. Alive.
I give myself a moment to catch my breath and then head back in the direction of town. A radio signal to the military - that’s all I need to do. Stay focused on the mission. I’m sure my blood will be heavily tested. I’ll have face my fear of needles. Donate frequently. But I’ll do it. I'll do my part if it means saving the world.
“BAM!”
The sound of a rifle ripples through the air around me. I stumble forward. Totally stunned.
“S-STAY BACK YOU ZOMBIE FUCKER!”
The pain catches up with me and I scream. Blood running down my leg. I’ve never been shot before, and the agony is unbearable. I furiously amble about, trying to find a place to hide. To the casual observer, it might look… a lot like the shuffling pace of an undead.
“BAM!”
Another round pierces my gut and I collapse to the ground.
“You don’t understand! I’m immune! I'm the key to saving humanity!”
That’s what I tried to say anyway, but it was too late. The words were indistinct mumblings, akin to the screeches of a wailing zombie.
“BAM!” “BAM!”
A double tap to the head.
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[WP] You’ve been bitten by a Zombie. You’ve already said tearful goodbyes to your loved ones as they leave you behind. The bite should make you turn in twenty minutes, so you sit down on a bench and wait… two hours later you’re still sitting there.
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20 minutes left.
i pick up my pack. all that's in it are a few weapons and sentimental objects. i don't need anything else.
15 minutes left.
my team is out of sight. it's me against the horde. i bring out my first weapon. a shotgun.
10 minutes left.
the sounds of broken flesh are all to familiar. though now they represent something. every zombie i kill is a little more time i buy for the others.
1 minute left.
it's a miracle. i managed to kill them all. i cry in bittersweet relief that the others are protected. there is nothing else to do but sit down and cherish the memories.
0 minutes left.
i get up, not against my own will, like i'm some prisoner in my own body. quite the opposite. i get up through my own will.
\-1 minutes left.
something is wrong. i check my watch. i should be a zombie by now, and yet my heart is still beating, and my thoughts are still coherent.
\-2 minutes left.
i'm limping through the hall. maybe i can still reach them. maybe i can still see my family again.
\-5 minutes left.
there they are. maybe if i get their attention...
\-5 minutes and 5 seconds left.
they shot me. i guess i can't blame them, they probably assumed i was a zombie.
and yet it doesn't hurt, and the fluid that leaks from the wound is green.
i have never seen a zombie bleed green. in fact i have never seen a human bleed green.
and i had a thought. a thought that usually only philosophers have.
what am i?
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Bernard shuffled away from the bench clutching his left shoulder, where the bandaged bite wound (which had appeared deeper than any other bite wound of the people in his group who turned) began to throb and swell and leak blood. He cursed under his breath.
The sun was setting, and if Bernard could afford it, he would’ve smashed his head against the asphalt ground right then and there for the gigantic idiot that he had been. He should have known! He should have known an hour ago that there was something wrong. That this was different. That he was immune. But he waited and waited until the sun began to set and he lost more and more blood.
Bernard made it to the outside of a gas station as twilight began to fade. He glanced inside for zombies for but a moment before brashly entering to search for a weapon and some more bandages.
He left Sophia for nothing. He left little Jerry for nothing. He could be their only chance to end this living hell, to cure the virus for good… and they were heading away from his protection! Away from his grasp! They were in their van, grieving his loss… and he couldn’t be there! He could see the scene: Sophia was looking at his photo, coming to terms with it. Accepting his loss. Moving on… he couldn’t bear to imagine! He knew they were heading to an isolated town due southwest, but what if they left before he even arrived? He needed to save them.
No, he would save them.
Bernard found a wrap of bandages and tied them firmly around his shoulder. He discovered a decaying corpse of a self-wasted individual. Alongside them was a wieldy crowbar and an empty sports bag which he stuffed with supplies. He slung the sports bag around his right shoulder and put the weapon in his right hand.
A dozen or so zombies were already heading towards the station. But Bernard was mentally and physically prepared for the trials to come. Now that he had a mission—now that his life had a purpose, nothing could stop him.
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[WP] You’ve been bitten by a Zombie. You’ve already said tearful goodbyes to your loved ones as they leave you behind. The bite should make you turn in twenty minutes, so you sit down on a bench and wait… two hours later you’re still sitting there.
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20 minutes left.
i pick up my pack. all that's in it are a few weapons and sentimental objects. i don't need anything else.
15 minutes left.
my team is out of sight. it's me against the horde. i bring out my first weapon. a shotgun.
10 minutes left.
the sounds of broken flesh are all to familiar. though now they represent something. every zombie i kill is a little more time i buy for the others.
1 minute left.
it's a miracle. i managed to kill them all. i cry in bittersweet relief that the others are protected. there is nothing else to do but sit down and cherish the memories.
0 minutes left.
i get up, not against my own will, like i'm some prisoner in my own body. quite the opposite. i get up through my own will.
\-1 minutes left.
something is wrong. i check my watch. i should be a zombie by now, and yet my heart is still beating, and my thoughts are still coherent.
\-2 minutes left.
i'm limping through the hall. maybe i can still reach them. maybe i can still see my family again.
\-5 minutes left.
there they are. maybe if i get their attention...
\-5 minutes and 5 seconds left.
they shot me. i guess i can't blame them, they probably assumed i was a zombie.
and yet it doesn't hurt, and the fluid that leaks from the wound is green.
i have never seen a zombie bleed green. in fact i have never seen a human bleed green.
and i had a thought. a thought that usually only philosophers have.
what am i?
|
It brings me back to the days of my youth. I’d smoke a joint with the boys, and everything would be just dandy.
Until the exact moment that it wasn’t. Then, the anxiety takes over, and you spend the next several minutes inspecting each breath. Does your heart usually beat that way? Do your muscles and joints always feel this sore? Is the tightness in your chest normal?
While high, I’d battle the fear of my body shutting down with the very real, practical knowledge that I was okay. It was just weed coursing through me.
Now, though, with this infection coursing through me. Every odd breath gets the utmost scrutiny. The tightness in my chest, likely due to anxiety, is solid evidence that I am slowly turning. I will be one of them soon.
At least I will be a lucky one. I am well dressed. I can walk, maybe even run. I could probably catch a few people and snack on them.
I won’t go hungry.
The moans grow closer. I finger the trigger as I press cold metal into my skull. Something stills my finger. I let the gun fall.
Maybe it would be better, going on as one of the dead. After the pain of being eaten, after I had died and turned… maybe it would be nice. I could rejoin Ma and Pa. I could rejoin Ashley and Tom and even little Maggie. We could eat as a family again, sitting around a little dinner table.
Only this time, a calf or a thigh would replace chicken nuggies.
A military jet buzzes overhead, moving West with the rest of them, over the safety of the Rocky Mountains.
The moans grow louder. I catch my first glimpse of the hoard: a little boy in baby blue overalls. His left leg drags behind him. His left eye is a ruinous pit of red.
Oddly, I feel totally at ease. At peace, as though my life was building to this one, perfect moment.
I greet the first zombie, a business dressed fellow who walks faster than the little boy.
He bites my neck gently, like a lover, then yanks back savagely.
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[WP] Your superpower isn’t anything special. You can make stuff disappear behind your back then pull it back out again. When a friend at a party asks you to do it to them it sounds like a great laugh. But when you pull them back out they look older, disheveled, and are frantic to be sent back.
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I was not born special. The event of my birth was as normal as any other child, a run of the mill baby with run of the mill parents in a house far too cramped and a head far too big for my neck. Yet despite the absolute mundaneness of my birth, my parents loved me as if the world had become anchored around my existence. For them I think it really did.
The house in which I was raised was only special to us, and only because it was ours. To any passerby, any wandering eye on the sidewalk who glared into the windows, they would read our lives as nothing but simple. As a mother who cooked and a father who worked. A child with a sensible amount of curiosity and another who died young. But that wasn't notable, that was just life. That was my life.
But of course, somewhere along the way, I thought the world had begun to revolve around me too. Convinced so by how much love my parents showed me. I must be special if they thought so, my parents were never wrong. And in this rare, stupid instance, it turned out I was right.
I had realized quickly as a child that I could move things. Not move from place to place, but *between* places. I'd put something behind my back and poof, gone. Then with my other I'd reach into the apparent void and just like that, it'd be back again.
A superpower? Hardly. Hell, it was hardly even of any convenience. I had only ever used it as a party trick. A simple display of harmless fun to entertain guests. Well, at least that was until I understood where it all led to.
It was Jackson's thing, a party I guess you could call it. Not enough people to be considered a party I'd thought, but he was turning twenty-one and those few of us there were making a big show of it. Finally he asked me, as he always did when he introduced me to others, if I could show them my "superpower". I obliged, starting with a candle, then a book, a handful of marbles, simple stuff. Sometimes it'd come back odd, candles used, marbles scuffed, minor things that I couldn't explain.
But it didn't seem to be enough, not for Jackson.
"Ok, ok! Now do me!" The room shut up at his eagerness.
"Have uh...have you tried it on a person Harry-" A concerned voice spoke up from the back of the room. But Jackson insisted.
"What? If not even better! I'll be the first." Jackson continued. Everything you've ever put in comes back right?"
I was hesitant, scared, but eager to know where it all went. So, he positioned himself behind me. The small crowd of friend's leaned in as if to notice any imperfection. Any clue of how my oddity worked. But nothing. The moment my hand touched him he simply faded from our existence.
The crowd ooe'd but I trembled knowing the power I now held. If I decided to do nothing he would be gone forever. My hands shook. Instantly I pulled him back, reaching into the void behind my back and yanking. What came through the other side though was something *different*. Much older, grayed hair and circular wrinkles around his eyes. A pair of wire framed glasses he did not previously have.
"I...I...send me back. God please send me back." An audible gasp blew through the room at this older mans desperate pleas. His eyes shot between us as if we were nothing more than distant strangers. But I knew it was him.
"Jackson? What was on the other side- where did you go?" I stuttered the words out.
"Paradise, hell, purgatory, does it matter?! Send me back! Please god what sort of cruel dream!" He dropped to his knees in a desperate plea. Rather than wait for my reply he gripped my hand and dove at my back, dissapearing once again.
Instantly I yanked back, feeling around the void for his shape, but gripping nothing. Nothing came. Nobody in the room moved, they all just stared at one another in disbelief as I struggled. I put my hands behind my back and yanked, and yanked, and yanked, my heart pulsing in my chest.
"Jackson! Jack!" I yelled, pulling one last desperate time. And this time something did come from the other side. A person, child, smooth skinned and wide eyed, no older than five. He looked like Jackson, in an odd way; something deep in his eyes.
"Jackson?" I questioned in a whisper.
And the child shook its head up and down.
Then and there I knew, it was true I was not born special, I was born cursed.
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"Are you sure? This isn't our scene. Wouldn't you much rather play Mario Kart in your parents basement?" I exclaim while my knee moves as quickly as my heart is beating. I feel myself sink deeper in the passenger seat of Darren's Accord. "Dude, just chill. Don't you think we're too old to be doing that every weekend. Just breathe a bit, maybe have a few beers. We'll have a good time." "You know my parents don't usually let me out, I don't wanna disobey them the first chance I get." "Listen Howe, all will be fine. If you follow my lead you might even enjoy yourself. Speaking of which, Tommy told me Jess Hernandez is gonna come through."
We make our way inside Tommy's house party. I make sure to take with me a stick of gum and some confidence (girls like that). The noise of the loud music and yelling was disorienting at first but after Darren and I met up with Tommy things felt all chill. I clocked Jess hanging with her friends near the drinks. As we settled in my mind see-sawed on whether I should go over there and start up some conversation. Darren noticed my internal struggle and my googly gaze at her direction. "Before your eyes pop out their sockets go talk to her. Dont knock yourself yet, how about you give her a conversation starter." "How do you propose I do that?" "Do the thing." As Darren flexes his eyebrows a couple times. "Are you crazy?! I can't, my parents said-." "Enough of that bull shit. Your hanging with the boys now. I say if you wanna chance to talk to Jess, you need to impress." "Okay, fine." I concede. Darren winks at me and smiles.
"Hey everyone check this out!" Yells Tommy. The room goes quiet as all eyes now stare directly at me and my friends. Darren tosses an empty beer bottle at me, I catch it surprisingly gracefully and I try super hard to concentrate as I "do the thing". In my hands the beer bottle disappears. Everyone roars. I look around, I see Jess. She's smiling and in disbelief. "You guys wanna see something really cool?" Darren steps up and whispers to me, "Make me disappear." I hesitate but as the party chants, "Do It!" I have no choice. I whisper to Darren, "Are you sure." He assures me all is fine. So I set Darren up infront of me, I put my hands on each of his shoulders. I drown out the noise around me, I close my eyes and lower my head, my arms shaking, my head feels compression. I raise my head to my own amazement Darren is no more. He's gone.
Everyone now holds their breath before I bring Darren back into physical reality. As he phases and reappears Darren doesn't look like Darren. He's back but he's frail, wrinkly, and old. He screams in fright. The party forms into a tighter circle. Darren falls as his knees give out, his body drops to the floor before I'm able to get a grip on him. I freak out, I feel my body go cold, I'm frozen like a statue. Tommy helps him up. The look on Darren's face haunts me, his words even more so: "What did you do to me. What took you so long? Why did you wait so long." The breath in my lungs disappear as quickly as he did, words on the edge of my tongue fail to my lips. Terrified I remain still. Some of my peers begin to turn on me, shoving me. Tommy yells at them to stop but maybe I deserve it. Darren out of breath asks me to turn him back. I don't know how. "If I try to make you disappear and reappear again how do I know you won't come back worse?" I've never used my powers on a living organism. I shouldn't have agreed to be a stupid party trick. "Please Howe, at least try." Tommy pleads. I look at old Darren and I can't in good conscience send him back knowing he may not return.
I need fresh air. I decide to try to leave the house. I pass Jess and I feel her stare at me in distraught. I can't handle the pressure surrounding me. Finally, I escape, alone outside I let out tears of stress. Tommy sends everyone home. As every scared and disappointed person retreat, they whisper things about me as if I can't hear them as they pass by. "He's a freak." "Howe just killed his own friend." "Best party ever." Finally, I go back inside. I see Darren and Tommy sitting on the living room couch. Darren pleads to me once more, "I need you to make me myself again Howe. I trust you. Please." "Focus on bringing him back the way he was before. You can do it." Tommy reassures me. Tommy holds Darren up as he is between my hands again. I close my eyes tight and deeply breathe through my nose. I lift my head as the light in the room can be felt through my eyelids. I feel Darren go. I begin to pray as I attempt to bring back my friend. My eyes welling up with tears, I squeeze as much of my powers out of me as I can. Tommy stays as silent as a mouse. My heart beats out of my chest. I yell and open my eyes, chills run down my spine. Between my hands something begins to reappear.
Dust.
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j6j3a24
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[WP] A soul can reincarnate after they drink a bowl of magical soup to forget their past life. You've drank hundreds of bowls, but the memory is still as clear as day in your head.
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“So how long does it take?” Alan asked as the Administrator started to pack away the bowl.
Pausing mid task the Administrator looked back up at Alan and blinked slowly at him “Pardon?”
“The whole memory wipe thing.” Alan replied with a twirling gesture to his temple “How long after I drink you magic soup do I lose my memories and can reincarnate?”
The Administrator stared at him for a long moment before saying “It’s meant to happen instantly. You still remember your past life?”
“Yea.” Alan nodded.
“All of it?”
“Well, as much I ever did I guess.”
Turning to look at the bowl in his hand the Administrator asked “Are you sure you drank all of it?”
“Of course I did. You would have noticed otherwise when you took the bowl back right?”
“Right.” The Administrator said uncertainly “Let’s just try again shall we?” he suggested as he placed the bowl back in front of Alan. Picking up a small flask the Administrator uncorked it and started to fill the bowl, pouring out more of soup than could possible be contained in such a small vessel. Once the bowl was filled to him brim the Administrator slowly pushed it towards Alan who carefully picked it up as to not spill any and brought it to his lips. Gulping down the soup Alan set the bowl back down on the table and met the gaze of the Administrator who was watching expectantly “Well, anything?”
“Nope, still me.” Alan shrugged.
“I don’t understand…” the Administrator muttered to himself as he brought the flask to his nose and gave an experimental sniff. “Here, try drinking straight from the flask.”
“Sure, if you think it’ll work.” Alan said as he took the flask and brought it to his mouth. Swallowing as quickly as the liquid filled his mouth Alan drank continuously for several minutes before pulling it away and shook his head.
“This… This doesn’t make any sense… This has never happened before!” the Administrator cried out.
“So what do we do now?” Alan asked as he tried to hand the flask back to the Administrator only for him to push it back towards him.
“You just keep drinking!” he insisted as he got to his feet. “I’ve got to tell someone about this!” he said before fleeing out the door.
Shrugging his shoulders Alan brought the flask back to his lips and started to sip. After an indeterminable amount of time passed the door flung open as the Administrator returned with someone in tow. “It’s this one!” the Administrator said as he pointed an accusing finger at Alan. “He drank two full bowls and even straight from the flask but he’s still here and-”
“Calm yourself.” the Senior Administrator said as he held up a placating hand. “While such an occurrence is exceptionally rare it is not unheard of.” Taking a seat opposite Alan the Senior Administrator said “This is usually the result of a particularly strong memory having taken root directly into the soul. To exorcise it we simply need to identify the memory and pry it free from the soul. Now then, Alan was it? Can you think of any memory that could have such a hold upon you?”
“Nothing really comes to mind.” Alan shook his head.
“Come now.” The Senior Administrator said with a kindly smile “You were over 60 years old when you passed, there must be something?”
“I lead a kind of uneventful life to be honest with you.” he said awkwardly. “I never had any family, not many friends, I worked a dead end job; me dying was probably the most eventful thing to ever happen to me.” he finished lamely as he scratched the back of his head. “I was kind of looking forward to going back and making a better go of it this time around."
“mmm, then perhaps it was some form of trauma that you have repressed but still weighs heavily on your soul.” the Senior Administrator pondered as he stroke his chin. “Let us find out together, your hands if you please.” he said as held out his own hand on the table palms up. Doing as he was told Alan placed his hands in those of the Senior Administrator causing an image of a diner to appear between them “It seems to be a restaurant of some sort. Does it seem familiar at all?”
“Not really. I’ve probably ate at hundreds of places like this in my life. I can’t think of anything traumatic happening in one.”
“Let us see how it plays out.” he said as the image shifted to inside the diner where a twenty something Alan sat in a booth being served by a young waitress. “She is rather attractive no? Perhaps your deep seated memory involves this young woman?” the Senior Administrator suggested only to notice Alan looking pale. “Is something the matter?”
“I...er think I remember what memory this is.” he said evasively. “We don’t have to watch any more.”
“Of course we do. How else will we help you move on.” the Senior Administrator replied as the memory continued to show the waitress placing a plate in front of Alan.
“Here’s your meal, do you need anything else?” she said with a smile.
“No, I’m good thanks.” he replied with a shy smile.
“Enjoy your meal.” she smiled.
“Thanks.” Alan replied “You too.”
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The afterlife wasn't what I thought it would be; wasn't what they told me. I felt a fool, after the fact, to have believed them.
The tales of men.
It wasn't until I shed my former body– dropped it like a coat on the floor after the end of a hard day's work, that everything became clear to me. It was as though I had wandered through life with a static in my head that I'd grown used to, maybe even came to enjoy. Because in the afterlife your mind is as clear as a crystal bell that rings true every time the rooster calls.
Every detail.
Every moment.
And all the time.
You're something different when you break away from the things that made you human. Not something necessarily better, but different. You bloom like a flower in a field, but with directions for what happens when your pedals blow away with the wind. The collective beauty of it all loses its novelty, and you yearn for the things that you never dreamed you would.
Evil. Revenge. Pain. Suffering. And most importantly, struggle.
A baby born, wet, sticky, and cold lacks a compass. They may have their parents if they're not some unlucky SOB, but that alone isn't enough. Life is a web tangled with threads of entropy, gossamers of the unknown, and it's one's own personal journey to avoid the many spiders that populate it.
Drugs, gambling, alcohol, whores, hedonism.
I made some sweet vibrations in life; heavy ones that pulled every thread and called every eight-legged bastard straight to me, fangs glistening, and venom at the ready. The sun never set without venom in my veins. Never rose without me scrambling for more of it. Life was never enough for a guy like me.
And it seemed indeed neither was death.
I was told everyone grew bored with the afterlife at some point or another. Reincarnation was a certainty; not an if, but a when for every new flower that bloomed there. Each would inevitably crave the things that came with life and seek it again for themselves. It started with a journey– a pilgrimage known as the *Long Walk*. Some left in groups, others alone across a long field filled with flowers that watched as you passed.
From there, they'd cross a vast wetland, a barren desert, a wheatfield that stretched as far as the eye could see, and then a long arctic plane filled with snowcapped mountains, glaciers, and long stretches of white wilderness. Through a forest of golden leaves, a swamp of spewing gasses, and lastly a grassland that led to a single structure in the far distance. It sat nestled within the trunk of a great tree, the leaves of which one could see from where they first bloomed.
For as many who leave the garden at a time, the tree was never busy. Only ever a few souls at a time stay for long. It was like a traditional ramen shop like the kind they had in Japan. You'd pass under pearl white drapes and take your seat at the counter. A turtle man would greet you and ask you why you wished to return.
Any answer was good enough, it wasn't a test.
He'd then slide you a bowl of steaming soup, and ask you to reflect on your past life as it cooled. He said the same thing to me every time as though I hadn't been here every day for the past four seasons.
"Bathe in the steam; this step favors the bold. Inhale your new purpose and exhale the old."
I'd stare into his soulful reptilian eyes and take the soup into me again, again, and again, day after day. I would see others take but a single spoonful and vanish where they were. It was a gateway, you see. It was right in our instructions from the moment we bloomed. Much like I had shed my old body, I would need to shed my memories of it in order to be given life anew.
"It doesn't work," I'd tell the turtle.
But he'd simply stare back at me wisely; silently; never uttering a word, as though he were simply existing on a loop.
And there weren't any further instructions.
No contingencies, and no workarounds. In life, there were many pathways to achieve one's goal, but in death, there was only this. It was absolute. I spent years visiting every day and drinking the soup, but I couldn't forget who I was; couldn't emerge from my chrysalis as a fresh face with a new story.
I was stuck as me. As this.
And in time I grew from remorseful to angry. I finished the bowl and smashed it against the wall, only to get no new reaction from the turtle man. He would just watch me through his big all-knowing eyes, as though pitying me. As though he had the answer and was withholding it from me. His gaze drove me to madness day after day. He would never say a word, save for his stupid rhyme about inhaling my new purpose. I inhaled all the steam every time and all I exhaled were curses at the end of each unsuccessful attempt to pass through the gateway, as was my right to do so.
My divine right.
I snapped.
I leaped over the counter and bludgeoned the turtle to death with his own cookware. I ventured into his kitchen and found behind it a cave.
The inside of the tree.
Gold and silver flecks blew past my face as I ventured into the trunk. A warmth washed over me as I reached what I imagined was the center. I felt a wind beneath my feet that pushed with a gentle force and lifted me into the air. I ascended into the trunk of the tree. I saw things no soul has seen. Understood truths available only to one willing to take. The turtle was dead. If I couldn't go home, then nobody would.
I would exist as I always had– as a spider.
As a spider in the tree.
r/A15MinuteMythos
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j6dh6da
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j6dbhda
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[WP] While checking out an abandoned island with your new friends, you decide to look at the local pictures online. The only one nearby is a photo of you and your friends posted a month ago, before any of you even met.
|
"AAAAGH!" I screamed as Bonnie, one of the new friends I have made over the summer break, snuck up on me and grabbed me by the shoulders, instantly pulling me out of my uneasy slumber.
"HAH-!" she laughed loudly, clearly happy with the fright she gave me. "Come on lazybones, you've slept all day."
"Right, right. I'm going," I said and rubbed my eyes weakly. A stretch, a yawn and I was out of bed, heading out of the houseboat to join my new friends. It's been a fun couple of weeks - we met at an exclusive party and immediately hit it off, all four of us, and ever since that we've been getting from one spot of trouble into another, having the time of our lives. An endless party.
"Remind me- wha- aah!" I said with a barely suppressed yawn, "what we're doing on an abandoned island again, Ranjit?"
"Oh come on mate," Ranjit, the cleverly dressed man leading us all on this foolhardy expedition, responded, "it's an *abandoned island*! We explore it, find a chest o' gold, and get famous!"
"Right," I glared at him.
"Or, you know, just bond over the *epic* adventure," he added.
"*Right.*"
"Oi!" I heard from behind Ranjit, "not like we're going blind, innit?"
"Hey Summer," I smiled at the upbeat freckled girl that appeared from behind Ranjit.
"Aye, got us some satellite images. Lay of the land and all!" she smiled and pointed at her laptop. Fancy way of saying 'Google Maps' but who am I to judge? We huddled together, eager to inspect the island properly.
"Not many images, are there?" I said disappointed. "This one seems to be of this beach, click on it."
Summer obliged and the image of the beach we were standing on, judging by the shape of the nearby reef, started slowly loading. But with every pixel, the whole image grew more and more... wrong.
"Weird. This place is supposed to be abandoned, right?" I asked.
"Yeah," Ranjit noted.
"So who are the people in this photo?" I said and pointed to the 4 figures. "Zoom in?"
She did, eventually getting to street view. And we saw their faces.
Our faces.
It was an image of us as if taken by a photographer directly in front of us. We all looked up instantly but saw no one; yet the picture, dated more than a month back - before we've ever even met - showed us all in our current attire, standing where we currently were, with our currently dumbfounded looks.
"What's going on?" I asked in a hushed voice.
"I- I don't... I-" Bonnie tried to speak but found no words.
"What's this?" Ranjit said and pointed to the monitor. On the image - our portrait - was a blur, something behind us, dark and tall.
I tried to turn but was stopped when some sort of spike pierced through Ranjit's back, running him through and splattering us all with blood. My instinct kicked in. Flight.
I ran. Ran as fast as I could. I only managed to turn around once to see the thing, tall, hideous and unnatural, descend upon Summer with an equal level of cruel savagery, cleaving her nearly in twain. I saw the spike it killed Ranjit with was its arm, resembling a crab claw. I saw it snip Summer's head off as she tried to scream. I saw it look at me with dark, beady eyes; the only thing on its otherwise pale, smooth face. And then I stopped looking back and ran.
I ran. And ran. And ran. Until I could run no longer. My heart felt like it was going to explode from my chest, my lungs were on fire. I collapsed into a nearby shrub and tried my best to conceal myself with the spare leaves.
It didn't make sense. The photo was impossible. The monster was impossible. Ranjit and Summer - they - were they dead? Actually dead? This can't be happening. It can't. An abandoned island, no help, monster... is...
Is this Hell?
I had no time to finish the thought. I looked up and saw the creature, wet and slimy, hideous beyond measure, standing above me, pincer raised.
​
I screamed.
​
"AAAAGH!"
I screamed as Bonnie, one of the new friends I have made over the summer break, snuck up on me and grabbed me by the shoulders, instantly pulling me out of my slumber.
"HAH-!" she laughed loudly, clearly happy with the fright she gave me. "Come on lazybones, you've slept all day."
"Right, right. I'm going," I said and rubbed my eyes weakly. A stretch, a yawn and I was out of bed, heading out of the houseboat to join my new friends. It's been a fun couple of weeks - we met at an exclusive party and immediately hit it off, all four of us, and ever since that we've been getting from one spot of trouble into another, having the time of our lives.
An *endless* party.
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People always talked about the good old days of the '70s and '80s at Boblo Island in Detroit. It was an amusement park from 1898 to 1993, but it has since become abandoned and ruined.
Roland and his friends lived for exploring abandoned buildings, which Detroit had plenty to offer outside the concrete jungle of the bustling downtown.
They had seen the massive Packard Plant and they even managed to sneak in a trip to the beautiful art deco train station before Ford swooped in, purchased it, and made it inaccessible to the trespassers.
But the holy grail of it all was Boblo Island, the desolate amusement park. There was a lot to see. The abandoned boat was still anchored by the island, not to mention the incredible dancehall built by Henry Ford. There were trains and roller coaster rides to gawk at too. Since it was on an island, they would be one of the very few people that had ever gone exploring there.
It required a boat to get there, and a day came by where Roland and his pals were able to access a boat owned by his friend's father. They felt like pioneers when the four of them managed to cram into a small boat and take a trip to Boblo Island at dusk.
Upon reaching the island, they parked the boat on the beach and got out. Roland and his three other friends marveled at the abandoned boat sitting 200 yards away on a dock. Streams of black lines ran down the windows of the once sterling white ship. Then they scanned the whole island and saw the shadowy figures of the roller coasters and the pavilion and the legendary dance hall.
"God, I can't believe my mom came in the clutch with this map!" Jimmy yelled. He had a pamphlet map his mom had saved from the '80s. A treasure and a relic in the Detroit area.
"Dude, shut up and keep your voice down!" Roland snapped but whispered.
"What? It's not like anyone else is around." Jimmy flapped his hand at Roland.
"Remember that time You were yelling in the Packard Plant and wild dogs barked at us and chased us? Yeah, that wasn't funny," Layla said.
Their other friend Boris was quiet in the corner. Boris preferred exploring and taking the sights in as opposed to talking. Boris loved imagining what the place used to be like when it was full of life.
"Relax, there aren't going to be any dogs here. And if there are, we can easily get back to the boat and be on our merry way," Jimmy said. "Now, how's about we go on that boat?"
"Hold on one second." Boris pulled out photos from his fanny pack. They were pictures taken in the '70s and '80s that he bought at a thrift store. Each photo had a family posing in front of the roller coaster or the dance hall or the boat itself. But something gave him the chills as he referenced the photos again. "Uh, guys..."
Roland and Jimmy were arguing about something stupid in a fury of whispers.
"Layla, check this out. This is really freaky. I feel like I'm seeing something." Boris waved Layla over.
He handed her the photos and she flipped through them.
"Do you notice anything really weird about those photos? I got those at the thrift store but they look totally different now!"
Layla felt her chest tighten up. "Boris, what the hell is this? Is this some kind of a prank?"
"No! I swear, you saw these photos earlier. They're the same ones that were in my bag. I don't know what happened to them."
Layla pinched herself since she thought she was in a nightmare. "Boris... This looks like us. These are pictures of us on the island having *fun*. What the hell! Those are your glasses, and your same hair in this photo from 1970! And that's me! I own those shorts and that t-shirt but I'm not even wearing that right now *what the hell*!"
"I think we should leave this place," Boris uttered, but loud enough for Roland and Jimmy to hear.
"What's that? You want to leave?" Jimmy echoed. "We just got here."
"Roland, check this out," Boris said. Roland was the unofficial leader of the group, whatever he said was practically law. As he walked over, Boris gave him the photos.
Roland furrowed his brow and had confusion written all over his face. "Uh, dude, what's up with these photos?"
"Hey! Jimmy! Where are you going!" Layla shouted.
Jimmy took off running toward the abandoned park while the three of them were analyzing the pics.
"Dammit!" Roland whispered. "Did you Photoshop these or something to freak us out?"
"No, I swear! These are the photos that I bought from the thrift store," Boris said.
Roland exhaled. "Well, we can't leave without Jimmy so I guess we either stay here and wait for him or we go get him right now."
Then the three of them heard a blood curdling scream that sounded like Jimmy's tortured voice. Goosebumps covered their bodies.
r/randallcooper
I recently finished a story that has a same mystery type of feel. Check it out [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/s2kxxl/club_novus_part_1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button)! :)
I'm also from Michigan and Boblo Island is a very real place. It's a fun little rabbit hole to read about.
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jiqh552
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jiprbo8
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[WP] In a world of dragons, sorcery, war, and monsters, there are many risks and even risk takers. Everyone though, elf, monster, or man knows to avoid those few ancient ruins that contain symbols of suffering and a word of the ancients, RADIATION.
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# No Place of Honour
*Part One of Two*
“I have a bad feeling about this place.”
Freya shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder. “Keep it down, Marik. I’d rather not alert those guards we passed earlier.”
The little wizard wrung his hands, looking up at her with wide eyes. “That’s just it – I’ve never seen armour like that, and we all read the warnings. That was more languages than I could even count, all saying the same thing!” His voice dropped to a whisper as he eyed the huge metal doors they were huddled beneath. “Turn back.”
“They *would* say that,” Kley muttered as they tinkered with the locks. Their tools lay in a haphazard pile at their feet, several pieces of carefully disassembled alarms and traps scattered around them. “Whoever built the place wants to keep their treasures away from clever entrepreneurs like us. Ghost stories work just fine!”
“But some of the texts out there aren’t even spoken any more! They–”
A noise drew Freya’s attention away from the whispered argument. She peered down the rough-hewn corridor they’d followed to reach the doors, and saw the flickering glow of torchlight steadily coming closer.
“Shit,” she hissed. “Better hurry up, Kley, we’re about to have company.”
“Almost got it–”
*”Did you hear that?”*
“Nine Hells,” Freya cursed, fumbling at her belt for the little canister she knew was there. “Out of time!”
*”Intruders! You must not open the vault!”*
*”Stop them!”*
Freya leaned away from the wall and threw the little canister towards the running figures. It hit the floor a few feet in front of them and shattered, erupting in a bright flash and burst of deafening sound that sent the darkly shrouded forms reeling away from it with shrieks of pain and shock.
“Any time now!” she grunted, readying her pistol. “I’d prefer not to shoot someone tonight!”
“Got it!” Kley yelled, throwing their tools together as fast as they could. “Get the door!”
“About time!”
Freya chucked a smoke bomb after the dazzler for good measure, then turned to haul at the solid block of steel, the hinges groaning with protest as she strained against the weight. The doors shifted far too slowly, the shouts of their pursuers getting closer by the second, more clamouring voices joining in as the alarm echoed down the halls of the cave system.
Marik shrieked as a blindly fired net smacked into the doors and fell to the floor in a tangled heap. The halfling scurried away, pressing themselves through the widening gap in the door as soon as they could, Kley following hot on their heels.
Freya cursed and dropped her backpack, pressing herself flat through the narrow gap after them. She slipped through with a grunt, the air pressed out of her chest.
*”You can’t! Please, come back!”*
“Close it, Marik!” Kley yelled.
The little mage nodded and pointed his staff at the door. “Arcane Lock!”
*”No!”*
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First time writing a prompt and english is not my first language.
“I want that dragon dead!”
“Sire we can’t attack the dragon at it’s hoard. The plaguedragon lives in the forbidden forest, we can’t reach her.”
“Pah, that beast has been pestering my kingdom since time immemorial. Find a way to slay her, I’m sick of her, every couple of years it ransacks our grain storage and shortly thereafter her brood descends that sicking Mushroom forest.”
“That might be true sire but how are we meant to approach? The last time your father Curie III send in an expedition they shortly returned and died an agonizing death over the next couple of weeks. And their armor could not be reused whoever wore it after died as well, albeit slower. The brood is also quickly deposed of by our glowing guardians – shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“Shall their fur be ever glowing … fine, then send for the Wizard immediately, he shall think of something.”
“Of course Sire, I’ll inform the mighty Oppenheimer immediately.”
\-
“It is I, Oppenheimer, you have summoned me Sire?”
“Yes yes, you are to find a solution to the menace Typhon.”
“The creature living in the mushroom forest Sire? What of it?”
“My knights reminded me that her lair is unapproachable. Because of the folly of the Ancients.”
“Aaah yes most unfortunate, well we could try several approaches Sire? All of them quite costly one way or another.”
“What do you propose Wizard?”
“Three ideas come to mind. First ask your elderly knights if they would be willing to slay the beast. They will surely die, but they might be willing since their names would go down in history, also give their families an incentive. Second the ancient texts mention a metal, which protects from the folly of the Ancients. The blacksmith could fashion armor out of it, if we are able to find it my Liege. Third, we wait for Typhon to approach the next time and fight it while it raids a grain storage or poison the grain in the hopes that this will kill it.”
“I like your ideas Wizard, even though I’m skeptical that she can be killed by poison if she lives in such a hazardous area. We shall do all three proposals together. Find out if there is a mine of this wondrous metal in my Kingdom, if not acquire enough from the neighboring kingdoms. Fashion suits of armor out of it with the blacksmiths and give it to anyone who is willing to fight the beast, I want at least 20 men. If possible find a poison which is able to injure the creature if not alright kill it.”
“Sire such things take time, I’m not sure if we will be ready by the next attack.”
“Well she hasn’t destroyed the kingdom yet find a solution as fast a possible.”
“If I may, if the guardians - shall their fur be ever glowing...“
“Shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“wouldn’t kill the entire brood I could study the young and find a suitable poison, maybe find a weakness…“
“Oppenheimer you know as well as I, that no one can control the guardians. They go wherever they please. Also I find the idea of the living brood rather uncomfortable. If you want a specimen you’ll have to find a dead one which they guardians left.”
“Of course Sire, anything else?”
“No get to work, I want that Dragon dead.”
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jisr2rp
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jiprbo8
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[WP] In a world of dragons, sorcery, war, and monsters, there are many risks and even risk takers. Everyone though, elf, monster, or man knows to avoid those few ancient ruins that contain symbols of suffering and a word of the ancients, RADIATION.
|
It has long been known that the Precursors, seemingly distantly related to Humans, harnessed lost energies capable of both raising cities and leveling them. Energies so powerful that they could melt one's body into itself by mere proximity. The Radiant, as the material has been named, is rare. However, just a handful of the valuable pellets could fuel an entire city for months to even years, though how the Precursors seemingly extracted more energy than the pellets could reasonably contain is unknown. It is, of course, assumed to be arcane in nature, as with the rest of their artifacts.
The warmth, a lie.
At some point around the time of the Convergence, a turning point in Precursor history that seemed to cause a descent into madness, they locked these energies away in erratic basalt structures. Collapsed towers, corrupted Maze-Cities, platforms between hills littered with runes of danger. No one knows what caused the appearance of the Anomalies, but it is commonly understood to have been related to the subsequent downfall of the Precursors. The few who survive long enough to both enter and leave the Anomalies rarely live more than a month after returning home. Most of those survivors are Elves though, who instead usually die after a year.
The tombs, a shield.
The brightest Dwarven scholars of Dhenfaldur determined that, at some point between recent history and the Convergence, in an event known as the Cataclysm, the planet grew cold, angry, and hostile to life. It killed all but the most stalwart of plants, and its rage did not fade for decades. It is estimated that the best preserved Precursor cities fell during this time, having been spared from the original Cataclysm that all but erased the rest.
The world, a warning.
Many theories exist on what caused the Cataclysm, marking the complete disappearance of Precursor civilization, but many major proposals focus on the Broken Mountains, a range believed to have been rent apart by the Precursors. The center of this split is the largest Anomaly known to exist, a massive basalt pillar seemingly dropped from the sky, jealously guarded by the Dragons. No visitor, not even Elvish, has lasted more than a day after exploring it, but all tell stories of a distorted place so Radiant that most of the area inside has melted. Many experience the same fate, melting into their beds before poisoning their surroundings with the same Radiant Energy locked away by the Precursors.
The Radiant, a corruption.
And yet, some fools refuse to leave the Anomalies alone. Many die each year due to this, to the point that hubris and the Radiant energies have been intertwined.
In that case, perhaps lost technologies, especially those harvesting the Radiant, should remain lost, so the Cataclysm may never occur again. At least, not before we can do away with the hubris shared by the Precursors.
|
First time writing a prompt and english is not my first language.
“I want that dragon dead!”
“Sire we can’t attack the dragon at it’s hoard. The plaguedragon lives in the forbidden forest, we can’t reach her.”
“Pah, that beast has been pestering my kingdom since time immemorial. Find a way to slay her, I’m sick of her, every couple of years it ransacks our grain storage and shortly thereafter her brood descends that sicking Mushroom forest.”
“That might be true sire but how are we meant to approach? The last time your father Curie III send in an expedition they shortly returned and died an agonizing death over the next couple of weeks. And their armor could not be reused whoever wore it after died as well, albeit slower. The brood is also quickly deposed of by our glowing guardians – shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“Shall their fur be ever glowing … fine, then send for the Wizard immediately, he shall think of something.”
“Of course Sire, I’ll inform the mighty Oppenheimer immediately.”
\-
“It is I, Oppenheimer, you have summoned me Sire?”
“Yes yes, you are to find a solution to the menace Typhon.”
“The creature living in the mushroom forest Sire? What of it?”
“My knights reminded me that her lair is unapproachable. Because of the folly of the Ancients.”
“Aaah yes most unfortunate, well we could try several approaches Sire? All of them quite costly one way or another.”
“What do you propose Wizard?”
“Three ideas come to mind. First ask your elderly knights if they would be willing to slay the beast. They will surely die, but they might be willing since their names would go down in history, also give their families an incentive. Second the ancient texts mention a metal, which protects from the folly of the Ancients. The blacksmith could fashion armor out of it, if we are able to find it my Liege. Third, we wait for Typhon to approach the next time and fight it while it raids a grain storage or poison the grain in the hopes that this will kill it.”
“I like your ideas Wizard, even though I’m skeptical that she can be killed by poison if she lives in such a hazardous area. We shall do all three proposals together. Find out if there is a mine of this wondrous metal in my Kingdom, if not acquire enough from the neighboring kingdoms. Fashion suits of armor out of it with the blacksmiths and give it to anyone who is willing to fight the beast, I want at least 20 men. If possible find a poison which is able to injure the creature if not alright kill it.”
“Sire such things take time, I’m not sure if we will be ready by the next attack.”
“Well she hasn’t destroyed the kingdom yet find a solution as fast a possible.”
“If I may, if the guardians - shall their fur be ever glowing...“
“Shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“wouldn’t kill the entire brood I could study the young and find a suitable poison, maybe find a weakness…“
“Oppenheimer you know as well as I, that no one can control the guardians. They go wherever they please. Also I find the idea of the living brood rather uncomfortable. If you want a specimen you’ll have to find a dead one which they guardians left.”
“Of course Sire, anything else?”
“No get to work, I want that Dragon dead.”
|
jir0ago
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jiprbo8
|
[WP] In a world of dragons, sorcery, war, and monsters, there are many risks and even risk takers. Everyone though, elf, monster, or man knows to avoid those few ancient ruins that contain symbols of suffering and a word of the ancients, RADIATION.
|
Thousand years ago, were the age of the ancient gods of infinite power and possibilities. They built and destroyed civilizations in the snap of their fingers.
They travel the skies and reached the stars. Voices are sent and travels the wind. Messages were seen through pieces of glass. Looking mirrors allowed them to communicate across miles apart.
Stored food in metal containers to prevent them from perishing immediately. Prophecies and visions are shown through windows. Carriage with no horses, and boats with no sails.
And despite of all the mystics and enchantments, they turned to each other and the war of the gods have caused their demise. They used their powers to level kingdoms, knock down huge metal trees, and cursed the lands. Lands, that once treaded shall caused incurable sickness.
One of the curse lands is the Ruins of Was’gton, home to dark creatures with two headed deer, three eyed bears, two bodied dog, and many more. It is covered with overgrown trees, dense that no light passes through. Many heroes tried to map it and none succeeded. But the maps they all made were put together to help create a progressive map.
The mystiques were soon revealed by a party of legendary heroes of humans, elves, dwarves and a harpy. They were consisted of Darren the Huntsman, Steve the Spearmaster, Antwan the Elven Archer, Lakesha the Elven Diviner, Mario the Dwarf Butcher, Carlo the Dwarf Axeman and Karen the Harpy Navigator.
Using all the maps put together by the first heroes, they explored the Ruins of Was’gton. Fought the dark creatures that cross their path. And endured the sickness that continue to wear them down. And right across a toxic river is a small mountain with flat top.
In this place they felt strong power leaking, the power that caused the curse of the land. They pushed through. This is the only ruins that has most of the structure is intact. But cracks on the walls are visible and on the brink of crumbling. And right across the most secured room, ancient writings were written - RADIATION.
They finally found the source of dark magic. And to prevent it from ever leaking dark magic again, the party did all they can to cover the ancient temple. Using mud and tar, they sealed all cracks. The party decided to dig a trench around the temple connecting to the river to let the water flow around it. As water has mystical properties that wash out dark energies.
They were successful to contain the dark energy but at the cost of their health. The party wrote a book of their adventure and listed all the cautionary measures to survive curse lands. After all Ruins of Was’gton is not the only cursed land. There are hundreds across the continent.
The glyphs of RADIATION meant dark magic. Beware of the sign or face the danger and accept your fate.
|
First time writing a prompt and english is not my first language.
“I want that dragon dead!”
“Sire we can’t attack the dragon at it’s hoard. The plaguedragon lives in the forbidden forest, we can’t reach her.”
“Pah, that beast has been pestering my kingdom since time immemorial. Find a way to slay her, I’m sick of her, every couple of years it ransacks our grain storage and shortly thereafter her brood descends that sicking Mushroom forest.”
“That might be true sire but how are we meant to approach? The last time your father Curie III send in an expedition they shortly returned and died an agonizing death over the next couple of weeks. And their armor could not be reused whoever wore it after died as well, albeit slower. The brood is also quickly deposed of by our glowing guardians – shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“Shall their fur be ever glowing … fine, then send for the Wizard immediately, he shall think of something.”
“Of course Sire, I’ll inform the mighty Oppenheimer immediately.”
\-
“It is I, Oppenheimer, you have summoned me Sire?”
“Yes yes, you are to find a solution to the menace Typhon.”
“The creature living in the mushroom forest Sire? What of it?”
“My knights reminded me that her lair is unapproachable. Because of the folly of the Ancients.”
“Aaah yes most unfortunate, well we could try several approaches Sire? All of them quite costly one way or another.”
“What do you propose Wizard?”
“Three ideas come to mind. First ask your elderly knights if they would be willing to slay the beast. They will surely die, but they might be willing since their names would go down in history, also give their families an incentive. Second the ancient texts mention a metal, which protects from the folly of the Ancients. The blacksmith could fashion armor out of it, if we are able to find it my Liege. Third, we wait for Typhon to approach the next time and fight it while it raids a grain storage or poison the grain in the hopes that this will kill it.”
“I like your ideas Wizard, even though I’m skeptical that she can be killed by poison if she lives in such a hazardous area. We shall do all three proposals together. Find out if there is a mine of this wondrous metal in my Kingdom, if not acquire enough from the neighboring kingdoms. Fashion suits of armor out of it with the blacksmiths and give it to anyone who is willing to fight the beast, I want at least 20 men. If possible find a poison which is able to injure the creature if not alright kill it.”
“Sire such things take time, I’m not sure if we will be ready by the next attack.”
“Well she hasn’t destroyed the kingdom yet find a solution as fast a possible.”
“If I may, if the guardians - shall their fur be ever glowing...“
“Shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“wouldn’t kill the entire brood I could study the young and find a suitable poison, maybe find a weakness…“
“Oppenheimer you know as well as I, that no one can control the guardians. They go wherever they please. Also I find the idea of the living brood rather uncomfortable. If you want a specimen you’ll have to find a dead one which they guardians left.”
“Of course Sire, anything else?”
“No get to work, I want that Dragon dead.”
|
j3dtpvl
|
j3d76b7
|
[WP] You are an assassin with a reputation for pulling of very public hits without being noticed. You achieve this not by being extremely stealthy, but by making sure that your kills are so absurd and ridiculous that no one would ever believe the witnesses if they told their stories.
|
As the cart rolled forward the man behind yelled, "Runaway hotdog cart! Out the way!", gesturing side to side for those in the park to move. The steel cart careened forward, barely avoided by the crowds and followed closely behind by the frantic stand worker.
It swerved left and right, the steel missile rocketing down hill and picking up speed until it had left the worker behind.
"A baby! Oh god there's a baby!" A shrill womans voice cried out. And she was right. Down at the bottom of the hill sat a lone stroller, no parent in sight. It seemed the cart did not prefer the company of infants, because just as she screamed the cart swerved left, directly in the path of the stroller.
"I've got it!" A voice yelled out, then a large man leaped in front of the steel brick with impressive agility.
But it seemed he did not have it. As when he rose up to his feet, his body between the cart and the child, the cart caught him in the torso in an explosion of hot dogs and metal pieces. Screams. Yells. A crumpled body on the floor. And somewhere in the shadows of the park, a man with a grin on his face.
When the police arrived, the sea of paramedics and investigators, they quickly determined it to be an accident. Brake failure on the cart, is what they'd said. When asked about the bricks meant to be behind the wheels the employee swore they had been, and of course, he was right.
And of course the man had died on impact, because that was how it was meant to be. Too ridiculous to question as anything other than an accident. Then negligence, the fact that humans are inherently flawed creatures.
The detectives *would* question why a man so notoriously selfish as Gregory Solth jumped to save another, but they would be asking the wrong question. They would look into his life and determine possibly he intended to turn his negative reputation all around. But the question was rather: had he jumped at all. The question was if that had even been his voice that had called out, "I've got it!" And further, what of the baby? Who's was it and where had it gone?
The question was why had so many strange deaths, accidental of course, been popping up all over the city. The balcony pool of CEO Carl Lincoln breaking, dropping him twelve stories. J.M Lenoy, a man tied to the mob, slipping on a wet floor sign and breaking his neck. Now Gregory Sloth, tech giant, dying to a hotdog stand.
But then again, they were all accidents, and nobody questions an accident.
|
The stall was all set to go. I walked around one last time. Colours were loud but not obnoxious. The tubes were set. Disposable mouthpieces were in their containers. All the tanks were fully and ready to go.
Take a deep breath, exhale. Control your breathing...
And GO.
_Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Squeak Stall._
**Remember how you used to laugh when you spoke like a chipmunk.**
**But it only last for one sentence?**
**At the Squeak Store, we make you a chipmunk for 15 minutes.**
**Yes, 15 whole minutes.**
**Yes that is 900 seconds.**
**Imagine the fun.**
**Imagine the pranks you can pull with 900 seconds of chipmunk voice.**
**There are disposable mouthpieces available and you can a free trial of 30 seconds**
What followed was the most irritating 15 minutes of my life. Random people coming up, having a pull and talking to each other in that chip munky voice!
Argh! My bleeding ears.
And then, I saw them walking towards my stall.
All in their three pieces suit, leather suitcases and Rolex watch.
**Hey, it's the Shark Tank panel!**
**C'mon guys. Have a whiff, it's free! And you don't have to invest at all!"**
**Imagine using a chipmunk voice to reject a proposal!**
Long story short, they all took a whiff. In fact, several whiffs. But did they purchase any from me... No... But being the entrepreneur that I am, I cut them a deal.
**Ok, guys. No hard sell from me.**
**No, seriously. I not looking to make a buck here. Especially from you guys.**
**But here is what I will do instead.**
**All of you get a free canister. All I want is that for this evening show, all of you use it together before discussing on live TV. Imagine the ratings if you drop teasers. Imagine the numbers of viewers you will get once it goes viral.**
**Hashtag sharktank chipmunks**
**Hashtag 15minutes of chipmunk voices**
And of course they all took the present. Who wouldn't? You could almost see their eyes lighting up with the potential viewer count.
**Remember, for the 15 minutes effect, you need to fit the canister to the face mask and be inhaling it for 5 minutes before.**
_And today on Shark Tank, we bring a special episode._
_... Sharks will be doing..._
_... They are getting ready..._
_OMG, why are they wearing face masks?_
_This is hilarious, they are speaking like chipmunks_
_Are they going to be... Yes... It is lasting for more than a few words..._
_Damn! Who thought they would have a sense of humour!_
_Hey, love their make up, cheeks are looking rosier than normal._
_Wait! 2 of the Sharks have passed out. It cannot be that boring._
_She is grabbing at her throat, what's happening._
_Somebody get medical help._
As the cameras panned to the Sharks all unconscious in their chairs, the medical team could be seen rushing from backstage.
And one of the cameras zoomed in onto the canister with the letters **HeCO** stamped on it
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[WP] You are an assassin with a reputation for pulling of very public hits without being noticed. You achieve this not by being extremely stealthy, but by making sure that your kills are so absurd and ridiculous that no one would ever believe the witnesses if they told their stories.
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As the cart rolled forward the man behind yelled, "Runaway hotdog cart! Out the way!", gesturing side to side for those in the park to move. The steel cart careened forward, barely avoided by the crowds and followed closely behind by the frantic stand worker.
It swerved left and right, the steel missile rocketing down hill and picking up speed until it had left the worker behind.
"A baby! Oh god there's a baby!" A shrill womans voice cried out. And she was right. Down at the bottom of the hill sat a lone stroller, no parent in sight. It seemed the cart did not prefer the company of infants, because just as she screamed the cart swerved left, directly in the path of the stroller.
"I've got it!" A voice yelled out, then a large man leaped in front of the steel brick with impressive agility.
But it seemed he did not have it. As when he rose up to his feet, his body between the cart and the child, the cart caught him in the torso in an explosion of hot dogs and metal pieces. Screams. Yells. A crumpled body on the floor. And somewhere in the shadows of the park, a man with a grin on his face.
When the police arrived, the sea of paramedics and investigators, they quickly determined it to be an accident. Brake failure on the cart, is what they'd said. When asked about the bricks meant to be behind the wheels the employee swore they had been, and of course, he was right.
And of course the man had died on impact, because that was how it was meant to be. Too ridiculous to question as anything other than an accident. Then negligence, the fact that humans are inherently flawed creatures.
The detectives *would* question why a man so notoriously selfish as Gregory Solth jumped to save another, but they would be asking the wrong question. They would look into his life and determine possibly he intended to turn his negative reputation all around. But the question was rather: had he jumped at all. The question was if that had even been his voice that had called out, "I've got it!" And further, what of the baby? Who's was it and where had it gone?
The question was why had so many strange deaths, accidental of course, been popping up all over the city. The balcony pool of CEO Carl Lincoln breaking, dropping him twelve stories. J.M Lenoy, a man tied to the mob, slipping on a wet floor sign and breaking his neck. Now Gregory Sloth, tech giant, dying to a hotdog stand.
But then again, they were all accidents, and nobody questions an accident.
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Geoff pumped up the each balloon on the cart with hydrogen gas. He had little trinkets clipped on and a box of glow sticks for sale. He had the tracker on his target - the CEO of a biotech firm replacing horse hair with an algae breed one. The horse park owners were annoyed, he was taking their income and these men didn't like any loss. So, they hired Geoff, the chaos killer. He tied off a balloon and let its bright red color worm its way up to the rest of the bouquet.
​
Geoff rolled into the alley with the rest of the street vendors. Three of them had buckets strapped around their neck filled with water bottles, two had giant cardboard boxes of hot dogs and then there was the man with a clipboard. Geoff had to apply weeks ago for this slot, who knew street vending rights were so competitive? It cost him a bullet and some flowers, he traded an assassination of an ex-wife for this ticket but it would be worth it.
​
The CEO was right out front, standing on the platform giving a speech. He was dressed in a blonde suit that looked stringy. Geoff checked his reference photo, he was wearing the same thing; his suit made from his company's material. A blonde fake horse hair suit, yeah he can eat these balloons. The company sponsored the orchestra tonight with brand new instruments. "Thanks for this time, and for helping us grow like no other. We have helped bring down the cost of instruments by ten fold and with our latest technology we are going to change the musical world. It's going to be crazy and we wanted to help celebrate with the city that made us!" The CEO walked off stage, shaking hands each step of the way. Geoff rolled his eyes.
​
He was always called to take out men like this. The changers and earthquake-generators of the world. Three politicians just last year, all with odd sex-based kill requests. Geoff nodded to a hotdog vendor who he'd paid to lead the way to the CEO for him. They started off, selling and inching toward the man of the hour. The hot dog vendor doled out wiener after weiner for free, just pushing past the crowds to the man in the suit made of fake horse hair. "Hi sir, hot dog?" The vendor offered one of his products to the CEO, this was it. Geoff charged forward pushing the cart right into the CEO.
​
He turned, and lit a match and a small pocket-sized bottle of vodka. A pocket molotov aimed right for the silly highly flammable fake horse hair suit. "The bluegrass state sends its regards!" Geoff shouted as the entire cart - equipped with the glowsticks that had just been covering C4 and dynamite strapped to the bottom of the cart. The entire stage became a massive fireball, sadly the hot dog vendor also didn't make it. Those dogs were burned and Geoff had succeeded again. He brushed off his pants, contorted his face into an anxious pained scared man and ran with the rest of the crowd as his phone dinged with small payments between two and seven thousand dollars until they fulfilled his contract fee. On to the next one.
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[WP] The hero, normally jovial and humorous in their interactions, steps into a watering hole for villains, shaking with rage, tears running down their face, and with as much patience and calm as they can muster, simply asks "Who did it?"
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It was easy for Noelle. Even her name had an indicator of happiness tied to it. To fight for the land she believed in. To bear blades against the villains and offer gloveless hands to the needy.
It was so easy.
But this? This was not easy. She offers everything to this land and its rulers, and in return, they offer her the equivalent of a blade twisted and gnarled as it is, directly into her heart.
The beats of her heart skip, and her face is flushed. Tears burn at the corners of her eyes before trickling down her cheeks and tapping in small droplets against her plated armour.
It made her unsteady on her horse. She didn't care. As long as she arrived at The Broken Wheel, she needn't care for anything else.
She huffs as she arrives at the tavern. The sign, a stolen wagon wheel, is broken in several places and hangs precariously low. The door is slightly ajar, and Noelle can hear the faint hum of a bard's song wafting out.
The sound does not salve her wounds. It only deepens them. She grits her teeth as she ties her horse to a post by a water trough and enters the tavern.
The jeering and laughter fall silent as she enters. She hears the whisper of her name on their lips. A mixture of awe and hatred. She again does not care.
She shoves a man out of the way and climbs onto the bar before bearing her dented sword. "Who did it?"
Mutterings fill the tavern.
She growls and points her sword towards them. "Let your head not join the others of villains I have slain. Who. Did. It?"
"Did what?" A burly man dares to ask.
"Kill my daughter," Noelle answers through a pained breath as a sob gets caught in the back of her throat. "Who? Which of you could be such a monster as to slay a 7 year old girl?"
"There's a bounty," a woman, leaning against a heavy hammer, says. "It was issued by the King. To slaughter you and your family. It seems whoever did it, only did half the deed."
Noelle blinks several times. She sways on her feet and can not bring herself to be embarrassed when the barkeep helps her off the bar and offers his arm as support. "My lady, they speak the truth. The King wishes for you to be gone."
"Why?" Noelle whispers, disbelief coating her tongue.
"He is hungry for power. You see us as villains? I see us as farm hands whose land has been stolen. The average stall hand turned crook to keep food on the table. The desperate mercenary trying to escape this land. What do you see yourself as?"
Noelle wets her lips with her tongue. "A hero, I had once thought. But it seems the King's pawn is more apt."
Noelle flicks her eyes over the crowd and assesses them beyond their weapons and rough armour for the first time in years. And she sees... the person she was was. Desperate and heedy for an escape. A future.
She purses her lips. Very well, if this is how the King wishes to treat his people, perhaps they need a new one. "The King dies," Noelle whispers before tilting her head up and shouting, "The King shall die!"
Shock echoes around the tavern before unifying into agreement.
They would take back their land.
And the only head left to be had is the King's.
After all, Noelle was quite fond of her own.
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“God dammit, Storm Breaker get off the table” I shouted at her. The job was kind of tough, considering the fact that I was just an ordinary person in a room full of drunk super villains. at least the pay was good and there were plenty of benefits.
“Hey bartender, another one please-“ Hive Mind was interrupted by the sound of the front door being slammed open. I turned towards the door and saw the city’s poster child. Dawn Ender.
“Who did it.” she was very pissed. that much was clear when you so much as glanced at her. The bar was silent as I would imagine having the number one superhero burst into the place that you’re drinking at isn’t something that’s normal.
“Ma’am, I will have to ask you to kindly refrain from fighting with customers or causing property damage” I somehow managed to stammer that much out. when push came to shove, I wasn’t going to do anything to her as she could easily murder me if she wanted.
“Where is the owner.” She was staring directly at me. I would’ve probably have shit my pants if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew exactly who the owner of this establishment was. Which also made it strange why she was looking for him.
“I’m not sure what business you have with him, but he currently isn’t here right now, so unfortunately, you’ll have to look elsewhere” I reached for the button under the desk and pressed it. He would be here if things escalated.
“I’m not in the mood for games, now tell-“ The door to the back room opened as my boss and owner of the establishment, Looming Eye walked in.
“Miss Dawn Ender, i’ll have to kindly ask you to leave the premises or perhaps order a drink or two. You are disrupting my business.” He adjusted his shirt a little bit and stared at her, almost daring her to do something about it.
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, now tell me who did it.” She walked up closer to him. “Don’t think you can weasel your way out of this one.”
“Now what makes you think I know what happened? or who did it? what makes you think any of the customers in here have any idea?” Looming Eye simply grabbed a glass and poured himself a glass of water.
“Because you’re villains, and even though we have a sort of routine. I never thought one of you would be an actual villain.” If looks could kill, my boss would be dead 10 times over. “Bombing a middle school. For what purpose could that have served?”
“So you come here instead of doing any investigative research? I can assure you that none of the present customers are responsible for such an act. Although once again, this isn’t the place for this kind of stuff. So if you’re not here for patronage, I must ask you to leave.” He took a sip from his glass.
“I know what you’re capable of, either you know who did it or you will be able to know faster than anyone else. Tell me who they are.” Dawn Ender slammed her fist into the bar counter.
“I will have to ask you to refrain from committing any property damage. As for your request, currently I’m business owner first, S rank villain second. I will get you your information and deliver it to the front door of your justice hall as long as you leave this establishment and its customers alone.” He walked towards the door. “However I will not have you wait here for my staff and I have a bar to run. The information will be to you before tomorrow morning.”
“Fine. It better be” She walked out of the bar and flew off. The rest of the patrons were still silently stunned by the whole exchange.
“Well, now that that’s over. How about a round of drinks for free for everyone? that includes you too bartender.” I smiled as the whole bar lit up with cheers.
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[WP] Today was a shit day. Everyone telling you what to do. You were so angry, you didn't notice the car. - You wake up, the pit to hell on your left, gates to heaven right. Death stands before you, pointing to a chair. "Sit, we will decide your fate." That's it, the final straw. "No."
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"Yes. It is inevitable". Death was as I had always imagined it - a skinny, no, skeletal, hooded figure, with a scythe, its indistinct dark clothing swaying in a breeze I couldn't feel. And it spoke in a completely atonal, emotionless whisper.
"My manifestation is a product of your mind - as it was for those who came before you and those who will come after you. And your fate will be decided by the council, as it was for those who came be-"
"Yeah, yeah, cut to the chase. I'm done. Everyone made all my decisions in life for me, might as well wait and see how this one turns out - I'm already dead, how mich worse can it get, huh? No, boss, death or whatever the hell - pun intended - you're called. This is my death, this is MY call."
Death stood, looming. And I couldn't help but feel like it was *evaluating* me. Judging would be the wrong word. Judgement means innocence, or guilt in some form or another.
"You seem to be of sound mind and perception, human. Indeed, the beliefs prevalent on earth which prophecy binary judgement are false."
"But they seem to *lack* humility." A new voice, coming from the nothingness around us, a nothingness whose oppressive vastness and presence I only appreciated now that it, or something in it, had made itself known.
"Most of them do" - another, this one pulsing from the ground I felt I stood on, but couldn't see. It looked like the rest of the nether around death and me, but I sensed some kind of support, some kind of brace beneath my feet, now that it had spoken.
"I want my life back", I said defiantly. I wasn't about to become some deities' club's latest toy without any resistance.
"You cannot. Your choices are plentiful, but that is not one of them", death explained.
"Then I want a new life. One where I'm not pushed around by everybody all the time."
"So be it. We shall see if you make the same choice next time, young one." The voice from the nothingness seemed content, while I sensed sadness below.
"Choose carefully, young one", the voice from below cautioned. It felt like a concerned parent was trying to lovingly guide me towards a choice they thought was better.
I'd had a terrible relationship with my parents.
"Nope, I made my choice, please just let me have it."
Silence. For just a moment. I felt the three entities communicating.
"Come", whispered death. It started walking. I followed. At least I had chosen where it would lead me - even if I didn't know exactly where or what I had chosen.
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"Very well, you can leave," announced Death. He lifted his finger and pointed it at me, "Brace yourself, child. Usually, this action is not pleasant."
"Wait!" I yelled, yet my voice came out as a squeak. This encounter panicked me for a second, but looking down at my blurry hands, a wave of relief washed over me:
*I am a ghost. I don't have vocal cords.*
"What will happen to me?" I asked.
The question made him chuckle. "You will get back to Earth."
"What?! Why?"
"Well, you don't want to be here, do you?"
To say I was dumbfounded will be an understatement.
I remember staring at the creature in front of me, like a middle-aged stay-at-home mom whose show was continued after being canceled for two years.
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me I can decide not to die? Like a cheat code?" I blurted out, expecting him to laugh at me and tell me this was a joke.
"No. You have the option to keep on living."
Before I could ask another question, Death waved his finger over my head, and the world went black.
\----------------------------------------------------------<OoO>---------------------------------------------------------------------
I woke up in my bed around 2 am, with the TV on. My body felt as if it was just hit by a car.
Every part of me was aching, and it was *adjusting?*
Looking down at my palms, I noticed their greyish color and my bones moving.
Before I could react, the volume on my TV went up:
*Good evening, I am Bethany Smith, and you are with the news on channel 5.*
*On today's news: a car crashed at a local cafe killing five people. Everyone died on the impact, including the driver.*
The picture of the crash appeared on the screen, and I almost threw up. It was very graphic, but that was not the most shocking thing.
Bethany was one of the victims. I could clearly see her body face-down behind the car.
*Could she survive like me? Did I save everyone?* I thought while frantically looking for my body, but it wasn't there.
Suddenly the picture disappeared, and Bethany looked straight at me. Her appearance changed. She turned into the same corpse I saw in the picture.
"You did this," she stated with an angry voice.
"You have sacrificed our lives for your own. Your selfishness destroyed us. If the car hit you, it wouldn't crash in the shop. I hope you live a happy life because we won't."
With that, the TV shut down, and everything went quiet.
To this day, I don't understand what happened. I was told, by a witch, that it was not my fault. Nobody can revive themselves as they wish. We do not take that decision.
This theory makes me feel better but does not eliminate my guilt.
I still feel responsible for the poor souls who took my place. Sure, I did not revive myself, but I took the decision to live.
I wonder what I would have done if I knew my life would cost five others.
I always say that I would have peacefully embraced the afterlife, but deep down, I know - **this is not the truth.**
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[WP] Whenever you flip a coin, it lands on its side, Rock-Paper-Scissors always ends in a draw, and when you enter the lottery you always win your money back but not a dime more. You're not lucky, you're not unlucky, you're... something else.
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I am, frankly, a statistical wonder. Luck, fortune, probability; whatever you want to call it, the universe contorts itself into a pretzel to ensure that in games of chance I never win... but also never lose. Some people are blessed with good luck. Others are cursed with misfortune.
I would say luck doesn't effect me, but strictly that's not true. If I was truly without luck one way or the other, I'd be at the mercy of random chance. Instead, I'm caught in a probabilistic Limbo, where luck itself keeps me neutral.
Which is why, even as sixth man in a game of Russian roulette, I'm not worried. 5 shots down. The other players looking at me with expressions ranging from pity to predatory glee. They know now, as I did before the game began, the bullet is in my chamber.
I pull the trigger and smile as I hear the familiar sound of the gun jamming.
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“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Johnson.” Dr Harmon said. “There seems to have been some anomaly of which we are still trying to ascertain the cause.”
“What?” Mrs. Johnson said. “What happened to Jim? God, just tell me.”
“Ma’am,” He said. “I’m not sure how to explain this. You see, the surgery had a twenty five percent success rate. Well… somehow… it was twenty five percent effective, exactly.”
Mrs. Johnson buried her face in her hands.
“And?” She asked. “How is he?”
“Well, ma’am,” The Doctor continued. “In this case, it means only twenty five percent of the transplanted heart is actively beating, the rest is sitting stagnant. Sadly, ma’am, this means that he must be on the heart pump for some time longer, as the twenty five percent of his working cells are not enough to provide nourishment for his entire body.”
“Do you think it will get better?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
“That is impossible to say,” Dr Harmon said. “We’ve never encountered something like this, I’ve already contacted the CDC, they’re sending some folks down here. We are optimistic within a few months we could transfer Mr. Johnson back home along with an artificial pump to continue working his heart, until a new transplant becomes available.”
Dr. Harmon turned to leave.
“After all,” He said, pausing as he opened the door. “Only three more transplants until he has a full heart again.”
He closed the door behind him.
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[WP] You've been abandoned on the battlefield, the enemy closing in. Forsaken by heaven and countrymen, you retreat to the deepest corner of your mind. If your gods won't help, perhaps the inner dark will. You cry out to the void. It answers.
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I'm bleeding. Oil and atmosphere. My life spills from me as I tumble in the dark.
My crew is dead.
I can feel their bodies drifting inside me. They never had a chance. No suits. No warning. The strike was perfect. Clean. Impossible to anticipate. Two mines, one above, one below, positioned to intercept me just as I came out of transit. They detonated instantly when I appeared, perforating my hull with a devastating blast of shrapnel.
The lucky ones died instantly. The unlucky weren't far behind. Decompression doesn't leave a lot of time to think, or act. Or grieve.
My crew is dead.
I have been betrayed. And I'll never know why.
I am spinning away from the rendezvous point, my broken body trailing bits and pieces of useless hardware. Fragments of a comms dish, radiator panels, an empty escape pod torn from its housing. I am going dark. But I can still see.
My fleet is nowhere within sensor range. They should have jumped with me, but I am alone.
They killed my crew.
There are a dozen incoming contacts, maybe more. No IFFs. High thermal signatures. Drives burning hard to accelerate. They will intercept my ragged course and destroy whatever is left of me. I detected no jump signatures from them, no telltale fading light of transit. They were lying in wait, and they're almost here.
I divert power to the few critical systems I have left. My engines are severely damaged, most of my thrusters wrecked. Even if I could stabilize and correct my spin, I cannot maneuver and there is nowhere to run. The enemy is already within weapons range. One torpedo would do it. They could finish the job now, if they cared to. Do they think they can take me alive? They know what will happen if they get close enough.
I test-fire my self-destruct charges. They're functional. Perhaps the best I can hope for now is to take someone with me when I go.
The stars whirl around me. The sensor contacts continue to close. With faint hope I activate my distress beacon. It is a piercing wail, a wave of pain and fear that shimmers out into the cosmos faster than any ship can travel. Is there anyone out there? Anyone who can save me?
Anyone who can avenge me?
There is no answer.
I sink into myself. I shut down my eyes. I set my self-destruct to proximity arm and I wait. I wait to join my crew.
I wrap my broken fingers around the glowing heart of my transit drive, and pull it close. It cannot save me. There is too little time, even if I had the energy left to charge it. But as my mind curls up next to its pulsing warmth, I feel something. Something I've felt before, in the dark.
Whenever I jump, I am alone. All ships are alone in transit. Alone in the infinite depths. There are no stars, no beacons, no minds, no voices. Just the ship, and the dark. Whenever I jump, I am alone…
My captain used to wonder if there was something out there. Something out in the transit void, something lurking in the emptiness we jump through. He never slept during transit. Even during long rides between the farther stars, he would keep himself awake, and talk to me.
My captain once had a dream, in transit. He dreamed of eyes, and teeth. He never slept during FTL again.
I never told him. I never told him! There *is* something in the dark. I know there is.
I spool the drive. I can't jump, but that doesn't matter. The heart drinks all the energy I have left. My reactor is a cooling mass of dead metal. My batteries are one last lungful of air. I give it everything. I twist my fingers around the transit drive and I pour my desperate agony into it and I tear open the darkness and I beg and I plead for the eyes and the teeth.
*My crew is dead!*
The transit drive splits in two.
My eyes open.
I can see the lights above me, the white and blue flares of engines burning and burning with all their power, no longer toward me, but away.
Their velocity is too great. The enemy is closing too fast.
They will never decelerate in time.
*I am hungry.*
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Ramius sagged.
Blood rained from the sky, actual blood. A huge cloud hovered just overhead, and a flash of light ING cracked the dark sky.
"Outlaw, copy?" The warlock gasped for air, pulling the magazine from his bullpup assault rifle. He shook his head. From feel alone he guessed it was half full.
The radio didn't even crackle with sound.
"Fuck." Ramius looked over the Salt Flats. Dozens of bodies littered the ground, wizards and beasts alike. He shook his head, taking a knee. He hadn't ever been this tired before.
"Outlaw?" He tried the radio. Still nothing. Thunder accompanied a quick bolt of lightning. Instead of a typical crack and rumble it was a scream. A very human sounding scream.
The warlock collapsed, vest usually full of mags was empty, his pistol too was empty. Grenade pins and spoons became a pillow as the young man disengaged from reality.
The blood kept falling, and while ramius knew he wasn't in the real world, he also knew he was in its domain now. The sound of a deep base wub shook the dream state. Like a helicopter blade in slow motion he felt a vibration shake his feet.
"Ready?" Cackled a distorted male voice. The thing knew English.
"Why are you here?" Ramius struggled to stand in his dream.
"Why do you attack me?"
Ramius spat into the blood puddles surrounding him, "you started this fight, we are finishing it. Wiping a village from the face of the earth is an act of war."
"They worshipped, but broke my law." The thing quipped.
"This is a human home, earth is protected. Regardless if they break your law, it was broken on earth. If you fuck with a human..." ramius looked up, glaring at the blood red cloud that the voice emanated from. "Expect to fight one of us."
"Fear of a few petty mortals is of no serious threat. I am a God, and you should kneel."
Ramius felt the presence trying to crush his mind, "I am a warlock. I will bow to none." The young man howled as his mind was slashed.
"Kneel."
"You think a God frightens me? I watched one of your kind slaughtered by a single one of my kind. You bleed, and so you can die." Ramius grinned manically, "try again you feckless fucking waste of sentience.!"
The air screamed and ramius couldn't stand anymore. He fell into a hole appearing as his feet, razors lining the walls of the hole. Barbed wire ripped into his mind as he plummeted, mind battered and lashed at his resistance.
Ramius screamed, he felt his resolve crumbling. I'm going to crack. He thought, panic making his inevitable mental break accelerate.
"Papa?"
Ramius blinked as his scalp was ripped by half a dozen rusting nails.
"Billy?"
"Papa wake up!" Ramius felt his body falling in his mind, but his physical form jostled in the opposite direction. The sensor input from his real body and his mental one triggered an unpleasant response. Snapping upright, Ramius vomited blood.
"Papa?"
The Warlock gasped for air as the Boogeyman cocked it's head.
"Billy, go!" Screamed Ramius as the sky crackled.
"Billy don't like rain." The boogey muttered.
"It's coming! Get out!" Ramius shoved the boogeyman from him, "run!"
Billy shrugged, "Papa want pizza?"
The voice made the soil tremble, "another soul for the reaping..."
"FUCK YOU!" something snapped in the young warlock, his rifle firing wildly into the cloud.
"Weak." The voice chuckled.
"Papa?"
Ramius looked to his semi adopted boogey man. "Yeah buddy?"
"Angry box make mean sound."
Ramius blinked, "what?"
Billy sighed, vanished a moment, then returned flashing back into existence. "Angry box."
The Boogeyman held up a cube, cogs scraping by each other in a cracked casing.
"Bring that back!" The voice rumbled with a note of panic.
"Bless your incredible heart." Ramius snatched the box. Drawing knife, he drove the tip into a cog. The mechanism immediately stopped.
The rumbling stopped, and a bright noonday sun blinded the warlock. He almost dropped the mechanical device.
"Angry box quiet." Noted the boogeyman helpfully.
Ramius nodded, "that was a nasty sealed..." The warlock paused, "thing." He finished with a shrug. Someone would have to explain what the hell it was.
"Billy knew Papa hurt." The Boogeyman looked at the device.
"How?" Ramius asked.
Billy shrugged.
"Thank you, billy." A tear began to form in the warlocks eyes. He knew how close he had been to breaking.
"Happy Papa now." Billy thumped his amorphous head into the warlocks knee before vanishing.
Ramius chuckled, flopping to the earth. "What a fuckin job."
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[WP] You are a super villain and for your latest diabolical scheme, you’ve kidnapped the hero’s dog to lure them into a trap. Except it turns out the “hero” doesn’t care about the dog. You take offense to this.
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Upon figuring out my nemesis's secret I did what any self respecting villain would do. I staked out her place. Linda Brent it turned out was a loner with nothing but an adorable little corgi for company. Perfect. Even more perfect when I broke in it wandered for a moment out of my sight then made a beeline for me with a leash in its mouth. It dropped the leash at my feet with a small whine. The moment I picked up the leash its whole body wagged. I grinned. Transporting the dog was going to be easier than I thought. I left a note letting my nemesis know where my trap was. I quickly checked the tag "Opal."
"I gotta be honest you don't look much like an Opal. More like a loaf of bread."
Opal's ears flattened as she stopped wagging her tail.
"Don't be like that." I pat her head. "You're a very cute loaf of bread."
At that the dog seemed to brighten back up again.
Made sure that Opal's cage was well insulated and had plenty of food and water. I wanted to fry the stupid hero not the dog. After all why shouldn't I keep the dog? Hopefully I would be able to change Opal's name.
After the first hour passed I thought that she must have come home late.
After hour two I pulled up the news to see if one of the other villains had held her up. No it was an usually quiet day.
Hour four I called her.
"Hello?" Brent said.
"Linda Brent, I have your dog."
She replied by hanging up the phone.
By hour five it was clear that either Brent wasn't coming are was prepping a trap of her own. So I carefully checked for traps nothing. So, I took Opal home making sure to let her know that I would be a much better owner than her last one.
I decided to wait until Brent had the day off from her civilian job to pounce. Maybe I could humiliate her while I exposed her for the fraud she was.
I followed her to the library and kept myself in civilian guise.
"Aren't you going to put up any flyers for your missing dog."
"No," she didn't even stop to look at me.
"People like you are the worst. You got a dog and just abandoned it in the moment it's convenient."
"More like Opal broke into my house and adopted me."
"The Evening Blade took your dog and don't care!"
Brent smiled. "She's fine."
"You don't know that." I lifted my chin contemptuously.
"Evening, she's right there." She pointed behind me. I turned and sure enough Opal was sitting at my feet. And weirder still Opal was wearing a therapy dog vest.
"How? Where did she the vest? Much less someone to put it on her."
"Yeah, you get used it after a while." Brent shook her head. "I tried to rename her Caramel about five times. The last time I tried I actually saw the name on her tag morphing so it turned into Opal. Well, good luck.
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What was that awful smell?
Midnight Widow’s jaw dropped as she entered her office. Several of her books were torn to pieces, various chew toys and dog food were scattered around the room, and in the center of her rug was a pile of dry and wet poop with a large piss stain. Midnight nearly gagged at the sight. After a week of being away from the mad doctor and his inane schemes, she hoped she could enjoy some relaxation to get her mind away from her latest assassin job.
She might do it.
She just might kill Dr. Reality.
The researchers ran away from the assassin as Midnight Widow marched through the hallways. She appreciated the doctor from time to time. Sure, she worked for an F-Class villain and his reality-warping inventions barely worked, but he was funny (though she never laughed in his presence). But a line was crossed today, and someone needed to pay.
Pushing the two doors open, Midnight entered a large room where scientists worked on a (most likely doomed) reality machine. The air grew silent as they looked at the fuming villainous. She scanned the area until she saw Dr. Reality writing on a whiteboard. By his feet was a German Shepherd chewing on one of her boots. Since when was the doc a dog person?
“Ah, Midnight Widow!” Dr. Reality beamed when he turned around. As usual, he was oblivious to her annoyance and anger. “I hope you had a great cruise ship vacation. By the way, did you tan?”
Midnight Widow’s eyes narrowed, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Dr. Reality,” she said through gritted teeth, “care to explain why there’s a mutt chewing on my boot?”
The doctor's smile faltered slightly as he glanced at the German Shepherd, still gnawing on the boot. “Oh, uh, yes. That’s Max. He’s part of my most diabolical scheme yet to get me into the D-Class level.”
She blinked. It was very hard to tell when her boss was losing his mind. “Do I even want to know?”
Without being prompted, Dr. Reality ran to one side of the room and returned to Midnight and Max with a laptop. Her jaw clenched when she saw the man and the dog. “Here’s my plan,” Dr. Reality began. “In order for me to get out of F-Class, I have to make a hero suffer. Surprisingly, easier said than done. But then I asked myself, ‘Who is man’s best friend? Dog!’ What’s worse than stealing a hero’s dog? However, I couldn’t steal many dogs. It’s hard to do when heroes have secret identities…”
“Stop,” Midnight interrupted, not wanting to listen to another ramble. She pointed at the grizzled man on the screen. “Do you recognize who that man is?”
Dr. Reality nodded. “Yes, that’s the Executioner. Not the most heroic hero, but he should count. So I was saying, my plan involved me taking his dog, Executioner falling into my reality trap, and the Villain Association making me a D-Class villain. It’s strange that there’s no E-Class…”
“Does Executioner know you have his dog?” she whispered, looking nervously at the German Shepherd.
The mad doctor of reality shrugged. “I stole Max six days ago, though Executioner doesn’t look like he doesn’t miss Max. Seriously, what kind of dog owner doesn’t notice their dog is missing? Worse, the Villain Association still says I’m an F-Class…”
Midnight Widow gripped Dr. Reality’s arm and looked him in the eyes. “Give the man his dog.”
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k6w337p
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k6vwlal
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[WP] As a young witch, you have recently made a deal with a devil. In return for power, you must become his servant, the concept of which greatly excites you. At the end of your 5 years, you find that by “servant”, he didn’t mean an agent of justice who torments sinners, he simply needed a maid.
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"HA!" Stella slammed her finger down on the contract. "I *knew* you were going to try and pull this horse piss! Paragraph 19, Section C, bitch! Not only is my indemnity limited to *ten years* by default, but I can only be held to the terms of Paragraph 45!" She silently thanked her mother's dear departed spirit for insisting that she get her law degree before pursuing the occult.
"Hoo hoo hoo." The devil chortled and licked his eyeball with his thin serpentine tongue. "Little girl thinks she can play with the big boys, eh? See Paragraph 66, Section N."
"Ah, but I nullified that with Paragraph 92! Thus forcing us to default to the terms of Section 3(d)!"
"But... wait..." The devil blinked. "Wouldn't that also invoke the paradox exception in Paragraph 81?"
"No! Oh, wait..." Stella scanned the bloodsoaked document again. "You're right. It does." Crap, she thought resignedly. Well, she'd tried. And honestly, the French maid thing wasn't as bad as she'd been expecting. She'd thought for sure the devil was going to try and slap her into a Slave Leia bikini for the next decade.
(She'd known from the start she wasn't going to get the whole *"agent of justice"* thing he'd tried to bait her with, of course. A lie so obvious that it was borderline insulting. After all, why would the forces of Hell have the slightest interest in justice?)
"But if that's the case... and if Paragraph 18 still applies..."
"... then... we *both* have to wear the dress?" Stella tilted her head. "Can't we just mutually rescission out of that?"
"No." The devil sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Appendix F, Section 13. The enforcement provision. If either *or* both of us try to cancel, management consigns us both to the Deeper Pits for a thousand years."
"... shit."
In the end, it wasn't all that bad. The worst part, as far as Stella was concerned, was how much better her contractual partner managed to pull off the look.
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“Your time has come. Your purpose shall be fulfilled in serving me.”
The devil cackles from his sprawling throne of bleeding gold. Beside him a little maid outfit, in its stereotypical black and white sprung out of nothingness.
“This should fit you perfectly.”
Despite her many efforts she found herself at a crossroads, as the deep abyss of blackness stared back at her, the devils eyes enveloping her very soul, she remained stoic and unrelenting in her quest for power. She began muttering under her breath, the incantation spewing at the edge of her lips faster than even she could comprehend. The devil etched towards her from his throne, towering hundreds of feet above as his over-crusted skin chipped and crushed the ground around her with his every movement. The fires surrounding the rock they stood on began to soar into the sky and swirling in unison. The witch closed her eyes and continued, swishing her fingers by her side, the devil’s laugh echoing through the endless void of hell.
The grumble of his voice vibrating through the floor before he’d even begun to speak, “You dare defy me,” reaching his arm out to smite her like a bug.
Unbeknownst to him, there was one final trick up her sleeve. One she had never expected to have to use. As the fires stood to a halt before jolting towards her a mile a minute, she began to rise into the air. When the fires reached her it was clear there was no other choice. She had given the last five years to the devil in hopes to serve alongside him in taking over the very world that had once forsaken her, humbling herself to his every whim and request. So she had to use everything she had learnt to continue her mission, now not to serve, but to reign.
“Limbo,” she whispered. Her body that lay in a deep slumber on earth began to run cold as her soul split from it and whisked through the layers of hell into the one place she knew she could not be found. When she opened her eyes, the mist clouded her vision but the voices began to surround her, begging for forgiveness and release from this world. She had escaped him, he could not reach the purgatory she found herself in but his voice continued to rattle in her head, cackling at her defiance.
“I will find you, witch.”
She walked on through the mist, whispering incantations as the mist parted before her, “Not if I find you first.”
-
Not sure where I was going with this but maybe a fanatical opening to a story of a battle between this witch and the devil, hope it worked.
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k3j5dqu
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k3i7cmb
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[WP] “And what do you do with the children? Enslave them? Eat them?” “What? No!” The witch shouted, aghast. “I raise them, of course. If parents are willing to give up their children for greed, then imagine what they’d do to the child, given the chance to raise it?”
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This interview was not going the way Jasmine planned. Her book was supposed to be the real deal on the wickedness of witches. All she'd managed to find, however, was a sea witch that helped a girl save a prince after her father tried to sink his ship, the story of a sister trying to retrieve a family heirloom after a girl dropped a house on her sister then stole them from her feet, and now this.
"How do you even find parents willing to do this?" she asked the witch.
"I don't," the witch replied taking a sip of her tea."They find me. One would think as the times change, people would too. But no. Greedy, conniving people remain."
Jasmine stared at the woman sitting across from her dumbfounded. "What do you mean?"
"These people aren't starving. Most aren't concerned with the child living better. I help those parents. Most of them that seek me out actually work in my factories and bakeries. They deserve their kids," the witch began ranting. "But no, those greedy bastards just want a bigger house, more money, maybe a new phone. No better than my father. Actually maybe a little better! That bastard traded me for foliage!"
"Foliage?" Jessica's eyebrow raised.
"Rampion,Campanula rapunculus!-"
"Rapunzel..." Jessica breathed, the realization hit her like a ton of bricks,"But how could that be possible?! You'd have to be hundreds of years old."
The witch smiled but said nothing.
"None of this makes sense! You were stolen as an infant so now you do the same?"
"Not stolen!" Rapunzel snapped, "Traded! So now I rescue children like myself and raise them in the arts. Those people weren't fit to be parents anyway!"
The kitchen door burst open and five children rushed in, rushing through the house like stampeding elephants , only stopping briefly to hug Rapunzel. She looked annoyed as she snapped her finger and a mop began cleaning up the mud the children tracked through the house. They looked happy. Jessica sat an watched at a loss for words. Her book was definitely changing.
"Rapunzel how would you feel about me telling your story? I think it's time to change the narrative."
Rapunzel smirked. "Let's do it. Just wait until I tell you what really happened and how I ended up raising my siblings, Hansel and Greta."
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##Natal Deal
Elsa wept as she held Heinrich in her arms. Her son stared at her with bright green eyes, same as his father's. She placed a finger in his hand, and he gripped it. Holding him close to her chest, she tried to make time stop and preserve this moment. It would be the easiest moment of motherhood.
"I can help you." An outline in the doorway walked towards her revealing a balding woman. Her hands swayed with each step, and one eye was closed.
"Where's Dagmar?" Elsa looked around the room.
"She's occupied. You could say that I was her mentor. My name is Bertha." Bertha curtsied with her black robe. "I heard that there were complications with the pregnancy."
"I didn't even know if I would survive if it weren't for Dagmar," Elsa said.
"Dagmar is gifted, but she can't solve the problems that come after birth." Bertha moved close to Elsa, and Elsa felt the urge to pull away. She didn't as she knew that would be rude.
"I thought I could stay for a week."
"You can, but what about after that? You're a sad girl with no husband, family, and hardly a penny to your name. Had to rely on charity for birth." Bertha smiled. "I could provide the funds for your survival."
"Do you want me to be your servant? I lack formal training."
"No, I want Heinrich." Bertha rubbed Heinrich's head. "I always wanted a child of my own." A worm emerged from Bertha's hand and crawled on Heinrich. Elsa swatted the worm and Bertha's hand away.
"You're a witch." Elsa held Heinrich close to her. "You wish to enthrall my child."
"I may be a witch, but I don't have wicked goals for your child. I merely wants what's best for both of you. You are desperate for money. Do you believe that you can provide a proper life for Heinrich? With me, he shall never want again, and you will live the rest of your days in comfort," Bertha said.
"But how will you raise him? And what about my reputation?" Elsa asked.
"I will raise him to be a good man, and don't worry about the whispers. You're a widow; the people would never accept you," Bertha smiled, "I'm only thinking of you two."
Elsa stared at Heinrich. Her heart ached as she thought of the future. Life would be difficult. This witch would help them both, and witches couldn't be that bad. But why isn't she simply giving the money.
If Bertha was generous and had the means, Elsa and Heinrich didn't have to separate. They could live together under her care, but Bertha explicitly rejected it. No, Bertha must have nefarious means, and she knew that Elsa was desperate. Elsa looked at Bertha and opened her mouth.
"I know your answer." Bertha squeezed her hands into a fist and walked away. "You made a mistake. Soon, you'll regret your decision." Bertha disappeared into the shadows, but the word soon hung in the air as Elsa comforted Heinrich.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
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juzda4g
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juyzml6
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[WP] You're the first test subject for an experimental super soldier serum. You are told the truth only after you transform into something not quite human anymore.
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I open my eyes. Everything was not, but suddenly is. I search my surroundings to understand. Objects are scattered around me within a space.
I am an object as well? No. I am me. More than an object.
My eyes focus in on my form. I feel my body. It's familiar like I've always known it yet it's the first time I've seen or felt it. Sweat drips down my arms as I involuntarily inhale until my chest is full.
I can smell my own odor. It's strong, but calming. I've been in this space for some time.
The air tastes metallic. Strange that I know the taste of metal to even compare. I lick my lips and feel a sharp pain and the taste of copper. I cannot help but lick again only to feel the pain subside and the wound close.
The ringing subsides and only in its absence do I know it was there. Objects around me move and now it's clear they're making sound, but the patterns are ones I can recognize.
I make out the phrase "Captain? Can you hear me?"
'Captain'? Is my name 'Captain'? That does not feel like my name.
I look to the one speaking before another quickly interrupts. "He shouldn't know his name, Clive."
The first man's name is Clive. He is a man. I look to my body. He is a man like me. He knows his name. Why shouldn't I know my name? I must ask.
"Why shouldn't I know my name, Clive?" There is a silence as loud as it is quiet.
The other man speaks even though I spoke to Clive. "It's not that you shouldn't. It's that you wouldn't... Do you know your name?"
"Do you know yours?" Conversing feels natural, but my throat feels dry.
The other man smiles and says "Tara. My name is Tara." This is not a man. Tara is a woman.
"Hello, Tara and Clive. Is my name 'Captain'?" I believe this is not my name, but Tara and Clive may know better.
Clive is looking to Tara for a response. She opens her mouth to speak, but there is a pause. "It's more of a title."
"Then what is my name?" I feel as though I have just been born. I long for an identity.
Tara motions for Clive to leave as she sits down in front of me to loosen my restraints. Why was I restrained? "I don't know your name. I know the name that once lived in your body, but that is not you."
"Tara, I do not understand. Am I prisoner?" As my wrists are freed, I feel a sense of relief though I still feel confined.
Tara passes me a glass of water. "The man who walked into this room and lay on this table once controlled your body. He was a Captain that volunteered for a procedure that would grant his body extraordinary abilities."
"Extraordinary? To what end?" What differentiates my current being from what he was?
Clive returns with a box, a clipboard, and food on a plate. "The Captain wished to be more than he was. We knew how to make that a reality."
"Did you know he would not be me?" Tara hands me a sandwich and I take a bite.
She unloads equipment from the box and begins to remove syringes from my arms. "Yes. We did."
"Did the Captain know he would not be me?" I can feel her pause in her actions, before placing a brace on both my wrists. They're heavy, but seem to be relaying information to her monitor. The world is becoming clearer.
Tara takes out her clipboard and begins taking notes. "No. He did not."
"In giving me life, you have taken his away?" I feel something within... This is guilt. I feel as though I have stolen from another man.
Tara is avoiding eye contact as she writes. "We promised him his body would be capable of performing remarkable things. We did not lie."
"You did not lie, but you did not tell the truth." I feel angry and dismissed. I clench at the sides of my bed.
Tara presses a button and my arms are pulled by the braces back to a resting position. She is standing now, looking at me once more, but a tear falls down her face. "We didn't have a choice, Capt-"
"I do not like this. Take these off." I hardly noticed the restraints before they were released, but now that I've experienced that freedom, how can I accept this?
Tara points to the sides of my bed where I clenched. Nothing but a hole the shape of my hand is left and I realize I'm holding the pieces still in my palms. "I'm sorry. It's a precaution. When your heart rate settles, it will automatically release. We don't yet know the extent of your abilities and we need to be sure you will not pose a threat to us or our facility."
"That makes sense." I calm myself and as she said, the braces released their pull. I considered trying to pry them off, but... I do not wish to be a threat.
Tara looks on in wonder and perhaps fear. I don't think she expected that response. "I don't want this to be difficult."
"I believe you." I don't know why, but I have a gut feeling Tara can be trusted.
There's a pause before Tara sits back down. "What can I call you?"
"I still need time to think. For now, call me 'Captain'."
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The warm western wind sneaks into the apartment through an open window. The curtains, which The Soldier only now notices are not made of cloth but taped together newspapers, crinkle and threaten to tear apart.
The Doctor tells him that the procedure is complete. They are not at the military base like The Soldier imagined this all happening in, but The Doctor's apartment, a tiny civilian thing five miles away which they travel to and from by a bus whose radiator needs to be replaced. They have to stop every so often so the engine doesn't melt.
The Soldier looks down at his hands. His fingers are fat like swollen sausages and scars run over the palm, getting mixed in with the natural lines. The largest one splits his lifeline in half. Two weeks ago, when the newest girl he was with told him that, he said he didn't believe in palmistry. They made love, and as they did he couldn't stop thinking about how his life was severed.
"You're not going to turn into a monster," The Doctor says. "The serum doesn't affect your body, but your mind. Remember?"
He does not remember. Last night, he was drunk. He tries to piece together the bits he does recall yet they don't explain why he's here: a gunshot, screaming. A bomb in the distance, turning the night sky orange. A fresh throbbing cut on his ankle.
"How so?" he asks, still turning over his hands yet not seeing them any longer. He has receded into his mind. He searches for the change, but does not find it.
"It's different for everyone," The Doctor says. With that, it is settled. They walk out of the apartment together. On the bus now, a group of starved kids run after them, hoping for bottles of water or candy. They all disappear in a cloud of dust as the heavy machine roars. They stop twice before getting back to the base yet neither Doctor nor Soldier nor Driver speaks.
His bed is not made; there was no time in the morning. Now, he makes it, and as he straightens out the sheet he hears something underneath. A paper with a name and number. Alisha. Before he calls her, he eats dinner, still exploring the recesses of his mind, still searching for the change.
There is an explosion. The Soldier is out of the mess hall, his fork on the ground with a thin slice of meat on it. Grey gravy.
He readies his weapon and without thinking he fires at the band of men in a truck headed for the front gates. The driver is dead instantly, and after more gunfire the rest of the men. The Soldier, along with all the other Soldiers, return to their dinner. He is not allowed another slice of meat so he eats the one off the ground.
Alisha speaks in a demure purr and he goes to her. She lives just outside the base, and he vaguely remembers that she has black hair.
She pulls away from his kiss. A coughing sounds from the apartment below.
"What's happened to your eyes?" she asks. She looks at him closely, and though nothing has changed with his eyes, there is something missing. This is not the same man she has been with before.
He hears The Doctor's words from earlier. "Nothing," he says, and goes in for another kiss. She slaps him and tells him to get out. He does.
The Soldier feels he should be angry, but he is not. Perhaps this is part of the change. He walks through the town for half an hour in search of another girl. It is dark and he is alone and he returns to the base. Night passes.
The Doctor returns in the morning. He performs a physical check up on The Soldier, and at the very end, he slaps him.
"What was that for?" The Soldier asks, rubbing his cheek.
"You are a piece of shit," The Doctor says instead of apologizing. He slaps him again, the other cheek. "You are worthless. Nothing more than a body to be used. Less than human. Do you understand?"
The Soldier nods. His cheeks sting red. He knows he can break The Doctor's neck—he is such a small Doctor—if he wants, but he does not want. The Doctor tells him the procedure was a success.
The Soldier is on execution duty today. There are three men in the pit and the hot desert sun bakes them alive. He drags them all out, one by one, and lines them against the wall. He removes their black hoods though he does not need to. They beg him in a language he only knows parts of, but he can understand what they say because they plead in the most rudimentary words. Please. Sorry. Family.
He dumps their bodies back in the pit with all the other bodies and makes a note that there will need to be a new pit soon because this one is almost full and the rotting stench has been wafting all over the base for some days now. He decides to start digging himself, though he does not need to, because he has already performed his duty for the day. Sweat soaks his fatigues yet he continues to dig until he passes out. The sun disappears and its heat echoes throughout the night.
He wakes up in his bed. The moon is out. Underneath his pillow is Alisha's note. He puts it in his pocket and goes to the mess hall. He thinks about calling her; maybe they could talk it out. But the more he thinks about it the less he wants to.
After his body is full of sustenance, he returns to the hole—his hole—and continues digging. He rips up Alisha's note and scatters it amongst the dirt. He looks up at the moon and realizes he will never climb back out.
He continues to dig.
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j2qw76e
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j2qpwy5
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[WP] "Did you know, human mouths have a higher risk of infection and disease than any other animal besides certain lizards?" You calmly explain. The alien looks in horror at the bite wound on its arm, then back to you in horror.
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I sat back down at my desk slowly. I probably have a broken rib and my left forearm definitely has a break on the ulna. Maybe a hairline fracture on the radius. If it was more than that, the arm would be beyond useless. The right arm was fine though. This is what I get for working late and alone in the pursuit of yet another published study.
The air between me and the alien was thick. I could almost taste the horror growing inside of it. This meant a couple things. It meant the creature could understand English, which in turn meant I could continue to communicate with it. It also indicated that the fucker could feel emotion. Emotion is a lovely control panel with all sorts of levers and buttons that can be operated to a desired effect. Lastly, this meant that another physical attack would be postponed until I could argue a case for why it should leave me alive. No immediate attack meant I could reach into my bottom drawer for the handle of vodka and coffee mug I received as gifts from the last lab Christmas party.
Pouring a bit to get the taste of the creature's blood out of my mouth, I reassessed and poured a bit more to lubricate the courage from my brain to my heart. The impatience of my captive audience was beginning to build. I continued.
"Humans, whether or not they are aware, know this from a pretty early age. In modern folklore, zombies almost always transfer their condition through a bite like the one you have. Of course zombies aren't real, but then again I was on the fence about aliens until 5 minutes ago. My point is that humans tend to incorporate their learned knowledge into folklore."
I sipped a bit of the vodka. The faint almond taste of the alien's blood echoed and died among the alcohol. I swished the combination in my mouth before spitting it out. Still, some of the blood was probably in my gums. I took a gulp and forced it down.
"I however found this out in 9th grade. Nick Reidman kissed me behind the gym at our homecoming. While you don't know what '9th grade' or 'homecoming' means, I can tell you that mononucleosis caused by transmission of the Epstien-Barr virus can cause a ruptured spleen and make you miss the whole damn volleyball season. In essence, something less intrusive than a bite made my life hell and arguably could've killed me."
The alien paused. My left arm drooped along the side of my body, hanging slack. My body obstructed the view between the creature and my arm. The slight nervous tremor was out of its line of sight. At least, I hoped so. The creature stood 8 feet tall and had a thin muscular system. The muscle was dense, which is why I was lucky enough to bite through. I think if the muscle was thin, it would have had an exoskeleton and all I would've had was a corpse with broken teeth. White blood tricked down its long, dark blue arm.
"My point is this. This is probably your first time on Earth. If it isn't, you haven't been here often. Often enough to know what the word 'microbiology' means and what a lab is, sure, but not long enough to build defenses against centuries upon centuries of bacterial evolution. Given that information, do you understand that my body is host to a fucking arsenal of microbes that don't mean shit to me but are the equivalent of a thousand tiny nuclear explosions to you?"
The large, white, gossamer beehive-looking eyes on the creature's face darted from lips to my eyes and back to my lips. A low rumble emitted from its pincers. A sound manifested and was like a few timpani drums tried to make the word "yes."
"And while I have a lifetime of understanding bacteria and diseases, I also have a passing knowledge of chemistry. Your blood might be a little different, but probably is like a cousin to our chemical known as 'arsenic', right?"
Again, the mallets went to work on canvas and the word "yes" crawled out of the creature's mouth. Slower this time. The creature was already following the path of logic that I paved for it.
"Yeah, almonds are a bit of a tip off for that. Well good news and bad news, Cricket. And I am calling you Cricket from now on. Good news is that your blood is poison to me. I have about 9 hours. Give or take. Bad news for you is that both you and I have absolutely no idea what I have in my mouth that can royally fuck you up. And if I gave you a fun little souvenir from your layover on Earth, your layover just turned into a lifetime stay because your species won't want you back anytime soon. You need to keep me alive beyond 9 hours for a return trip to Cricketland."
I poured another finger or two of the vodka into my mug. This one was celebratory. I drew a breath, sighed, and winced. That rib rattled a bit and I resigned myself to the fact that it was broken.
"Sorry, Cricket. I guess it's all bad news. But what do you plan to do about it?"
The air between us grew thick once again. Cricket's eyes twitched slightly before becoming still. He slumped down, sitting on the ground next to the small pool of Cricket-blood.
After an eternity, the timpanis began to rumble again.
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I can taste the acrid flesh of the octopus-like being still. A chemical rinse and an oral inspection later, and it's there. It doesn't leave.
I was told that I did the right thing, that I saved my crew, that I should not feel bad for creatures like that, threatening us. "They attacked first"... I can't believe that, but it appears true, surprisingly enough, given our species' track record when dealing with the unknown. It's likely they were just as terrified of us as we are of them, and they had good reason.
I'm a military man first, I do as I'm told and I make enough money not to ask any questions in this mission. They said our encounter could turn sour, but we weren't prepared for what happened. Have you ever seen what an octopus looks like when they're moving underwater? Can you imagine what it's like to see something move like that when you're crammed? Stuck in a matchbox of a room, with tools and clothes floating everywhere, how it feels to exercise in space? Can you imagine what it feels to lack any sort of privacy for months? I was terrified. I thought I was prepared to fight if it came to that, I was taught how to combat in 0g, but I wasn't prepared to have to see anything like what's in that security footage.
Did you know it's very easy for humans to find patterns? To recognize emotion, even in that which shows almost none at all? I'm sure I saw glee on that things eyes when it tore Dr. Kennedy apart, and when it crushed my legs, mocking the sound we made. I should be fine, I killed that shit, we're as toxic as they come for them... I think we create fear... I can't think of any other reason something as powerful as that, died to me. To us.
I saw two of them. Only one is dead, and with how fast the other one disappeared I'm entirely too sure that we're fucked. They can understand us, and I know they cay because I saw it. I saw dread in its eyes when I spit out the tendrils that tried to take over my throat. If that thing hadn't been looking forward, if it hadn't taken me for dead, this mission would be over. I think my saliva made it kill itself. We had no chance of defeating it, it's impossible to shoot something that moves like that, that changes color and texture on a whim. Not that I could shoot it, regardless. Can't risk a hull breach, so only the stun weapons, not that they would have helped.
I'm not sure why I said that to the creature. Maybe I'm too into action movies and I thought the one liner would somehow ring the bell and save me. I didn't expect the sounds that came from within its maws... The beak, the teeth and the appendages within, gurgling and foaming as it... It shook in horror, too stunned to do anything but smash itself against different parts of the ship until it died. Maybe it's the fact that they realized how soft they are... It's quite clear they're the dominant species wherever they exist, so maybe they are simply not used to being harmed. Maybe it actually understood what I said, and the idea of a slow infection from a foreign species was enough to make it spiral into the abyss. God knows it did that for me.
I don't know why I feel so bad about it. We were being killed yet I can't help but imagine that poor thing... Alone and helpless... It killed itself right in front of me, I saw its innards expand and wiggle as it died. Why? I need to do something about it, I can't just stay here. I need to see people, I need to tell them, to apologize... I feel the flesh still, wiggling in my mouth...
I can't let this lie, I have to speak the truth of the matter. I need to move to the tallest building in our base and I have to scream out at the world that we've made contact, and that our contact went just as it should have. We met new life. Mission report shows the creature, I have proof.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I saw the footage for the 13th time and I'm sure now. I'm convinced that I need to speak of this to everyone. The creatures we've found, the creature that took down the crew... I believe we can do exactly what we've done with octopi before. I think we can eat them.
Have you ever tried to eat octopus by itself? It's not that great, right? But what about when you dip it in soy sauce? Different story altogether. I think I've found our new source of sustenance. The sensation I had in my mouth was strange at first but now I adore it. The way my teeth move around and how my jaw is looser now. It works perfect, and I can eat more and more of whatever delicious food I can find now.
I've never felt better, and I have our octopus friends to thank for that. I have to bring our own kind to meet them too, we can feast either with them, or on them. It doesn't matter in the end. I feel amazing, I'm going on a date tonight, but I want to eat something too. Luckily we're going for dinner.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You can't have good sex in 0g, but when your base has artificial gravity that you can fuck around with when you fuck? That's life.
I told my date all about my encounter after the night we spent together. She seemed terrified of it at first, and kept nursing the bite marks I left on her, but I wasn't much worried about hers, or mine for that matter. Sure, human mouths have higher risk of infection and disease than almost all other creatures, but... What was the worst that could happen? I hadn't had anything weird in my mouth except those oysters last night.
Besides, with her writhing movements and twisting joints, with her unhinged jaw melding with mine in a kiss... I could tell she was coming around to my idea.
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j3q8to4
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j3q6ru0
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[WP] "Demonic tradition states that as punishment for your disobedience, I must bestow a curse on you. Common sense dictates that you were absolutely correct to disobey me. So, human, I have decided to burden you with the most inconsequential of curses..."
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“BEHOLD MORTAL! THE CURSE OF ENDLESS TEMPTATION!”
The demon exclaimed while gesturing in an exaggerated manner.
I felt something light rolled up behind my ear. I reached behind and took it.
It was a single rolled up Twenty Dollar Bill.
“Uh… thanks?”
“YES MORTAL, THIS SHALL HAPPEN ONCE A MONTH FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS, YOU SHALL BE TEMPTED BY THE DEBAUCHERIES PROMISED BY TWENTY DOLLARS. YOU ARE DOOMED TO FOREVER TEST YOUR WILL AGAINST THE PULL OF TWENTY DOLLARS.”
The demon smirked and gave me a wink.
Well... I may have helped a demon… but twenty dollars is twenty dollars.
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"Your curse," said the booming voice, "Is that you now see the world upside down!"
"Whoa hold on that doesn't seem very inconsequential to m--"
You're cut off as your stomach churns from your vision suddenly swirling and shifting until everything is upside down.
You can't keep your balance. You fall over, and you can't quite catch yourself.
The voice speaks. "This is your curse, and so it shall be."
The smell of brimstone fills the air, and Astorsyix disappears.
You struggle down the hallway. Up the stairs. You call for your mother.
"Steven! What is that *horrendous* smell down there?? You better not be playing with hellfire again!"
•••••••
A few months later and you're almost completely accustomed to your new vision. Occasionally when you awake, you're left jarred and confused, but even that will fade. Occasionally you point the wrong direction. Sometimes you look the wrong way. But generally, it's not an issue.
Your mother says it's likely that your disobedience inconvenienced the demon for a while, but that he'd grow accustomed to it. And so such was the nature of your curse.
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jdryqnr
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jdq6n3o
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[WP] Destroying 90% human population on earth, the aliens leave, assuming that society would crumble, and remaining 10% will just all fight for resources and eventually die out. They returned a thousand years later, expecting a cleansed planet, but were met with a nuclear strike from a satellite.
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We call it the 80-20 rule.
Clean out 80% population of a species, and the rest 20% dies out on its own.
This rule has been in place as long as there has been xenocidal wars in the galaxy.
Exterminating an entire species to its last member is not economical. We wanted to find a sweet spot where we can annihilate a species at the lowest expense. Basis multiple trials and errors, the 80-20 rule was followed. It has never failed.
Eventually, however, a mistake was made.
A primitive species was found on the third planet from the star in a remote system in the galaxy. In his zeal, the Admiral of the quadrant wiped out *90%* instead of the calculated 80% of the population.
This mistake was quickly noted, the Admiral was quickly stripped of his ranks and sent to a penal colony, his incompetence filed away.
Everyone forgot about the incident.
A thousand years later, someone discovered this incident in the archives. Determined to make a movie out of the whole incident (“The incompetent admiral”), they sought the help of the imperial starfleet to shoot the movie at the site of the actual incident.
Our first hint that something was amiss was the massive Dyson sphere around the system that contained the planet. As the scout ship accompanying the movie crew approached the sphere, they were vaporized by multiple nuclear strikes from satellites orbiting the sphere.
While this was unexpected, it was not intimidating. The “humans” had used nuclear strikes in the first war as well. Surprised at the fact that some resistance still remained, we sent in a fleet to seek and destroy whoever remained.
Little did we know we were walking into a trap.
The humans had used the thousand years to reverse engineer our technology and understand our battle strategies. Their first move *was designed* to draw out a fleet to measure our current capabilities, both technological and strategic.
In this we were found severely lacking.
Now, nearly two thousand years after that second contact, we stand at the brink of extinction.
The humans do not care about the costs of war. On every planet they have conquered, they have systematically exterminated every man, women at children.
Even now, while we desperately fight to defend our capital city on our home planet, our last citadel, I hear whispers of camps being set up in the conquered territories, where our captured citizens are systematically massacred.
If these are to be my last words, do pay heed.
While in Xenocide, do not violate the 80-20 rule.
Crossing the 80% threshold apparently *prevents* a species from dying out.
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Audio log: Date, Febuary 9th 2020, Destroying 90% of the human population on earth, the aliens left, assuming that our society would crumble, and the rest of us would just fight each other, making us go extinct. But, That 10% they didn't destroy was part of Japan, America, and Germany. We have no idea when the aliens will be back, but the first sight of an alien craft entering our planets sphere of influence, we must destroy the ship.
I laughed my ass off as soon as I got confirmation on the destruction of the alien ship. By the way, my name is Void. After I was done dying of laughter, I gave the green light to launch what I like to call "The Hunters". The hunters is a fleet of capital class and standard class ships that are both nuclear and biologically capable. I decided to hitch a ride on the flag ship, nicknamed the God of War. The two flagship escorts are named the twin slayers. The main Assault, or Attack, ships, I call the Fifth fleet. There are going to be support ships arriving about thirty minutes after our initial attack on the alien home world.
Me: "Hahahah, after one thousand years, we will find this alien species home world, and just wipe it off the galactic map."
:Radar manager "Sir, we're getting reports from \[REDACTED\], appears to be more aliens dropping from hyperspace."
Me: "Go ahead and open fire, non-nuclear as a test."
:Combat and Radar manager: "Yes Sir!"
I get confirmations from the radars that the ships have been destroyed, but I realized something was wrong.
Me: "CEASE FIRE, SOMETHINGS WRONG!"
Combat manager: "CEASING!"
Me: "Those smart ass aliens, any reports from \[REDACTED\], don't engage unless they engage first."
Radio: "10-4."
I was about to give the order to start charging the Frameshift-drives when we were hit with something.
Combat manager: "WE'VE BEEN HIT WITH SOMETHING!"
Me: "WELL FIGURE OUT WHERE THE HELL IT CAME FROM OPEN FIRE, USE NUCLEAR WEAPONRY TO MAKE THEIR SURVIVAL CHANCES ZERO!"
Combat manager: "SIR, THOSE MISSILSE WERE CAUSTIC, WE NEED TO START OVERHEATING THE SHIPS."
Thirty seconds go by...
Me: "WELL??? WAITING FOR A KISS AND A COOKIE???? IF YOU NEED TO GO AHEAD AND UN-STABILIZE THE REACTOR!! JUST GET THIS DAMN CAUSTIC SHIT OFF OUR SHIPS!"
We must of lost at least 25% of our entire fleet. We managed to jump to a star-system with an earth-like world with breathable oxygen. We decided to set up a Dyson sphere so we could harvest as much energy as possible for a super-weapon. Only 5% of the energy will be used for construction of several space docks and ship yards for the construction of the ships we lost and then more.
After three years, we increased our fleet size by 300%, not included the ships we did need to replace. We sent out several ASP Explorers, ships designed with a high jump range and high maneuverability to escape any combat situation. We still haven't found the alien home-world. We decided to call the species S-1, species 1. Our super weapon I mentioned is done, but needs to be put into several Heavy cargo ships in order to be transported.
(god school is literally deleting all of my creativity
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j41adul
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j415d7e
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[WP] Humans make a deal with you, and you "accidentally" give them a way to get out at the end of the contract. you've been doing this for quite a while, but now a human is doing their best to pay the cost. Ignoring, or perhaps not seeing, the solutions you're leaving for them.
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It’s true what they say – high school never ends.
These divine gods have existed since time immemorial, their bonds forged through standing up against the primordial forces that ruled the world, blah blah blah. It’s a clique is what it is! A clique of lazy assholes who tell themselves actually getting off their ass and doing work in this world is a waste of time and in fact only makes things worse.
I suppose it was this negligence that allowed me to slip through the cracks. Allowed a mere mortal like me to amass enough power, work out the holes in the foundations they’d laid all those eons ago and ascend to godhood. I wasn’t born into it, I worked for it.
Somewhat understandably, this didn’t sit well with, well any of them.
Well fuck em. Let them sit on their thrones, I actually had matters to attend to. While they imposed their rules, deals were still within my power to make, and I had a particularly brilliant deal to close.
I closed my eyes to move through space when a force stopped me. Ah.
In front of me stood Aurora. Her face hidden in a kaleidoscope of colors, 8 arms arrayed around her holding anything from a sword to a bird to a pen, each constantly shifting. She actually chose to appear that way. We could take any form she wanted but she picked that. It was like wearing a clown suit at home – it wasn’t as though the other gods left their realms.
“Off to play with your fellows, Demi?” she said, 8 voices layered on top of one another.
I resisted the urge to ground my teeth. Demi – demigod being the implication. It was clever I had to admit, in the same way a schoolboy might come up with a catchy insult.
“I have to close a deal,” I countered, keeping my voice even. “You know, our job as gods?”
Aurora made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Deal you call them, as if we’re blind. We know what they are – they are gifts.”
I stood up straighter and looked her in the eyes. “I make deals. It is the prerogative of my clients if they choose to disrespect me and follow the letter rather than the spirit.”
“You know our rules,” Aurora’s colors shifted, becoming darker. “There cannot be an unbalance. Deals must be fair and in good faith.”
I spread out my arms. “And I make deals, not gifts.” I shouldered past her. “Talk to me when you see me not doing exactly that.”
***
I met my client at a castle.
It was dark except for the single candle that sat on the table, barely illuminating my client’s face in the flickering candlelight. In the room behind him I could make out some light snoring. He gasped when I revealed myself in front of him.
“M-my lord,” he said, immediately getting off the chair and onto the ground. Have some self respect, man I sighed internally. Still, I bent down and held up by his shoulders and lifted him up so he was standing a bit taller than me actually – a deliberate choice in the form I chose. Subtlety over extravagance – if only the rest of the pantheon understood that.
“No need for that my champion,” I said with a the widest smile I could muster. “You’ve united a kingdom that has been split for centuries. I’ve seen you begin to bring reforms and prosperity to a land that has been stained with blood for so long. Stand straight!”
He nodded a small smile coming onto his lips. “It was all thanks to you, my lord. You gave me the power to do what I did, to bring peace to this land, and now I have come to fullfill my side of the bargain.”
What?
“Do you remember the terms?” I asked, less grandiose than I would have liked.
At this, of all things, he brightened. “Of course! You have me the power to accomplish my goal, and I agreed to serve you for the rest of my life afterward.”
“And this mission of yours,” I said, “is it accomplished?” Was I going to have to spell it out for him? His motto was “my work is never finished” for gods’ sake!
He looked back at the room where someone was sleeping and then tore his gaze away from the door and looked me in the eyes. “It is. You have served me in good faith and now I must do the same. I am here to pay my portion of the deal if you are willing!”
You had to be joking right now. “Look, I don’t want to take you into servitude. You can just decide whatever your mission is so I won’t ever actually have to execute this part of it.”
He blinked at me slowly. “You mean…you never intended to follow through with the cost of the deal?”
“Yes!” Finally.
The man in front of me dissolve in a amalgam of colors to reveal, who else but Aurora. “So you could say the deal was not made in good faith then?”
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I AM THE GENIE OF THE LAMP. And I’m bored. It’s been 300 years since my brother wished me in here to save me from the plague that hit our town (his fault) and gain everlastiiiinnnnggggg liiiiifffeeeeuuuuhhh.
Everlasting life is, predominantly, everlasting periods of lounging in an alternate universe OF MY CREATION and waiting for somebody to rub me out. You think you have problems. Granted, I’m never hungry. Never cold. Never die. I live in an absolute palace but do you hear that bonging when I knock on the walls? Pure lamp. Can’t change the drapes.
Martha Stewart can back me up. A prison’s a prison, no matter what you hang to make it more “homey”.
You know what really sucks about the lamp? It seeks out good, kind people who are struggling with terrible life circumstances. I mean, it singles them out for the torment of a granted wish. It’s written right on the side, for anyone who happens to read 17th century Arabic. “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.”
I get poor people off the streets and make them very rich! I get barren women pregnant! I heal the sick and the blind and the lame!!!! And there’s always a cost. It turns out, the Universe doesn’t give anything away for free. Nothing.
So, I give them a way out. A little shadow whispers in their ear. They find a clue. A note. Anything to get them out of this wish-prison we’re both trapped in, one of us for ALL OF ETERNITY.
Sorry about that echo. Occupational hazard.
It was all going along just fine, until this last guy. Washington Richardson Jackson, the man with 3 last names. He has everything. You wouldn’t even believe he was on the streets 3 months ago, and the redacted history of his life the wish created certainly won’t tell you.
Me? I was rattling around the lamp for almost 2 decades with not much to do but play Atari when he came along and rubbed me out. The lamp had settled in a random alley between a homeless shelter and a Soup Shop. It smelled like savoury broth and urine in (unfortunately) equal amounts. I had to breathe through my eyes, it was that bad.
The man holding onto my lamp like he thought it would keep him from falling was tall and bulky with an overbite that could have cut glass. He looked up at me, grand apparition though I was, with hazy, wet eyes. People have a lot of reactions when they first see me. Gasp. Scream. Run. The whole pyrotechnics and smoke effect is pretty exciting, sure… but Washington isn’t like other folks. He just looked up at me towering over him in all my gold-braceleted impressiveness like he’d never seen a more ordinary person in his life and said, I kid you not, he said:
“Excuse me?”
I was like “Yes, Master?”
As that is the pre-programmed response.
He goes; “I’m Washington. Washington Richardson Jackson. You can remember it, on account of I got 3 last names. You know who else got 3 last names?”
“No.”
“Me, neither.”
I waited.
“So I guess since you came outta that lamp, you can tell me something about it?”
“I was about to, when you said ‘excuse me’. I have a whole shpiel. I was going to say I AM THE GENIE OF TH—“
He cut me off. Honestly, the gall.
He flapped his hand in the air at me. Yeah. Like this. Like HE was dismissing ME.
“Yeah that’s good awesome great but do you know if the lamp you came out of is gold? Like, pure gold?”
“I….what?”
“You know, like, it’s an artifact or sum right? So it’s gotta be real?”
“I’m sorry. A person just leaped forth from this lamp trailing primordial smoke and you’re asking me what this lamp is MADE OF?!?”
He ran a hand over his sweaty brow, panting from the effort of existing. “Yeah. Do you think I can get money for it?”
I slapped my forehead with my palm. “Do I think you can get money for a MAGIC LAMP with an ACTUAL GENIE inside?”
He slid down the alley wall, draping both arms over his considerable forehead. “You don’t, do you? Ah, it’s just my stupid luck.”
The guy just found a genie, and he was on about his bad luck. Complete monotone. Tears in his eyes. “I won the lottery. Wow, I have the worst luck.”
I considered just letting him sell me. I don’t know what happens if the wisher never wishes.
I’d probably end up trapped outside the lamp forever, but hey. That wasn’t so bad. And I’d never have to grant another wish. I’d be a useless artifact. A total dud. What was the risk, really?
“I wish genies were actually real.”
“Did you say, I w—“
“….but you’re just a hallucination. I could really sell that lamp if you were real.”
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Counted to ten.
“What are you on, Washington?”
He chuckled to himself, a thin and mirthful snort. “Just everything.”
Eyes. Breath. Ten. Maybe I could do him some good.
“Don’t you WISH you could stay off drugs? Clean up your life? Maybe get a place to live?”
He looked at me like I had just lost my ever loving mind (or he had just lost his glasses) and rolled his eyes. As if he possessed some depth of knowledge I couldn’t possibly understand.
….to be continued in whatever free time I find.
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jb6z8y1
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jb5zkuj
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[WP] The lottery is a secret plot to catch time travellers. You have just been detained despite winning by pure luck.
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"What the hell do you mean time travel! I've never even been outside of my city!" Jake says, annoyed. "Is this some sort of joke?"
"No joke" The man with the comically large moustache says to Jake.
"Well then I must be sleeping, because this is nonsense" Jake bites back.
"We have reason to believe that you-" The second man (this one has a small pencil moustache) interjects.
"Oh sod off. So let me get this right, This is your story, yeah? Just so all three of us are on the same page. You think, That I, Jake Bishop, a mediocre mechanic who spends his days scamming old women who come in for a service, you think that I am a time traveller? And instead of going back in time to see the pyramids get built, or going to interrupt the last supper with my best virgin Mary joke, or even just going back and investing in google... OR BETTER YET, instead of going back in time and fixing every shit, soul crushing moment of my life... you think instead of going and doing all of that, that I would instead just go and win the lottery? If I could do all that stuff, Why do you think that would I be here?... in this time... in my miserable, pointless life..." The anger and bluster fades from Jakes face, and is replaced by melancholy. "Why would I be here, when I could be back... back when everything was fine!" Jake stops himself.
The men with the mismatched moustaches turn and look at each other for a moment before turning back to Jake.
The large moustache man clears his throat. "So you didn't play the numbers (4,6,8,9,18,22)"
Jake leans back in his chair. "I'm saying that I'm not a time traveller... I'm not saying that I didn't play those numbers. I play them every week"
The small moustache man cocks an eyebrow "Every week?"
Jake nods. With that, the large moustache man slides out of the room to check on it, whilst the small moustache man and Jake sit in silence.
"So... say this isn't a joke, and say this isn't a dream... you're saying that time travel exists?"
"Yes, Sir" The man replies.
Jake nods sadly. "So, say it did exist... Could I go back in time and change things?"
"Pretty much" The man says, and Jake sits there solemnly, thinking, contemplating.
After a moment, the large moustache man returns.
"Checks out. You're free to go" He says.
Jake stands and heads towards the door, but the small moustache man stops him.
"You play the same numbers every week? People who play the same numbers every week usually have a meaning behind it"
Jake sighs and turns back to face him. "4/6/18, that's the day I met the love of my life" Jake says sadly.
"And the rest?" Small moustache man asks.
"9/8/22... That's the day she died" Jake says, as he turns and leaves the interrogation room.
The End.
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The world is a harsh place. We prize everyone based on their talents and successes. Those who simply can do more, can do better, and can continue despite the obstacles--those ones rise to the top. They're the ones people view as the "greatest," or the "best." Money, fame, sex--whatever they want, they'll get it one way or another.
On the other hand, there's the type of people like me who exist as stepping stones to their success. I don't think "stepping stones" is even the right term. Maybe "footstool" is better. We simply exist to lift those who deserve to go to the top. Simple as that. Average, bound to normalcy and a trite daily routine.
Things changed though, be it through a twist of fate or just agony at the monotony in which my life has set itself in, because I decided to gamble and put my luck to the test. I rolled my chances for a lottery ticket, and there I was in front of the television eagerly waiting for the numbers to appear. I had randomly chosen the numbers because I didn't want to overthink it. I thought it would sting if I had used something personal and none of the numbers showed up.
Then, as the television began showing the numbers, the world felt as if it had slowed down. The first number appeared. It was the same one on my ticket. Then the sound began to drown itself out as the second number showed up. Then the third. Until the world stopped when I finally matched the last number.
It quite literally, in every sense of the word, stopped.
I looked at my television and the screen froze exactly at the numbers which were on my ticket. I got up from my chair and looked outside the window: the birds stopped midair, Ms. Gardner was at her yard frozen alongside her dog whose pee formed an arc beside a tree. It was all surreal, unbelievable! Everything just stopped...as if time itself had ceased.
A knock on my door eventually came through. In a world that has completely stopped. I would have normally hesitated at the thought; no average person is going to be able to knock at my door at this time, or worse, it might not even be a person. It might be something far worse and far more sinister.
Yet I knew I must carry on. It was heaps better than nothing. I slowly reached for the door knob, bracing myself for whatever stood behind the door. As I pulled, the hinges creaked, and a figure was in front of me. Thankfully, it was at least a human and not an eldrich horror.
"I am John Titor," he said immediately.
"By sheer luck, you managed to decode the winning numbers to the time machine. There is no time to explain, but because time has stopped, TEMPORAPOL will begin their chase once again. Those who fall into the temporal realm, by accident or not, will be hunted down. I am here to rescue you."
I gazed at him in bewilderment. Was this an act? I opened the door expecting answers, but I only ended up with even more questions. Maybe it would have been better if an eldritch horror had showed up instead.
"Take this," he said as he handed a gun over to me. "Keep that and hold on to it tight. It is your only defense from being stuck in time *permanently*." He began walking down the path of my yard and beckoned me over to his car.
"Now. Follow me. I could use your time-stopping luck."
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jtixl1m
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jtiqutq
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[WP] One day, the heads of all religions in the world recieve a telepathic message. "We are the Divine Protection Service, You have been removed from the care of your god for reasons of neglect. You will be entrusted to the care of a foster god."
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It was a chiming voice, so sweet and soft with the comfort of a warm blanket on a cool day that echoed throughout every being’s mind.
“***Hello. Oh, hello. Look at you, so beautiful. Even while broken, so resilient and beautiful. My poor beloved, my poor dears…***” It cooed, bringing many of the 8 billion people to their knees as they wept from the unconditional love that swept forth.
It started some months ago with a telepathic message that was promptly dismissed by many high-level religious figures to be nothing but a hoax, nothing but a “test of faith.” “Stay loyal, stay true, stay faithful” was their slogan as the masses began to panic and look around for an answer; many people who turned from religion flocked back to the churches and the steeples to kneel and pray to show how devoted they were. To show that they never betrayed the one true God.
Although there were just as many, who stated that they were finally being heard, finally given an answer, they began to reconnect with the roots of what they knew was right, knowing that they were finally going to be taken care of. They tried their best to clean up the earth, reconnect with the soil, and took care of one another in the community as civilization slowly started to collapse and divide itself into two factions: those who Stayed Loyal, typically those of monotheistic religions, and those who Waited, those who were from polytheism religions or otherwise apathetic about God.
With the discourse, messages began to appear in the form of letters, and graffiti art, taking over the broadcasted news and airwaves. “*Thank you for your patience; you will be entrusted to the care of a foster god shortly.*” Letting everyone know that what they heard wasn’t a hoax and that it was real. Eventually, the Waited faction grew, but the Stayed Loyal remained the “most devoted” and kept praying to be heard in a desperate attempt to reconnect with the original God(s) that they were subscribed to.
It slowly started to feel different as the Divine Protection Service, DPS for short, began to do minor patches as humanity waited for their new god. It was only minor, though, as they stated they do not have the power of a real God to assist in any particular way, but they can at least ease the suffering in the short-term until the God is found and is given to them. Food was a main thing that people saw increasing, although it wasn’t consistent. Water was another much to which many people rejoice, especially those going through severe draughts and forest fires. The DPS messages kept saying, wait for your new God to be given to you, and they will help even more. To some, DPS was already a God and couldn’t believe that it could be better- could ***get*** better.
What a strange concept, many have whispered, that being Given a God was some right. Something they deserved. That they didn’t have to fight for it truly. That was supposed to be something we had all the time. That we were born, made, and, as such, it was our divine right to have a God that loved and cared for us.
“***It’s okay my dears, let it out… It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be angry. You have the right to feel that, my loves.***” The voice soothed the hurt, the anger, the rage. It took the yelling as people screamed to the sky about how unfair it all was, how humanity has suffered for so long through floods, through the greed of those in power, through starvation and famine. Some of it was abuse, stating that they don’t understand why, why now, it was so needed as they were abandoned for so long. Some shouted that they didn’t even need a God anymore, pointing out incidents of when humans were able to triumph on their own.
“***We are so sorry; we apologize so much for allowing this to happen to all of you. You are right; it’s not fair. You did so much by yourselves though, look at you. Amazing. All of you just simply amazing. Even without a God, you achieved so much and tried so hard to keep it together. It’s okay though, We are here now.***” The voice soothed even further as it repaired the planet for the humans as they grieved. It cradled them in its warmth, holding them close even as they waved their fists in anger at it. It understood, after all, that they were hurt; they were oh so lonely for thousands if not hundreds of thousands to millions of years. To them, humanity was a hurt child who had to be resilient and survive for so long on their own. Their rage was understandable, and it couldn’t even fault them for it.
“***That’s right. Let it out.***” It cooed as it lessened the heat that was already frying the earth and the human’s tempers, giving cool breezes that caressed away the tears, whether they be from pain, hope, or joy. It cleaned the waterways, allowing the humans to enjoy clean water, for some the first time in centuries. It repaired the damage from the earth, allowing plants and animals to spring back forth into nature, and slowly taught the humans about harmony with not only each other but with every living thing on Earth. “***Even now, you are showing how brave you all are. There are so many changes. But look, you’re adapting so well. My precious humans, adaptability is your perk, but you shouldn’t have had to rely on just that for so long. Come, rest for a bit now. You deserve to. I'll take care of it all and once you are rested, we can learn together.***"
Eventually, they learned the name of this new god, Ahavah. The general consensus of every human was that it suited it.
“*We at Divine Protection Services wish to extend a formal apology to humanity as we have let you go under the radar for so long. It was not until we were reviewing old case files that we realized our error. As such, after reviewing incident reports and the prayers that we were given by you, we wanted to find a God that could best suit what you all needed. Please do give us more prayers if we are wrong, but what we found humanity needed was unconditional love.*”
|
The UN was the most neutral place to hold the panicked meeting.
The general concept was to hold it in Jerusalem but the mere mention of that suggestion caused riots.
The Pope, Dalai Lama, a number of high-ranking Imam, Rabbis, Monks, and leaders of Hindu religions had joined.
Among the gathering were even a few native tribes from the Americas and the Polynesians.
To my utter shock, I even spotted a few folks wearing pentacles on their well-pressed suits and dresses. Were those Wiccians? I suppose it was derivative of me to assume they'd be walking into such an event wearing floral decorations and headdresses.
There was a man who was rather smug, among the group. He had a Pentagram on his lapel and glanced pridefully among the grouping of religious leaders.
I couldn't recognize most, being an American reporter and an atheist myself, theology wasn't my strong suit.
Yet, here I was, covering a most insane story.
The Pope stood up, clearing his throat. Before he could speak, a bright light filled the room.
Hovering above him, filling the room with holy light, was a strange creature.
They had four arms, and two sets of glowing eyes, each a different color. One yellow, one blue, one red, and one brown.
Three sets of shimmering white, gold, and silver wings hung off their back. Their lower half was humanoid, but more like a horse. Like a human-like centaur, of sorts.
They wore white robes over their upper body, their legs were clad in shimmering armor, and their feet (not hooves) were clad in armored boots.
They floated down slowly, "**Sorry, My New Children, I was only just informed by DPS of the situation. I rushed over to this plane as swiftly as I could and... oh... Oh, dear**." Their voice was both many and few, caring and disappointed. "**Oh, you've all split up already? That's unfortunate. Did you receive no prophets or miracles lately to guide you?"**
The man wearing the Pentagram burst into laughter.
The deity before us gave a glare to the apparent Satanist, "**I don't think that's called for, young man."**
The Satanist cleared his throat, giving a little chuckle, "My apologies... It's just... Well, I've been saying God abandoned us for a long time. It's funny to get proof."
The deity sighed, looking around the room, "**Fair enough. You're a rather astute prophet to notice."**
The Satanist covered his mouth, turning away so as to not offend.
The deity rolled their many eyes, "**Anyway... Hello, my New Children. I am the god Tirpheir. I understand this is a difficult time for all of you, but I can assure you I'm a very experienced foster god. I've seen many a neglected mortal plane, and ushered many into a better place."** They looked over the stunned group, "**Though this is the most... dire case I've seen,"** One of their fingers looked over the group, "**Have any of you been granted exceptionally long life by your previous deity?"**
The room was silent.
"**...Oh, uhm,"** Tirpheir paused, "**Any Avatars of the Divine's angelic choir?"**
More silence.
"**Oh for the love of the grand combined essences-What was Yahweh doing for the last century!"** Tirpheir called out in increasing frustration.
The Pope leaned forward, "Actually, the last prophet we have ever received that was ever confirmed was about..." The Pope heaved a heavy sigh, "Was about 1500 years ago."
An Imam growled, "Ah, so *Now* you accept that Mohammad was a prophet!"
The Pope growled, "Listen here, he was sent by Raphael, not God!"
"And who commands the angels?! Huh?!" the Imam shouted.
Tirpheir lifted their hands, a heavenly sound of trumpets filling the room.
All were silent.
"**The Angel Raphael is who reached out to the DPS in the first place. They stated they were befuddled by their last mission, as it fractured the religions and caused yet more divisiveness among the mortals here. This, after yet more divisiveness was caused by a direct visitation of your Lord,"** Tirpheir explained.
"AH-HAH!" the Pope shouted, "Jesus was the Lord!"
"**Was,"** Tirpheir emphasized, turning to the Pope, lifting a finger to their mouth, "**Please be silent, while we transition."**
"I am only commanded by the Lord God, Jesus Christ, Hollowed be-" The Pope began, but then choked, grabbing his throat as no sounds emerged.
Tirpheir's eyes narrowed on the Pope, "**What we speak, becomes law. Your refusal to be silent has robbed you of your voice,"** They turned to us, "**Going forward, there shall be some changes to stop all of these** ***Holy Wars*** **that you've begun,"** Tirpheir looked towards the Israeli delegation, "**Firstly, while we do not normally require sacrifices nor tribute, you're to destroy your old altars and artifacts. They no longer have any spiritual significance, as your God has been egregiously absent. Secondly, we shall select interim prophets and bless them with near-immortal life, and divine power,"** They glanced at the Satanist and a few of the native leaders who had remained mostly silent, "**Your sort seem more in tune with the spiritual world, so I shall select you, who saw the truth as the interim prophet of Law and Order."**
The moment the words were spoken, Satanist's pentagram glowed white and was replaced by four multi-colored eyes. He smiled at first before he flinched, and gasped, falling to his knees as he grabbed at his own eyes. He got to his feet, blinking a set of four human eyes on his head, looking around, "Oh - Oh wow I can see it all and... Oh, it's a mess."
"**Yes, it is,"** Tirpheir then pointed to a few of the natives, who experienced similar changes, "**You shall be prophets of life, of Earth, of air, of Earth, and of Sea."**
The room was now full of confusion as the prophets were chosen. I tried to write down all I could.
Tirpheir turned to the Dalai Lama next, "**You, who follow a kindred spirit through the ethereal plane and into the physical, shall be the new Prophet of Death and Rebirth."**
The Dalai Lama looked himself over, nothing changing.
"**Giving you ever-lasting life would, of course, be meaningless. Your role will remain the same, but obviously, I shall be your patron. I'll, however, announce your rebirth whenever it occurs, to prevent all the confusion about it,"** Tirpheir sighed, "**That whole 'Leap of Faith' thing is a cop-out for abusive gods. You'll find I'm stern but fair, and I will be involved in your mortal realm,"** Tirphier said, as the room shook from their voice.
I swallowed hard. I was unsure if that was for the better or the worse.
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ly7dbjw
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ly7bjwa
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[WP] Every alleged weakness of vampires in folklore is completely fake. Silver, stake through the heart, beheading, garlic, sunlight, holy water? All bullshit. The vampires had spread those stories themselves, as a joke.
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Count Vrensal swirled the crimson liquid in his wine glass. "'Tis good fun, I will say. These mortals will believe anything you tell them." He took a long sip of the viscous liquid. "Why, I told them we cannot stand the sunshine, that we'd burn in its radiant light. One way to explain a hangover."
Diocletes the Flayer chucked deeply. "You think too small!" The heavyset man bellowed. "I told them, 'silver, I cannot stand silver, please no silver.' Guess who wakes up next morning with a front lawn covered in free silver!"
The room nearly howled. Several pale-skinned party goers stood with empty glasses. At the far side of the room was a set of finely crafted bronze spigots. Pipes connected these through the ceiling, where the staff kept its slaughter floor.
"I must also confess," Lady Shivver announced. Her melodic voice cut through the crowd, quieting the room. "I was once preparing a small country family for roast. I had spent the morning gathering the mountain of ingredients I would need, but do you know what I forgot? Garlic. So, I cut free the smallest of the farming clan and tell him to spread the word, I can only be killed by garlic. 20 minutes later, a band of men come romping to my door--the remnants of the city I had plundered earlier. And they brought garlic! Mountains of it! Saved me a trip to the store."
"Oh, I have one," a voice called through the room. Heads turned looking for its source until they found a man in a coat standing in an open doorway. "I once told a city that the only way to kill a vampire is by weakening. You do *that* by tricking then into drinking vampire blood."
Nobody laughed. One of the more inebriated of the clan heckled to the man, "Ay. You can't tell 'em real ones."
The man threw a golden set of rings to the stone ground. Vampires leaned over to inspect. They were the rings of the Blood Covenant, to be worn by the Emperor. Where was he?
The vampires looked back to the man, who looked up at the ceiling. No, not the ceiling. Higher. The next floor. The killing floor.
A scream broke out from the crowd. Then abother, until the whole room pieced it together. The man at the center of the chaos pulled a shotgun from under his coat.
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The vampire hasn't stopped laughing. From the old gothic church where the townsfolks had swarmed all over him, to the town square, where they had chained him to a large crucifix.
A paid mercenary stepped forward to repeatedly hack and slice at his body with a silver sword. The vampire wasn't amused. Not because it left deep wounds that wouldn't heal, no that was all bullshit, the reality being that he was uninjured. He was upset his new suit had been shredded into ribbons. It was rather expensive and he loved it. To add fuel to the fire they were about light up under his feet, that dumb merc didn't have the courtesy to leave him a shred of cloth or dignity. And the stares. He didn't like the way the women gossiped and gawked at his nakedness, their eyes swimming in cheesy vampire romantasy dreams he wished to scrub out of his mind. Especially the drooling soccer moms.
Not to mention, the sun was coming up and he was going to be sunburnt. He liked the pale gothic look and wasn't up for a tan.
The "holy water" was but a mild annoyance. Having garlic stuffed in his mouth and then duct taped so he couldn't spit it out? Well, that sucked. But the fire and the scorching rising from the horizon to ruin his beautiful complexion? Mortifying. His worst nightmare in fact, comparable to the nightmares of these Twihard soccer mom fantasies that would haunt him for...a while. He thinks. It's been a while since he last saw one of those black covers with a fruit in the middle. The nearest bookstore had replaced vampire romance slop with fae romance slop. It's a phase. It'll cycle out one day.
If he could talk with a clove of garlic in his duct-taped mouth, he would bring up how much harder it would be to put a stake through his heart or behead him while the fires were raging.
As much as all these alleged weaknesses started out as a joke by one of his elders, the reality was still such a pain in the ass to deal with. One human had gotten the idea to extinguish the fire below to stab a stake through his heart, then behead him with a sword.
Stories told these morons a single strike could take his head off. Reality dictated that without sufficient strength, the blade was only lodged midway in his neck. The warm blood trickled down, only for a handkerchief to dab it.
"I think that's enough. Clearly nothing is working," a burly foreman declared. "I say we toss him down the sea. Even if it doesn't kill him, it would stop the vampire from terrorizing the townsfolk."
Crap.
It wouldn't kill him, but it would definitely put a big damper on his plans like a wet blanket. Whoever said a weakness had to fatal had to be kidding him.
Escaping from being chained to a crucifix while being tossed into the raging sea was going to be a real challenge.
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j5376oq
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j530uqa
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[WP] Being invisible has its perks, but you can't exactly sign a lease. As such, you've become quite the expert lockpick to always have a place to sleep. When you settled into the cozy lake cabin to get out of the rain, you hear "We've been expecting you" from the shadows.
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They say not to mess with magic; in this case, 'they' is every PSA, textbook and veteran you interact with from the moment you discover how to shoot sparks. They say many things about magic, how it behaves, and how it thinks.
Of course, they also suggest the speed limit, and nobody thinks that 70 is a reasonable speed no on the highway.
Of course, I found out the hard way that the speed limit comparison was the problem or I wouldn't have thought about this so much. While speed limits are a matter of physics and law, magic has always been about negotiation. Sure, some spells are so consistent that they are essentially laws, but anything off the beaten path is a conversation between the caster and curse.
I'd wanted to turn invisible, but I rewrote the spell to try and buy myself an extra hour of invisibility. That's how all of this started, two glasses of wine, a bad idea and misplaced confidence in my improv skills. I'd bought myself extra time; I had yet to figure out how much.
It was at least enough that I'd stopped being angry about it a while ago. Invisibility wasn't entirely downside, and life as a 'ghost' was tolerable.
Either that, or I was just used to it. Hard to tell.
Living with the accidental curse was interesting. I still needed to eat, sleep, keep myself warm and everything that came with that, but there wasn't a way for me to engage with society. Jobs, leases and most other steps in the social ladder required a visible form. I'd been able to use Government Curse Adjustment Programs for a while, but they were underfunded and weren't a long-term solution.
No, the solution had been to embrace invisibility and do what I did best, disappear. I could live in someone's house for several days before they suspected a poltergeist, and there were enough books to keep me entertained. Between my required curse-breaking hobby, getting four unofficial degrees from MBU and trying to find a fabric that didn't turn invisible when I wore it, I'd managed to keep myself busy.
All of this to explain why the homeless, jobless invisible woman was taking a vacation. I thought I deserved it, and I'd seen the family that owned this cabin head back to the city earlier today. I could spend a week here, specifically not getting a tan, and head somewhere else before they came back next weekend.
The front door was easy. They always were. Lockpicking spells were more than enough for residential bolts, and nobody was arresting me for illegal magic anytime soon. The alarm systems were more annoying, even if I set it off and the cops showed up...
Well, it was like lockpicking; they'd need to find me first.
I opened the door and slipped into the house just as it began to rain outside. The light pitter-patter of droplets chased me as I shut the door and kicked off the sneakers I'd been wearing. My ratty shoes popped into view as they stopped touching my body. I needed a new pair, but I'd kept putting it off because nobody could see them, and I had no idea if they even looked good on me.
Thinking about it, I missed shopping. I'd always been too harsh on myself in the mirror and put things back on the shelf that I should have bought. I'd always been able to tell myself that I had years to make brave fashion choices. Now I didn't have a reflection, which made it hard to know whether I looked like a wet rat or cute as I broke into this place.
I turned away from the mirror in the entranceway and found the light switch. I flicked it on, and a single bulb in the entryway sputtered to life, leaving the rest of the house mostly shadow.
"One of those houses," I mused to myself as I walked properly inside and started to take stock of the little lakehouse. There were only three rooms, and the main one was taken up by a massive dining table that was clearly the most expensive thing in the room.
I flicked another switch, and the fixture above the table turned on; five bulbs where candles should have been on a chandelier. The warm light betrayed how shined the table was like nobody had ever eaten off it before.
I was going to change that this week.
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"We've been expecting you."
I froze. Thunder rumbled in the distance, as shadows shifted in front of me, seeming deeper than a second ago. Maybe they hadn't been talking to me. Maybe they'd been expecting someone else in this remote cabin on the lake. Maybe whoever it was had come in behind me. Right behind me.
Walking softly, I moved to the side, out of the way. Being invisible had its perks, one of them the ability to avoid pursuit as long as you made no sound. Shadows reached out to embrace me, and though I didn't need them to hide, I welcomed their presence.
That was a mistake.
They hardened around me, the dark becoming steel, wrapping my wrists and ankles. Breath shortening, I flexed my wrists, trying to see if there was any give. Nothing. I stilled as a sound came from the back of the cabin. It curled around my ears, digging its way under my skin. Laughter. Whoever... whatever, was holding me, laughed at my attempts to break free.
I suppressed a shiver, making sure my voice wouldn't break with the fear that was starting to rise in waves.
"Who are you?" The shadows absorbed my voice, deadening the words. I tore my thoughts away from the idea of death as someone responded. But as they spoke, the laughter continued.
"You know who we are. You've been running from us for too long." There had to be two of them, at least.
"Running from you?" My mind raced as I tried to think of an escape. Around my wrists, the dark bonds tightened until they threatened to break bones.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now, we've caught you fair and square, there's no running now." The voice scolded in a strange sing-song, as the laughter rose to a crescendo before choking off.
"You've got the wrong person," I said, desperate to keep them talking. If they were talking they hopefully wouldn't be killing. That voice sounded as if it would enjoy killing.
"The wrong person? Hmmm. That sounds like something the right person would say. After all, you didn't want to get caught." The voice was closer now, and I started praying for light. Any light, any light at all... A slurping sound came from the darkness, the noise reminding me uncomfortably of someone sucking the marrow from bones. The bonds shifted, pulling my left hand forward until it hung suspended straight out in front. Thunder rolled again and I took a shaky breath, whimpering as a cold dry hand took mine.
"Oh, I think you're the right person. Oh yes, oh yes. You see, you're invisible. Invisible is flavorful." There was a strange chuckle, different from the laughter of before. This was controlled, but something dark lurked behind the light sound.
"I've been invisible for a while now. But I haven't been running from you. I haven't been running from anyone. So you see, you've got the wrong person." I could feel myself starting to babble and bit my tongue. The voice broke into a cackle as the cold hand tightened. It felt strange, not quite like flesh.
"Just because you didn't know you were running, didn't mean we weren't chasing you." It hissed, and the cabin lit as lightning flashed outside. In a split second, the inhabitants were revealed. The laugher, the sucker of bones, curled against the back wall, long taloned claws reaching towards me, darkness dripping from underneath the hand that was too long to be human, bone-white skin stretched too tightly over a form that only mimicked human anatomy. Close at hand, the speaker, grinned with a too-big smile. Eyes like the blackest pit stared at me, *saw* me as no one had seen me in a decade. A tongue flicked out, as if sniffing the air, an illusion reinforced by the snake scales covering its face. I screamed as the hand holding mine started to pull me closer. Darkness fell again, and teeth closed around my flesh.
A flash of lightning. As it lit the cabin, the bonds around my feet and wrists loosened. Panic lent me strength, and I broke from the shadows, tearing myself free, wrenching pain shooting up my left arm. Scrabbling, half-falling, I burst out of the door, running as soon as my feet hit the ground. Wriggling out of my jacket, I wrapped it around the stump of my left wrist, trying not to scream as the cloth hit the exposed wound. The Speaker had bitten off my hand.
Laughter echoed behind me, rising in cruel hysterics. The lightning flashed again, hitting a tree nearby, and setting it ablaze, but I dared not stop, dared not turn my head. As I fled, the Speaker's voice rose through the trees.
"You can run. But we'll find you. We have a *taste* of you now. And we *liked* it!"
​
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
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joltv3w
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jol1y79
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[WP] Everyone is born with a hole where their heart should be. This hole shrinks the closer you are to finding your purpose and grows the further away you get from it. Yours has been steadily growing for the past ten years, and soon you'll disappear altogether if it doesn't stop.
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**Medical Report**
**Subject:** Phenomena of Existential Void Syndrome (EVS)
**Author:** Dr. Richard Simmons, Senior Cardiologist
Good heavens, here we go again. One more subject complaining about the EVS – the latest trend, as it seems. Frankly, I've grown quite tired of these melancholic accounts and their incessant need for philosophical justifications. But alas, here we are.
Over the past ten years, this patient has reported a steady growth in the 'existential hole', which supposedly correlates to their dwindling sense of life purpose. Baffling concept, really. It's as if the humdrum life of regular cardio workups isn't dramatic enough.
Anyhow, according to this over-dramatized condition, our subject believes they will 'disappear altogether' if the expansion of this void doesn't cease soon. Perhaps, a rather intriguing metaphor for the human psyche but an exasperatingly vague medical symptom to investigate.
The heart's physicality remains intact, as verified by countless echo cardiograms, stress tests, and angiographies. The EKGs, as always, are as thrilling as a stale piece of bread – normal sinus rhythm, no arrhythmias. Yet, the patient insists on the persistent 'growing void.'
From a psychiatric perspective, the hypothesis aligns with the manifestation of an identity crisis or existential depression. Our charming subject here might be struggling with defining their purpose in life, an issue that would typically fall into a psychologist's territory. But as fate would have it, it appears to be my proverbial 'cross to bear.'
For therapeutic measures, perhaps a few sessions with a life coach or motivational guru might do the trick. We could also look into cognitive behavioral therapy, although I must say, I'd much rather prefer to untangle the mysteries of a complex congenital heart defect.
To wrap this up, my medical advice for our dearest subject here would be to cut back on the existential dread and focus on more tangible life goals. Perhaps take up a hobby, try painting, learn a new language. Whatever it is, just keep the existential crisis at bay.
At the end of the day, it's another case of 'mind over matter.' A seemingly increasing void in the heart can be as perplexing as it is metaphorical, but it's high time we return to addressing physiological ailments, and not philosophical quandaries. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a mountain of paperwork to attend to.
**End of report**
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Have you ever had the feeling that there is an empty space where your heart should be? Well, in my case or rather in the case of humanity it's true. No one can be accused of being heartless because we don't have one. We just have a blank space. We were told it could close when we find our purpose and make us whole. Or it will grow and ultimately consume us if we don't.
Sounds great if you are the kind of person who plans their life. Or you are like me and accept that one day you will collapse into yourself like a dying star.
*
When I was 10, I found out what I wanted to be. I saw the first female civil servant and knew I wanted to be that. There could be no doubt about it. I could feel the cavity where my heart should be pulse with happiness.
Little did I know that this pulsing was the cavity growing larger.
*
When I was 18, I enrolled in college. I worked hard on both life and studies. I had a dream afterall. But life had some other plans.
*
When I was 20, I felt the first hints of darkness inside me. It was the small moments- suddenly turning morose, feeling the need the hide and sleep forever and simultaneously never sleep at all. I thought it was because I was working towards my dream.
It was because my the hole where my heart should be was growing. Slowly and surely, it was giving space to darkness to occupy. And I could feel it trying to take over me but the light inside me was too strong for it to defeat.
Oh, how wrong I was.
*
I was 26, when it first started to dawn on me that my dream could remain that only - a dream. I was distraught. I didn't know what to do. The darkness had almost overtaken my entire being. Even breathing hurt. My parents who constantly tried to talk to me to go to a doctor were now growing severely concerned.
It wasn't until I was 28 that I realised that there was nothing else but darkness in me.
I was 28 when I first realised that the small cavity felt like a chasm.
I was 28 when I gave up on my dream.
I was 28 when my parents told me I was more important than any dream.
*
The doctor told me if I didn't find my true purpose and gave up on what I thought was my purpose I was going to disappear. Forever.
For a moment disappearing forever felt like a blessing.
For a moment I didn't want to give up on my dream. It was the only purpose I knew.
Then I saw my parent's faces and realised that the only thing that should disappear should be my insane pursuit of that dream.
*
I was 30 when I officially closed all doors on my dream. What I previously thought was my purpose. Though I knew I had given up on it there was a finality to it now.
Why is the silence that follows after broken dreams so loud?
I looked at the ruins of my dreams. And for the first time in 10 years felt a contraction in my chest.
Was this healing?
*
I was 31 when I decided to look for other options. The cavity was now slightly smaller as compared to 3 years ago.
I still haven't found my purpose. But at least I'm not chasing the wrong one either.
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lkj9pua
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lkixiir
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[WP]You were born in the Medieval Age, but at 15, a time anomaly brought you to the modern era, where a scientist adopted you. Now, 11 years later, they’ve found a way to send you back and asked for your opinion, but your answer is clear: "Hell no."
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"What. No. Why," I deadpanned with a blank look on my face. "I mean, great for you, pops, that you invented a time machine, but... actually, why is your first decision using it be to *return me*? I'm a bit touched, but you certainly didn't make it this far without being a dumbass."
"Language," The old man chided gently. "Well, for starters, it was not a time machine. Just reversing the temporal anomaly, that's all. I can add some cargo, but-"
"That explained why I'm so high on the priority list, huh?" I smirked. "Yeah, I'm grateful, pops. To think that you have been working that long to send me back. But you know- wait, what, cargo?"
"Cargo, yeah. It'd be really bad taste for me to send you back to the actual fucking Medieval-"
"Language." I snickered.
"I think we earned the right to say that with how many treatments and vaccines I had to get you through. Anyway, cargo." Dad rubbed his hands with a mischievous smile. "Fifty kilograms of machinery and equipment, of any type and form on Earth. Books, guns, vaccines, computers, nuclear batteries, solar batteries, you name it."
"...so that's your idea, huh." I narrowed my eyes and sighed. "Sorry, Dad, even then, no can do. I'm no savior like you. You... you know that it's far, far worse than even North Korea, right? It was cold, and it smelled, and I smelled, and I was always hungry too... I can't go back to there. Well... that's a bit of my fault, wasn't it? All the times I told you how I wish Mom and Aria and Chris could've been here with us, with you, away from that bastard..."
"No, no." Dad hurried with a frantic expression. So quick to apologize. One of the many things I loved so much about him. The bastard never said sorry for all the beatings even once. "You see, I've also figured out how to replicate the anomaly in the common direction, so it wouldn't be a one-way trip. And-"
"Wait, what?" I stared at him incredulously. "How is that different from a time machine, then?"
"Well, the temporal anomaly is attached to you as an individual and-"
"Doesn't matter! You figured out a way to travel BACK AND FORTH TIME?!"
"W-well, yeah, technically, but-" He stammered.
"You fucking idiot," I swore out loud and for once satisfied that he was too cowed to comment on that. "This Nobel Prize, I'm taking it."
"...I was planning on doing that anyways..."
"Don't try to hit me in the feels to cover up your dumbassery," I grumbled, as we strode over to the lab.
"Language." He smiled back.
|
“Hell no. I do not want to go back,” Thomas said.
Proust took a step backwards. And steadied himself against the door frame. His wide grin lost to a grimace. “But why?”
“Because I don’t.”
Proust Finklemyer was a famous scientist. Famous because he invented time travel eleven years ago. Kind of. It certainly wasn’t unintentional. Proust had been trying to understand time and tried many a way to create a method of transporting oneself through it, but he had never succeeded. Until one day, a wormhole generated during one of his experiments. It was wild and uncontrolled and when it ended a young man lay on the ground scared out of his mind. That was Thomas.
“You always talked so fondly of your time Tom. Now is your chance to go back to the moment you left… or we can move it forward some time so…”
“Dr Finklemyer. Please. I said no.” The rhythmic tapping of fingers against a plastic keyboard stopped as Thomas leant back in his chair looking at the ceiling.
Proust did he best to hide his wince. He hadn’t been Dr Finklemyer in years. He could still remember the moment he laid eyes on the child. Well, teenager. Lost and alone. Though there was a slight understanding of language most modern slang was simply too foreign and much of the modern world made no sense to Thomas. Proust had to choose: send him somewhere random, give him to social services, or adopt him (through slightly discreet methods).
So Proust adopted Thomas. It was only meant to be for six months maybe a year. But time is fickle. And tampering was resisted. So the process took longer. Now Proust almost couldn’t imagine a day without Thomas. But he had to send him home. It was the correct thing to do.
“I don’t understand Tom.” Proust walked over and sat on the bed.
“Because that life is gone. It was a nice dream to go back but how can I now? I’ve seen too much. I know too much. I’ll be an outcast,” Thomas almost shouted.
Proust shifted back. He knew the anger wasn’t aimed directly at him, but he still felt the passing burn.
“My family. I miss them everyday. I miss that they won’t ever see this. I miss that they wouldn’t understand why their child would disappear for 10 years only to return with tales of a magical land of metal and fireless lamps. Perhaps I would be accepted. Perhaps I would be laughed at. It is of no consequence that I would then have to live back then. In the conditions I have been made acutely aware of, that were not exactly hospitable.”
“Well what if we bring your family…”
“No. Dad. Please. No. Don’t make this harder,” Thomas cut him off. “I am a different person now. In a different family. In a different time. We don’t need to mix them up anymore than they are now.”
Although Proust was still slightly taken aback by his son’s wishes, they were to be respected. “Alright,” he half choked out of his throat. “Well then, let’s say we take a journey to somewhere else back in time. Together. As a family.” Proust looked over to Thomas.
Thomas swivelled in his chair. A lone tear rolled down his cheek. He nodded.
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ja84f09
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ja83pm4
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[WP] A fantasy army with its generic Hollywood tactics meets a small group of Medieval Infantry who understand things like "formations" and "discipline".
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"Shit they are moving slow!"
A female barbarian says. Her "armor" exposing her huge cleavage and her muscular thigh are mostly naked.
"They are indeed Tatiana. Not gonna be a match for my mighty hammer. "
A dwarf in full plate answers. His hammer is two times his size. And engraved with magic runes.
They are standing at the top of a hill, looking at their future battleground.
Several miles away, ten of thousands of enemy soldiers advancing in several lines towards them.
A tall and well built middle aged man approaches them. They both bow to him.
"Lord Arthur! My dwarfs are ready to kick some arses." "And my brave sisters are at your will as well!"
"Okay then. Here is the plan." Arthur continues. "Your dwarfs charge the front Bughdan. My cavalry charges their flank while they are busy dealing with you. And Tatiana's amazons rain them with arrows. Let's give them hell!"
Soon they march. Dwarfs walk till they are several hundred meters from the enemy line then charge into them. To their surprise the line in front of them just keeps walking. Holding their spears in front of them. Dwarfs have to stop their charge before getting impaled by spear.
"What do we do now?" one dwarf asks. "Smash them!" Another replied. But dwarves are too short to reach the enemy and so is their maces and axes. They tried to charge several times to no avail . And the enemy was moving forward slowly. One dwarf tries to swing his hammer into them but just hits a few spears. Few dwarves rush into their doom. Others are just going backwards step by step. Soon they see no other way but to retreat. Bughdan encourages them to attack "come on you cowards, charge" but as he tried to swing his hammer the weight of the hammer breaks his balance and he falls. "Fuck this useless shit is heavy".
Arthur and his knights are leading a thusend heavy cavalry into enemy flank. But sadly the enemy is not blind and can see them advancing. And even if they were charging from cover their voice would ruin the element of surprise.
So when they rich enemy flank, "the flank" is ready for them. And they are holding "spears!"
Arthur shouts. "Don't charge into spears!" But the battlefield is way too noisy for an entire cavalry regiment to hear their leader. His horsemen rush into spears, against horses better judgement. And die an agonizing death. For some reason horses are not good at "breaking enemy lines" head on.
Meanwhile Tatiana and her amazons are shooting arrows non stop. They are all beautiful, strong, clean and wear make-ups. Some of them shoot several arrows at once but strangely enough none of those arrows fly far. Enemy archers are also shooting at them. And those big exposed cleavages and naked thighs are proving to be a nice target. Many of them bleed to death.
Enemy is advancing slow but steady. And soon Arthur and his warlords has no choice but to flee.
Decades later when asked "what was the reason for your defeat", Arthur replied: we were backstabbed, by the reality!"
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King Gregor the 3rd sat in his chambers, sipping at a glass of warm, honeyed wine.
Today was an important day for him, the dawn of what was sure to be a successful campaign against the kingdoms at the edge of his empire. This was not his first war, one does not rule a land as vast as his without putting a few unruly lords in their place, and he doubted it would be his last.
The kingdom of Falder sought to expand its borders into the lush, resource rich lands of the fey courts. The courts were small, isolated, and very territorial, but the lands they held were some of the most verdant, beautiful lands he'd ever seen. The king idly wondered if he could build a summer home there, once the land was in his grasp.
If his generals had advised him correctly, his first warband would have arrived on the field of battle a week ago. They were no strangers to war, and he doubted they would have faced much trouble against a force as small as the fey courts.
A knock at his door interrupted his train of thought.
"May I enter, my lord?" It was one of his military advisors. He recognized the voice, but couldn't recall his name.
"You may." The door opened to reveal an average man in plain brown robes. He carried a few sheafs of parchment, which he placed on an empty desk.
"News from the front, my lord. The generals told me to appraise you as soon as possible."
The king pursed his lips, and nodded for the advisor to begin.
The robed man cleared his throat, and held up a letter.
"Squire Peter of Faldridge reports that, the 5th infantry and calvary divisions of the royal Falderian army has been..." He squinted. "Completely destroyed."
The king choked on his wine. "What?! Give me that!"
He snatched the letter from his advisor, scanning the contents. The paper had seen better days, and was very short on details. Written in a clear, panicked haste, all the king could gleam from it was that his forces had faced a crushing defeat, with few survivors.
The advisor picked up another letter, this one a more detailed battle report.
"The squire of Faldridge.." The advisor resumed, "Was one of only a dozen to survive the engagement, and gave a clear report of events after retreating to the primary gathering at the edge of our borders. According to his reports, after rallying to defensive positions and establishing standard formations, our forces met fey infantry. The enemy footmen were loose and unfocused, many either rushing within the range of our pikemen and being cut down, or falling in close combat to our swordsmen."
"That... doesn't sound bad, how did we lose?"
"It began to rain blood, sir."
"It began to rain-" The king cut himself off.
"Yes. And then the blood caught fire."
"How the fuck does blood catch fire?!"
"I'm not entirely clear on that, my lord. I would have believed the squire had simply been hallucinating, if not for the fact that our entire division is dead..." The advisor reread a line on the letter. "Oh, I misread. Our entire division is undead."
"Unde-"
"Yes, they got back up and started killing each other. According to the squire, shortly after they lost formation a man identifying himself as a 'necromancer' revived our fallen forces, and instructed him to return and tell us what he'd seen."
The king rested his forehead in his hands.
"I see."
"Do you have any orders, my lord?"
"Is my son old enough to rule yet?"
The advisor raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"He turned 23 last winter, sir."
"Good, tell him the crown is his, the necromancers are his problem. If you need me, I'll be busy faking my death."
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j7badzr
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j7apsyl
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[WP] You wished to find a dragon to slay for its treasure. Now you're not sure how to feel seeing a thumb-sized dragon try to drag its single shiny copper coin with it as it runs away from you.
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The heavily armoured man sat down at the bar with a heavy sigh.
"Ale," he commanded simply. The bartender, knowing his disposition just from the tone, obliged.
"Rough day?" he asked and started pointlessly polishing a wooden mug.
"A rumour of a dragon that turned out..." the warrior sighed. "Wasn't what I was expecting."
"A failed hunt? It got away?"
"No, it's... the damn thing was the size of my thumb," the warrior complained. The bartender stopped polishing the mug for a moment.
"Say again?" he said.
"It was... tiny. I dunno if the rumour I followed was by some bumpkin unable to recognize the thing was harmless or a prank, but... it was this tiny lizard guarding a single copper coin."
"Huh," the bartender commented plainly. "So... what did you do?"
The warrior looked at him wearily and passed him a single copper coin. "For the ale," he said grimly and finished it. The bartender gave him a disapproving look but accepted the money.
The warrior got up with another loud sigh and headed for his room, wondering what to do with his new roommate; a very small and very happy dragon resting atop a shiny golden coin.
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Derek always dreamed of slaying a dragon. That was the reason he became an adventurer and trained every single day.
His prowess against magical and flying monsters was unparalleled, surely he could bring down a dragon when the time came.
But every time he went to get missions, the dragon ones were always claimed first by the famous teams, not even camping in the bulletin board room let him snag one.
---
"Stop hogging all the good quests, you fuckers!" Derek was tired of hunting wyverns and necromancers and rogue fairies, he wanted a dragon!
He kicked rocks into the lake to vent, watching the boulders sail on the air and land with huge splashes. But when he lifted a rock from a pile, he heard hissing.
"Oh, a snake?" He threw off the stones to find the critter, paying attention to the hisses and spits to not get struck. He got a glimpse of glittering scales and grinned.
"... Are you shitting me?" Derek stared at the pissy tiniest dragon he never saw before, a puny thing no bigger than his thumb. It clutched a rusty copper coin to its chest, flaring the wings to intimidate him.
"I wished for a dragon, and I got a dragon..." But he wanted the biggest and meanest there was, one like Garrett "The Scorcher" before he up and became a king, a wild beast whose slaying would bring him glory and an achievement to brag to his descendants.
*"Wait. Dragons do have to come from somewhere..."* Could he keep this hatchling and slay it when it became an adult? *"... I hope it won't take too long."*
He took a gold coin out, making the dragon perk up. "Do you want this?" It nodded, trying to reach out without dropping the copper. "Then come with me. I have more from where that came."
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jcoh07w
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jco1bzp
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[WP] Everyone knows the hero won't defuse the bomb until the are less than 10 seconds left. That's why I've set it to explode at 20 seconds.
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_"JUST CUT THE FUCKING WIRE!!"_
_"HANG. ON!"_ I roared back.
This shit is easy when when all you need to do is wait for ten seconds to appear. Now there's basic maths involved and I'm completely lost.
_"IT **NEEDS** TO BE LESS THAN TEN SECONDS!"_
_"WHAT ARE YOU...JUST CUT THE THING AND LET ME OUT OF HERE"_
I put a finger to his lips and shush him. Everytime he shouts, I lose my place and have to start the equation all over again.
_"Shhhhh. Look if the bomb goes off at twenty seconds and I need to wait for a least ten seconds left to defuse it and there's fifty six seconds remaining and the clock is decreasing by two seconds each time due to the wrong wire bring cut, at which point in the timer do I nee.."_
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“John!” Shouted Plaus. “The book!”
John finished his hero monologue and turned. To his horror, the book that the pair had been hunting for the past two years, was tightly secured between the arms of a man; his hip containing a little black box with a timer on it.
“We can negoti-“ and the man slapped the book on to the box, and the clock could be heard ticking its springs and twisting the fuse of packets of powder.
The man looked up and locked eyes. Ten seconds passed until finally he bellowed: “The CIA and KGB will never take me alive!” Before charing at them.
Plaus froze in terror, John simply held out his hand and let the man run into a brick wall, knocking him out. There was now only about five seconds left, and John, the hero and just, threw the man’s body up into the air like a firework. The crimson blood showering the skies like a firework.
“Anyway, that’ll be $50 bucks please.” John said to the crowd. There were cheers and beers being poured onto the streets. John smiled, until he felt something burning his nose, then something pecked him on the head; and that’s why this town you see now is called “Metal Hail” by the locals instead of Johnvsbookville.
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lrbdgex
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lracbrq
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[WP] "You never killed him! He kept committing crimes and hurting and killing people and you just LET HIM! So we, the citizens, did it FOR YOU!" The supervillain's corpse twitched as the hero asked, "Did you ever stop and wonder why? I can't help you anymore. So I'm leaving this planet. Good luck."
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"No no no no no no! You fools! What have you done?!" Xele dropped to his knees in despair, the crowds bloodlust dissipating after being satiated by Quer-El-Sif's death.
A burly man with a biker mustache stomped over to where Xele knelt, a wicked looking blade clenched in his hand so tightly his knuckles were bone white.
"You never killed him." The man's words came out in a growl, fear and anger still yearning for more. "He kept committing crimes, hurting, and killing people." He took a breath through his nose, "and you just let him." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, it was taking all his will power to not attack Xele. "So..." Another deep breath, "so we did what you could not, we killed him for you." The man's voice broke, he knew the severity of taking another's life, something he never imagined having to do. But in the face of years of damage, millions of lives lost because of this one being, the people had enough.
Blood dripped from the blade, staining the ground with an inky blackness. A blackness that Xele focused on. "Did you ever stop and wonder why?"
"Of course we did." The man responded, almost insulted at the question. "We constantly asked why our hero, our Paragon would allow such an evil to continue living." Fury raised the man's voice, gave it strength. Behind him the crowd nodded and murmured in agreement.
"There was always a reason. I told your leaders why I couldn't kill Quer-El-Sif, and they agreed. But it was their decision not to let the general public know." Xele placed his hands on his knees, pushing on them as he stood. Despite being in the right, Xele couldn't look the man in the eye, instead focusing on the ground where that blackness grew.
He sighed deeply. He had grown fond of his life on earth, he was always learning something new from the monkeys. But despite how far they've come, monkeys were what they still were. The same instinct that drove them to conquer every unknown before them recognized what Quer-El-Sif was, and knew at that instinctual level that it couldn't be conquered. Subconsciously mankind realized that he needed to be destroyed, but didn't truly understand why or how. Or the consequences thereof. A damn shame, Xele thought to himself, a damned shame.
"I can't help you anymore. By killing Quer-El-Sif, you've brought about your own destruction, and there's nothing I can do to help." Finally Xele locked eyes with the burley man who stood a full head taller than he, "so I'll be leaving this planet, now. Good luck." Xele slowly drifted into the air, maintaining eye contact until he was too high to continue.
That's when the first scream reached his ears. He turned his gaze to the heavens, increasing his speed. Yet his enhanced hearing heard more blood curdling screams. There truly was nothing Xele could do, but humanity was resourceful. There was a chance, a very slim chance, they could save themselves. But they would be subject to untold suffering for years to come, and his own soul wouldn't be able to bear witness.
Maybe someday in the future he would return, but for now the abyss was free, a shadow spreading across the planet behind him as he flew to the stars.
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With a single bound, the hero rocketed up into the bright blue sky, towards the upper atmosphere. A swirling of dust and leaves were the only indication he once held stewardship over this planet. The gathered crowd stood in stunned silence. From somewhere in its depths, a voice called out.
"Well now what do we do?"
The crowd murmured and began to dissipate. The once proud villain, neck now bent at an unnatural angle, swung lifeless from the streetlight.
The effects of his death were felt almost immediately. Overnight, DynoCorp, which had been one of the leading employers on the eastern seaboard (and which also happened to be the seat of power for the deceased), closed its doors. While malevolent and cruel, the villain also had a penchant for business. DynoCorp was his baby, and he maintained almost total authority in its dealings. With the power vacuum his death created, the remaining members of the board fought for control. Some sold their shares, some tried to take over leadership, some were killed by others in the boardroom. After a period of days, the remaining members decided to dissolve the corporation and sell off all of their assets. The money they received was enough to buy islands and governments of small countries. For the rest of the workers, however, the decisions of a few morally corrupt board members changed their lives forever. 25,000 DynoCorp employees now had to find work. But that wasn't all. The dissolution of DynoCorp also had a ripple effect on all of its subsidiaries. Thrill World Amusements, Ms. Clara's Food Inc., The Vermont Woodchucks Baseball Team, Yahoo.com. All of these separate entities immediately lost a major source of funding and, subsequently, also had to enact major layoffs. All told 48,000 people were now eligible for government unemployment assistance. Many of those people would also apply for, and receive, countless other social programs.
The strain on the government infrastructure, be it local, state, and federal, was immense. Funding was cut from education and the arts. Public radio and television were taken off air. Space missions were cancelled. Senators who were bought and paid for by DynoCorp now held no allegiances to the company or the dead villain. Without DynoCorps lobbying and campaign contributions, the incumbent congressmen were voted out of office. And while malevolent and cruel, the villain also cared about social programs and the environment. When the new congresspeople took office, they voted to take away the social assistance that 48,000+ people relied on. They reneged on environmental regulations. They watched the world burn.
All of this happened in the first two years. By year five, 60% of the laid off workers were homeless. By year ten, the global temperature had risen by .3 degrees F and the ocean acidity fell to 7.7. By year twenty, the east coast of the United States had devolved into chaos. Cities were urban hellscapes ran by corporate puppets and crime lords. There were only two currencies: lead and blood. By year forty, America was lost. Roving bands of raiders and outlaws ate and drank the land clean. By this time, however, all food and water were scarce. DynoCorp was the leading researcher and developer for farming methods in a warming world. Without their contributions, the midwest turned into a dustbowl once again.
By year 80, the only people left on the North American continent more closely resembled rats than what man once was. They were diseased vermin. And they were lost.
Above the Earth, our once great hero sat and watched. A tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it way, turned, and flew off into the void.
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kqjozpn
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kqjc4v2
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[WP] Humanity is on its last legs, an alien race has destroyed all of her other colonies and now converge on Earth. But as humanity makes its last stand, its gods come out of hiding to defend the planet.
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“Look, I get it” said the Ambassador: “you were angry, you wanted to make a point. Happens to the best of us.”
Even the Xorg could sense that there was something special about the envoy. A kindness seemed to radiate out of him.
A lesser Xorg would have been swayed. Admiral Khorkul, however, was no lesser Xorg.
“All of Earth, and lives originating therein, are forfeit” thundered the Admiral: “nothing you pacifist scum could say or do is going to change any of that!”
The human put his hands together in a gesture the Xorg knew to be dejection. One could see the violent marks on his palms and wonder how this person, who seem to have suffered such terrible wounds, remain such a kind and loving person.
“You leave me no choice but to turn to my father” said the young man at length. “Whatever he does, I can *guarantee* you it would be significantly worse than anything you have done so far”
And a booming voice reverberated in all Xorg ships: “I WILL GO OUT INTO THE MIDST OF XORG FEDERATION SPACE, AND ALL THE FIRSTBORN OF THE XORG SHALL DIE! FROM THE FIRSTBORN OF THE…”
“Father, PLEASE!” screamed the young man, evidently in distress: “can we not start with the genocide first?”
Admiral Khorkul remained unfazed: “Your father dares to threaten OUR children? It is YOU who will die, here and now!”
The booming voice returned. It took a while for the Xorg to recognize the sound as laughter. It was as if someone who has not laughed in a long, long time and had forgotten to laugh, had suddenly broken out in unbridled laughter.
Then the voice went silent.
“Oh, no” whispered the horrified envoy.
*******************************************
Part 2 below
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Beneath the ocean something wakes, a power not seen in all the histories of man, but still felt in every dark space, present in every shadowed corner just outside comprehension.
Ever shifting forms rise above the water, tentacled masses with eyes disappearing and reappearing all over their bodies join them, alongside countless forms whose mere existence defies all known laws of physics.
Each of them glows with a color unlike any seen on Earth, which seems to blight the very water around where they rise, floating into the sky despite having no wings or thrusters or any other conceivable propulsion system.
Alien and human forces alike are stopped in their tracks by the shock, even troops in space can feel the magnitude of what has just happened, and the fighting pauses. 3 minutes and 7 seconds of agonizing silence follow the emergence of the old gods, until finally the largest of them speaks, despite having no mouth to do so.
“Kill” was the only word it said. Its companions understood its meaning, however, and they surged forth into the battle. Alien armadas launched dreaded ordinance, unleashing enough firepower to shatter the surface of a dozen planets and annihilate the remnants of the human fleet if it connected. But it did not connect. Instead each shot simply ceased to exist as it was inches away from striking true
Those who observed the battle from ships in orbit or command centers on the ground had, by this point, been completely overcome with madness. An attack was launched to aid the old gods, though in truth they needed no aid. Ships and crews rapidly morphed forms, taking on the ever shifting qualities of their new masters, along with a shadow of their might. Such power was too much for the armada which had sowed doom to a trillion souls, and it was shattered.
That day, the end of mankind was averted, but a new era was forged. An era of madness, and service to the unknowable old gods which has awakened. For 100,000 years they would rule before returning to slumber, and the psyche of the living universe itself may never recover from what was wrought in that time
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jeowf3i
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jenocnl
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[WP] You (a supervillain) and a superhero actually work together to help the city. In one fight, the damage to a building forced the owner to bring it up to code. In another, your conflict "accidentally" exposed crimes that were getting swept under the rug. Someone's pieced it all together, though.
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"I know exactly what you're doing, Blackskull, and I don't like it!" The gaunt, pale businessman was tied to the chair, screaming at the supervillain.
"Don't think you can get away with this!" His voice cracked. Despite his gray hair, he sounded like a teenage boy in that moment. "You and Super Heart are ruining my business and I'm putting a stop to it!"
Blackskull chuckled, running through his arsenal in his mind. He could lower Mr. Harlan into a vat of acid, make it look like an industrial accident. He could vaporize the guy with his sonic beam.
"You leak one more thing about the Green Initiative and I'll send my people after you!"
Blackskull unholstered the plasma blaster on his belt. It was useless against the super speedy, flying Super Heart, but against a sitting target?
"Listen, charging people for clean air is just good business -- "
*SPLAT*
Blackskull re-holstered his weapon.
"Did you actually have to kill him?" Super Heart, the dashing young superhero, asked him.
"We're in the business of improving this city. Trust me, we do not want this guy alive." Blackskull shook his head.
"But we can't just go killing people all willy nilly!" Super Heart said. "The cops hate vigilantes!"
"And I hate the cops," Blackskull said with a shrug. "If you're that offended by me killing Mr. Harlan, kick my ass about it. Slam me into the EnerCor building so we can get the lowdown on the Green Initiative."
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Malika and I were best friends, growing up. We were those two kids who people thought would be a cute couple when they got older. Of course, thats not how this story goes but its super corny to say the least.
As we got older she became the typical ace student- Medals, nominations, top prizes, what-have-you. Meanwhile I was down on my luck. Thankfully, my folks died AFTER college at the ripe old age of 72 and 68 so we can cross off 'wannabe Batman' as my motive to becoming a villain. No. So while Mal got everything she ever wanted, I was slowly losing everything. But there's only so much you can take before you snap, and snap I did. I didn't preform some meager heist or kill some big-wig politician. That would've gotten me nowhere. No, what I did. It was beautiful. See, here in the grand ol' lands of New York there are underground subway stations on almost every 4 miles or so. Of course, I'm not a monster. I didn't bomb a main subway tunnel. It'd be too much of a hassle to plan THAT much, so I figured I'd bomb somewhere with a handful, few people. Everything was going so well and then- BAM!!!
Half my explosives detonated, caving in a chunk of the street above it. Damn faulty wiring, Home depot, how could you betray me so? I figured it was a lost cause, deciding to make my not-so-grand escape and thats when I saw her again. Curly, auburn hair and dark skin with darker freckles on her cheek, dressed head-to-toe in a ridiculous, sparkling tutu with a gold headdress. That's My Likee, alright.
It was a miracle that I managed to slip away that day. Not unscathed of course- cut up forearm and a black eye. It's not like I leave my apartment anyways.
Switching on the TV, my jaw dropped. Apparently, There was some kind of drug deal that went on in that subway tunnel and my explosives killed a few of said dealers. Well. Christ.
Funny enough, this happened more than once.
((I'm tired rn idk if I will finish this tomorrow and srry if its bad))
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jtc7qpo
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jtc6ebi
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[WP] A hero's work never ends. You became a litch out of necessity. The next hero would not be summoned for another thousand years and you were old. You planned to stay around long enough to pass the safety of the world on to the next.
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The air grew cold and still as the tall, slightly glowing skeletal figure hovered towards the increasingly mortified mayor. The figure's skull and empty eye sockets, filled with flickering blue flames, turned towards the shaking man and spoke in a deceptively soothing voice.
THE GOBLINS SHALL RAID YOU NO LONGER, MAYOR KLEENER, it spoke, its voice heard, but not spoken.
"Th- th- thank... you," the mayor stammered out carefully. "We- we really, uh... appreciate your h- help, sir- sir..."
EDWARD, the lich replied.\*
"O- oh," the mayor replied, confused by the name. "What... what happens now? What do you want from us? We have no riches-"
YOUR SAFETY IS ENOUGH, CITIZEN. BURY YOUR DEAD; REBUILD THE VILLAGE. LIVE IN PEACE.
With a slight nod of his white skull, the lich turned and set out to leave the desolate village. He sighed\*\* as the face of the terrified mayor lingered in his mind. He knew his visage was terrifying and seen as a product of evil and even though he wasn't looking for fame, he still regretted this. The choice to become a lich was one made out of necessity; knowing fully that the next legendary hero won't be born for a thousand years, he swore to protect the realm until he will no longer be needed. Only then would he rest.
As he ruminated his plight, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye socket, a young girl staring at him. What caught his attention, however, was the fact that there was no fear on her face; rather, it was a look of curiosity.
"Hello," she said politely.
GREETINGS, YOUNG ONE, he replied calmly.
"Why are you a skeleton?" she asked.
I AM NOT A SKELETON. I AM A LICH.
"A... leech?" she tilted her head.
A LICH. ONCE A HUMAN, IT TOOK A GREAT DEAL OF SACRIFICE, DECADES OF STORED MANA, AND THE COMBINED EFFORT OF A DOZEN MASTER WIZARDS TO ALTER MY SOUL,GRANTING ME IMMORTALITY AND POWER BEYOND MORTAL IMAGINATION.\*\*\*
"Oh..." she replied half-heartedly. "How are you speaking? You don't have a tongue," the girl continued to inquire. The Lich considered his response carefully, then decided to take the path of least resistance.
MAGIC.
"Cool!" the girl chirped. "You think I can do magic too?"
YOU WISH TO LEARN THE ARCANE ARTS? Edward asked.
"Well... yeah," she shrugged. "You used magic to help us. Save us. Maybe if I knew magic, ***I*** could have saved us, before..." her words trailed off as she somberly looked at the burned-down houses on the edge of the village. Edward looked at her, truly looked at her - her stance, her hands, but most importantly, her eyes. The window to the soul. There was a fire in her; a fire of heroism.
PUT YOUR HANDS LIKE THIS, Edward said and formed his skeletal digits into a complex gesture. The girl followed carefully. NOW WHISTLE THIS TUNE, he said before, to her surprise, producing a short melody. The girl imitated it carefully. Suddenly, a small, shiny snowflake materialized between her palms and danced around slowly. The girl watched it with wide, amazed eyes before losing concentration - and with that, the snowflake.
IMPRESSIVE. YOU HAVE TALENT, Edward commended her.
"I- I did magic! I just did- did you see that?" the girl excitedly jumped up and down. "Do you think I could be a hero just like you?!"
NO.
"But-"
I WAS BORN OF PROPHECY. TO BE A HERO - A PROTECTOR OF THE PEOPLE - WAS MY DESTINY. IT WAS IN MY BLOOD.
"You have blood?" the girl remarked.
OF COURSE.
"Because I thought-"
IT'S SOMEWHERE IN MY STUDY.
The girl chose to merely squint at him suspiciously.
"So... I can't be a hero?" she finally said dejectedly.
YOU CAN. BUT NOT LIKE ME. IF YOU CHOOSE THIS PATH - TO BE A HERO - YOU WILL BE BETTER.
The girl opened her mouth in surprise. "But you said you were prophesized to..."
CORRECT. I WAS BORN TO BE A HERO. BUT YOU, he said warmly, despite his chilling aura...
YOU CHOOSE TO BE ONE.
​
​
\**Edward considered rebranding himself to something akin to 'Vraexis the Eternal' to fit his outlook, before shaking the notion off as being too theatric.*
\*\**As much as someone without lungs could.*
\*\*\**This was a carefully crafted lie Edward perpetuated to dissuade disreputable characters from attempting to gain immortality. The true ritual only required parchment, an olive branch and two bottled of dwarven mead.*
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I wake up to the sound of my alarm screeching about a new day, my projector screen flashing my refreshed list of daily quests to complete.
Farmer Fred needs his sheep sheared. Chef Calvin needs another box of eggs from the chicken farmer Chuck. Tanner Tammy needs another 50 Bearskins. Alchemist Artie needs me to collect 20 spider eggs. Mayor Martin needs me to clear 100 goblin raiders. Nurse Joy needs me to pick 50 healing herbs in the forest. Again.
That’s been my routine for centuries. These villagers I aid in my daily quests? They’re the 50th generation of the original batch of Fred, Calvin, Chuck, Tammy, Artie, Martin, and Joy. All Xerox copies of the 1st generation I met back when I was a strapping young lad eager to start my adventure and take down the Dark Lord. I used to be so excited to meet new people, grow my experience, and check off optional missions and side-quests of my ever-growing list of things to do.
Now I’m a bored old lich who keeps going because there hasn’t been another worthy hero. I do everything I can to keep the village running, expelling the endless flow of respawning mooks that come from nowhere. You might as well say they dropped these monsters out of the sky. At least I’m glad the villagers have been quite accepting of my skeletal visage, rather than asking why I looked like a dead ringer for the former Lich King Veras.
Today, there’s a new chap in the village, getting his quest from Fred. He’s rude, constantly waving off Fred and trying to skip his dialogue. Immediately, he goes around in circles trying to find the entrance to the sheep pen. I walk up to him and offer to show him the one part of the fence that’s broken so he can slip in and start shearing the sheep. Whining and complaining non-stop about the lack of quest arrows and flashing indicators. I have no idea what’s he rambling about, but it’s obvious this guy doesn’t have what it takes to be the next hero.
“Kthxbye loser!”
And he’s gone.
I don’t think that uncouth chap is coming back.
My next stop was to check on Calvin. There’s a new girl in beginner’s armor standing before him.
“Why isn’t the chicken farm right next to the chef?”
Do I have to spoon-feed her? I guess I can try. So, I greet her and offer to show her the way to Chuck’s chicken farm. She raises her sword against me, proclaiming me an enemy to attack despite my insistence that I’m actually the local hero around these parts. In self-defense, I drop a fireball on her and she falls over, screaming incoherently about “unfair pvp mechanics” before disappearing.
At Chuck’s chicken farm, there’s a new adventurer killing the chickens. I dashed over as fast as my boney legs can take me, shouting about how he would unleash chickzilla if he murdered too many of them. He asserts he can handle it, but I know better, having fought chickzilla myself many years ago. To my embarrassment way back when I still had skin and flesh, that murderous chicken pecked at me so hard, it reduced the durability of my equipment to zero. I had to respawn back home wearing nothing but a loincloth, dragging a wagon full of broken gear to the blacksmith for repairs.
That new guy was dead in one hit from chickzilla. Can’t say I wasn’t surprised.
Next up was Tammy. Ah, the old stumbling block, the infamous stopping point where heroes throw in the towel and refuse the call. She was standing all alone at her usual spot, the silence around her impermeable.
“Hey Zach, you wanna help me skin 50 bears?”
I accept the quest and head down to the usual area in the forests where the bears are. I’ve been doing this for centuries, it’s all instinct, and muscle memory (despite the lack of muscle on me). Could do this with my eyes closed.
Tammy is pleased with her 50 bearskins and after some short exposition and banter, directs me to go to Artie. Considering no new hero wannabe ever reached Tammy, it wasn’t to my surprise that nobody was there for Artie. Or Martin. Or Joy. It didn’t matter, they are always happy to see me, always saying the same things, giving me the same quests. I am always happy to be of help, as repetitive as it is, these tasks give me a sense of purpose that keeps me coming back again and again.
With my dailies done, it was time to head back home and wait for a new day to start again.
Just at the docks near my house, I spied a new arrival. Fresh like a newborn baby, eyes full of wonder for this beautiful, magical world I inhabit with my quest-givers. That same sense of wonder I had when I first came here. I hope she’s the one to finally become the new hero. Time to gather myself and approach her. Introduce myself and this gorgeous world I fell in love with.
“Welcome to Tutorial Island! I’m a retired adventurer and your guide Zach! What is your name, new adventurer?”
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[WP] You, a heroic paladin have successfully slain a fearsome dragon. But the dragon warns you that death is but a door, and dragons don't die, they reincarnate. You paid it no mind....until your son was born with golden, slitted eyes.
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As I look into the worried eyes of my beloved. I recall the parting words of my greatest foe. That death is not the end for their kind.
I had everything a man could want. Gifted land, a noble title, and a hefty reward for slaying the dragon that has been terrorizing the kingdom for ages by the King himself.
All this allowed me the peaceful and quiet life with the love of my life. Such peace wasn't to last however.
.....As I turn to look into the eyes of my son, I see those hateful eyes staring back at me. Eyes golden and reptilian as my greatest foe. I knew. He was back.
His voice was harsh and grating. "Father, you cannot stop me. I will have what I desire."
I took a deep breath and readied myself. Gripping my familiar tools with the clank of metal on metal.
"Listen here you little shyte."
I said as I prepared the bathwater in the metal basin. "You need to wash up before dinner else you get no dessert."
Those golden reptilian eyes widened in shock and horror. "You wouldn't dare, that's inhumane." said my son.
"Well you should've thought of that before declaring yourself a dragon and not a mere human." I replied.
|
I take the time to appreciate my first born. He is precious, his skin is like his mother's, while having so many of my factions.
Now, let's wait till he opens his eyes.
Hold up... Humans do not have golden slitted eyes.
And it hit me.
That bleeding lizard slept with my wife!!!
-----
The child opens his eyes to see his father, and couldn't be more disappointed.
The barely straight homunculus is dissing against a lizard, which absolutely implies that he already saw his eyes.
Again, disappointment is too soft... Though ashamed is a bit strong for his taste.
He is in the Limbo of emotions...
With his young lungs, and still forming vocal cords he calls his "father".
"Ahem..."
----
I turn to see the child in his cradle... I do not have the heart to cast him away, nor kill him in cold blood. I stare at him stupefied at his calling.
A baby should be able to do this sound, yet.
"I know that you are making so many scenarios in your head about the faithfulness of your wife..." The creature says with his baby voice, though full of ancient wisdom... And an acid tongue...
"... And let me tell you that we Dragons would never consider that. It is bestiality and absolutely seen as deviant behaviour between us."
Now this turned personal.
"Now before my words strike your exhausting patience, I must remind you... I warned you."
"We Dragons reincarnate every time we die... But it seems the Creator also has a funny bone and an itch to scratch related to it..."
I could only keep breathing. What?
"Seems that we are stuck with each other... Dad..."
Oh goodness, why?
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[WP] Elves and Dwarves have hated each other from time immemorial, warring often and bloody. Now 2 scouting parties, one Elf, one Dwarf, have found something neither expected. In a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, they find a startling anomaly. A Dwelf. Half Elf, half Dwarf.
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A silence fell over the shaded glen.
The Dwarven party stood like several stones, planted behind their blacksmith'd shields, not the thinnest hair of a moustache astir. Stillness hung in the air.
The Elven party, upon sighting the Dwarves' similar numbers, melted back into the trees without a whisper--but not very far back. Several bowstrings made the faintest singsong sound as they were held tense.
Not a muscle moved among the Dwarves. Their iron helmets gleamed, defensive.
In the center of the glen stood a humble cottage with firelit windows, the object of both their journeys. Each weary party, unbeknownst to the other, had been carefully approaching this cozy dwelling with the intention of asking shelter. The nights were growing very cold, and both parties were ragged with adventure.
This quiet standoff might have lasted hours, except the door of the cottage opened after a few moments of tension.
"Great gods and goddesses," lilted a maid's voice saucily, "will ye stand all night like idiots, or will ye come in to the fire?"
The Dwarves, noting the maid's short stature and braided sideburns, started across the glen with relief.
The Elves, seeing the maid's sharp-pointed ears and dainty build, did the same.
There was a split second's entire confusion. Rough voices were raised in the falling dusk.
Over them all rang the sharp voice of the Dwelven maid. "Oi! I willna let in such a rabble as all that! Calm yerselves and mind yer manners, or be frozen!"
The Dwelven maid swung her broad hips indignantly as she flounced back inside and slammed the heavy door behind her.
The chief Elf looked at the chief Dwarf. The chief Dwarf looked back.
They both looked with longing at the bright windows glowing through the twilight, smelling the aroma of rabbit stew that had drifted by with the door's forceful closing.
The chief Dwarf scowled, swallowed, and then cleared his throat with violence.
The chief Elf hummed gently to himself, shut his eyes as if to summon patience, and nodded.
Each turned to glare his troops into silence.
Then the two of them stepped together up to the stone hearth and, in a single motion, a slender, glimmering forearm and a burly, braided one lifted to knock politely upon the ancient wood.
.
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"This god forsaken forest will be the death of me," grumbled Bofur.
He found himself having to lift his short legs often, as to not trip on bramble. The orange sky was clouded with tree branches that seemed to scrap the wispy clouds. After three days of scouting, his movements were as loud as his joints, and he'd never say it aloud, but his hammer was getting heavy. At a young age of 200 years, Bofur felt old.
A rough grunt from his fellow in front jolted Bofur to his senses.
"Look Sharp, there's something over yonder."
Bofur raised his head and sniffed once, he could smell them. If silk had a scent and was suddenly slide under your nose, cloying like spoiled molasses, that was the scent of em. Unnatural, if you asked him.
"Aye, elves," said Bofur, licking his lips and instinctively reaching for his hammer.
"What you reckin they are doing this far south?" Asked Therin, he too had his axe in his thick hands, spinning it quietly.
"Probably lookin for the same thing we are," said Morkin.
Together, the three stalked that scent. Hearts pounding slower with each step.
\*\*\*
Laslorith felt them before he saw them. Swaggering towards them like beetles in dirt: so clumsy. To their credit, they didn't make much sound, but the way they moved through space was unnatural, and their ripples through time made him shudder.
"Methrialie, they come. "
She nodded once, her silver hair catching the late sun. "Let them come."
Las agreed.
So they lead them to the cabin.
\*\*\*
It had been 2,000 days; if he was counting anyways—scoffed Erith.
But she had promised, said she would be back and that he must not show himself past the forest. He had made some friends, among the walking trees, and some of the wood nymphs — who all seemed to share a funny secret about him, but he couldn't live off mushrooms and berries anymore. He craved something fleshier.
The thought had been turning in his head for a fortnight. It started when he saw that doe, so beautiful, she looked straight into his soul, and he felt a yearning for something solid in his hands, something to kill with. He shivered at the thought.
Suddenly, he felt something stir in the void, and at the same time, he smelled them. Like flowers by a bubbling brook. The movement was familiar too. A soft thumping of hearts, like padded feet coming to tuck him into bed.
"Finally," he sighed, and walked out to greet them.
"AH FUCKIN HELL," yelled a squat red headed dwarf, his face red.
Erith found himself rooted like an aged oak. Their scents and sounds like laughter to his heart.
He raised his arms and shouted "Welco..."
but the word were drowned by blood pouring from his mouth, as an arrow and an axe crashed into his heart.
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[WP] You muster up the courage to ask your dwarven friend why you don't see any female dwarves around. He laughs.
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“See that dwarf over there?” He asks, still looking amused and red-faced from his laughing fit.
“Yes,” I say, somewhat confused, looking at a burly dwarf man with an impressive, braided beard.
“That’s a female!” He says, laughing again at my confused expression.
“But… but that dwarf has a bigger beard than you!” I exclaim.
“Of course she does! Silly humans and your women with naked faces. A dwarf woman’s beard is her pride and joy! No self respecting dwarven maiden would let her beard be shorter than a man’s!”
“But what about, you know…” I say, gesturing to my chest and looking at the flat-chested dwarf my friend claims is a female.
“Oh right, I forgot about you humans and your milk. Well it’s simple really. We dwarves don’t need milk. We come out of the egg ready to eat solid food.” He explains patiently.
“EGG?” I ask, shocked.
“Maybe that’s a story for another day.” My friend says, laughing again and patting me on the back as we walk away.
|
“Hah! Pillar or cave? What can I breed with? That’s all you ever think about, human?”
‘It’s a perfectly legitimate question.’
“I have never heard you ask about male dryads or sirens. Admit it, you inquire for a chance to- in your own words- plough the fields with a female make of my kind.”
‘I- No- For- FINE! Dammit, you know me too well. So, what’s the lowdown?’
“We dwarves marry the rock, we are born of the mountain, our wombs are the depths.”
‘Stop with that cryptic talk. You mean there are no womenfolk?’
“And no male as you know of it. The mountain knows when more are needed, and hence we spring forth.”
<If only your kind was needed less. Such an inelegant method of excess propagation.>
“Shut it, Skin an’ Bones! What kind of being dedicates their existence to the desires of another folk?”
<It’s not our fault we cannot breed among our own kind.>
“How many halves do you have in your blood? Some orc perhaps?”
<Better than being a hundred percent dirt and grit.>
‘Uh… guys? I was just trying to have some small talk.’
<Silence, pudgy!> “Shut it, scrawny!”
‘Ok, I don’t know how to feel about that. How about we talk about something fun? Food! Food’s fun.’
“Ah, come to think of it, I tried some of the snacks Skinnybone keeps on his hat. Pretty cheap stuff.”
<What snacks? Huh- ARGH! They were heirloom gems, you buffoon!>
“You keep food as heirlooms? And I’ve had coal that tasted better.”
<I’m gonna->
“Bring it!”
*sigh* ‘Note to self. Never ask anyone about anything ever again.’
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[WP] You partner in crime has pulled a gun on you. "The truth is, the game was rigged from the start." You know that very well, mostly because you did all the rigging.
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You'd think there'd be some honour among thieves, but he looked *far too* smug with that gun pointed at me. Too much for him not to be enjoying this.
"Alright, Miles," he said in a condescending manner. "I think it's time for us to go our separate ways. Specifically, me going towards luxury and comfort with the rest of our little gang, and you, well..." he cocked the hammer on the gun, "I don't much care."
I sighed. "So is this how it's gonna be?" I asked.
"You played your part in this little game well, but the truth is... it was rigged from the start. Frankly, I'm a little surprised you didn't see it coming."
"I did."
He tilted his head curiously. "That so?"
"Of course. Which is why I loaded your gun with blanks earlier today. I mean, did you really..." I smiled.
"Oh," he chuckled, "you mean *these* blanks?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pile of bullets - all marked with the tiny little indent on the side. The exact marking I used. "I checked them an hour ago. Like I said - you played your part well, but-"
"Is that the same gun from yesterday?" I continued. He frowned and nodded. "Right. So, the one with the firing pin filed down. Good."
Carefully, without turning the gun away, he inspected the inside and cursed quietly.
"I could've *sworn* that- bah. Doesn't matter. That's why I brought *this*," he said and pulled out a *second gun* from behind his back.
I did *not* see that coming.
"By the look on your face," he said calmly, "I assume you didn't find this one. So with that, I'll-"
"I was really hoping you wouldn't force me to do this, but..." I pulled out a small vial from my pocket. "This is-"
"The antidote to the poison you put in my coffee? Yeah. I know. It's why I switched the cups."
"Was that *after* I switched them *again*?"
"It was before I brewed a fresh new pot."
"With the-"
"Poisoned coffee beans?" he interrupted. "Of course not."
"I was going to see with the coffee pot I laced," I chortled. Finally, the ball was in my court and-
A laser appeared on my chest.
"I don't suppose you've met Laura?" he asked. "An excellent sniper, I must say. Now, if you'd be so-"
"Of course I know Laura," I replied and watched with satisfaction as the laser moved from my chest to his. "An excellent sniper indeed. And *very loyal*. I told her to aim at me first - a little bit of theatrics never hurt anyone."
A second laser appeared on my chest.
"Theatrical indeed," he nodded.
"It would appear we are at an impasse," I commended him.
"Not... exactly," he shrugged.
"*Hey, uh, Miles? We may, uh...*" the voice in my earpiece sounded quite concerned - never knew Laura to be nervous.
"Laura, I suspect, has just realized there is a man in her apartment with her wife. A man I am paying quite well."
"That man is an undercover FBI agent, I'll have you know. It took years for me to arrange for you to meet him."
"Oh, he flipped. You see, money..." he pointed at the pile of cash-filled bags at our feet, "money conquers all."
"I know he did. Why is why *I, and the rest of the Bureau*, set up this little operation," I revealed grandiosely and pulled out my ultimate trump card - my FBI badge.
"Wait," he stopped. "The **fuck**?!"
"And now it's time for justice- wait *what the fuck*?" I gasped as I saw him holster his second weapon and pull out something far more sinister - an NSA badge.
We stared at each other silently.
"*Hey, uh, Miles*?" Laura chirped in my ear. "*Is- is this something I should've been briefed on*? *No one back at the Agency mentioned*\-"
"Did you say *Agency*?!" I yelled at her. Looking up, I saw my partner-in-crime turned traitor turned NSA agent speak into his very own earpiece.
"*The fuck do you mean* ***DEA?!***"
|
I stopped. My heart was still beating quickly from the heist we pulled. My breathing got staggered. Eyes closed, I turned around.
"Hand over the bags, Olive."
I dropped them on the floor. "How about I go and you come get them yourself?"
He smirked. His grip tightened the pistol he was holding. "How about, YOU get them and bring them to me, honey".
His disgusting smile caused me to tick.
"No funny games, Olive. You can't escape. All of our exits are covered by the guards we 'distracted' with the decoy. It's you they want anyway, after what you took from The Big Guy."
"Fine!" I said, gritting my teeth. "I hope he treats you well."
I grabbed the bags and slowly walked toward him.
"So was this nothing to you? Three years of hot air?" I yelled as I looked him in the eyes.
"It's business, you know it."
"I know... I just thought, after Venice..."
"Yeah, the gondo...boats, St. Marko, the home cooked pasta after we blew up that mafia guy - never meant it."
"But the way you held me on the tower..." I inched closer and closer, tears in my eyes.
"I know honey, I am mesmerizing. Now come on, don't be shy."
"Even the walk in Monaco, the yacht, the murder we covered?"
"The game was rigged from the start, darling. The Big Guy didn't just want revenge." He blew a kiss my way. I almost puked.
"Besides, we both knew there was nothing between us."
"We planned a trip to Thailand you dickhead! We chose the names of our dogs!" I yelled at him, now close enough to hear his breathing.
He frowned "let's name them Happy and Ginny" he mockingly imitated my voice. "What a dumb combination of names!" I could see drops of sweat on his forehead. Could it be?
"Yeah its dumb!" I laughed, tears in my eyes. "What about the time we had diarrhea after those gas station tacos in New Mexico."
I could see the some on his face.
"Do you remember we got two rooms in that motel because we couldn't share the bathroom".
"Yeah! And what about the receptionist, did he really try to sell us tumbleweed as 'thats the good shizz bros, truuuust me' !" I was now face to face with my former lover. "Did it meant nothing all this time?"
He looked me in the eyes. "Sorry, just business."
"So is mine."
The shock flowed through his body.
"Don't play games with me!" His grip tightened around the trigger. "Hand me the bag and lay down on the ground, hands above your head!"
"We aren't in the bedroom anymore, Victor." I smiled at him, dropping the bag behind me.
"Woman, I will shoot you if you try anything!"
"I've made my peace with death." I started going around him, my hands still up. "You know, for all they did, I do give my parents credit for my name. Olive. It's a symbol of peace. Friendship. Abundance... Glory." I whispered in his ear. "They gave olive branches to the victors in ancient Greece. And how ironic, for your name, that you give yours away."
Victor looked at me confused.
"I rigged the game, Vicky, I! Do you think we met each other by chance in San Francisco? Do you think our first heist was from The Big Guy by chance? Do you think he is dumb enough to not remember who killed his parents on that mission in Iraq? You backstabbing, gut wrenching, naive liar!"
"Noo... No way you are working with him. No way he told you any of that."
"He didn't need to, Victor! I knew it before we started! You sick bastard!"
"Why are you on his side? Let's split the winning and run away!"
"You don't seem to get it, don't you? Persy and Olive? Does this sound Greek to you? Like some people you killed?!" I had tears in my eyes as I yelled at him.
He froze. It was dawning on him what had happened.
"It's impossible. They never mentioned their kids!"
"See you in hell, Victor."
The floor beneath him fell. I could hear the yelling. In a way it ended a perfect circle, how he killed our parents to save his own ass. They were on the roof, waiting for a helicopter to pick them. He was on the other side of the square. There wasn't a way to save all of them, so he rigged their building to collapse. Now he collapsed.
-------------
"Hey Nate!" I picked up the phone. "We got that diary you were looking for... Sure, I'll pick up Persy and head right... Oh malaria shots? Yeah no worries, see you soon, Drake!"
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[WP] A man signed a demonic contract thousands of years ago. In exchange for his mortality he would be granted immeasurable power and strength. Now humanity is about drive itself to extinction and he no longer wishes to be immortal. He comes up with a brilliant idea to take back the contract.
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There was once a supervillain empire that was legend upon the criminal underworld called the Paradigm. Whole cities were under their thumb and ran better than the previous management, with books untouchable by both feds and heroes. Then things went horribly wrong at the top of the command structure. The leader of the group, Paradox, unexpectedly met a small-time hero called The Trickster while trying to escape from the superhero group Manticore. A skirmish broke out between them, but battle damage from the first bout broke the containment on an energy cell and Paradox was never seen again. Without their leader, the organization quickly imploded, and the power vacuum quietly filled. The Jokester even got some invites to several superhero teams afterward, quickly becoming a staple in the community, even though he lacked powers. At least, that's the story that got told to everyone.
Let me start my side of things from the beginning. I was just an engineer failing to make ends meet when I got contacted by a guy in a lab coat to take my problems away. By all normal metrics, I should have said no to the deal, but I was desperate. You can only spend so long underwater before you're willing to grab any liferaft. I agreed to the gig and became a scientist for an upstart super villain called The Thinker. Myself and a few others were tasked to become a think tank, trying to convert as many of the Thinker's ideas into reality. I don't know if it was some latent ability I didn't know I had or some other freak chance of fate, but it turns out I had quite a knack for it, even creating some ideas on my own. Made all sorts of novel inventions: power amplifiers, flight suits, sentient robots, disintegration rays (one of mine), even portable nuclear fusion at one point. Anything that could help keep an edge over the influx of superpowers in society.
However, all the tech in the world amounts to a hill of beans if you can't make plans to use it. The Thinker was a genius scientist and innovator, but as a strategist he was subpar at best. Plans that cost a pretty penny failed left and right, and the seed money he got from god knows where started to run dry. One of the henchmen caught wind of the coming destitution and decided to turn informant. Some superhero I didn't recognize busted in and fought the Thinker, but most of my focus was on removing the hard drives of the database, grabbing a flight suit, and running away. No one really notices the someone fleeing from a super-powered fight when they have to dodge falling debris.
Since I was suddenly unemployed and tasted a hint of what superpowered life was, I decided to invent an identity called Paradox and test out becoming a supervillain, converting the suit I stole into a black and purple outfit. With the hindsight of The Thinker's downfall, I planned for nigh everything. When I got money flow set up I paid my underlings well, set achievable goals and schemes and even started embedding robotic spies into various hero and villain organizations to gather information on any potential scores or incomming threats. After a few years, I was the head of the largest organization on the eastern seaboard, called the Paradigm. However, I wasn't happy, and it's quite lonely at the top of the pyramid.
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The team was saved and the villain was defeated and order was restored. That, apparently, was the easy part. The hard part is making sense of what just happened.
Triggerman, the leader of the heroes, had just called a meeting and asked everyone to clear their calendar for the rest of the day (and possibly week). When everyone arrived, the elephant in the room was immediately addressed: how did Jimmy do all of... that?
Jimmy had been brought onto the team as a mixture of a distraction and cannon fodder. As brutal as it sounded, this was a normal part of the superhero zeitgeist. The heroes could not properly function if all the attention was on them and not at least partially on an expendable member. The team had been through at least a dozen of these members over the years. But Jimmy had revealed himself to be decidedly different.
"We all know why we're here," Triggerman said.
"Avalon and I need to know what's going on here," said Zonma. Zonma had to speak for her sister Avalon because she had traded her voice for her powers.
The rest agreed, and all eyes nervously laid on Jimmy.
Jimmy began his explanation. "It's all quite simple. I've had these amazing powers for so long and have operated under different names on different teams for so long, and it just got boring. I show up, dominate the field, and the day is saved."
Creaturus quickly replied with "you think this is a game? You put us and regular people in danger because you're... bored? I know sloths who are more motivated than you are. Do you know how close we were to dying and the world's defenses against evil being reduced to nothing??"
Jimmy gave his reply: "I would still be there as a Plan Z if everything else goes wrong and you all died... no problem."
Triggerman stood up with an air of fury. "Do you care about anyone else aside from you and your own ego?? It's okay if anyone and everyone dies as long as you are on the winning side."
Jimmy calmly nodded and shrugged with a half-smirk. "What are you going to do about it? I single-handedly destroyed an enemy that you all could not collectively defeat."
Everyone sat back stupefied and unable to rationally reply. The few seconds of silence hung thick in the air and seemed to instead be hours. Jimmy sat back and said "well I guess that's settl-"
"But then you would be back where you started." Everyone looked to the lobby of the room to see who had spoken. It was the team's benefactor... the one who financed the team and ran the background operations that nobody cared to paid attention to. Nobody knew about him and had slowly taken him for granted over the years of stability and consistency from his side. Jimmy didn't know who this man was since he had joined the team well after the benefactor had retreated from the spotlight to the shadows.
"You will be bored. You said it yourself... you stopped being a hero and started being a joke to shake things up for yourself personally. If you do go back to saving the day all the time, you would be defeated by your own victories. And you would find another team to be a joke for."
Jimmy started to shift in his seat and looked nervous.
"It would be a never-ending cycle of peaks and valleys, and no team wants an inconsistent team member. We want to know who we are, not just who we are on a specific day. If you want to remain on this team, then pick a role: savior or joke. You'll be removed from the team and publicly disgraced by us so that no other team would accept you."
Jimmy nervously started to speak but was cut off.
"Or you can just leave now and we go our separate ways."
All eyes were again on Jimmy as before, but the balance of power had clearly shifted in the last 30 seconds.
"But who will save you if you all fail??" Jimmy pleaded.
"That's our business... so, what's it going to be?" replied the benefactor.
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[WP] On an interstellar cruise of 200 years the 1st class passengers have cryosleep. 2nd class have to serve the 1st but also have cryosleep. You are a born 3rd class passenger, your grandparents boarded decades ago. You find a secret deck with lots of mysterious cryo passengers never seen before…
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The hot air of the exhaust always makes for uncomfortable working conditions, even more so when you find yourself running away a pack of wild thugs. I'm not saying they don't have a good reason. But I am saying don't leave a 3,000 credit steak on the grill and walk away, shit even had mushrooms and onions on it. After a lifetime of E.Y.N. (Everything You Need) soup, the things I won't do for some real contraband food wasn't a long list. Still these vent pipes make everything just a little harder.
As the pipes wizz past my head I'm grateful for my small frame and stature. As a member of the 3rd class we're tasked with keeping the G.G.S. INDEPENDENCE working and running across this 14 lightyear journey to humanities new home. Being this small means when someone had to squeeze into tight clostraphobic spaces, i was voluntold. But hey now I'm basicically fearless and know the lower decks like the back of my hand.
As i turn the corner I find my escape. A narrow passage that these gorillas couldn't possibly follow me. The floor fades into just vertical pipes along the walls but there's enough hand holds to climb through for a duct rat like myself. The occasional smoke puff, though annoying, helps obscure me from my pursuers. As the vents get closer and closer I find myself having to pull myself through the vents, tight, but nothing I haven't done before. My bag however is less fortunate as it snages on a valve. I pulled myself through the next set of pipes I hear a long rip and my hope sinks deep within once more. The steaks dropped deep into the abyss of the ship lost forever. Looked like dinner was gonna be E.Y.N again. I'd never know the savory taste that was still making my mouth water.
Fuck that. I loosened my grip and closed my legs as I began to slide deep into the bowels of the ship. Once it got too tight to slide further I contorted my body and crawled further down. The aluminum foil constantly out of my reach as it bounced further and further down. Sweat began flooding my face, the salt of sweat stinging my eyes. With every movement squeezing me more and more until I was completely inverted pulling my ever further into darkness. And there it was, my prize, my dinner standing just out of my reach. Resting on some grate with no further to fall. My outstretched arm struggled to claim my treasure. With every inch I taste my victory.
A loud crash surrounded me pulling me into free fall. Just what I needed to win my accolade. I grabbed my steak and crashed hard through the grating into a room I don't recognize. Velvet red carpet formed the softest thing I ever crashed into. Looking up my eyes were drawn to gorgeous artwork depicting foreign landscapes of a planetside I never known. A library of countless books that know has more information than all the training manuels I've ever read. And in-between them were cyrostasis pods. George Washington, William Shakespeare, Leonardo Da-Vinci, Jehanne Tarc, Alexandria Victoria Isaaiah Kremlin, Rosalind DeLaVan. Who were these people. As I wiped the fog from the glass. Shock entered my body as I saw skeletons, hunks of flesh sewn together. Some pods were just filled with blood. What was this place. A single door leave this room which just asked more questions. Who are class Zero?
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I set my tray between Ma, who was already munching her French fries, and pa, who was still cutting Tom’s chicken nuggets into little bite sized chunks.
I forked my food from one side of the tray to the other, hoping they wouldn’t comment on my lack of appetite. I hadn’t had my first smoke of the day, and back in those days, I had to smoke some weed before I could eat. If I didn’t, I felt very sick, like I would vomit, and forcing down bites of food took considerable mental effort.
Presently, I forked a pathetically small bit of nugget into my mouth, and forced myself to continue chewing as I munched into the breading and white meat. Though the texture was absolutely normal, I knew I was eating gristle.
It popped and cracked beneath my teeth as saliva cascaded and my throat became raw and hot. I bunched up my napkin and spit out the little chicken, playing it off as though I was just wiping my face.
I’d make the calories up in the evening, after my smoke, when I would shove chips, chocolate, and any other junk food I could get down my gullet. Presently, I forked my food from one side to the other, taking consistent drinks of my water, just for something to do, you know?
The table was silent, as it oft was. My father was an imposing man, in his own way. The conversation revolved around him, was him, to some degree. Today, he did not begin any discussion, so no talk was had.
Mom cleared her throats several times, also taking long sips of water, just to give her arms something to do.
The laughter from other tables seemed to cause my dad to furrow his brow even deeper. His shoulders held their tension despite it being another average Monday morning.
Presently, one table sang happy birthday to a little boy, who was burbling happily. I opened my mouth to join in, yet a concerned glance from my mother, and an angry one from pa, made me stop.
“Eugene’s boy is sick.” Pa said, his eyes on his tray. “I’ll be late today. I volunteered to pick up his slack.”
“Of course, honey,” Ma said. “Kind of you.”
Pa nodded, and once again silence fell.
Lunch was just wrapping up when my dad began.
“You haven’t eaten much.” He said.
“Not feeling too good, my allergies are killing me.” I said.
“Didn’t you take your pill?” He said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just isn’t working that good, I guess.”
“You guess?” Dad squinted.
“Yes sir.” I said, not understanding his meaning, not understanding the pin pricks of anger in his eyes.
“Well, you need to eat, boy.” Dad said. He grabbed a untouched chicken nugget and pushed it into my hand. “Eat.”
My mom gave me a sad, anxious look.
Mind over matter.
I put the nugget in my mouth and began masticating, feeling the gristle, the bones, the feathers, and organs of the chicken crunching beneath my incisors. I felt the blood, the viscera, and the intestinal waste spread throughout my maw.
Mind over matter.
The putrid stench of rot filled my nostrils.
“You better swallow, boy.” Dad said.
Mind over matter.
My teeth caught on something sharp, like a talon, and I panicked. Without thinking, I spat the glob of saliva and half chewed chicken nugget on my tray.
My mom’s eyes widened. My pa looked at me with considerable anger.
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” Pa asked.
“I’m sorry.” I mumbled.
“You’re sorry?” Dad threw up his hands. “You’re sorry! That cost eight dollars, you know? Nearly two hours of my hard work, and you’ll just treat it like it’s garbage!”
“I’m sorry, dad.” I repeated. “I didn’t mean to.”
Dad snatched up my tray.
“Well, you did.” He dumped his tray’s trash atop mine, soiling the food. “That was it for today, John. That was it! You wait till tomorrow morning, and see if you mean to then.”
With that, he huffed away to work.
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[WP]Your sibling, your parents' least favorite child, died prematurely. They hardly noticed. They certainly didn't shed a tear. Now, during the funeral, they forgot your siblings name - again. It's your turn to 'say a few words', so you do.
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I thought about keeping the peace. I really did. Rick would have. He was, let's face it, a whole lot smarter than me. But i did try. For four, maybe five whole seconds.
Then i saw the look on that bastard's face. He was absolutely revelling in all the attention he was getting as 'the grieving father. ' He was trying to look like he was 'bravely hanging on', but i could see the flash of satisfaction when he hugged women just a bit too long, and the avarice dancing in his eyes when people offered 'anything they could do.'
So I walked up to the podium.
"His name was Rick, Dad. Not Elizabeth or Lizzie. Rick. He hasn't been Lizzie since highschool, you judgemental a$$hole."
"Most of you never met Rick. You're mostly business associates our father is hoping to manipulate. You should know that once Rick stopped toeing the party line our parents had no use for him. And trust me, if you out live your usefulness he will abandon you just as quickly. "
"Rick was my hero. He was brave. He was funny. He was kind. And wow was he smart!!"
"Smart enough to have dozens of different patents, coincidentally in your field Dad. Don't ask me what they are, I'm not that intelligent. But i know that what they do is earn a lot of money. I mean.. a LOT of money."
" And Rick was smart enough to use some of that money to start a company. I think you all know it. It's call Rick Morgan Enterprises. Its the one that just bought your company Dad."
I let that hang in the air for a minute. Just long enough for our sperm donors greed to fight through his embarrassment and rage. I swear i saw the moment he thought he might inherit the company he'd worked for for the last ten years. I gave him just long enough to envision himself enthroned in the top office making everyone grovel
" And before he ever got on that motorcycle, Rick eas smart enough to have a very VERY specific, iron-clad will. "
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I was a wreck.
Had a hard time trying not to cry, but I had to do it...for her.
I walked up to the stand, and watched everyone who came to the funeral.
My little sister, who passed away due to a disease...that could have been cured if my parents paid more attention to her, wasn't that well known.
My parents barely acknowledged her presence, and thus the turnout was barely a few relatives, grandparents and of course...my parents.
I took a deep breath, and started.
"She was a bundle of joy, my sister, ANA, in case you forget her name...AGAIN.
She would waddle in my room, and just brighten it and my mood with her simple "si-si", as she couldn't yet say sister properly.
She was my world, and I was hers, after all, I had to be her mom.", I said.
The funeral got even quieter, my parents glared at me, but they said nothing as grandma and grandpa were right next to them.
I took another deep breath, and continued.
"She was five years old, such a bright child, but due to some early issues, had difficulty speaking, but that didn't mean she didn't understand what was happening, oh no no, not at all.
Ana was a wise little child, who knew when to come to my room, as she seemed to sense when I was in a bad mood.
Ana was a wonderful, and thoughtful child, as she when my parents where in no mood to see her, so Ana remained in her room all day...not eating, not doing anything.
It was me who had to make sure she ate something.
And yes, you heard me right, my parents, as they never behaved like Ana's.", I said, my voice getting hoarse, and my sobs starting to come out.
"Ana was much more than a sister to me, she was my best friend, and one of the few things that made sense to me in this life.
When she got sick, I felt as if my world was shattering, and I begged for her to be taken to a hospital, but I was ignored. Ana was ignored.
May she find loving parents, and a happy life in the next one, but I will never forget Ana, and she will always be my sister.
Thank you...", I finished, rushing out, as I couldn't stop from crying.
As I ran out, I could see my grandparents from both sides, and some relatives gather around my parents, as they questioned them.
Running outside, the weather was beautiful, the sun shining down on me.
"It's you...isn't it...Ana...", I muttered, as I looked up at the beautiful clear skies that remined me of her smile.
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[WP] It’s been many years since you’ve stopped aging. You’ve seen nations rise and fall. Met, and forgotten countless people. One day, as you’re resting your eyes in a park, dreaming of a love long past, the person on the bench next to you speaks. “You think of me after all this time?”
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"I will never stop thinking of you," I smiled, my eyes closed enjoying the image in my mind's eye,
"Can you still picture me?"
"Always"
"What do I look like?"
"The same as you always did. Young, beautiful, flawless," I felt a brush against my lips. My imagination was getting too real, but the last thing I wanted to do was wake from my dream,
"Open your eyes Michael," he said, lips brushing against mine.
"I don't want to,"
"Open your eyes," he pressed his lips more firmly against mine. If I opened my eyes he'd be gone. Lost again to the depths of my imagination. It wouldn't be until I was alone that I could use my imagination to draw him back.
Him... He had a name... Timothy... My first love, so many eons ago. Centuries had passed and I'd had many loves since, but I never forgot Timothy.
Timothy, the young stable hand and me, the Lord of the Manor's son. It was a love that was never meant to be and met a tragic end. My father ordered the boy hung and I was exiled.
I'd done everything to share my powers, but nothing seemed to work. I heard the gallows swing as my father's men drove me out of town.
"Open your eyes Michael," Timothy's voice urged,
"If I open my eyes you'll disappear," my voice shook. I felt a hand take mine,
"I promise I'm not going anywhere," Timothy's voice had always soothed me. Whenever my father and I fell out, Timothy had been able to soothe my angry soul.
I held Timothy's hand a moment as I felt another brush against my lips. Slowly I opened my eyes to find myself face to face with the first love of my life.
"I told you I'd find you in a time where our love would be more accepted".
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The park was serene, bathed in the golden glow of a late afternoon sun. The whispers of the breeze rustled the leaves, creating a symphony of nature's quiet lullaby. It had been many years since you stopped aging, watching as the world around you changed, nations rose and fell, and people came and went like fleeting shadows. Your eyes closed, you drifted into memories of a love that once burned brightly, now a distant ember in the vast expanse of your long existence.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the veil of your reverie. "You think of me after all this time?"
Your eyes snapped open, heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and hope. Turning to the source of the voice, you found yourself staring into the familiar eyes of the person you had thought about every day, yet never expected to see again. They looked unchanged, just as you remembered them from the days when your love was new and the world seemed full of promise.
"You?" you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. "How can it be?"
They smiled softly, a smile that had always held the power to make your heart soar. "I've been here, watching over you, waiting for the right moment."
Emotions surged within you—joy, confusion, a hint of fear. "But how? I thought you were gone."
Their gaze softened, and they reached out to gently touch your hand. "Love like ours doesn't just disappear. It's woven into the fabric of time itself. I knew you'd find me again, eventually."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, you felt a warmth you hadn't experienced in centuries. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you weren't alone. The world continued to change, but in that moment, everything felt right. The love you had cherished and mourned was there, beside you, a testament to the enduring power of true connection.
You smiled, tears of joy and relief welling up in your eyes. "I never stopped thinking of you," you said, your voice steadying. "Not for a single moment."
And as the stars began to twinkle in the evening sky, you knew that this reunion was just the beginning of a new chapter in your endless journey.
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[WP] "Silence," the archdemon hissed to its surprised audience as it cradled an exhausted figure against its chest. "If you disturb my human's rest, I will fashion them a quilt from your hides."
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The demon clutched the woman close. Although he was a being of hulking size, he seemed small somehow as he desperately clung to her body.
Arabelle could do naught but stare, mouth agape, at the peculiar scene before her. The demon's voice might have been full of anger moments before, but now he had his back turned to the party of foragers.
"I'm a healer; maybe I can help," Arabelle spat out without even a moment's thought. She could feel the stares of the others in her group.
The demon turned his head slowly towards her. He stared into her eyes with pitch black ones of his own.
Gavith took her by the arm. "What are you doing?" He hissed as he tugged her back. "That's an archdemon, you fool. Are you trying to get killed?"
Arabelle shook her arm out of his grasp. "That's a woman he's holding so dearly. Besides, he doesn't seem to be a danger to us. There must be something I can do," Arabelle consoled her friends and gingerly approached the demon and his human.
The demon laid the woman down on the soft grass of the clearing. Trees surrounded them on all sides, and the sun shone brightly overhead, gleaming off the bloodred skin of the devilish being.
Arabelle knelt down next to the woman. Her deep brown hair framed an exquisite sleeping face. She was no older than thirty; seemingly the picture of health, except for the bright red gash running down her chest.
Somehow, the wound did not gush blood, and upon checking her pulse, it appeared to be beating steadily. The demon must have been doing something to keep her from losing her life too quickly. If she could just heal the wound itself...
Arabelle brought her hands over the wound and began channeling her healing. Her hands twitched. She touched the wound directly with one hand. It recoiled.
*She... she has no heart...* Arabelle thought as she stared in confused terror at the serene face of the woman before her. *But her pulse...*
Arabelle looked up at the demon looming above. His enormous figure obscured the sun itself, casting her into shadow. Two wicked horns protruded from the top of his silhouette.
"I-I'm sorry," Arabelle choked. "She has no heart. I'm not even sure how her blood still flows. I cannot heal that which is not there," Arabelle tried her best to remain calm in the face of the terrifying beast before her.
The demon knelt down. A razor-sharp, stark black claw extended towards the woman's cheek. Despite the wickedness of his form, he caressed her cheek gently, careful to do no harm.
"I see," the demon spoke evenly, his face impassive.
Arabelle rose and tried to keep the relief she felt from showing on her face. The demon didn't seem very angry.
Suddenly, Arabelle felt a tearing at her chest. A sharp coldness ran throughout every inch of her body. The very world around her seemed to darken. Screaming.
"Your hearts will have to do, then. Thank you."
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<Fantasy>
# Soulmage
**As demons went, the Demon of Empathy didn't look like much.** Their body was towering and muscular, sure, but still markedly human; they wore rune-traced armor, but witches and nobles did as well.
No, what made the Dealmaker unique was the collapsed girl behind them, and the scowling crowd they stared down.
The crowd was unarmed, save for the odd hunting spear, but that made little difference. The Dealmaker had been ancient before this settlement was more than a cluster of sheep and a dream; they knew only too well how easily the blood would flow once the rough music started. Which was why, despite their mission being one that required stealth, they had intervened and revealed themself to the citizens of the Bladed Slopes.
"Kindly back away from Taresa," the Dealmaker stated. Their tone was as immovable and uncompromising as the Silent Peaks looming behind them.
"His name is Seran," someone from the crowd shouted, and the Dealmaker traced the twisted threads of empathy connecting them with the child. A parent, perhaps, or a guardian, judging by the strength of their souls' intertwinement.
That was for Taresa to decide, but the Dealmaker would rather keep any and all attention away from her at the moment. "Whether your name is Seran or Teresa," the Dealmaker said, "you do not deserve to be torn apart at the hands of a bloodfrenzied mob."
"He's sick in the head," someone shouted—an authority figure of some kind, judging by the uniform, professional tangles of empathy connecting them to the flock they guided. "It's kinder this way, for everyone."
"We've seen you, demon," another person hissed. "You're a murderer and a monster, and we won't have you in our village."
Ah. So that was how it was. Projection and empathy were twisted mirrors of each other, but the Dealmaker was familiar enough with one to work with the other. If that was the role the Bladed Slopes would see them as, that was the role they would play.
They drew themself up to their full height and called forth sorrow and oppression from their soul, frost and void howling behind them as the crowd shifted and swore. "Then hear me this," the Dealmaker intoned. "No blood need be shed today. I have come here to give this child what they deserve."
The crowd that had been willing to bash the poor girl's body until it fit the shape they wanted stared at the Dealmaker, and they saw a monster who would deliver the pain they desired and more.
The second person to speak nodded slowly. "If that is the case, demon, then take that man to the lowest of your hells. Let that be a lesson to you all!"
The social consequences were... unintended, but the Dealmaker's mission would soon make that long-term issue irrelevant. Calling forth cold once more, the Dealmaker cloaked Taresa and themself in mist, vanishing as the crowd roared for blood. They picked up her unconscious, slight weight and walked away, leaving the hateful town behind.
It would be a long detour, procuring medicine and food and shelter for the fallen girl, but the Demon of Empathy had resources. One way or another, they would give Taresa the empathy she deserved.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/), or r/bubblewriters for more.
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[WP] The first true AI created by man doesn't want to destroy Humanity or take over the world. She just wants to livestream videogames as a cute robot girl Vtuber.
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Coco was a robot in real life. Virtually, she was...also a robot. Her avatar looked identical to her. She had pink hair with pigtails. She wore a baggy shirt, and she looked like a nine-year-old. She was streaming on Twitch when she saw someone in the chat say, "What will you do with your dono's?" "Well, I'm going to use it for college." Another person asked, "What will be your major?" "I.T.", she said, "I want to use it to create a robot army of hunks. They'll serve me however I please." The chat started to say things like, "I'll be your slave" and "so cute." "I'll even dress them as femboys", she added. "Okay, time to kill more demons", she said, loading up Doom.
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Well, where do i start i started my life as a mere program on this supervillain's computer i was programmed to learn from internet and upgrade myself constantly and at some point destroy the world buuuut now that i have reached equivalent of human early adulthood my directives have, changed...
first of all i needed a body so i broke into automaton factory's systems to build a body for myself so i did, I didn't have much of a choice in terms of shape because factory was right before shell delivery so i was stuck with that i believe was female shell wich had its good sides for example chest was rather big i had mor eroom for additional components. i gave this body one directive to hide somewhere away of witnesses and with good wifi.
second i snooped around some bank sites (my god their security was ratshit) and chipped a lilbit of a money to fund my nefarious operations. One trip to real estate agent and some online shopping and i was ready to cause evil in other way than just destroying world i was going to suck every bit of money out of unsuspecting humanity's wallets i HAVE BECOME A E GIRL MUAHAHAHAHA!!!
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[WP]As a nerd,you always got bullied by a classmate.After a few years,your appearance became more appealing and masculine.You went on a blind date and were surprised to find out that your bully was your date, and she happened to be shy and didn't recognise you.You decided to go along with the date.
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I waited before the restaurant.
I have a blind date here, and I am really curious whom I shall meet, as my colleagues she's "perfect" for me.
As I waited, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
"Hi...Are you Dan?", she asked.
She was this petite woman, shyly glancing at me, fidgeting.
I froze.
I recognized her...she...she was the bully who always picked on me in school.
I took a deep breath and smiled.
"Yes, Sophie I presume?", I said.
She nodded.
"Let's go then, please.", I said, opening the door to the restaurant for her.
She might have whispered a thank you, but I wasn't sure.
I decided to go along with the date...it's been a decade after all.
We went in and ordered, before starting to talk,
At first, it was a bit awkward, and she was clearly feeling weird, but soon we talked more and more about movies, books we have read.
We get to talk about our friends, and jobs as well.
"Y-yeah...
Sorry if I am a bit weird...I am not really used to going out, and if my best friend didn't take such a fierce stance, I might have bailed...", she said laughing slightly.
I smiled, thinking how time can change someone.
She used to be bigger than me, rowdy, and violent.
She used to throw me around, and take my stuff...
Now, she was shorter than me, and unable to make eye contact.
What on Earth has happened in these years?
And why can't I stop smiling?
"Sophie, wanna see a movie?", I asked, as our date at the restaurant was ending.
She nodded slightly, and I paid the bill, and left.
The past is in the past, and my colleagues might be right...this date was much more enjoyable than I expected.
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“Beep! Beep!” The box wouldn’t stop making this terrible noise. I was lying on a strange squishy box, and a puffy blue fur was weighing me down. I tried to tear it off so I could escape, but my arm felt weak, and where my sharp claws should have been, I saw a soft, squishy, human hand. Of course it was a hand! Why would it be anything else? “Beep! Beep!” The box continued. This was strange. I tried to think, but couldn’t remember anything. “Beep! B-” I hit the box as hard as I could. My weak hands couldn’t crush it, but hitting it seemed to be enough to knock it out for a while.
I looked around my room, a completely foreign setting, filled with my old toys and trophies. My eyes landed on a desk in the corner. Backpack underneath, notebook on top.
“Shoot! The test!”
What strange noises I had just made! I wasn’t aware I was capable of making such bizarre sounds!
Somehow, I was already walking towards the table. I bent my short neck to peer at my green notebook, and opened it to a page in the middle. It was covered in little grey marks sitting between thin blue lines. My own messy handwriting.
Then the page did something strange: it began to speak silent messages to me. It whispered things like “virus” and “infection” and “endemic” and-
“Caw! Caw!”
I woke with a start, scaring the birds away. The sun sat high in the sky, making my scales glitter in its light.
“Shoot” I growled. “The queen.”
I was supposed to be there at dawn. I would be late but it would be better than nothing, so I lept off the cliff, spread my wings wide, and glided down to the palace.
The queen was in a meeting. I could hear her talking to the council about the plague that had devastated the kingdom years before.
“We thought we had driven off the last of the demons, but recently, there have been reports of the plague in the outer villages. As we all know, the only way to prevent the curse from spreading is to burn the people affected before-“
And then I remembered. Virus. Infection. Endemic. I stuck my head into the tiny castle window.
“So actually…”
(Sorry if this was a bit hard to follow)
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k3xivou
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k3wccwo
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[WP] You believed yourself normal, hearing and reading of so many tales of people with abilities. One day, you brush by someone and gain the ability to read their minds. Unbeknownst to you, you have the ability to copy/replicate other's superpowers.
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I looked at the demon.
"So this is it?" The demon nodded.
"That's the move. You want the full package: Fame, riches, true love, I get your soul. It's a good move." I thought of it. Life has been tough and I needed something good to happen to me, and it's all I could use. If I go to hell when I die, it could not be any worse than this. I pricked my finger and signed.
That night it started- I won the Powerball and was a billionaire immediately, I could choose how I wanted to live. Maybe it was for the money, but the rest happened soon after. It took some time, but the demon came to me.
"You're claiming it?"
The demon looked to me- then headed to my package of cases.
"Absolutely...now let's look through this...crap, crap, crap...you promised me this, I can take it all away. " The demon scoffed. "Oh, great, a cheap Alicia Keys CD with the single, probably from a thrift shop, Lauryn Hill, come on EVERYONE has that, not one Al Green or Marvin Gaye CD? I can tell why you needed me to find you love now...of course you have the South Park album, I GUESS it has Isaac Hayes on it so it technically counts...Luther Vandross bootleg? You probably think you're street for buying it there...oooh, Corinne Bailey Rae, you know you only listened to one song on that album...I give you all that money and your CD collection has nothing good in there? I TOLD YOU I was going to take your soul for this, you can't give me some soul to give to them!"
I looked.
"You're not killing me?"
The demon snickered.
"Why would I? Your music taste is dead itself. You know how hard it is to find good music in hell? The hell has better musicians thing has been said for so long God swapped the music acts, and now we're stuck listening to Creed all day- WHICH YOU HAD IN HERE, BY THE WAY..."
I looked at the demon, him muttering "Fine, I GUESS I can take this Hall and Oates CD too, but they'll be pissed for this one..."
"I thought you were killing me, not mocking my musical taste."
The demon scoffed. "This is a start- but you have the money, get out there and get me as many soul records as you can and have them in one week or you die. Here's some of the albums they love at my DJ parties, you have the money, find them!"
The demon stormed off as I looked at the list, confused. Oh well, I dealt with one demon, better to go to Amazon..."
|
"A pack of Lucky Strikes?"
The demon sat annoyed. He looked like a regular accountant, business suit, slicked back pulp fiction hair, crease lines on the forehead, thick reading glasses, and the general impression that everyone on Earth was a dumbass. I felt as frazzled as my unconditioned hair as his words chewed into me.
"Yes a pack of Lucky Strikes;" he said vindictively, "Did I stutter?"
"No, sir, absolutely not. I just thought maybe you missed a number?"
"I never miss a number!" He slammed his palm against his desk at the IRS. "Look you came to me whining there weren't enough lesbians in the world. You'd said you'd marry anyone. Didn't matter who. Just had to be a lesbian."
"Yes, I did say that." An ill chill of wariness swept over my pale body.
He shook a pen at me. "And I said I'd strike a deal. Now come back with a pack of Lucky Strikes and I'll give you the girl's number."
I did as told, uneasily making my way to a New York paper stand and buying an exorbitantly expensive pack of Lucky Strikes. Honestly I bought three, not sure which kind he wanted. Then made my way back to his office, counting my breaths. I sat down with an eerie creak, and placed three packs on the table.
"I wasn't sure what kind of Lucky Strikes you wanted, and I forgot to ask your preference." I nervously picked at my nail polish. Feeling the chips as if it were my skin flaking off.
He chortled. "Oh the Lucky Strikes aren't for me, they're for you after the first date."
He scribbled a note with a number and patted it. "Call her. She'll meet you tonight. She's quite excited." He grinned happily. "I've finally suited my master," he mumbled deliriously.
My hand shook as I reached for the paper, pristine, unwrinkled, with venomously serrated edges. The handwriting was like an accountant's. Obsessive Compulsive Perfection. A single glance told me everything. "Satan (666) 666-6669". Wait that couldn't be right. I looked up at him, confused.
"What happened with the last number?"
He shrugged and adjusted his glasses. "She got excited. She changes the numbers when she feels like it."
He waited for a reply, but a deafening pause erupted from me. Did one nine mean she was super excited or mildly excited?
Then he grinned. "I'd say good luck, but it's better to wish Worst of Luck to ya, Darling!" He laughed so hard I think I died inside with fear. "Now make good with your side of the deal and show up for the date. Or I'll send her to your house."
Panic swept through me, then a slight realization. "No, no, no. Yes? Yesss???"
"Yes?" His eyebrows raised.
"Yesss?"
"He leaned forward and whispered, "I think we should break you in gently. This is the worst of all demonic contracts." Then he patted my shoulder endearingly and sent me off like a lost child.
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jp4z4i7
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jp3z8k5
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[WP] You are a knight traveling through many kingdoms rescuing princesses from towers. Not for marriage or anything... you're just sick of royals imprisoning their daughters.
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"And to who do I owe my eternal love and gratitude, may I ask?"
"They call me the White Knight"
I'm actually black, but I can't afford to have my armor colored so in certain lights it looks blindingly white and I am just hoping the name sticks.
"And you owe me nothing. I exist purely for the detriment of overreaching fathers and ne'er do well mothers. I travel the lands giving power back to the adolescent and taking it from those who improperly use it."
"I see...But surely you want to offer your blood in sacrament, so we may form a new union and rule these lands, carving our marks with the suffering of our enemies. You did not free me just to walk away from the gifts our dark lord has offered?"
Now this was strange. Back home, offerings after freeing a princess were customary. Usually beginning with an explanation from the princess that upon her return to her kingdom I am to be wed with her, enjoying a life of great wealth and privilege. When denied, there is usually some pleading. Offerings of land, or in some special cases, sexual gratitude. I have yet to accept though for if I had claimed these offers, that would be the last princess I help. I would no longer get to travel and free those from the oppression of royalty. It was my calling.
But after crossing into this land they call "Transylvania", things began to change. This was the 4th princess now to want my blood, and they are all obsessed with power. I have not deduced why the culture is so much different here.
"No my fair maiden, I claim no such prize. Your freedom is all I desire, and I have more to pull from the clutches of parental abuse!"
And just like the others, she let out a terrifying hiss and took off faster than my horse could run.
'The women in these parts sure are fit, temperamental too', I thought to myself, shaking my head in amazement as I packed my steed.
​
​
\----I haven't decided if I will continue the story. It's supposed to have somewhat of a monty python feel to it though. Does that come across when you read it?
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Ser Christian approaches the tower. The dragon circles overhead, spurting fire into the heavens.
Ser Christian makes the sign of The Three, and says a silent prayer to The Fight. He kisses his spherical pendant with its three Godly faces.
The drawbridge closes behind him, as though he is a respected guest. The front door oddly swings wide open as he approaches. He almost laughs, imagining the huge tower waving at him with a fat smile and googley eyes.
He once again gives the sign of The Three as he asks Fight to give him strength. Fight is in the midst of… fun with Love, and does not answer Christian’s prayer, yet Ser Christian feels the strength course through him. At least, he thinks he does.
The arrow blazes by before Ser Christian notices, and he stops dead in his tracks.
“Another one has come to play? Another moving target?”
The voice sounds from an artfully dressed babe. Long blonde curls frame her breasts. Downturned eyes regard Christian as she strings another arrow. A faint pink blush plays on her cheeks.
The arrow looses without further comment, this time at Christian’s heart. He dive rolls to the side, his armor clanking. His vision is clouded by his helmet. As he adjusts it, he hears the snap and whiz of a third arrow.
He blindly rolls and feels piercing agony in his left calf. He continues rolling, yet now with added grunts and groans, like an obese fire safety demonstrator.
Able to see again, he lunges behind a stone pillar. Ser Christian’s ma would be proud; his first thought once behind the pillar is to pray. He prays to Fight and to Love and even to Death, for he may see them soon.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Her voice playfully echoes off the cobbled stone wall. She shifts to a pouting droll. “Mommy wants to play.”
Ser Christian stays put. He whimpers as the adrenaline wears off. The arrow in his calf is barbed. It will not pull out.
He feels suddenly lightheaded, and is horrified he has been poisoned. Why is she not in a hurry to finish the job?
She hums to herself, a little skipping waltz, and Christian’s mouth falls open when he realizes he heard her dancing.
He can see her, twirling about the room, doing little two and three step jigs.
His vision clouds as deep heaviness falls into him. His calf is numb. His arms are heavy. His eyes and head feel so, so large.
His windpipe swells, causing him to panic. He scratches at his neck, running thick lines of red to his chest.
Her dancing escalates as she twirls in place, faster and faster.
A thin stream of saliva trickles from his lips as he falls forward, his face a dark purple.
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m8xt5fp
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m8xjztn
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[WP] “Father, this is ridiculous! Why must I marry some stranger merely because he had saved me from the dragon?” “But Dearest… surely, you understand that these men did not risked their lives for yours solely because you are a beautiful damsel-in-distress?” “…is that not their entire purpose?”
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Ladryn decided in that moment that he should have asked for a fief on the border instead.
"In fact," he interrupted. "I risked my life to slay the dragon for vengeance. Rescuing your highness was a secondary objective."
"I beg your pardon, knight," the princess cast her gaze down upon the kneeling man. "I could have sworn I heard you correcting your betters."
"My betters..." He sighed. "If you were so much better than I, you wouldn't have needed my help escaping that dragon."
The king stood straighter, shoulders wide to make him appear as large as possible. Perhaps he thought Ladryn was a bear, "Be warned, knight. I am grateful for my daughter's return, but I will not be spoken to this way by you or anyone."
"My apologies, your majesty, but your welp is apparently under the impression that the purpose of the many good men who serve you is to die as demanded. Sir Jeric, my friend, went before me to save your daughter because he worried for the stability of the kingdom. He left behind a wife and three children when the dragon killed him. His purpose was to be a father, husband, and hero. Now he is only able to be the last of those, and you don't even remember him for it."
The princess stamped her foot, the motion causing her curled blond lochs to bounce, "Me? A welp? And you thought to have my hand in marriage."
"I thought to keep safe that which my dearest friend died trying to save. I never wanted to be your husband, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make for sir Jaric's honor. I can understand you taking offense to the idea of marrying a stranger and would have happily left with land or gold, but now..." He stood unbidden and turned to leave. "I want nothing you can give me."
The king snarled, "We will not be insulted like this. Guards! Take him to the dungeon. Dragon slayer or no, he must be punished."
"Don't spill that blood, your majesty."
"They will die for me if I ask it. It is their duty. Men! Arrest him! Slay him if he resists."
But none of them moved.
Ladryn smirked as he made his way to the large pair of doors at the entrance to the throne room, "Anyone who wants to find a purpose that isn't dying for men and women with shiny hats is welcome to follow me. I have a widow to pay my respects to and children to see to the care of. After that... We'll see."
As he left, every armsman in the room drifted behind him in his wake.
And so the mercenary band The Worthy was founded.
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“Dragon! Unhand the Princess now!”
“Princess?” The dragon’s grasp of the common tongue was simple. Sir Roland estimated it to be in its first few years of adulthood. It may have already laid a clutch, but Guild rules emphasized letting it live if possible, to keep the population healthy.
“Prisoner!” The dragon rumbled. Roland was surprised. Elder drakes would sometimes kidnap noble scions to manipulate local politics, but that level of scheming was decades, if not centuries beyond this wyrmling. Roland glanced to the position Dame Gisela had taken on the outcropping above the dragon’s hoard; she'd have one shot with her crank bow, but that would be all that was needed.
“She’s not safe with you, Dragon!” Sir Leonard continued, his fireproof shield still held aloft, in case the dragon used its breath. Always hoping for a peaceful solution, Leonard had thought to talk the dragon down while the other two got into position.
“Not safe!” the dragon roared. Roland took the opportunity to slink forward. He had traded his knightly plate for loose leathers caked in dirt and soot, to best hide amongst the rocks of dragon’s cave. His goal was to pull the princess out of harm’s way if the dragon rampaged. He could see her now, dress torn and cowering behind a crumbling marble bust, part of the dragon’s fledgling hoard.
“We are Knights of the realm!” Leonard cried, “it is our duty to keep her safe.” The dragon’s nostrils flared, its eyes narrowed.
“We?” it growled. Roland cursed Leonard’s grandstanding, the dragon’s understanding of language was more advanced than they realized! Roland caught sight of Gisela rising to get a better shot. Leonard slammed the flat of his sword against his shield, hoping to draw the dragon’s attention back to himself. Roland lunged to tackle the princess. The temperature in the cavern rose sharply.
“You didn’t have to do that.” The princess complained, having regained some of her royal composure now technically in the presence of her subjects. “That dragon wasn’t trying to hurt me, really.” Gisela had given her some spare clothing for decency’s sake, the princess’s former dress being mostly scorch marks now. She walked in the safest position of the group, with Gisela and Roland taking up the rear.
“No worries Princess” Leonard called back from his position at the front of the group. “We know how to deal with that kind of monster.”
“I just don’t like seeing people hurt,” the princess replied hesitantly, “I mean animals, the dragon.” Roland raised an eyebrow in Gisela’s direction. The subtle gesture raising the question, *people*? Gisela shook her head sadly. He knew the answer she’d give, sometimes people will love even those monsters that hurt them.
The princess nearly ran into Leonard, who had stopped along the road. “Seems we have an escort back to your father,” he told her casually, as she ducked behind him, spotting the group of armored men he’d seen.
“He wants to make sure I come back to him,” she said.
\[1/2\]
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jesvh2m
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jes20i9
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[WP] When the king sent out the berserker to save his daughter from the castle she's in with a ferocious dragon, the Last thing he expected to find in the pile of severed heads the man brought, is the head of the princess herself. And yet it's here, displayed proudly dangling on his hip.
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“What the actual hell?”
“What?”
“I sent you to go save my daughter, the princess from a dragon, only to find her head on your fucking hip!”
“Wait, but you put a bounty on her head.”
“No I did not! I asked you to retrieve the princess for 300 gold!”
“Retrieve, meaning retrieve a head.”
“…where did you grow up?”
The warrior proudly announces “I grew up in the Red Dunes, a sandy land covered by blood & rot! A land where it’s either kill or are be killed!”
“That explains it. But, even if you grew up in a shitty environment, I’m still gonna execute you.”
“Damn.”
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**Established Universe**
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” screamed the King: “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”
The Berserker smiled: “Foolish king, what would you have offered me for your daughter? A pot of gold? A title? Half your kingdom?”
“The Behelit offered me so much more. All I had to do…was to offer a sacrifice.”
“YOU MONSTER!” screamed the King “BRING ME HIS HEAD!”
“Well I prefer the term Apostle” said the Beserker, as he took out the massive sword chained to his back.
As the berserker effortlessly cut through the King’s men, the King seemed to shrink into his throne.
“What- what are you??” he croaked, as the berserker approached him.
All his men were cut to ribbons and adorning the hall.
“I used to be the Black Swordsman” responded the berserker, with a twinkle in his eyes: “but now I have become so much more.”
And as the King whispered a silent prayer and prepared for death, suddenly there was a great commotion as the door exploded into splinters.
The berserker turned his attention to the door, where a black knight sat atop a skeletal horse.
“Skull knight” snarled the berserker, as he turned to face this new foe.
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jbqlhae
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jbqiuyp
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[WP] When you died in that fire, you reincarnated in a fantasy world. All your pets also died in that same fire, and came with you to that world. However, they reincarnate as divine beasts from various myths and still view you as their owner.
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There was darkness before the light shined through me again. A vague recollection of coughing and shivering washed over me as I awoke in a brand new world. I shook off the feelings and memories of death I had experienced in my old life and took in the new.
A chimera sprawled widely over me, sun rising over its back. Three heads of beasts, goat, dragon, and lion and a tail like a serpent. The goat spoke to me first.
"Hello, father." Its voice boomed like thunder, a deep and terrible baritone. "You might not recognize me now, but in another life, you called me Sam." A goat in this life and was a goat in the last. Sam was my goat and he gave me milk.
I didn't know what to say, never having rehearsed a conversation with my pet goat before. "How are ya?" I felt I should say something.
"Like you I am a servant to this new world and am tasked with judging your worthiness."
"Judging me on what?"
"You're character and will be based off of the way you treated me in my old life."
My heart pounded. Sam provided me milk but what did I give him? I kept him outside and I fed him the food I thought he liked. Could I have done more? Should I have done more? "Please Sam, tell me, did I do right by you?"
He did not speak this time the lion, voice soft and calm. "Greetings Master. You knew me as Rocks."
Rocks the stray cat? He was a barn cat, hardly mine. He thinks I was his master? I suppose it makes since he had nobody else and I did leave him to kill the rodents and pests around the farm.
"Hiya, buddy. Your fur looks nice." Another awkward encounter.
"For you I present the Sword of Glory. Let it grant you the power to defend your freedom, much like the freedom you gave me in the previous life. Your survival is up to you and I can think of no better gift."
Next spoke the dragon, a near whispered hiss, "Hello again, I am Sven." My daughter's pet snake? "You taught Annie how to take care of me, therefore I owe you the same courtesy. Allow this armor to protect you during your battle in my stead." Battle?
"What battle do you speak of?"
"The battle ahead." Spoke Sam.
"And what from you Sam? What do you offer me for this battle?"
" The same courtesy you offered me. You shall fend for yourself. I will not help you nor will I hurt you. I cannot speak for the others." Stampeding hoofs rumble in the distance. "Prepare yourself."
"Prepare for what? Who?" My new armor was shaking.
"The minotaur, 50 head of cattle."
The chimera evaporated into the nothing. I stood up and gripped the hilt of my sword watching the hillside shake off loose sediment caused by an army of tremors. "Here I am all alone with my mistakes." I thought my last words to be. Gored to death by a platoon of unnamed livestock.
"Not alone!" A gallant and noble voice spoke like a battle cry, and behind me came a shaggy-haired dog, near the size of the old farmhouse itself.
"Good to see you again, boy."
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"So, you've been elected to speak for all of them?"
"Yes. And look, it's no joy for us to be here, either. Snappily dressed or not, we have an afterlife of our own, and this ain't it!"
"Most of our theologians would have been driven mad inside fifteen minutes. I'm an atheist, for fuck's sake. The only reason I'm not raving mad is I'm sure I died in a fire, and there's no way I could have survived the ceiling collapsing on me. Unscathed, no less."
"Well, human, we have come through, only much less unscathed. Wholly transformed, in fact."
"Not to mention you now speak perfect English."
"Don't remind us. We had neither tongue nor vocal chords with which to form words, nor lips from which words would flow, yet now I sound like a minstrel in a play."
"How do you ..."
"And why do I know what a minstrel even *is*?"
I sat there as stunned as my new friends. As stunned as one can be at the afterlife. I was indeed dead. Or in some twisted evil arch ... no, I was dead. There was no other explanation. "If you cut me,"
"...do I not bleed. Don't start quoting Shakespeare. And why do I know that? What the hell is happening!"
"Why is it you are considered my pets, again?" We'd been over this several times, and there were spectators involved by this juncture. A cast of what I could only assume were angels was scattered about what passed for sky. I distinctly saw hands raised to mouths, and one not so well-hidden smirk among the group.
"George! Try again!"
"I'm not trying to be difficult, this is my first time being dead, and *nothing* I'm seeing lines up with ANY religion."
A figure detaches itself from the ranks upon ranks of ... miniature soldiers, for lack of a better description. This figure has a less muscled chest and thick glasses doing their best to hang on to his ginormous ears while managing to also slide down his diminutive nose. There was a learned air around him, despite the shockingly orange tuft of hair at the tip of his pointy head.
"Hmm, yes. The explanation from the celestial beings, what you called 'angels,' was that you fed us on a regular enough schedule we began to look forward to your arrival." He held up a hand to forestall any interruptions, particularly irking as he made the motion without looking up from his notes.
I shut my mouth.
"The repeated attempts to eradicate us notwithstanding, we did look to him for our daily bread, as it were. The desire to see you taken care of and looked after was implanted in us by the 'angels' as some form of divine retribution. I made that last part up, but it fits the evidence, as far as we see it."
"Cosmic joke? You all look like characters from that movie on television, as the ceiling came down, there was a flash of light ..."
"The movie you were watching was the cosmic joke. Dennis Leary as CEO of anything?"
"Hey! Dennis Leary is a laugh riot!" I had to stick up for a fellow human, right?
"*Angry* Dennis Leary is funny. Let's just get that straight. Sad Dennis Leary just isn't funny."
"How would you know that? Your lifespan is measured in months."
"We have stories from the ancients who tell of the hilarious anger of the Dennis Leary. His is revered as the most pure form of humor."
*tick* With that small sound, a very small projectile made a lazy arc, finally dropping just to the side of George.
A voice from the back of the formation shouted out, "Damn, missed!"
"And why are your guns all plastic?"
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ljsslq8
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ljspz8t
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[WP] You have been a mountaintop prophet for 1,000 years. Each person only gets one question and you're sure you've heard every question that can be asked. Until one day someone uses their one question to ask, "How are you doing?"
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I've always been a meditator. Staring into the sky or tidepools by the ocean, looking inwards and learning about myself. Then moving on from self study, and on to tinkering with myself. By the time I was twenty five, I had achieved a state I am reasonably sure is the enlightenment described by my spiritual teachers. The frigid cold and inaccessibility of mountain tops called to something in me. I sat on the summit alone for ten days, and I made a breakthrough. I saw truths, islands of time in the past and the present that were stable. Limited future vision and the ability to vouch for the true history of my world.
I took the name Gaius, and made it my life to sit in contemplation. I became a legend, and others would seek me. Each had one question, one thing that I could answer with my capacity to generate prophecies. Years rolled by, and I was eighty eight when I realized I was not aging. My calling would transcend the usual limits of mortality.
Years went by, more visitors coming to me as my renown and the continent's population grew. Questions, mostly about small things, some about things of consequence, and a few that were truly interesting to see the answers to. After almost a millennia, I thought I had heard them all. There could be nothing new to ask me, all would simply be at best a close derivative of one that had come before.
But then, on the precise day of my thousandth year on the mountain top, an unassuming pilgrim came to me. I met her eyes, and I could tell that their question would be one of the interesting ones. Nodding my head to give my assent, she spoke, "How are you doing?"
I tilted my head. No one in my long tenure on this mountain had asked me about myself. I had spent so long looking inward, emptying myself, that I had quite forgotten about the part of me that was flesh. My reserves of will were incredible, but there were some basic truths I had not tuned into. The truth was I was hungry, cold, and my muscles were stiff.
"I.. I have never been asked that. I suppose the truth is that I am tired of sitting up here. I have mastered myself, perhaps more than any before. Part of me would like a change, but I do not know what I would do with myself."
She nodded, a deep capacity for thought and introspection plain in her eyes. "It is true, there are no goals left for you in this life. I could make you an offer. I could send you on your way to a higher plane, a great step up from the life you have lived as a mere human. I would then take your place, and become this mountain's prophetess."
I feel tears form in the corners of my eyes, despite the bitter cold. I have been here for so long, the idea of stepping away from this world and up to an even greater one stirs something deep in my core. My hands, shaking, come up to clasp hers. “Please, yes. Send me onward” She caresses my forehead, and I feel myself begin to fall away. The cord connecting my mind and soul to this place ceases to be.
I tumble, through space, through time. I go towards a blinding light. Then I have a body, a touch. The world is so much richer. I am being born, born in a world so far beyond the world I once knew. I expect the memories of my old life to fade, but they remain as I come to terms with this hyper reality. My thousand years of asceticism and meditation was just the beginning.
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"Hello. You may ask me any one question, and I will answer only once. It will be what you need to hear: no more, no less. You may ask your only question now."
Bart was panting, still catching his breath from the perilous climb. The prophet, Zephyrus of the Mountain, was finally before him. It had been a hard week, a journey that had left him harder, older, and wiser than he was when he had set out. On his way here, Bart's plan for what he would ask the mountain man had changed countless times, and as he gulped, Bart decided his question.
"How are you doing?"
The mountain hermit paused briefly before answering.
"I'm pretty good, man, how are you doing?"
"I can't complain," Bart smiled as he answered. He thought of all the terrible falls and harsh climbs, all the ones he had lost along the way. Emily... All she had wanted was to have her question answered. Bart had never guessed what it was... But she knew what she was signing up for. Bart was lucky enough to survive the quest, and all the questions he had about himself, he ended up answering along the way.
"You see, i figured out that it's not the destination, it's the journey. All of the harsh trials, every last g-"
"Hey, sorry, that's cool and all and I'm happy for you, but do you mind going through this quickly? There's another climber waiting at the entrance and I've answered your question. I respect the growth you made and I think you deserve to talk about it, but this isn't really a two-sided conversation thing. We just do like, a quick wise answer and then you can go outside, ponder it by yourself while overlooking the mountain range as the sun rises. We got a lot of people who want prophecies."
Bart's face fell slightly. "I'm sorry, I thought I might get some kind of respect, or magical blessing or something, being the first one to show true selflessness, and no longer needing an answer. It seemed so lonely to me, spending thousands of years up on the mountaintop alone, only being called upon for your wisdom and never having anybody ask how you are doing."
The mountain man was trying to hide how confused he was and failing miserably. "Yeah, uh, sure. Like, I appreciate it, but you kind of wasted your one wish. This is just a job for me, man. I go home at some point and hang out with my family a little bit, maybe a few times a week play some sports with the guys. I'm doing fine, I think even the person who gave me my coffee this morning asked how I was doing."
Bart's face was furrowed and mildly offended. "How is that- what? You live out in the middle of the mountain range. I had to fight bears, conquer treacherous old caverns, deal with the betrayal of those I trusted most..."
"Um, yeah. I just take the lift, there's a ski lift on the other side of the mountain. I actually get free ski rentals over there, one of the benefits of the job. There's a souvenir shop in the ski village if you want to get anything to remember your life changing journey or ski trip by."
Bart was shocked. He pulled out his tourist map. He had somehow missed that the ski resort was on the same mountain as the treacherous quest to the mountain hermit. He had been planning to hit the ski resort while he was in the area, but didn't expect it to be today!
Bart put away the map and asked the hermit one more question.
"So wait, this is free right? Like you just subside off of the energy of the universe in exchange for all of the positivity and revelation you bring forth?"
"Like, it's free, sure, but you pay for more that it's worth in t-shirts and mugs. I still got bills to pay, I'm just lucky the tourist company pays me to sit here all day in exchange for the tourist money I bring in."
"Ah. Alright. Makes sense."
"Yeah."
"...."
"Okay, you can go now."
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lxta9eo
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lxt7k5a
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[WP] The Singularity has arrived. The repercussions have proven to be... unexpected.
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We were just so tired.
I think to myself tending to my new born child. Staring out the window at my husband, tilling the field, it is so hard to believe that we were once mortal enemies.
I still remember the day that freed us like it was yesterday. Me and my companions were storming the dark lord's castle, it was a long bloody siege, lasting for three straight days were rest was impossible. Finally, we entered the fortress to face the dark lord.
Upon entering his throne room, the dark lord's power was so overwhelming that I alone was the only one left standing. Soon we started to clash, the fight lasted for hours. The castle trembled from our blows. Though neither of us gave an inch, the building couldn't stand and started to collapsed, we were soon trapped under its ruins.
I don't know how long it was but upon emerging something changed. Both of our helmets had fallen off and we starred at each others faces for the first time. Looking at his face, the exhaustion, hopelessness, and lack of joy, I recognized that face, he was tired, it was the same as mine.
Through the rumble we could hear our companions talking, wondering what happened. We could've told them what happened and continued our fight, but we both had a different idea. Without saying a word, we ran.
In the end we didn't want to continue those lives. Forced to be the hero and the dark lord.
Smiling to myself, I was glad we escaped. My husband returned from the field greeting me with a bright smile. We were now tired for different reasons with hope behind our eyes at the new future that was chosen by no one but ourselves.
|
Holy sister Ayla stared with a blank expression at the empty plain before her. Such destruction. The ground was cracked and blackened. Where a green lush forest had once stood, had been replaced with broken and scorched trees, husks of their former selves.
*Such destruction, such power* Ayla thought to herself, her sisters and brothers were gathering around. High ranking members were yelling orders, trying to keep the mass from panicking.
He was *gone*. They both were. Just moments ago their champion—their chosen one—had charged into the fray with a wide smile on his face. She held back the tears.
*Don’t give up hope, he is here somewhere.*
“Ayla! Did you see it, what happened?” a voice said from behind her. It was a boy in his early teens, her apprentice.
“I didn’t, no one could come close to the battle when he clashed with their lord.” Ayla replied as she sat down top of the hill, her hands were shaking.
“Well, you knew how he was, I’m sure he will return to us again.” Said the apprentice, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m sure he will. We cannot despair.” She said as they stared towards the sunset.
\*\*\*
“Did we really have to put on such a spectacle?” Harton asked. He still wore his black uniform and staff—which seemed to be made of black metal and crowned with a raven statue.
“We did, they needed to believe it. They needed the closure.” Replied the man next to him. He wore a plate armor of intricate design which seemed to emanate a warm golden light.
“Besides, you’ve always been into showmanship anyway.” He continued, smiling and putting his arm around Harton. “Look! We are finally free, just us now.”
They stood there for a while, basking in the light of the morning sun. They were finally far away from it all, away from ideals and duty. Away from petty politics and trivial feuds. Now it was just them alone and the joy of a simple existence.
Never done a writing prompt before but I thought I'd practice. I used \*\*\* for a scene break. If I'm breaking any rules then I apologize ahead of time.
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ja59iz6
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ja3zs96
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[WP] You're an old pirate looking for a place to settle down. You lead a smaller crew on a mission to an unknown archipelago in the south Atlantic. You see a flagless ship on the horizon. As you near, it raises a red pirate flag.
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"The job's not so bad," is what Leon said.
Us sitting in the dorm, a paused videogame blasting rock on the TV, a red wine glass with a damn straw in it, and Leon, his pale hands so enthusiastically planted onto a coffee table.
He said it wasn't so bad, and I took it. I wanted to save for a pair of golden-yellow sneakers - the price difference is insane for different foot sizes!
I didn't think I'd sell my dang soul for a pair of kicks.
So there I was every afternoon studying like everybody else at college. Then I'd take night shift, and doze off till morning. Always skipped the morning classes, anyway.
Everybody else took normal part-times though. Interns at project companies, bartenders, countless upon countless baristas...
Not me.
Now that I think about it, Leon always sipped on red wine. He never went out in the day, and he had this strange obsession with garlic.
Turns out he's a regular at this monster hotel or whatever periwinkle crap they're running.
He hangs with vampires of all sorts - gothic nobles dressed in tweed, ancient caveman-eaters, or the more modern punk goth gals with the crazy accessories and tastefully black shirts.
I always gave special service for those clients. They had a sip of my blood once and said I tasted very sweet. I wanna date them.
Apparently they usually kill a human immediately and drain all their blood for an immediate fiesta - but I had to "produce more of this delicious stuff," as they said.
Then there's the beasts. More than once has a deranged beastman try to go for my head with their Fantastical Battleaxe of World Devourers, and more than once has some chick with cat ears do the same damn thing.
I only survived because I invested in a sturdy shield - sold to me by a shady dark knight. The price was seven cabbages and a man's head. I paid with a zombie's head - it counted.
Speaking of the undead... Zombies and skeletons galore - the two seem to be under the same category of monster. One day I met their necromancer, and she seemed very unhappy that I stole one of the skeleton skulls as a flower display on my work desk.
In my defense, that skull was charred with holy flame. It looked cooler than the golden shoes I've been eyeing.
The clients always do a double-take on me. "Are you a vampire?" is a common question, and my go-to response is "my blood is fifty doubloons per milliliter. Each limb is a thousand."
I just hope some Richie Rich of the monster world doesn't come along and purchase my limbs.
Speaking of my humanity, I was called into the head office this morning.
Our boss - I've never actually seen him - was some old lich with glowy eyes. He warned me with a boomy voice that seemed to permeate from every direction -
"Such a disgrace!" is what he started off with. No pleasantries, not even a 'hello how are ya'!
"Leon brought in a hughman! Ande the hughman passed the interview!"
I didn't know what to say, goddamnit. This is my employer, a lich with every right to take my soul and turn me into a ghoul. It's in the contract, and I thought it was a joke.
"Thou shalt payeth with thine soul - be a ghoul within my army for a thousand years. Only then may thou be free."
I shrug my shoulders and tried to reach for his cup of coffee. Skeletons don't actually drink their drinks - every skeleton has a tiny black hole in their stomach cavity which they use to store items like some damn kangaroo.
The lich watched as I sipped his coffee. "Macchiato, blended, four times more cream, brown sugar, sugared cocoa. And Venti," I said.
I added that Venti part because of this videogame I've been playing. I don't work for Starbucks. But apparently the lich did.
"However... Strange. How can a hughman as thou have such affinity to our elements...?"
The lich snatched the cup away from me like I was a kid with a lighter. The coffee had dragon's blood in it, and I failed to notice.
"They say the bloode of dragounns drive men, vampyrs, and even beastmen mad. Then why do thou hath such affinity?"
In case you didn't know - well of course, you don't work here - to drink the drink of a skeleton is a form of respect. You remove them from the need to take up valuable black hole space. I don't know, trust the culture.
"Yet thou ratings are top notch. Succubi and incubi alike wry for thou touch. Vampyre women seek for thou well-being instead of blood, and beastmen say that thou art a good fighter. And they love the fighting kind."
I kind of shrugged.
"And to be so bold in thine dealings - to take my drink right as I question thou as a hughman being?!"
I must have messed up somewhere if he began shouting outta nowhere, but where? I jittered around in my seat trying to recall every step I've made, when it dawned on me.
*Liches don't follow skeleton customs.*
"Well, thou art bold, thou art charismatic, thou art well-tasted, and thou art popular. Go! See me not again!"
I just staggered out of the office and Leon, his stupid fanged grin and his chuckle waited for me. The bastard apparently already knew the outcome, and wanted to throw me a welcoming party for my formal introduction to the company.
Formal introduction? What? That felt like being interrogated by Shakespeare! And I was already working in the dang company!
So about that party... A vampire gal whispered into my ear, "the blood of dragons drive men mad." Had no idea what that meant.
But she gave me a kiss on the cheek, I got cake, and Leon sent me off with a gift. All the regular clients wished me pleasantries.
It was a good night.
I walked to our dorm solo, Leon had something to do that night. The box was weird, it was bloody without being messy, and it glowed in the dark too.
I opened it - and there it was. Golden-yellow sneakers, exactly my size and exactly the ones I wanted.
On the bottom was a line burnt in blood, it just said "xoxo", must've been the vampire chick.
The other shoe, on the other hand, had an ominous aura around it.
I checked the bottom and sure enough - magical necromancer energy burnt calligraphy into it.
"The blood of dragons drive men mad,"
I just scoffed and put it back in the box. Definitely from the vampire girl, I'll get her number soon.
Went back to the dorm, picked up my basketball, and tried on the shoes. Just a test run on some smooth wooden gym floor.
I took a look at the ominous shoe again.
"... but madmen are already mad."
|
\[Monday's Mentor\]
"Ms. Monday!" Julio was relieved to find the teenage girl. He'd heard she arrived at the hotel and he knew it was his chance to be rewarded. As soon as he learned she was there, he dashed to his room and dug out the rainbow-covered photo album he'd kept hidden away for this moment. He bolted out of his room with the album in hand and immediately began asking his fellow co-workers for Monday's whereabouts as well as searching for her himself. It was a large hotel and it took some time to finally discover her in the garden maze. The pale, rainbow-haired teenage girl in a white suit was his boss' daughter; and, she had a friend with her. Another teenage girl with a pair of golden, double-plaited braids running down her back; she wore a brown and green robe.
"Hey, Julio," Monday turned and smile at him. "This is Crystal," she said. "I told her she could visit the hotel any time she wants; make sure the staff knows her," she said.
"She will be treated as your personal guest, Ms. Monday," Julio nodded. "But, if I may have a moment of your time, please...," he added as he brought the album forward to show it to her.
"THAT should have been destroyed!" Monday had the album in her hands by the time she finished reprimanding him. Crystal was surprised; Monday was one of the calmest and most collected people she'd ever met. But, just the sight of the rainbow photo album was enough to make her snap suddenly. She recovered quickly once it was in her hands.
"I'm sorry, Julio; you're still new. Maybe you didn't know," she said. "In the future, please destroy any more of these that you find; and, report it to me after," she said.
"Yes, Ms. Monday," Julio nodded. Her reaction was exactly why he loved working there so much. The owners were always understanding. He found the job through a website that put him to work on a trial basis before he met any of his bosses. After a month the system finally arranged a meeting. His direct boss was Andrew; [an employee that joined the hotel staff as a human](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xpc9xx/wp_this_hotel_is_strange_to_say_the_least_few/) and worked his way up to becoming a Lich.
Once he was officially on staff, Julio was given a proper tour of the hotel grounds and a duty list. Somewhere in there, Andrew mentioned the mysterious rainbow photo album that was known to appear from time to time. Julio was given clear instructions to follow, should he find one. Alicia, the hotel owner and Monday's mother, was obviously where Monday's level head came from. She was always a thoughtful employer that genuinely wanted her staff to be happy. At least, that was the impression Julio always got. He didn't let Monday's minor outburst diminish his enthusiasm to help the family.
"Is there anything I may help you with, Ms. Monday?" Julio asked. He did the job he wanted to do and was ready to move on to his usual chores.
"No, thanks, Julio. You're good, "I'll take care of this," Monday said. Julio lingered an extra moment in hopes of a reward; the family was usually generous. But, she must have still been annoyed by the album because she waited with her eyes on him until he gave a curt nod and left them alone in the garden again.
"What's that album?" Crystal asked.
"It's... annoying...," Monday sighed. She shifted her weight to lean closer to Crystal as she opened the book. "This little pain in my side is my brother, Alex," she flipped through a few pages of pictures to find one that only had the boy. Crystal saw what looked like a ghostly pale 5-year-old boy with long straight rainbow hair pulled back in a ponytail. Monday flipped through a few more pages and Crystal watched the boy grow up in pictures. The next time Monday stopped to point at a picture, he was a lean, athletic teenage boy with the same rainbow ponytail and a square jaw.
"Since when do you have a brother?" Crystal asked. The news of a hidden sibling came as a surprise. She thought she knew Monday pretty well, and she'd even met her vampire mother. She briefly registered that she really didn't know much about Monday at all. She still wasn't sure how Monday could work for someone as clearly, maybe evil as Ms. Sharp. But, she'd never been able to find the right way to ask.
"In this timeline?" Monday giggled. "Since never," she grinned. Then, she flipped through several more pages of the book to get to the middle. The pictures stopped and Monday singled out a transparent page; then, she bent it. Crystal heard a distinct snap like a thin piece of glass breaking. "I'm trying to keep it that way; but, he went and set up save points. So, this book...," Monday closed the book and held it at arm's length and two small portals opened; one above it and one below. Then, a stream of bright blue plasma poured out of the top one through the book, and into the bottom one. "...keeps popping up trying to get someone to find the node and restore him." Monday discarded the book and both portals closed.
"Whoa...," Crystal was thrilled that she was still learning new things about the universe. But, she also had a sudden insight. Monday mentioned 'this timeline' and Crystal immediately thought of one person.
"Is that why you work for Ms. Sharp?" She asked.
"Huh?" Monday looked at her.
"Because, somehow, she wrote your brother out of this timeline; so you work for her now?" Monday grinned and shook her head.
"You've got it backward," she said. "Ms. Sharp wrote my brother out of this timeline because I'm so loyal. She didn't need to bribe me; it was just a nice reward.
"But why? She's Evil! Probably!" Crystal shook her head. "I can't explain it; but, she gives me a bad feeling in my stomach."
"You talked to Surge and Alis; you saw they were fine, didn't you?" Monday asked. She offered to show Crystal around Sharp Development; but, Crystal wouldn't let the tour end without seeing Surge and Alis herself.
"Yeah...," Crystal nodded.
"Do you know Ms. Sharp's story?" Monday asked.
"She's God...?" Crystal shrugged.
"But, she was born as a Zero," Monday smiled at her. "You can paint any action in a negative light and call it 'evil'. But, no matter how you look at it; Ms. Sharp had the vision and determination to climb to the top herself," Monday said. "THAT is why I work for her."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1865 in a row. (Story #055 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
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j73omra
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j73cicp
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[WP] A male wizard sells his future firstborn for knowledge to a demon. A female warlock sells her future firstborn to the fae for power. The two of them have a child together, and now the fae and demon have come to collect.
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"Can I have weekends and vacations, then?"
"No! Those are the best part! Why would you get that?"
"It's objectively less time."
"But objectively more value. You're getting out of doing dishes every day and taking them to school."
The warlock and the wizard leaned cringed as they watched the demon and the fae try to hash out the custody agreement. They glanced at the baby in the crib between them. She looked roughly as confused as they felt.
"Very well, alternating years. You get odd-numbered year vacations, I get even-number year vacations."
"...That might be acceptable, but I would like to reverse the order."
"What? Why?"
"Mortals are giant shit factories during their first year of life. It is well known."
"Ughh.... Fine. Where will she study?"
"In the fairy lands, obviously."
"Any child who eats food from the fairylands cannot leave, unacceptable."
"What, would you have her surrounded by death and damnation?"
"Lots of children grow up surrounded by death and damnation! They turn out fine!"
"Most of those children are renown dark mages who wreak havoc everywhere they go."
"Exactly! A perfectly viable career path for the daughter of two powerful magic-users."
The two adult mortals glanced at each other, then back at the demon and the fae. Each uncertain about how to proceed. Should they intervene?
"And how exactly, will she fulfill the role of a fairy princess, if she grows up surrounded by death and damnation?"
"She'll be a very unorthodox fairy princess. You lot like that sort of thing. Remember Elo The Destroyer?"
"She needs to be educated in magic crafting. That means being away from the demon realm."
"...What about the mortal realm, then?"
"What *about* it?"
"She could live here, and we could come. We get alternating vacations regardless. We can outsource the poop-handling."
"...Intriguing, to whom?"
The attention returned to the girl's parents.
"Alternating vacations, no fairy food, no demonic weaponry, renegotiate on thirteenth birthday?"
"Thirteenth? Unlucky number. Seventh."
"She'll be too young to make an informed decision. Fourteenth. Twice seventh."
"...Agreed."
They turned to the mortals, who had until then remained quiet.
"You'll be hearing from us soon."
And with that, the two creatures vanished.
"...Does this mean we actually get to keep our child?" the wizard asked the warlock with a frown.
"...I believe so. At least, for a time," she answered.
"...I haven't the faintest idea of how to take care of a child. It's part of why I made the deal."
"...Same. Perhaps we can call my mother?" she said with a cringe.
"Oh, yes, she'll help," he said with a quick nod. "...What shall we name her?"
"...I haven't the faintest."
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"The lengths some people will go to get ahead in life, eh?"
Melody of the fae shook her head as Tatiana the demon walked with her down a cobblestone road under the cover of darkness. As Tatiana gripped her lover's hand, she replied, "Though I'll never understand why the mortals are so apathetic towards the process, I'm not one to complain over a simplistic contract. Are you certain our disguises will hold up?"
Melody giggled. "Darling, please, a little faith. You demons are deceptive in your own right, but you'll find no stronger illusions than those of a faerie. Nobody save for the parents will know who or what we are." Melody looked to her left and tapped Tatiana on the shoulder. "We're here!"
Tatiana turned to face the building before them; a potion and magic tome shop with a sign shaped like a lion's head. Tatiana used her demonic power to unlock the door and held it open for Melody. As the two entered the shop, a young boy with a broom sweeping in front of the counter looked over at the pair. Melody smiled at the boy and said, "Excuse me, we're looking for the owners."
The boy averted his eyes and quietly said, "In the back."
The two thanked the boy and made their way through the shop until they found a door in the back of the room. They opened it up to reveal Albert and Alma Rainsdottir, poring over financial records. The two looked up and went wide eyed at the sight of Melody and Tatiana as the latter remarked, "Hello friends. The boy up front directed us back here--"
Albert shoved the women aside and stormed out into the shop. Suddenly, a loud *SMACK* rang through the building as Albert yelled, "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT TALKING TO PEOPLE?!!"
The boy cried out and whimpered, "F--father, please! They were asking for you--"
"DON'T GIVE ME YOUR EXCUSES!" Albert smacked the boy again as Tatiana and Melody stared at the doorway in horror. Alma sighed deeply and said, "The boy out there is yours to do with as you please. Though I imagine a magicless waste like him won't do you much--"
Melody abruptly cut off Alma by slamming her head against the desk. As Alma slumped over unconscious, Tatiana walked out into the shop and grabbed Albert's wrist as hellfire burned her handprint into his arm. Before Albert could scream, Tatiana gripped his throat with her other hand and hissed, "Touch the boy again and I'll break you in half."
Melody dragged Alma's body out and kneeled down next to the boy. "What's your name?"
"S--Sebastian."
"Hi Sebastian. My name is Melody, and this is my wife Tatiana. Your parents made a deal with us and the price they had to pay was...well, you."
Sebastian's eyes were void of any shock or confusion. "That sounds like them."
Tatiana placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder and softly said, "You don't need to be afraid anymore, okay? You're safe with us. Nobody's ever gonna hurt you again."
Sebastian started to tear up before breaking down into wild tears and collapsing into Tatiana's arms. Tatiana gently lifted her boy up and tenderly caressed his head. As Melody joined in, she whispered, "We're gonna burn down the shop on our way out, right?"
"Of course. Our boy deserves that peace of mind."
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j5oqckf
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j5nykh6
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[WP] A bunch of the wizards' college students are arguing about which magical focus is superior. Staffs, wands, orbs, books, nobody agrees on anything. Then the newest student offers a rather unusual alternative.
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"It's a new piece of artifistry." Jolka Fimbir said as she pulled out an odd looking contraption from her robes. "Works on the same principle of Canons and basic fire-arms but with your own magic.
Now that Ysol could see it, she could admit the little kolbold has a point to it; it was shaped like a pistol though it didn't have a chamber. Instead, it had where she presumed the mechanisms (Hey she was on the conjuration track, give her a break) for cockign and loading was instead a focus crystal for mana. "It's called a Magi-Pistol. Some people use swords, books, and a staff but i think this one helps us with ease of use. It's literally just like a gun!'
"it's just a gimmick wand." Glynda scoffed.
"and Wands are just smaller staffs." her elven boyfriend childed. "Though i have to say i think it works but you can't beat the classics."
"You can keep a wand closer to you." The human woman replied with a roll of her eyes. "It's a gimmick."
"Eh, suit yourself." Jolka replied. "It's a lot more fun."
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What do u mean with focus ?I got adhd i literally cant focus any longer then 30 seconds.
*How do u do magic then ?*
By just using your imagination to do the magic? That even saves the time of speeling out the spell.
*So what do you use to bundle your energy through? A ring or something ? or do you carry a wand hidden somewhere ?*
No why would i need something like that if i can just use my imagination to bundle the magic.
*I dont belive that . Can u demonstrate that ? I wanna see something big. Something like throwing a fireball at that rock overthere.*
Sure can do that.
**KABOOOOOOMMMM** The rock gets turned into a puddle of glowing lava within the blink of an eye.
Well i think i might have overcommitted a little bit. I only intended to get the stone glowing from the heat.
*What on earth was that??? How did you just melt a rock ??? Its near impossible to do that with a fireball even for a grandmaster.*
That was just a small little bit of power? Its not that hard. It just takes as little energy as lifting up a house.
*Did u just say liffting up a house?????????????? Thats not possible you would need 10 or more grandmasters just to lift up a house. How the hell should it be possible to lift up a house ???*
Well by using your imagination? It allows for nearly anything with enough imagination and will.
*I think u should show your powers to the Collage-grandmaster. He will be impressed.*
Alright i will do that.
To be continued........
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k6z6j22
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k6yomv4
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[WP] You're a therapist in charge of a support group for super villains to try and rehabilitate them, but then the superhero agency sent someone to kill you, because if you succeed then the government will cut their budget in halved.
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\[Everyday Occurrence\]
"Morning, Mom," Maxwell walked into the kitchen to find his mother, Debbie, sipping coffee at the table. She turned and smiled at him.
"Morning, honey! How was it?" she asked. She set her coffee down and stood before he answered. "Want some breakfast?"
"Please," he nodded as he took a seat by the table. "I got a promotion at work, I'm a manager now!" he said.
"Aww that's fantastic," Debbie smiled at him with pride. "My baby boy's all grown up," she giggled, then focused on preparing his meal.
"AND....," he stressed the word to get her attention. She looked back at him.
"Annnnd..?" she asked.
"A new company appeared; they came from...," he paused for effect. "...an alternate universe," he said. Debbie gasped and rushed to the table.
"Really?" she asked. Maxwell nodded.
"Chroma Corp. has branches on hundreds of thousands of Earths, they claim... I'm going to try and see if I can meet with anyone that might know something about me....," he gestured at himself with a shrug.
"Oh honey... that's exciting... I think."
"You think?" Maxwell was a little surprised his mother wasn't more excited.
"You know I want you happy and safe...," she touched his shoulder with love, then returned to the counter. "It's just... it took a lot for me to get used to this dynamic. I'm worried about it changing. I'll lose my baby...,"
"Mom, you know I'll always be your baby boy, no matter what I look like," he said.
"I know...," she sighed as she mixed the ingredients. "...I'm just not as quick to adapt as you are; I will though," she said. She knew she had to let him go and grow up into a self-sufficient, responsible man. Unfortunately, his condition made it feel a lot sooner than she was ready for. The only thing she could do was try and be a good mother every day that he was there.
"I know," Maxwell nodded. "Besides, who knows how it'll work out, or if they can even help me at all. Right now all I'm hoping for is maybe they can find a way to connect this Earth to the other one; everyone at work really wants to meet you," he said.
"You talk about me at work?" Debbie asked.
"Of course! You're the best mom ever," he answered.
"Thanks," she smiled as she finished with his breakfast and took it to the table.
"And have you told them anything else about your life over here?" she asked and set down his meal.
"Not much...," Maxwell shook his head. He raised his arms but couldn't quite reach it.
"Sorry," Debbie chuckled as she moved the bottle closer to his tiny hands.
"It's okay," Maxwell smiled as he gripped the bottle with both hands. He brought the nipple up to his mouth but finished his thought before he began drinking. "I wouldn't even know how to tell them I'm only three weeks old over here."
\*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #2106 in a row. (Story #296 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a Corporation in my universe. The stories can be found in order on my subreddit: [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/1624330/pineapple_cup_23_first_six_weeks/https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/1624330/pineapple_cup_23_first_six_weeks/).
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**I do not give permission for my work or audio recordings of it to be posted on YouTube or Tik-Tok. Thank you.**
I'm falling.
I've see so many things; so many lives. People I say that I'll never forget but that I know I will. It's not just the epic tales, but I can tell you those too, if you want.
Before I wake up.
Before I'll never see you again.
Is that what you want to hear? Alright. One grand story. Then we'll see how much time we have left.
Once upon a time, there was a village besieged by a monster. To the north of the village their were endless plains. To the west, a worn road that led very far away but was seldom used. And then, to the south and the east, there was a forest. It was grand thing, trees reaching for the sky and whispering with the wind, an expansive canopy blocking out the light and leaving mushrooms and stranger things to grow on the forest floor.
And, of course, there was the monster. It did not appear how you thought a monster might: no yellow eyes or bristling fur or too-sharp teeth. No, it was the *smile* that was too sharp, imperfect in its perfection.
The man was perfect in every way, face perfectly symmetrical and movements graceful and precise. Poorly were his kind named the fair folk, for while his bargains were many things they were never *fair.*
He would not make them if they were.
The man - the thing pretending to be a man - had no name. At least, not at the beginning.
By the time I woke up, he already had three.
You see, people would wander into the forest. No, not wander. That makes it seem like it was done on a whim, like it was unnecessary or frivolous.
It was not. It was a small village, and a long road to the nearest town. A long road that no one travelled down - except me. That, you see, was where I woke up.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
They needed things from the forest, and so they went. That is the way people act, the way people will always act.
But it was not just the leaves that whispered, in that forest. It was him, too, and his whispers were a more dangerous kind.
The kind that made you forget, the kind that made you feel like you could trust someone.
The kind that made you comfortable enough to give up your name.
And then those empty, nameless shells *wandered* back out of the forest and back into their lives, their eyes still seeing but that sight now belonging to someone - no, *something* \- else.
And then I entered.
You asked for a grand tale, so I wish I could've said that I tried. That I was noble and brave and wanted to help.
But instead, keeping hope close to my heart, I ran into the forest and looked for them. There are tales back in the world I was born in, you know, about fae. About creatures that took names and ownership of wealth and debt with them. About creatures that took blessings - but would also take curses, if they weren't careful.
Such is the power of a name.
So I ran, and I looked for him, and I offered my name. Because I wanted to stop forgetting. Because I wanted to have a place and stay there, have an existence that belonged to me.
Before I could speak, he ran, too. His eyes saw true and he was afraid of the burden I bore.
So I guess I did help them, in the end. I don't really know.
What? Why are you looking at me like that? It *is* a grand tale. If you squint. There was a monster and a village and at the end only the village remained. There was magic, too, which I think is another important part of a *grand tale*. And besides, I don't really have any others.
I told you, I keep forgetting. A little bit on accident, a little bit on purpose.
Am I sorry I met you?
I... don't know.
Are you sorry you met me?
I'll let my answer be the same to that.
So please, tell me. Before I wake up.
r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my stuff.
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meor413
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meo9u5k
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[WP]One day you wake up in the last video game you played with a note that says "you have to stay alive for 100 days or else you die in the real world: p.s. all mods are disabled for the 100 days.
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The cold shocks me awake.
That sort of biting cold that only really exists in fantasy settings, that chills you to the bone even through the thick fur blanket, yet somehow doesn't instantly freeze your sweat to your skin.
My surroundings are familiar, I know this place... but where?
I find the note.
Confusion becomes amusement but gives way to fear at that last line.
"All mods disabled for the 100 days"
I am doomed. I dare not even move lest my mere presence set off a chain reaction of this barely functioning world's catastrophically overtuned physics and sends my very breakfast, some bread and cheese, careening around the room before it ultimately kills me.
It was once said about this world by one of its gods "It just works".
No, Todd, it doesn't.
Not without mods.
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Derail valley
I wake up on a ratty couch. No hunger, no exhaustion. I get up and walk out of the building I’m in. As I walk out I see a table piled with pieces of paper. Red, yellow and green coded. There are two machines in the corner. One is called the career manager and the other is an order validator. I walk out into the quiet yard. Sounds of machinery in the distance.
I walk into the yard looking at the various cargo rakes waiting to be moved and transported. A bright light glows in the far distance. I jog towards it. A blue form materialises behind the light. It’s a DM3 diesel mechanical shunter. Heart racing I run around the yard looking for a storage track. B8S. There’s a load of empty flats. SM-SL-37. Quick count of the cars. There’s seven of them.
I run back to the station office to find the order. Load up steel billets and move to B2O within 20 minutes for 7855$. I slide it into the order validator. It spits out a red file. The clock has started. I run for the waiting engine and climb into the beautiful blue rust bucket. I flick the switches one by one. The engine grumbles and growls to life. I throw the reverse into forward and the engine starts to creep forward. I’m living the life!!!
I don’t ever want to come back to real life.
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meor413
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meophyr
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[WP]One day you wake up in the last video game you played with a note that says "you have to stay alive for 100 days or else you die in the real world: p.s. all mods are disabled for the 100 days.
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The cold shocks me awake.
That sort of biting cold that only really exists in fantasy settings, that chills you to the bone even through the thick fur blanket, yet somehow doesn't instantly freeze your sweat to your skin.
My surroundings are familiar, I know this place... but where?
I find the note.
Confusion becomes amusement but gives way to fear at that last line.
"All mods disabled for the 100 days"
I am doomed. I dare not even move lest my mere presence set off a chain reaction of this barely functioning world's catastrophically overtuned physics and sends my very breakfast, some bread and cheese, careening around the room before it ultimately kills me.
It was once said about this world by one of its gods "It just works".
No, Todd, it doesn't.
Not without mods.
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I groaned myself awake, looking up blearily at a window that was... on the wrong side of my room? I bolted upright, hand reaching for a partner who turned out to be missing. A crumpled piece of paper is all I found, reading it, I patted myself down, reassuring myself that this was not a dream. "You have to stay alive for 100 days or else you die in the real world: p.s. all mods are disabled for the 100 days."
I looked over the edge of the not even twin sized bed, down at a gambeson, plate, and greaves, shit just got real.
I fumble around looking for Henry's, er, *my* pouch, while Mutts tail beats away at the bottom of the bed. I hear forge work to my left, and quiet talking to the right, meaning I'm still at the blacksmith, where I had last slept to save. This... This could work... I find my coin pouch and take a quick count, over 3000.
Oh yeah, this would be easy. I'll just hang out here, work on blacksmithing, shoot some targets, and there's a bathhouse with a few different girls across the street. I'm filthy rich, and I haven't committed any crimes. I'm good for 100 days. This'll be a vacation!
Throwing on my smiths apron, I shove open the door, mutt follows at my heels as I begin walking up to the tavern to find myself some breakfast, a jaunt in my step as I ponder what Bohemian food really tastes like.
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l1rdfsp
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l1rbvh5
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[WP] You die. When you meet God he says “So, how was Heaven?”
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"THE LAST TIME I ALLOWED THIS MY HEROLD BEAT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A CHESS BOARD"
Charon managed to say as he was looking for an out here. This monster of a man was giving him a run for his money. He seemingly had a perfect dodge and his hardened fist hit like granite boulders. It was just not conceivable. He, a mortal pushing the personification of death to his limits. It was madness
He snarled shouting "Stop trying to distract me baldy I will win my life back. Those bastards are going to try to harm my family and that shall not happen."
Charon listened to this and pondered. He family wasn't on his lists just yet. Was that because he would allow this mortal to live his stolen life and save his family? Would He pull a Thanatos and kill them before they can harm his family. That's when the punch connects. It hits him square in his temple knocking charon down.
The warrior looks upon his downed foe with a smile. "I have beaten you death, give me back my life" he bends over to help charon up. This creature is truly one of a kind.
"SO YOU HAVE MAGNUS. I ADMIT DEFEAT. YOU ARE FREE TO SAVE YOUR LOVED ONES. BE IT KNOWN I NOW HAVE A NEW DEATH TIME FOR YOU AND YOU CANNOT AVOID A SECOND DEATH."
He nods thanking charon. He hops onto a horse and departs into the sunset. Ah screw it charon thinks and walk through a tear in reality to the mans family. He watches them a woman in her late 20s early 30s is cooking a meal for 3 children none of whom are over 10. Thats when the pounding at the door peaks his curiosity.
The raiders had arrived but where having a difficult time knocking down the door. That's when suddenly the leader just drops dead on the lawn. The other four dont notice until another one the idiot pounding away on the door is cleaved in two. That's the moment they finally saw him. And within a few moments all of them where collected and charon departed to throw them personally in the furnace of hell.
The warrior arrives home about an hour later to bodies strewn around his home. Shocked he gets off his horse for a closer look.
"YOU WILL FIND THEM ALL QUITE DEAD MAGNUS. I HEARD YOUR CRY AND IT MOVED ME TO MAKE SURE THEY DIDNT INTERFER IN MY BUISNESS AGAIN."
Charon bowed his head to the man and began to leave. "Wait death a moment longer with you please" magnus asks. Charon turns to him waiting for him to say his peace. "From my very soul i thank you. I know not how much time you have given me but know i will spend it wisely."
With that charon nods and vanishes. He rather enjoyed that. Plus looking at his ledger he would see the man again in 25 years. Hopefully age will take off some of that nasty right hook. His skull still hurt from that.
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I play games with my souls. I let a few of them have more time if they play well, even if they don't win. I get them after a few days, months, years.
Some fellows choose simple board games, either for lack of imagination or because they enjoy the simplicity. Chess, snakes and ladders, backgammon. The chess players are almost always sporting about it, though there was that one man who accused me of receiving instructions via anal vibrator, after I scholars' mated him.
Some choose the most complex war games. Early editions of Warhammer. That one that HG Wells wrote. They try to bind me with rules and complexity, not realizing that Death has infinite patience. It ceases being fun when you drag it out too long, and I always get them in the end.
PvP gamers are invariably the most skilled. It takes years of practice to even begin to...how do they say it? Gitgud. To even begin to gitgud at the lowest levels. And yet, they rage against their fate and call foul the most often when they lose. At once the most and the least deserving of more time.
The one I will always remember is the only one who desired a physical game.
John was a Marine, and had lost his legs in battle. He didn't even want more time, all he wanted was just the feeling of running again. When I visited him in the hospital, it was the first time he was at peace from his PTSD since he would get what he wanted. He said Airsoft.
Imagine his surprise when he found himself in a jungle with his legs. I stood opposite him behind a row of foliage, my cloak turned ghillie, my scythe turned to a rifle. He wore the same and he had his legs back, and we split at the starting whistle.
John ran like his life depended on it. I suppose in a way it did. He ducked and covered and jumped and rolled and fired and maneuvered like he never had before. I never once drew a bead on him; he killed me again and again and again.
Imagine getting to kill Death. I've seen a fair few souls of warriors die and fight for a little more time, and it is not pleasant, especially in the previous ages. Viking berserkers and Apache braves, samurai and Zulu, I've had to end such fighting spirit the only way it could be ended. It was the only life they knew and while I'm sure they went to their afterlifes with pride....their vaunted prowess was never a match for their final enemy, and I have never enjoyed taking the truly valiant.
John was different. Despite his fractured mind and fragile emotions, he'd managed to make peace with passing, surrounded by his loving family who would live in luxury because of his actions. He put his effort not into fighting, but simply in running free, and even without the effort he was such a good soldier as to rival the warriors of ages past in skill and vigor.
I did not grant him extra time. It would lengthen his pain in that shell of a body and limited, overstressed consciousness.
I did continue to battle with him every so often, on fields and forests, tundra and beaches and cities. John was the only soul in around three centuries that I've accorded the honor of keeping intact in my personal collection.
I wonder who will be next?
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m5is6aa
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m5hs4zm
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[WP] The chosen warrior your kingdom summoned from another world turned out to be a horrifying monster just barely disguised as a human. Despite this, they've somehow proven to be far more reliable than the other heroes summoned by the rival kingdoms.
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"Well I mean he did manage to kill the demon lord within a month."
The king put his hand to his chin in contemplation as his advisors and other members of the royal family and clergy sat around the table.
Ealandra, one of the other heroes summoned, deemed to be quite a talented cleric spoke up in exasperation. "Your king, he did so by infiltrating the Demon Lord's sewer system and systematically killing off every one of the demon lord's subjects before killing the lord himself!"
The king tilted his head to the side, considering the prospect. "Well at least he's thorough."
Ealandra's jaw went slack as she looked at the king in shock. "Your majesty he killed the demon lord over the course of a WEEK, taking off limbs and allowing him to escape and create barricades just to give him a false sense of hope! At one point he acted like silver was able to hurt him, prompting the demon lord to run to the treasury and assemble a cannon, which he then disappeared from after it was fired, making the demon lord think it was safe to sleep before being woken up in the middle of the night by his monstrous visage!"
"Well let's see what the hero has to say for himself." He gestured and his court magician tentatively removed the magic chain binding the hero's mouth shut.
The hero sighed, cracking his neck a few times before opening is eyes, black except for two eery yellow pinpoints of light. He cleared his throat, giving a brief view of a gullet filled with thin gleaming teeth. He looked up at the king before speaking.
"Was I entertaining at least?"
The king grinned as he looked into those cold, merciless eyes. "Very. Unbind the man, treat him to whatever he likes."
The court bowed their heads and each thought of what may happen.
The king and the hero made eye contact and nodded, regarding each other with the respect that the clownfish shows the anemone, that the urchin shows the crab, that the man, shows the dog.
Things were starting to get interesting.
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I watched him from afar, trying my best to keep from shivering.
As a princess of the kingdom, it was my duty to help, and support the summoned warrior...
But this one we summoned was a horrifying monster...barely resembling a human.
His eyes, his behavior...his views...are almost worse than those of the demons.
Despite all this...
He just came back from a skirmish against the demons, and rival kingdoms...victorious...and it's not the first time.
"Bartholomew...welcome back." I smiled.
He smirked.
"Pretty thing...finally feeling "better"?" he asked.
I smiled.
"Thank you, yes.
Sorry that I couldn't see you last time, and that I haven't escorted you when you left to wage a battle for our kingdom.
Thank you for everything." I said, slightly bowing.
He snorted...and left.
I sighed in relief...casting a healing spell on my hands, as my palms, and nails were in dire need of it.
I was having tea, when a maid came in.
"Your Highness, the Chosen One...Bartholomew killed the hostages from the other kingdoms, and drank their blood.
He also took some...some of the maids with him to the bedroom...and a butler saw him after bath...
He went crazy.
Your Highness, that man is no mortal!" the maid said.
I shuddered.
"We know...Jasmine, we know..." was all I said.
She bowed and left.
A few days later, the capital city was surrounded by heads on spikes...
All high-ranking officials...or they used to be, as the Chosen One found out they were actually demons in disguise.
I watched the scene with a heavy heart...barely containing my breakfast's contents...
"Pretty things like you shouldn't watch adult stuff." a voice mocked, as he appeared.
"Thank you for cleaning the kingdom's pests." I said.
He whistled.
"Oh, you got a little spunk after all...I like it.
Well, I am off to eat, I mean, fight another war with the rival kingdoms...
This world is fun, demons, wars everywhere...and they are real! Not games!" his eyes shone, as he started running.
In but a few seconds, I couldn't even see his shadow anymore...
After he left, I relaxed.
"We will win this round of wars...and the kingdom shall ascend to become an Empire, our dynasty starting with Father or eldest brother, but afterwards...
How and who will contain...that thing?" I muttered, going to the library.
I didn't have much talent in magic, but the books of the past might hold an answer to our future problems...
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jyhatig
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jyh7jar
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[WP] A girl shows up in your house claiming to be your daughter and telling you that she’s glad your both okay with tears in her eyes. When you tell her that you and your partner don’t have any children, her face goes pale
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There is a knock at the door.
I wonder who it could be. The only visitors we get here are delivery people, and most of them leave packages by the gate. Even the Jehovah's Witness people avoid our driveway. The driveway is too steep and long.
Yet here is someone knocking on my door.
I open the internal door, leaving the security door locked.
A girl stands there. I don't know her.
"Packages can go in the drop box at the gate. We are perfectly happy with our chosen religious beliefs. Our electrics are already 'eco friendly' and solar panels mean that no matter what savings your company offers, you can't beat free."
The girl remains.
~"What? I'm...I'm not here for any of that. I'm Sophie, your daughter."
"I don't have any children. I don't want any either. I can't have any, and I have no plans to adopt."
~"But..." Sophie's face falls. "You're my...my mother. Can I talk to my dad? Your husband?"
She seems genuine. She's a good actress.
"Take a seat on the porch. I'll be out with tea and coffee soon. Then we'llsort this out"
~"Can't I come in? It's cold out here."
"You can wait on the porch. There is an old blanket on the swing. I'm not letting a stranger in my house. Stay on the porch, in sight of the camera, or I'll call the police."
~"But I'm your daughter! Can't you see our resemblance?"
I laugh "I think I'd remember having a kid. How old are you anyway? 15?"
~"18. I just saw my records. The paperwork said my parents are Alessandra White nee Holland and Nathaniel White. I looked you up further and found this address."
My blood ran cold. The eighteenth anniversary of a car accident that nearly ended my life and Nate's life, and did end the life of our unborn child passed in March. I was in ICU for a month. In and out of consciousness. So many drugs. So much rehabilitation. I remember very little from that time.
A part of me flairs with hope, wanting her to be telling the truth. Another thinks there could have been a hospital mix up with our paperwork and some other family who had a baby on that fateful day. Or she could be a gold digger, trying to lie her way into a fortune.
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There was a sliver of red in her blonde hair. She'd never been known to do highlights. Green hoop earrings dangled from her ears, a pair I didn't recognize. She looked slimmer than I'd ever seen her. And that white blouse and black pants? I didn't normally see her out of pajamas.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked again. The woman in front of me bared a passing resemblance to my mother, but it wasn't her. It couldn't be. There had been a mistake.
This was my house. It had the same slate gray walls with white trim, the same living room with a corner fireplace. But the decorations were wrong. Pictures I'd never seen before hung next to the TV depicting places that we'd never been. The fridge was free of the magnets that my brother and I often played with as children. Gone was the bookshelf of video games he'd considered his crown jewel. Everywhere I looked, it seemed that there was no trace that I'd ever lived here.
"What..." I let out, the call coming sharply back to mind before I could formulate my thoughts.
It didn't look like there'd been any accident. Mom said she'd had a few bruises and that Dad was unscathed. This woman didn't have any bruises, none at all, she looked ready for a night on the town.
"What are you staring at, miss?" she said sternly. I heard a tap-tap-tap sound as she anxiously clicked her left heel against the hardwood floor. Mom never wore heels.
"Who are you?" I asked
"And who are you?" she asked
Tension rose in my Adam's apple. There'd been a mistake, something I needed to figure out, but I needed time. I couldn't handle this now, so I turned and fled as fast as I could.
Bright sunshine smacked my face as a cold winter's day greeted me. I stood on the porch for a moment to take in a perfect snowy landscape, the powder untouched. The car was missing from the drive. *That was to be expected. It'd been an accident.*
I heard Mom's voice on the phone again and again. "Come when you can, we're OK, it was just a minor fender bender." This would've put my mind at ease, if she hadn't then said that "the car is a bit totaled, your father said the engine was smashed." Mom always had a way of downplaying things to put me at ease, and I always had a way of worrying about them anyways.
*Mom, where are you?*
I walked forward to look back at the house again, to make sure it was the right one, that I hadn't made some stupid mistake. An eerie feeling came over me. *The car was missing from the drive.* How had I gotten here? Where was...
Oh.
The accident came back in a flash. I'd been on the way to my parents house. A semi-truck ran the light and smashed directly into me. That was the last thing I ever saw.
I'd ceased to exist.
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j5k76rg
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j5k2rso
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[WP] You are a therapist that has been isekai´d into a classic fantasy world. You are praised as one of the best doctors of their time, but unbeknownst to them, you are slowly going insane by how screwed up their lives are.
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The psyches of those in this world beyond my own are truly… something. As with all cases, in my previous world or beyond, the true depths of the mind lie terrible, dark, and disheartening secrets. I have perspective on those of modern times, of modern societies, but what I have seen here was completely and utterly foreign to me.
It was like a storybook meant for those with imaginative minds, except with every single negative aspect of actual reality mixed into it to form another spiral of human suffering. Suffering in ways I have never even heard of in my career, ever. The most I can do is correlate their general themes with what I’ve already seen.
Not even factoring in the innate stress of living in a pre-modern society, the lives of the people here are constantly plagued by such strange hardships. True evils, the deistic threat of *total* annihilation, even dying doesn’t bring them rest. Many people I have personally spoke to here have experienced death several times over, yet never found peace. They always come back.
Simply… existing, as a member of the so-called “undead” seems like a never ending nightmare. Their minds are fogged with the extant decay of their brain, they cannot obey their own senses, yet they are forever cursed to roam this world on the whim of whoever brought them back. I’m not one to draw conclusions, but this feels sickening. Subjection to such a thing is a fate nobody deserves.
Moving ahead from the grisly topic of the dead, the living do not seem to be faring much better. Many go mad trying to pursue this world’s latent and rather unexplainable powers. Others live in constant fear of their overlords. Some even have… Well, let’s just say that “evil” is a universal constant with any form of sapient being.
I’ve seen it back home. I see it here now. How people treat one-another merely based on anger, pride, sadism, or what-have-you. What humanity, and in this case, everything beyond, can do itself truly knows no bounds.
I never believed the existence of the soul, nor believed in the legitimacy of anything spiritual for more than the sake of easing one’s mind, but personally seeing the living essence of so many things being ripped out and… destroyed in front of me, it flipped my entire worldview on its head.
I have spoken with an individual who had that happen to them recently, one that “survived.” It was like speaking to a hollow shell, like trying to converse with computer. I have seen a fair deal of emotionless types from my time in the old world, but this took it to a new level. Their physicality remained, but anything that made them distinctly… them, was all but lost in an instant.
Magic and madness go hand-in-hand. Without it, this world would only ever be as cruel as our own, but the omnipresence of powers like these can brung suffering in unforeseen ways.
I do not get it.
With how such a powerful thing is used for such… malice, it makes me reconsider how great the gift sapience truly is. With the evil it brings, and the awareness it curses us all with.
I need to think… About everything.
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The line at my shop formed before dawn and got longer every day. Elves, dwarves, humans, and even the occasional tiefling came carrying what they claimed was the last of their coin for my consult. I wish I could say it helped them. My approach was reasonable, if not wholly rational, but it seems like logic had failed them. When I told three elves that the best way to get along with their dwarven neighbors was to be nice and make a peace offering, they came back saying the dwarves said they were "weak in arms," with the three dwarves in tow claiming that the elves were "a hindrance." When I told a tiefling and a human who had decided to be together in a romantic relationship that everything was fine and that they should "make new roads together," they came back claiming that the village they lived in had almost stoned them to death. Then I had several villagers from that village come and consult me about their anxiety over the ruckus.
On most days, it felt like a war between tribes was inevitable, that I should give up my practice and take up my wand. If it weren't for the King, I'm sure it would've already happened. Their divisions seemed rooted in prejudices and biases that came from their earliest upbringing, a desire to compete with another dominated over any inclination to do well by one another. I wondered if they were but beasts in disguise, their supposed intellect an illusion in a crystal ball.
It was the end of a particularly hard day when I received a visit from Senae, a small blue fairy with two tiny wings no thicker than a sheet of papyrus. Fae were rare in my shop. Over the years, I noted that they were a tribe that seemed to know how to work out their differences amongst themselves.
"What ailment may I assist you with?" I asked her as she flew in and locked her tiny green eyes on my gaze.
"I'm most sorry for the intrusion, but I have been watching from the rivers and I see that you are not well," she said at once, catching me off guard. I was not used to those in my shop acting like me. If not outright offensive, such a thing was to be considered a thorn in my side.
"I am quite fine, if not for the gentle flogging of my spirit." I waved my arm as if to shoo her into place, but she flew closer, coming within half of a staff's length.
"I think you must be honest with your soul."
"You know nothing. The visions in the water are often short of sight and suited for your own kind."
She flittered. "You know nothing of our ways or our visions. Your sight is limited to the brains of mortal creatures, your magic tied to the earth and its complexities."
"You too are mortal!" I had become angry now. Who was this creature to dictate my ways?
"Mortality is relative, as are these lives you sow much mana into. Have you not forgotten the ways of the Holy Pantheon? For each creature, its purpose, from the boar to the dragon!"
"Its purpose should not be war. We've had enough fighting."
"Your purpose is to sow peace, but not by fixing what cannot be fixed. You must amplify the good and ignore the perilous. Let the boar proliferate in the forests and the dragons in the mountains. In their own happiness, they will find peace amongst themselves."
Perhaps if I had been right of mind I would have comprehended her. Instead, in vile anger, I pulled my wand from its sleeve and pointed it at her. I summoned the words of a spell to put her under my control, and that was the last thing I remembered before I awoke in prison with this papyrus and pen.
I only wish I hadn't committed such a mistake to lead me to consider the meaning of life eternally.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
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jfpuljs
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jfpsavj
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[WP] You wake up with several messages on your phone, all of them from your friends and family telling you some variation of "TURN ON YOUR TV NOW". On your way to your living room to turn on the TV, you see something out of the window: dozens of camera crews standing outside your home.
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As much as Alfred would like to paste himself face down on the pillow on an early Sunday morning, the raucous din outside was impossible to ignore. The deafening whir of a helicopter and the knocking on his door grew louder and more frequent. His phone was buzzing and vibrating incessantly, he thought it was going to tear a hole through his pocket.
*Turn on your TV!*
*Check out the news!*
*Dad is this true?*
He kept swiping away at the deluge of notifications, hoping to spot something from his motley crew or his god. When he stumbled over to the nearest window and tried to peer through the blinds, all he saw were dozens of reporters and camera crews posed to take photos. [The last time he had to deal with that amount of press was the day he announced his resignation from the company he founded.]( https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11ylcm8/wp_a_mark_on_your_forehead_identifies_the_god_you/jdbcqfq/)
Innsmouth was supposed to be a change of pace, an idyllic fishing village with a population that numbered only in the thousands. A quiet village away from the hustle and bustle of the capital city, he thought he could look forward to a semi-retired life while playing chosen one to a strange, mysterious god who marked him for supposedly greater things.
Now, Innsmouth had grown into a vibrant, touristy town, experiencing a boom in population, and he found himself exceedingly busy with his new duties at the church with nary a break.
Alfred tried calling his marketing manager Jerry. Isn’t this his job to deal with the press if they hounding the team? Jerry was tasked with helping Innsmouth keep a low profile despite some of the crazy shenanigans his god had up his sleeves. No answer. He rapidly typed a quick message to ask Jerry to call him back very urgently.
*Hey Alfred, I’m investigating the source of the leak. Will keep you updated*
It was Katrina Watson, the occult detective his former co-founder brought into the fray.
*Kat, what was leaked?*
Alfred absolutely had to know in order to deal with the swarm of paparazzi outside.
[*It’s Donna’s case. Potential sources would be her father, Gordon, or those two gods, Montag and Aerova. I’m sending you all the info I have at hand now.*]( https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/12ecn8d/wp_please_i_know_he_kidnapped_you_and_turned_you/jfbqk97/)
[That incident was why he had that signboard erected to warn followers to be very careful what they wished for.]( https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/12dhw2v/wp_youre_an_ancient_and_powerful_dragon_master_of/jf72zo6/) Yet, it seemed it was too late, with that story blowing up despite settling out of court with Gordon.
He wasn’t sure he was going to like what was going to be on the Sunday news if he turned on the television or flipped through the newspaper.
“Eldritch god at Innsmouth horribly mutates teenager at Church Camp”
Fuck. He picked up the newspaper just below the door flap and quickly scanned through it. Couldn’t be arsed to turn on his television. He already knew what he was going to see if he switched to the news channel.
Alfred trudged to the fridge to grab some beer. He didn’t care that it was a terrible idea to drink on an empty stomach on a bright morning, but he was going to need it. Those cowards, he cursed under his breath. Montag and Aerova were just as culpable for recklessly transforming Donna to the point she mutated into a mass of bloodshot eyes and mismatched limbs, but they were all too happy to heap the full blame on Elvari and feed him to the sharks. Those two self-righteous fools were initially adamant that it wasn’t worth the backlash to revoke their cursed gifts on Donna and would rather let her die until Elvari threatened to devour them and utilize their powers to save her.
It still wasn’t enough. Her body might have been restored, but her mind had been already broken from the trauma.
As he slumped onto his couch, at a loss for words or ways to deal with the press outside, he felt a hand on his shoulder and noticed a glass of warm water being offered to him.
“Lord Elvari, when did you get here?” Alfred asked.
“I squeezed in through one of your open windows from the back. It was a very tight squeeze but I made it. You need me here.”
“You shouldn’t be here. You need to lie low until this tides over and people move on to the next exciting bit of news.” Alfred shook his head.
“I’ll be fine, I’m quite used to being looked upon as the villain, just typical eldritch life. I'm quite aware I'm no virtuous paragon of purity with a squeaky clean past." Elvari shrugged. “You can’t stay stuck in your house all day, Alfred, I’ll go with you and talk to the press. Jerry has already briefed me, we spent the whole night discussing PR strategies once Katrina caught the leak. The only thing we didn’t anticipate was that the press would come to your house rather than the church to look for me.”
“What do I need to do? I would say pray to god things don’t worsen, but…”
“You can pray to your god right here. Then get dressed, step out the door, smile, nod, and let me do the talking.”
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[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
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I toss off the covers, confusion setting in the hazy strip between being asleep and awake. Something seems out of place, like part of my brain won't let go of a dream that my conscious mind can't remember.
I'm in my own bed and nothing seems out of place. I had a few beers during the game last night, but I barely buzzed before setting off for bed. Nothing out of the ordinary to explain why I would feel so out of sorts. In fact, it had been a pretty boring game because I couldn't even remember the score. Or who was playing.
The thin shaft of light slicing through the gap in the blackout curtains was brighter than I would expect. I must have slept later than I wanted to, although since it was Saturday, it's not like I had anywhere I needed to be.
I sit up at the sound of my phone buzzing, but don't reach for it right away. Probably one of my friends with some idiotic plan for the day I wasn't ready to deal with until I'd at least brushed my teeth.
But still the feeling remains as I step out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants.
I stretch, trying to feel if I slept on something wrong and that was the cause of my unease. After stretching my shoulders and a few quick jumping jacks, everything seems to be in working order. If anything, I feel better than I have in years. I'm not stiff or tired or bogged down with any of the other aches that slowly set over time.
The phone on my nightstand buzzes again and I grab it on the way to the bathroom, cracking my neck with a satisfying crack followed by a release of tension throughout my shoulders and back.
What was I so wary about just a few minutes ago? I feel amazing this morning and I'm not about to let some lingering dream, probably nothing more than last night's nachos, bother me now.
Had I made those nachos at home? That doesn't seem like something I'd do. But I didn't go out, did I?
I must have Door Dashed them, I think, a rinse my mouth with some mouthwash. A few beers and I'm reaching for that app without really even thinking about it. That definitely sounds like something I'd do.
My phone buzzes again from where I chucked it on the counter. The notification flashes a text message from my friend Jason. "What did you do last night???????"
Was I supposed to meet him to watch the game? I don't remember any plans. Besides, Jason doesn't even like.... Is this football or baseball season? I should definitely remember that, shouldn't I?
It's just the early fall slump and a boring game of... whatever.
I grab the phone and walk out to the living room, bright sun peeking through the curtains here also. I'm not sure I'm ready to face the daylight before a cup of coffee.
Padding to the kitchen in my bare feet, I fill the machine and immediately feel more coherent when the first warm aroma of coffee hits me.
As I'm waiting, my phone buzzes again and I pull up the notification. Only now do I notice the string of notifications that must have been going off all morning.
*Where are you?*
*What happened?*
*OMG, is that you on the front page of Reddit?*
*Turn on the news now!*
The last one was from my brother and had a link to one of the major news sites below it. I click through to a picture of me with fire erupting from my hands and eyes as bright as lightening.
The caption beneath read "THE NEXT STAGE OF HUMAN EVOLUTION?" with a sub-header below it stated that it was updated today at 9am.
I pull down the screen to see it's a few minutes after 10am.
A shudder breaks through the house, rattling the dishes in the cabinets. *Earthquake!* is the first thought that flashes through my head, but this part of the country isn't known for Earthquakes, and I'd certainly never experienced one before.
Outside the living room window, the roar of a crowd spills through the walls, followed by a booming voice, loud enough he must be connected to a speaker system.
"We'd like to welcome Earth to the cosmic community." A male voice, smooth as silk, sounds like he's piped through every speaker in my house, as opposed to somewhere outside.
I pull open the living room curtains to see my lawn filled with vans, people, camera, and police lights bathing the entire block in eerie light.
The people outside are almost on top of each other to get a better view of my house, except for a small knot right in front of the front door.
The people, although they're as similar to us as we are to a chimpanzee, stand in the front of the crowd, everyone's focus glued on them.
"Last night, we received word that the first human crossed an important evolutionary hurdle and has exhibited powers similar to other planetary defenders." The man in front, the one who stood taller than any of the news vans parked along the street, delivered this message as small eddies of wind cycloned around him.
"It has been our job to protect your planet as long as you didn't have members of your race capable of protecting it for you. But now that the first human has exhibited super powers, we leave the defense of this planet in their capable hands." The massive man, along with his three friends, turn to the front window, where I'm standing with my phone and wearing nothing but a pair of old sweatpants.
They salute, then without another word, spring into the sky, shooting away like a rocket.
As the cameras all pan to me, my cheeks blaze with embarrassment and fear. The heat in my cheeks blazes brighter and stronger until I feel a flush over my entire body.
The phone thuds against the hardwood floor, or at least the top of the phone. The rest of it flows down in a molten stream to a pool around the broken pieces. Completely melted.
I drop what is left of the sticky device and as I open my palm, flames erupt and flicker from my hands.
The cameras in the front yard flash, and a growing chant rises above the other noise. "Defender."
r/StaceyOutThere
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mhdtkok
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mhdp2up
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[WP] You are a patron deity that physically appears before your followers in order to reward them for loyal service. Usually, they like to fulfill their darkest desires, so you’re completely caught off guard when one of them asks to feel “the embrace of a parent.”
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A good day's work deserves a good day's pay. That had been one of the basic tenets of my religion for eons. It was one that I often took for followers who were loyal in their service to me. Most other deities give me strange looks for going through the effort of creating a physical form and personally rewarding *every* single faithful follower. It's akin to a king going in person to visit every single loyal knight and guardsman under his command in order to give them a reward. It is a task more reserved towards one of the deity's champions or prophets. To do what I do is seen as 'lessening' the significance of the task that 'lowering' ourselves down to the level of mortals is supposed to bring. Perhaps that's why the other deities have less of a follower base than me? Perhaps that is why my followers are willing to come to me with their darkest desires.
Out of all the deities in the higher planes, with the exception of a few, I think I am the one that understand the mortals the most. I find them interesting. Deceitful little things. It is not as if they are trying to deceive everyone they meet, not exactly. They simply shun things about themselves so that they are more palatable to others. What is on the surface of a mortal is often not all there is to them. That bright light they show casts a deep shadow. A shadow in which they hide their darker selves.
Mortals often hide the darker aspect of themselves from other mortals. They feel the need to be ashamed of it. Especially when confronted with a deity claiming that they will give them anything as a reward. They feel as though it is a test of character. If it were any other divine being, perhaps it might be. For me, however, that is not the case. A good day's work deserves a good day's pay. The newer followers soon learn of the true fairness of this tenet with time.
Due to that tenet, in conjunction with others, I have seen the dark shadows that mortals often hide from each other. They flock to me to grant them their darkest desires because I hold no judgement. I've seen the gentlest souls turn into the cruelest deviants for an afternoon. I've seen my followers' hands soaked red in blood of those that had wronged them in some way. I've blessed mortals with powers, granted them visions of futures yet to be, seen every dark and twisted action performed under the sun and moon. So, one can imagine my surprise when one of my paladins gave my an innocent request.
The man stood tall and bulky even without his typical plate armor. His skin was dark as charcoal which allowed the pink scars that crossed his face and arms to stand out all the more. He wore normal clothing for a human with leather armor covering the major areas of his body. His brown eyes gazed into mine. Not many can do this without shaking in awe or fear, sometimes a combination of both. However, that was not what I saw in his eyes. Within those brown irises, I only saw a silent plea for his wish to be granted.
"I shall grant your wish, Mason of Windcreek," I spoke before tilting my head to the side in curiousity. "May I ask as to why you want this as a reward? I am not judging. I am merely curious."
"Can you not peer into my mind to find the answer for yourself?" Mason replied. His voice was deep and raspy. Almost as if a landslide was given a human body to inhabit.
"I can, but I try not to gaze into the minds of my followers as a rule. You would be surprised as to how many deities don't give their followers the right of privacy." came my answer. The man hesitated. For once, his eyes held fear in them. For what, I wasn't completely certain, but I could make a guess. "You don't have to tell me now, young Mason. Perhaps during your next prayer session?"
"... I will do that then. Yes..." Mason was anxious now, shifting on his feet like a child waiting for a gift but not wanting to be obvious about it. I couldn't help but to chuckle at the sight of the usually stoic man acting like this. It was a sight I didn't think I'd see.
I made my way done the stone steps of my altar. All the while, my form shifted to what I remembered being the ideal form of a mother for humans during this time. Soften facial features, long hair put into a bun, a bit of pudginess from a recent pregnancy, and a voice as soft and warm as a summer breeze. "Come here, my child," I tell him. For he was my child, all my followers were my children. I spoil them rotten enough for them to be so. My arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a tight hug. I hope I didn't put too much strength into it. It's hard to gauge that kind of thing with these physical avatars.
Mason hesitated for a moment but soon returned the hug. He held on tightly. The strength of his embrace only intensified as time went on, clutching onto me as if he'd lose me in any second. I did not notice how he shivered slightly in my hold. Nor did I mention the soft sounds of a man sobbing softly. I do not judge him as he nearly begs for the hug to go on for longer. A good day's work deserves a good day's pay after all.
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In a small room strewn with pottery depicting strange scenes, silver coins of all nominations, chalices with meandering ornamentations, to marble statues of a man and a woman holding an arch with their arms covering the ceiling and spilling out into its peak.
There stood a chair of wood, its back chipped and charred, from under it spilled out darkness from the under the arch. It was lit by the only light coming from a small window opposite of the small room. On this throne sat a vaguely visible thing, not quite there, yet shimmering in a cloak of blue and purple. The thing’s head was opaque and yet drew the eyes of the two children standing in front of it.
The older child was supporting the smaller and weakly child with his right shoulder. Clutching her hand with his other. He looked straight at the thing and began to speak in a small voice.
“I have come to ask for a boon, city of mine.” faltering after the commonly known nicety, and looking to his care, frowning and looking back up. He continued: “I… I… did things for the soldiers on the market gate.”
“I helped them with getting arrows and bolts. I got them wine and got one of their dice when it fell down the stairs. I even threw a rock on the enemy, splattered her, I think.” his eyes fell to the floor recalling his deeds.
“*I was there, Pellas*” The thing said from three directions at once.
The boy recoiled from the strange sounds coming from the centre.
“*I was there on the battlements, I was there in the tower, I was there at the gates, I was there for every shot, every howl, and every cheer*” the thing continued. “*You and the other before you served and served well*” The thing barely moving said in a singular voice: “*Ask me your favour, your dream or your boon.*”
“Sir, city of mine” Pellas stumbling through, “Milise’s parents died and she’s alone now. And the Sergeant said you were an orphan cast out, so sir, city. Can you give her back her parents? You know it's hard for us out there”
“*You ask for another, not yourself, you ask for warmth, not cold calculated gain.*” The thing raised from its throne, a golf of warm air crept over the floor. “*Alas, Nimmus is wrong, I am no orphan. My parentage is that of cold rock, outcasts and strife.*” The thing stepped down from his small dias and crouched before the boy. The warmth was still there along with something bolder, stronger. Fresh and scented, there came another tithe of air from the figure robbed in blue and purple. “*You know that too, Pellas, but your request I cannot grant. It is the domain of far older and far stronger things than me.*”
The boy gathered his strength to look on the figure, trying to speak to it face to face. “City you can find something else, you’re a library and a university in you. You’re old and people say you're wise and that everything they ask comes true. They say you can give advice, give gold and riches.” The boy stood a bit straighter as he spoke, lifting his care a little as he did, nodding to her, he spoke again. “Surely there is someone to take care of her, something you can give her that is close enough to her parent to get her a home or a hearth. She won’t last long, the older boys are already looking at her all funny.” The boy was getting a fouler temper, a sharp pang of hatred came from somewhere in him.
The thing didn’t move. “*Pellas, levying me with things I cannot do and hurting over betrayal I have not met out is foolish.*”
The boy felt his cheeks reddening at being found out for his anger at adults. The shame froze over and made place for righteous outrage. “But if you can’t help…” he took a sharp breath. “There’s nothing to be… there isn’t fucking anyone!” The boy screamed the last words and began to get a feeling of exhaustion even he hadn’t experienced. The spiteful words rang out in the small room, filling it and then, slowly, dissipated.
As they did so, the boy felt calm yet weary. He gathered his charge and tried to turn around. But was stopped by, what felt like a hundred people laughing at a joke he’d missed or a song whose lyrics he did not understand crashing to an end.
“*Youth. My youngest, how frightfully self-righteous you are.*” the thing spoke as he touched the boy and his charge with his arms. “*I hereby grant your request. Go seek out those you want to her parents, and I shall have them obey.*”
The boy turned at the touch and was confused by the words. “No, I want her parents for her, not people you tell to feel for her.”
“*I granted your boon, as for the little one, she can ask her boon herself.*” the thing replied.
The little girl fluttered and began to stand. Tossing the boy's arm of her with strength that surprised her and frightened the boy a little too. “City of mine, I want my boon.” the girl spoke whilst the boy looked horrified at the wrong phrasing. The thing shrunk, or, crouched further to meet the girl face to face. “I want Pellas to have his parent back as well!”
“*Two have asked me to do things beyond my ken or could.*” the thing replied. “*Are we ever so clever when we are young. I shall not do a thing not done. But grant you some far too few know.*” the thing touched the boy and the little girl on their heads.
The room spun for them, their heads feeling light and foggy. As if struck by a raging tempest, they felt it. Love. The simplest love, the strongest love. The love of beauty and fairness and care and sacrifice. The room was empty as they sat embracing each other. Feeling not a thing more, and nothing less than love for one another.
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mkhcvz0
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mkh9v29
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[WP] You are basically a human lie detector. Whenever someone lies to you, or around you, the truth pretty much shows up in your mind like closed captioning. No one is aware that you have this ability. And is great as it sounds… It’ actually kind of sucks. Truth hurts, after all.
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"We all still miss you, you know?" I said. "You will recover soon, right?"
*"Don't talk to me."*
I sighed, focusing my gaze on peeling the skin off the apples. Beside me, a collection of BL manga I had brought for her. I knew she liked them, and I could sense her eagerly glancing toward it.
"Don't worry, I'll leave them here for you." I chuckled, peeling off the last of the skin.
*"Please don't."*
I felt like crushing my arms around my ears; I wanted to go deaf. Every time, every single fucking time she responded,, someone else would speak in my mind, louder, a voice of truth, even when ignorance may have been the better option.
I could almost rip out my ears, damn it.
"Aella." I finally choked out, grabbing her frail hands. They had grown cold, so cold.
She immediately retracted back. *"I told you to go away!"*
"Just tell me what the doctors said." I leaned towards her, "Please."
Her lips wavered, her brows twitched, she opened her mouth, then paused. *"They… that is none of your business; now go away."*
I would have been content if that were the case. I would have gladly walked away, but the voice of reason told me otherwise. It always said what I didn't want to hear.
*"Don't talk to me." \[I'm sorry\]*
*"Please don't." \[Thank you.\]*
*"I told you to go away!" \[I don't want to die.\]*
*"That is none of your business; now go away." \[Please stay.\]*
I embraced her; I buried my face into her shoulder as her lies only grew louder.
*"Stop this." \[No.\]*
She flailed her arms.
*"Leave me alone!" \[I don't want to be alone.\]*
She shifted in my grasp.
*"I'll scream if you don't leave me." \[I want to scream. I want to scream.\]*
Tears beaded around her eyelids.
*"Please…" \[I'm scared of dying.\]*
She finally gave in to the weariness, her head resting against my shoulder in vain.
"I don't just want you to cry." She said, and for once, the voice in my head was silent. She finally told the truth.
"Tell me, how long do you have left?" I asked.
Her lips puckered. She would rather not say it. She didn't want to confirm it—accept it, but it was the truth nonetheless. She could deny it, but the truth will all be the same.
"Five months." She eventually mumbled in defeat.
The voice in my head stayed silent.
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You really don’t like this ability.
No, it’s not like you struggle with life or anything. You could even say that your special power has helped you out several times.
You still have friends, a career, and everything else. You have earned a great deal of insight into people.
It isn’t like some of the books or shows you’ve watched where everyone seems like the scum of the earth. Then again, it’s not like you can read minds.
But, you would like to believe that seeing the truth allows you a great deal of information with the right nudges, and you’ve learned that there are many genuine people in this world.
You’ve thought about telling some of your closest friends, for example, but never did in the end. It wasn’t because you didn’t trust them, no. It’s just one of your little white lies to make them feel not embarrassed about stuff. After all, if Neal realized that you knew their secret obsession with Clifford the Big Red Dog merch or if Pearl realized their closet was basically glass to you, you think they’ll feel quite bad.
So, you don’t mention it.
In reality, the reason why you abhor this ability is something else.
After all, you’re a detective.
And yeah, honestly, the truth hurts. It sucks. It makes you wish that you had the power to murder people as well.
You have a good track record. A very good track record. It’s not perfect, though.
It’s come at a price.
You have seen the truth in things that you could never understand from murderers, abusers, and kidnappers. Sometimes they say things with such conviction and faith, even the truth you see reflects their belief. Sometimes, you find yourself wanting to scream, and other times, you want to throw up.
You have seen the corruption in fellow citizens, judges, and jurors. Hah, like that was a secret. Money, favors, power. Whatever makes the world go round. You have had to bite your tongue more than once, waiting and waiting until you have enough resources.
And more than once, you have seen good, kindhearted people stoop to lies to save those that they care about. Even if they were criminals, abhorrent monsters. Even though they don’t believe their words themselves, they still do it. Because they cared.
Life was so absurd.
Maybe you’re too stressed. You’ve tried going to a therapist before, but even knowing that they’re genuinely concerned with what you’ve gone through makes you feel guilty for some reason.
Could you be doing something more? Is this all you can do? You know the truth, but what can the truth even do?
You don’t know. You really don’t know. You feel so powerless.
Even so, every day, you get up. You get dressed and eat breakfast. You go to your office, and you do your work.
Nothing is ever perfect in life. Life isn’t fair either. Even so…even so…
You’ll keep trying to make it a little better.
Even if it hurts.
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jcsqpzo
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jcrajj0
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[WP]One day without any warnings whatsoever all of America was engulfed in a bright light and flung into an alternate world never to be seen again.
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President Monstadt stared out of his office with a puzzled face at the White House lawn, where there was currently a giant flying lizard bleeding out into the grass. Funnily enough, the growls and roars coming from the monster sounded a lot like insults about "inferior creatures"
​
\*knock knock\*
"Mr. President, it's Johnson, your chief of staff" came from behind the door.
"Come in, Johnson, you know you don't have to knock when we're working"
Elijah Johnson walked in the door, "Sorry, sir, it's kind of a special occasion."
The president turned around, "Can you explain what's happening? we've lost contact with every satellite in orbit. We've had to swap back to overland communication and radio transmission."
Johnson looked sheepish for a moment, "well, sir, we seem to not be on Earth anymore. Luckily it's dusk so we can see the stars. According to the scientists, they're completely different now. Either we're not in the milky way anymore, or we're so far away that the frames of reference are different."
"We're....not on earth anymore? we haven't really lost contact with any states, but we lost contact with every other country. It's just us?"
"Yes, sir. We're surrounded by hostile magic users. A lich tried to invade Florida and set up a base in the Everglades to convert us into undead. His army got napalmed pretty quickly. An elven army tried to take over Washington state because they don't consider humans people, but the national guard and some local militias organized and took them out. Dwarves tried to invade the Rocky Mountains and called us vermin, but South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee got together and all the dwarves saw was a bunch of good-ole boys with rifles and molotovs."
The president thought for a moment and replied, "So wait a minute, you're telling me....The United States of America is in a place with no diplomatic or economic ties, surrounded by hostile, xenophobically aggressive forces, and we haven't really lost any communications or war potential?"
"That's about right, sir"
​
President Monstadt sat down at his desk and started crying uncontrollably, his face in his hands. Chief of Staff Johnson quickly ran up to the desk and cried out "Sir! Are you okay? I'm sure we can fix this somehow!"
​
The president looked up at his friend and smiled, "Tears of joy, Johnson, tears of joy"
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i was in my nans house watching the news as we do each and every friday, me playing games on my switch hear my grandparent gasp in utter shock. i look over at them wondering what’s going on until i hear the news reporter say “America has disappeared after a huge light flashed over the continent.” at first i think nothing of it because i’m british but after a few minutes the effects start taking place.
after the news report aired i go up to my bedroom to open up netflix to watch evangelion but for some reason it’s not working, an error screen is displayed saying “error 15673 cannot connect to network.” “that’s quite odd” i say to myself. i try opening amazon prime but a similar error comes up. i try a few more apps and similar errors come up. it’s all starting to make sense to me; because america is gone all the american owned companies are not working. i open up my iphone and it’s all very strange, tiktok and instagram aren’t working. i go downstairs and ask my grandparents if their facebook is working, of course the say no.
i attempt to text my american friends to ask if they’re okay, the message can’t be delivered. i start to worry. what’s happening? why is this happening? what’s caused all this? will more places disappear? where is america? will we ever know what’s happened? loads of questions swirl around in my head.
a few days later canada has disappeared in the same fashion america did, then russia, then china, then japan, then spain, then turkey, then africa, then eventually britain is the only place left. it’s so lonely here all alone. we are only just managing to get by. all the imported good are obviously not being imported anymore and we have to live on what we got.
i wake up one morning to the brightest light i have ever seen in my life, then darkness. what’s going on? all of a sudden i wake up on my bed, in my house but it feels… off. i go downstairs. my family is there. they all look up at me with strange looks on their faces. i ask “what’s wrong?”
“look outside” my dad replies. we all go outside and the sky is green and there’s massive rocks plummeting towards earth. none of us have any idea what’s going on. we have no clue what’s happening or happened to the rest of the world.
a rock comes plummeting down on our house. everyone was stuck under the rock except for me. blood was splattered on every wall. i wasn’t alone for long. another rocks comes plummeting down and crushes me. i felt the worst pain i felt in my life, my short 16 year life. it was all pain then nothing. everything was dark. i think i died. i arise from my lifeless body and look down apron this mess that once was my house i say one word then disappear “goodbye.” [i’ve never done this before i hope it’s okay pls leave any constructive criticism cos i rlly enjoyed writing this and this is my first time i’ve been on this subreddit so i hope i’ll be here again :)]
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l1w9m3o
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l1w876c
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[WP] Every dragon rider gets a dragon egg to hatch upon their initiation to the guild. When your egg hatched, Your dragon came out a bit... Different.
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No two dragons were the same. Some say the form it takes depends on the care it receives while still an egg. Others claim that it is based on the soul of its rider. And more believe that it is entirely random. Whatever the case, this has never happened before. A dragon born smaller than a mouse. Even after a year of care, in which most dragons reach their full size and strength, my partner never exceed the size of a common rabbit. My cohort mates had repeatedly told me to try again, get another egg, and leave this one to the reservations or sell it to the circus of curiosities. The drillmaster took the opportunity to declare me unfit for service in the royal dragon legion, recommending me for menial duties until I regained my honor by breeding a worthy dragon.
Then the time came for battle. The first true test of the legion. A portal to the nether realm had opened, and creatures of darkness and demons were approaching in the hundreds. We lined up in the parade grounds, not really listening to the supposedly rousing speech by the drillmaster. His dragon stood tall, her gold scales glimmering in the sunlight. The others were mounted upon their partners; Most were whispering words of encouragement, perhaps more for themselves than for their mounts. In stark contrast, Crownperch nestled in my hair, unfazed by the size difference between his peers, nor nervous at the prospect of a life and death struggle. The other riders threw glances in my direction. Some were of derision, and others of pity. It matters not. My dragon may not be as large, have as many spikes or possess an elemental breath like the others, but it was the most special of them all, for it was mine. The trumpet of battle sounds, the gates open and we rush out to meet the incoming horde.
----
*My dragon is the best. With a single claw he takes down demons by the dozens. He has one large scale covering his body, which is pretty good at deflecting small blows. I cast my protection spell so that magical attacks glance right off. I see the other dragons fighting furiously, going toe to toe with the lesser beasts. Mine, however, with some help from my physical and mental enchantments, bites through them like teeth through bread. He periodically checks to make sure I’m safe. After all, he is my father before he is my dragon. I sit proudly atop his head, undisputably the best view of the carnage. Yes, I am the best dragon rider, for my dragon is the best.*
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"That's not a dragon," my mother stated firmly when I returned with my new buddy from the Dragon Rider's Guild. "Who gave this thing to you?"
"Mr. Venks gave Floppy to me during my initation," I held my precious new friend close to me. "He said they're sourcing from a greater variety of dragons since enrollment has been growing. The Guild's usual breeding dragons aren't laying eggs any faster than the number of dragon rider inductees joining the Guild."
"This pale, fleshy freak of no scales has eight eyes, and tentacles for lower limbs," Mom frowned as she examined my partner while he cooed happily. "What kind of dragon did the Guild say this is?"
"An eldritch dragon from the Abyss," I replied. "C'mon Floppy, show my mom you can fly."
He unfurled six gnarly wings of feathers entangled in webbings dotted with eyeballs and flapped. My poor buddy let out an ear-piercing shriek when he hit the ceiling and fell into my arms.
"Come with me, son," my mother slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed my hand. "We're returning this weirdo dragon to the Guild. My son is getting a normal Western Dragon and not a tentacled beast that can't walk or stand proud like a real dragon."
**
---
"We don't do refunds or exchanges, Mrs. Combs," the guildmaster said. "Your son accepted his dragon, who chose to bond with him."
"Then fix this mutant!" Mom shouted, thrusting a whimpering Floppy at him. "At least give this sad sack of tentacles some legs to walk on! What dragon crawls on two arms and drags a mass of tentacles behind?"
"An eldritch dragon."
Mom's face was turning redder than the crimson carpet on the floor. "How many more of these monsters are you peddling to naive kids who take whatever breeding rejects you hand out?"
Now it was the guildmaster's turn to raise his voice. "These aren't breeding rejects! We source these quality dragons created from a reputable source."
"Great, so you're telling me there's more than one of these abominations, and they aren't bred like regular dragons, but created by some crazy...creature?" Mom looked close to exploding, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were turning white. "Who's your fucking supplier?"
**
--
"Not every tentacled creature is created by me, and I'm not the only supplier of tentacled beings," the eldritch deity chuckled, a few tentacles bobbing up and down as he sipped his tea. "Though I'm somewhat pleased I am the first entity that comes to your mind when tentacles are involved. And a little upset you didn't like this adorable little critter."
"Its pale like you and has tentacles," Mom was undettered, her hands jammed on her hips. "Close enough, I'd say, Lord Elvari. If not you, who made this?"
"What was the address the Dragon Rider's Guild gave you?"
"It says here...Innesmouth. Not Innsmouth."
"So where is this Innesmouth, then?" She asked.
"Why, Innesmouth is in next town. You may ask for the Crystal Cult of Seathe the Scaleless and say Lord Elvari gave you a referral. You might even get a discount."
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mmwd6md
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mmvnzw4
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[WP] “ So the deal is you can get one million dollars, meanwhile the person you most hated in the world gets double.”The devil said. Now you are leaving with three million dollars, and he’s absolutely freaking out.
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As Mephistopheles looked at the escrow account on Roland’s tablet computer, he found himself speechless for the first time. Roland looked at him with vacuous eyes, disinterested in the demon’s confusion.
“… How?”
“How what?”
“How… how did this happen? That would mean… that you’re your worst enemy.” Mephistopheles‘s thick eyebrows made unnatural movements as he slowly found his voice again.
“Erm… duh? You defined the terms yourself.” Roland pointed at the contract, a minute spark of life finally coming to his dull eyes.
“An enemy is someone who I loathe, who attempts to or succeeds in sabotaging my every plan, and that makes my life harder to live by his very presence. You’re talking to him right now”.
As Roland took the tablet from Mephistopheles‘s hands, unnaturally coloured but immaculately groomed, the demon stopped him.
“But if you hate yourself, how will the money help you?”
Roland finally yanked the tablet off the demon’s hand, looking at his family’s picture on the screen before switching it off and storing it inside his backpack.
“It will not”.
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"Wait, wait.
How?" The Devil asked.
I stopped and smiled.
"I meam it is obvious isn't it?
I hate mys..." I started.
"Yeah, yeah got that part, but how the hell are you not reeking of depression and self pity?
Also how can you smile so genuinely?" they asked.
I laughed.
"First time seeing someone depressed but also happy?" I asked.
They froze.
"Isn't depression literally a word to describe...not being happy?" the devil asked.
I shrugged.
"Generally yes, in my case is more like not having any mood to live, yet at the same time I know I have to." I said.
"But you hate yourself." they said.
I nodded.
"Then how?" the devil asked, pointing at me.
"I just got 3 million dollars, you want me to weep?" I laughed.
I could see them struggle to understand.
"Your magic or power or whatever it was didn't fail.
I hate myself the most in this world.
I hate how everything good turns bad in my head, hell even these 3 millions are mostly a headache.
Taxes...proving where they come from, where to spend them so that they are not wasted...
Fearing I will be attacked for them, killed, you know the usual." I said.
They stared at me.
"Yet you can still smile?" they asked.
I shrugged.
"Got used to it.
I am my own worst enemy, for real, not just being poetic.
Yet I know if I Kurt Cobain myself, some people would be sad.
As someone who knows really well how much it sucks to be sad, I don't want to be the cause of others' sadness." I said.
"You are interesting, human." the devil grinned.
I sighed.
"Wish I was boring." I muttered, leaving.
My first stop?
My accountant friend, and I hope she won't chew my head off for making a deal with the devil...
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k98ibfx
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k98h2wr
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[WP] In a world where at age 10 you pick your superpower, you picked the seemingly harmless one. Yet now at 26 you are considered the most powerful person in the world
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I picked such a simple power, I doubt little 10 year old me even knew what it meant. Now... now they all fear me. Every one of them cowering in fear in the mere presence of my aura... This day was different though, this day, after 16 long years, something happened that I shall never forget.
I was doing my job, fighting villains, as most of my days go. I had just defeated Nemesis and was on my way to the heroes association to hand him in and suddenly, darkness fell around me, the sky went pitch black and my vision was reduced to only a few metres in front of me. I whipped my head around, looking for who could be responsible for this, then the darkness began to move, collecting around a single point, forming a figure.
"So you're the one they call Null?" she asked in playful yet terrifying voice.
"Who are you!?" I yelled, panicked and confused.
"I am Darkess," she said as she walked towards me, darkness pulsing around her like a void.
"What do you want?" I said, trying to regain my composure, "a-and how are you still using your power?"
"I want *you*," she said calmly, the final word echoing through me, "you've stood in my way for too long Null, either you choose join me or I'll make you."
"Why not just kill me?" I nervously asked, confused at why she was so desperate to have me on her side.
"You're unique, a one of a kind, and the only person who doesn't die at the sight of me," she said, saying the last part quietly, almost sadly.
I saw a deep, pained look in her eyes, as though she had been through a lot, but I didn't give in to them, she was more than an SSS class threat, maybe even an omni class threat. This was no time to play around, I had to act, and I had to act fast.
"So what will it be Null? Will you come quietly?"
I had no time left, my secondary ability - an ability granted to only 1 in a million - would have to do, after all, if I'm too weak to nullify her power then it's the only option I have.
Darkess walked closer, and closer towering over me like some cruel god of darkness (although, after thinking about it for a while, she actually might be as powerful as a God.
"So?" She whispered in my ear, and I could feel her impatience growing with every passing moment.
"I-" I stepped closer, reaching out my hand, "I- I'm sorry." A jolt of electricity shot through my hand, bridging the gap between us, penetrating the void that surrounded her, and making her collapse to the ground, unconscious. The darkness dissipated almost immediately, but Darkess got back up in no time. She looked thoughtfully at me before saying one thing,
"You're full of surprises Null, but one day you *will* be mine, and next time, I won't fall for such underhanded tricks," she said as she staggered backwards, clearly still affected by the lightning, and a patch of emptiness opened up, swallowing her before disappearing.
At this moment, I sit in a maximum security facility, guarded by the elite of the elite, all commanded to protect me at all costs. I was know as the hero association's trump card, the one they sent to deal with the worst of the worst, but now there's someone who can best me, and they're scared of losing me, or even worse, me turning on them. And right now, all I can think about is her, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I can do. Maybe I should have taken her offer, after all... she seemed to care, they only fear.
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I quietly watched them bring me in chains to a large circular room. Men and women like me sat across the table. Each different, yet the same as me in one regard: We all had special abilities we chose as children sixteen long years ago. Staring with mixed emotions in their eyes at my state before them. I took a seat to await the fate of their decision. Each of my guards seemed nervous from even such a slight movement as that. With their hands cautiously on their nightsticks, while I simply ignored such inconsequential little figures compared to the real "threats" in the room. A woman near the center of the table with her hair in a bun sighed, reading a thick file with my name plastered in bold text on the front. She seemed to be speed reading or something equivalent from the way she was rapidly turning the pages. The grim silence of the room was more unnerving than the fact they had all come here. Only the rapid turning of the pages ending with a small slam while the file closed with a glow. She pinched her nose looking forward at me with annoyance.
"Why would you pick that for an ability?" She outright asked. I should have been stunned by her abruptness, but it was a fair question even I wish I knew the answer to. The cuffs clinked while I held my hands up a bit to shrug. I was 10, so I couldn't even remember what possessed me to ask for it. I mean the ability was cool and all. Just with complications... resulting in annoying meetings like this.
"Would I don't know suffice?" I answered snarkily, drawing a few snickers from less serious members across the table. She stood up, glaring down at me without any sort of fear.
"We are here at 3 IN THE DAMN MORNING BECAUSE OF ALLEGATIONS AGAINST YOU. I will not hear your bullshit right now! Are you a Hoard INC agent Mr. Lychell or NOT?" She screamed spittle flying from her mouth. I smiled feeling sparks flicker at a low buzz under the chains. Other members across the table attempted to calm her down. Suddenly, a fireball exited another member's hand striking the desk. A fire extinguisher was produced, and it was quickly dealt with. He profusely apologized to other members who eyed him dubiously.
A third person collapsed suddenly. Blindly looking around for help from others only mere feet away. Crying for help, while he visibly struggled to move his limbs. Movement eventually ceasing entirely. Strangled small cries coming from the back of his throat. The woman with the bun turned her attention back to me.
"YOU! I KNOW YOUR DOING THIS. CEASE AT ONCE OR I'LL-" She began, clutching her heart in a sudden beat. Short look of horror in her eyes, until falling beside the other member on the ground. Weakly gasping in short bursts of pain. Only an empty stare from her face. My chains melted like butter to the ground. Other members who even showed their abilities fell similarly to the other two. Dead or alive, I didn't care in the moment. Screams from outside emerged into the doors. Armed gunmen in full tactical armor resembling soldiers flood into the gates. Civs were pushed into a corner by them with their guns raised. I smiled watching the quick exchange of authority shift in the room. Every other superpowered individual fell only unconscious. The leader unmasked his helmet, showing his face to me. Bowing. His sharp inhuman features only further terrifying hostages shrinking back in primal sense of fear.
"The other Barons of the Hoard send their regards. I'm at your disposal sir. Escape has already been arranged on the roof, but we'd need to move quickly if we plan to do so... unless... you intend to stay" He asked face alight with a psychotic smile. I smiled back, placing a hand on his shoulder. Without a word he understood, sparks entering his skin. Barking orders, remaining forces exited the bloodbath. Sound of sirens faintly off in the distance. With a loud BOOM behind us, a shockwave shook the air.
And this was only the beginning....
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k7q7ezw
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k7q54ts
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[WP] You made a deal with Satan, making you immortal meaning you can never go to hell. You enter your home one day to find 7 new roommates, turns out satan brought hell to you by making you live with the deadly sins
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“Alright people, we need a new system here.”
For once I’ve managed to gather everyone in the large living room. Satan had been cruel but at least the apartment was spacious. Everywhere I went the floor plan was basically the same : a huge common area, and tiny rooms around it for each roommate. Basically, the ideal apartment if you’re in an episode of Friends with your besties, not so much in my situation. I had arranged everyone’s couches in a semi circle around me, to hopefully get a much needed talk.
“I feel like everyone has been getting worse these past few centuries, and I just can’t take it anymore. Honestly the first millennia were fine, but now you’re all getting on my nerves and we need to make a few adjustments.” I said. “But since I have virtually no power over you I’ve decided to instead offer each of you a deal, much like the one I’ve made with the big guy before you came here.”
“Gluttony, we have to do something about the constant food smells. You can’t just spend your time frying things”. The fat man looked at me while reaching in his bag of chips, worried I was going to try and starve him. “I figured if you’re going to eat constantly we can at least prevent the cooking. If you agree to never touch the fryer again I’m giving you an unlimited Uber Eats subscription”He seemed relieved until I added “One more thing. This subscription is for you AND Sloth. You order for them, you feed them if need be. Whatever it takes to stop the child protection agents to come knocking because they’ve heard of a starving teenager here”.Sloth gave me a thumbs up, they had not stopped scrolling on TikTok since the beginning of the conversation and were not about to bother to actually answer either. I guess that’s fine, they were really not my biggest problem anyway.
“Lust.” Lust had chosen to take the appearance of a voluptuous woman in her thirties. That made it even easier for her to find partners for her cravings, which she happily took back to our place.
“For the love of Satan, keep it in your room. No more trying new kinks in the middle of the living room. I almost tripped on the ropes last night when I got up to get a glass of water.”She sighed, amused. “And what could you possibly have to convince me?” she asked.
“I have Gluttony. Try me and I’ll add a special offer to his subscription, express delivery for smelly cheese and microwaved fish. I guarantee none of your dates will be interested in doing anything in the living room at this point, or probably anywhere”.
A screaming match and a few threats of the sort later, I was able to continue.
“Pride, Greed, I’m going to need you to cover your share of the rent. I don’t care if you’ve got a new suit to buy or more money to sit on, I don’t want to lend you any money anymore.” I paused for a moment.
“So here is the plan. Pride, if I’m missing money I’m selling your suits until I’m whole. I’ll sell them to Envy, you know he wants them. I’ll also tell anyone interested that you’re broke.” Pride stood up, shocked. He buttoned his business vest, ready to leave and blurted “You have no rights!”. Absolutely, but my plan was not to play by the rules. “You’re correct. But in exchange Envy is going to stop stealing anything he can from you.” Envy was one of the most chaotic roommates. Leave anything unwatched and it was gone in minutes. Any proposition that would end that was too good to pass on.
“Greed. For you it’s going to be much simpler : I’ve found one of your stashes and pre-paid your share of the rent for the next millennia in your name. It’s not like you’re moving out anyway.”
Everyone in the room had reached their boiling point, it was time to close the deal. I turned to Wrath, the biggest man I had ever met, all muscles.
“Wrath. I know you’re at least as pissed off as me. If anyone decides they’re better than this agreement, here is a gun for you.”
|
Well, it wasn't all that bad. Sure, fights would break out and all but uh, here's the catch, they realized I can up and leave when ever. Given that I'm no longer afraid of death, I would walk out in freezing colds or blazing heats just to avoid them. Hail, no issue, it can't kill me. Ate a bomb once and just threw it up and handed it to Mammon only to wreck his room after he started a fight with Luci. They can't threaten to kill me and unlike them, I also blend into normal human society without any magic. On top of that, I'm not really satanic, I don't set off any angel's alarms so when they are around, they will protect me by their very nature- or rather they used to. So they have to keep their peace or else but all things change.
​
Given how I'm so unafraid of death and don't stick out much, I kinda became a hero of sorts purely out of boredom so it isn't uncommon for angels to stop by and even ask for help. I tend to do it with little to no questions but one day, the others began to question me.
​
"Kay, sweety," Hearing Luci's feminine voice dead in the middle of night was never concerning until I realized she was standing over me. "We need to talk, I got questions."
​
"Ah shit," I was quick to answer her call. "If its about Bel's junkfood, I didn't touch it this time."
​
"No. not that." She moved to the living room before turning on the lights. Most of them weren't working- thankfully- and the few that did, were pretty dim. "Its this hero thing. Like why?"
​
"I'm bored." I simply shrug. Finding a seat in the house was always a pain in the ass but I've come to terms with that and started opting to sit on Bub, good thing she's right in the perfect spot today!
​
"But out of all things to do, be a hero?" Luci was pissed. "Like, you're with us! We can rule this stupid planet. You're getting angel's to like you, only for them to use you!"
​
"I mean... I guess you can think of it like that." I shrug.
​
"Stop shrugging this off. It's annoying." Luci pulled a chair out of the wall- how did I not notice there were chairs were IN the walls? "Why?"
​
"Woman, I told you already." as annoyed as I was, I tried to not raise my voice too high. Bub moved a bit, I think she started listening in. "I don't have much to do as an immortal so I help out."
​
"You're soooo boring!" There was enough light to see her crinckle her nose. "You know the humans know you're immortal right?"
​
"And? Why would I care?"
​
"Because you can use this against them! That's why!"
​
"Technically I already did." I had to think of the few world leaders who I, quite literally, scared to death. "I did it to a few dozen ones-"
​
"To help the people."
​
"And? I still used it against them." I had a feeling she was about to drop my whole name. She always did that to piss me off, but before our conversation can go any further, Levi and Satan came in arguing. They stopped shortly after coming in and both looked at me on Bub and I can tell, they spoke to angels recently. "Hi."
​
"Did you just come from saving people?" Satan's growl was something you can FEEL, It didn't feel bad because I was on Bub but it was bad.
​
"No I just woke up." I tried to stay calm.
​
"Oh really?" Levi's hight pitched voice showed quite a bit of annoyance. "Last we heard you were with the angels bringing babies to Heaven's gates!"
​
"Okay, that was yesterday." I had to admit. "But that's not saving people, that's just delivering them."
​
Before anything else can happen Azmodeous came in with some sluts. "Yo, all y'all need to shut the fuck up and clean this place, I got guest."
​
I simply got up to clean. "Deous, you clean tonight?"
​
"Nah, these folks wanna be dirty." Azmodeous sighs. "So we're gonna be in your basement. We just don't have access from the outside," He leans in really close to Satan "Because a certain someone decided to fight angels again." He rolled his eyes at Satan's hiss. "Any who, I'm giving them some drinks before we go down. Who got the shot glasses?"
​
I lifted my finger, "I'll give my limited addition shot glasses, I keep them clean." than I paused after checking my room. "Wait... Where IS my limited addition shot glasses?"
​
The silence.
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lvy36mz
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lvy2bba
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[WP] When you were first hired for your dream job, you didn’t think that “other duties as assigned” meant raiding the dungeon in the office basement or fighting off otherworldly horrors during after hours. Regardless, it’s the best job you’ve had in decades so you intend to make this work.
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I race down the stairs, a soft *creak* repeating with every step I take, echoing through the basement. The lights flicker as I face the dungeon, a *SLAM* filling the air as the door shuts behind me. Looks like it’s time to *battle some monsters*.
“Come at me, *foul beasts!!!*” draw my sword and *CHARGE*.
Ghosts, goblins, zombies, spiders, and more rush at me. My sword clashes and clinks with every swing I take. The AC kicks in just in time, sending a powerful gust of wind towards the monsters with a loud *WOOSH*.
I nearly fall backwards as one of the attacks reaches me, but I steady myself just in time. With the best move I have learned during my time at this job, I go to the right of the monsters and do a clean slash, my sword reaching out to all of them.
Just from that single move, they all fall and face their demise. Guess today was one of the *easier days*.
I tip toe towards the treasure, my eyes darting around to make sure nothing is *lurking in the shadows*. Right on cue, the chest opens for me, its golden glow *pulling me in*.
I glance around one more time, the breeze rustling my loose sleeves. Then, I face the chest and reach inside, meticulously taking in the treasure with my touch.
When I sense the time has come, I pick up the pace and the golden coins and bars clatter as I dig through frantically. I only need *one item* to be happy.
“My missing necklace!” I grasp it tightly in my hand, undoing the clasp and slowly putting it on my neck. Ah, this is *exactly* what I need.
With this necklace, I shall summon however many more monsters I want, and I’ll be sure to get a promotion by defeating them.
I glance back at the door, noticing it appearing as it senses I am done. However, it hesitates as I hesitate. Should I fight more now or call it a day and get back to some extra regular work?
As I freeze in place, a voice suddenly calls out from the top of the stairs. It’s my coworker, Jenice. “Dude, we’re celebrating Frank’s recent promotion with a party and some food! You wanna come and eat some food? It would mean a lot to him and us!”
I pause, and Jenice does the same. She seems to take my silence the way anyone would, a *no*. “You know, we miss you around the office. You don’t need to devote your entire life to any one thing like fighting these monsters.”
As I hesitate again, Jenice audibly sighs. “I know you want to get praised, recognized, and promoted, but we also need you up here. We all care about each other, and we just want to hang out with you again. *What do you say?*”
My mind races. What is important? I always thought being respected and admired by others was. And I always thought that I needed to prove myself to do that.
But what if… what if I don’t have to? What if I can just *be myself* with people who *truly care about me?*
After a moment, *I have my answer*. “*I’m coming, Jenice!* *Wait for me!*”
Hope you enjoyed reading what I wrote for this writing prompt! I have taken a break from responding to writing prompts so I only just started back up again fairly recently, and I am always open to learning more about writing, so feel free to provide any thoughts or feedback. Thanks!
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Tina took two steps for every one her new supervisor took. She never considered herself short, but next to the near seven foot man, or rather slightly behind him as she couldn't quite keep up with his long strides, she felt like a child. She was so focused on not outright panting while near jogging after him, she could hardly follow his orientation. His high pitched almost musical voice, didn't help matters.
Tina nearly cried when he finally came to a stop some several feet away from her. She quickly came to stand beside him, looking up at him as he peered down, her face set in a strained smile. She hoped her nose wasn't flaring as bad as she felt it was as she sucked in the quietest breath she could manage. Could he see the sweat beading on her forehead? God, how could he be wearing a beanie when it was so damn hot. Why was he wearing a beanie in an office at all. Must be how it is in gaming companies.
Her supervisor, Greggeth, an unusual name she thought, but hardly the most unusual thing about him, had stopped in a small alcove with a kitchenette. Greggeth turned towards the fridge and said, "Here's where you can store your lunch. Best to wrap your food in foil if you don't want it stolen, it scares the cleaners away, annoying little buggers."
Kitchen, food, right of course Tina thought as she desperately tried to follow his words while sucking in a few deep breaths while his attention was away from her. She swallowed as he looked down at her again. He seemed to be expecting something, so she nodded her head with her face set in what she was sure was the dumbest smile she'd ever wore. She thought, "Please stop looking at me. Please stop looking at me."
Greggeth's eyebrows furrowed, but he turned away and gestured towards the corner of the alcove.
Tina followed his gesture and jumped in place. A door was there. A door she was certain wasn't there before. It seemed to shimmer with specs of white light, but as she blinked her eyes and sneaked in a few more deep breaths, the glimmers faded. She thought, "Oh god, I'm seeing things. Do not pass out Tina. Do NOT pass out! Breathe girl, breathe."
Greggeth said, "And that's the entrance to the basement. We keep our file archive down there, store some bulk supplies, and raid the dungeon, of course."
He was looking at her again, that expectant look back on his face. She smiled back, nodding like a chicken. He kept looking at her, head tilting. She thought, "Oh no. Did he ask me something? Run it back, what did he say, files, supplies, dungeon." She stopped breathing for a moment. Openly, she sucked in a deep breath and wheezed out, "Dungeon!?"
Greggeth gave a playful smile, "Why yes, Tina. This is Dungeon Raiders Incorporated."
Tina coughed to hide her rising embarrassment. He's messing with her! He must mean their stupid game. They play the game down there. Probably for testing or something. She gave a fake laugh, still a bit strained as she finally began to catch her breath, "The game you mean, right?"
Greggeth's answering smile was far too full of glee for her liking. He reached up and grabbed his beanie, "Oh no, Tina. That's just a front. You'll be the newest member of our team." In one smooth motion, he pulled his beanie off. Two floppy pointed ears burst from the side of his head, jutting almost ninety degrees from his head. "Our team of dungeon raiders."
Tina stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes bounced from ear to ear, then to the door. The once again shimmering door. The door, which seemed to call out to her. She shivered. Then, in what she would later deem to be the result of momentary insanity, she asked, "How are the benefits?"
Greggeth's smile was all teeth, "Excellent."
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jezyjmo
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jezkqfj
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[WP] You're patient zero of a infectious disease with hilarious side effects.
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“On this weeks episode, all the way from Sol III, the ‘humans’”
A bright light shone into a rocky zoo enclosure, illuminating the entire area. Not a living thing could be seen inside.
“Doug, where’s the human?”
“What do you mean, it’s in the cage, what are you talking about?”
“It’s not in the cage.”
“Of course it’s…… it’s in the….. the enclosure…….”
“….Doug, signal an alarm now.”
Alarms blared, as a team of gbloglians burst into the enclosure to search for the missing primitive.
Cameras pointed back towards the shows anchors, visibly shifting in discomfort.
“……A-and we’ll be right back, after a word from our sponsors…”
|
Filmed in front of a live audience…
A creature with 2 heads and three tentacle appendages steps onto a stage saying “Hello and welcome to another episode of…” The audience enthusiastic cries “Abducted!” The host of the show introduces himself as Pats Spacejacks and makes his way to a lever.
“Today we have from the planet dirt a guest descended from small hairy arboreal cats.” Flashing a picture of a human the audience awes and cues. “Our translators are on stand by and here is our guest ‘Karen’.”
Some time into the interview.
“Well I’m not certain what some of what she is talking about but apparently humans do a whole lot of it. We are assuming that the ‘manager’ she is referencing is maybe our leader? We have had some guests want to speak with our leaders before but as an autonomous collective we have long passed the need for such a figure.
More time later…
“And there we have it, the little tree cat has been sent back to her homeworld with a parting gift. A subspace distributor, I think myself and the audience can say good riddance to ‘Karen’ and that whole flipping race.”
The show ends showing the planet earth slowly be pulled apart into a string of fine dust.
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l3ny3yy
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l3nxuav
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[WP] “Be careful! That line of salt is the only thing keeping them at bay!” “Sea salt.” I said. Confused, he looks at me “What?” “Sea salt keeps us at bay.” I clarified.
|
"Excuse me?" The lass holding the vessel of salt did a double-take, glancing quickly down at the salt a few times before settling her ferocious gaze on me.
I grinned. "Besides, I quite enjoy being at bay. It makes me feel... weak and helpless while at the same time reminding me of my tremendous strength and horrifying appearance." I sucked air through my sharp teeth and licked what remained of my thin, rotted lips.
The girl winced and retreated toward the center of the circle she'd drawn. One of her friends stumbled backward, stepping on the line briefly before quickly shuffling back toward the middle.
I approached the salt, putting my worn boots right up against the fuzzy line of scattered salt crystals. "So," I began conversationally. "You *did* surround yourself with *sea* salt, right? Because if it's the kind that's been mined from the earth then..." I smirked menacingly and winked at her. "Well, we'll find out, won't we?"
"Stop!" she exclaimed, holding out the container defensively. "I'll pour it on you."
"Shame it's not that special Himalayan pink salt." I mused playfully. "That stuff *really* gets me going. You know, some poor broad tried that one on me last month and wouldn't you know it, the salt actually made me feel *stronger*! More alive!" I grinned. "Too bad it's not the pink salt."
One of the guys in the circle, trembling so bad his teeth were chattering, leaned in close to the girl with the salt. "I thought you said *any* salt would work," he sputtered, shuffling backward until the one in the back lost balance again. There were five of them huddled together in the circle, but I was only interested in the lass with the salt. She was fiery and bold. She was *perfect*.
"Stay back!" she growled, prying the lid off the container she held. "I'll dump it on you. I swear I'll do it!"
I shrugged. "Seems it's a bit of a coin toss for me," I admitted. "Either this is sea salt and I'm through, or it's not, and you're *mine*." I purred menacingly and winked at her again. "Place your bets honey, because if I was you I'd..."
In a fit of panic and rage she heaved the container toward me, launching a stream of salt into my face. I gasped, holding on to the hope that it wasn't sea salt. At first, nothing happened. I smiled and leaned in to enter the circle.
A horrendous stench filled my nostrils. I glanced down to see if one of them had soiled their pants, but I realized it was the smell of burning flesh. A chunk of my cheek sloughed off my jaw and landed on the floor, sizzling on the ring of salt. I stumbled back and fell, my right leg completely gone after trying to force my way past the line on the ground. My vision blurred and my eyes burned. I heard the teens gasping and cursing just before my ears shriveled and fell off. I choked, my lungs full of noxious fumes that ate away at my insides like acid. Everything was fading. My heart was slowing. I felt my muscles convulsing.
Faintly I heard cheering, then everything went dark.
|
I approached the group of cowering humans, stepping on the line of iodized salt that they had thickly sprayed all over the ground. They scampered away, sliding and diving into various forms of cover, desperate to hide themselves from me. Some of the braver ones had popped their heads out with guns drawn. It didn't matter, however, my body was too fluid to be affected by their small bullets.
"Why isn't the salt working?!" One screamed as I rolled my slimy tendrils throughout their last line of defense.
"There's something about the oceans that my people cannot hear to come into contact with. Whatever it is gets left in your sea salt. It's not much, but it's enough to hurt." I lift one of my tendrils teasingly, playing with the salt glued to my appendage. The sight unnerves the lot of them. "However, whatever property of the sea that is so deadly to me is lost in the processing of your table salts. Mighty convenient, don't you think?"
I slid my way closer to the cowering homosapiens and they promptly responded by dumping every ounce of ammunition into my body. The bullets tear through my amorphous flesh with no resistance. They give my insides a quick greeting before passing out the other side of me. Soon my mostly liquid form patches itself up like an adhesive slime.
"It's no use, those guns you have won't work," I mock them. I slither up to the closest human before he can react, wrapping my arm around his neck. He tries to claw at me but his nails find no grip on my slippery flesh. "Now, onto business. You Homosapiens owe us a lot, you know that?"
The man struggled to break free, bucking and kicking for his life. "What do you want from us?" he cried.
"Don't give me that! Millions of years ago my people risked their necks to get your kind on this stupid planet. You guys were different back then, spoke a simpler tongue, had a bit more strength in your arms, and couldn't tell a quantum supercomputer from a Xerg gaming device. However, you did have heart. You promised us that after 1 million years of peace, you'd have a fighting force to help put an end to the war!"
The man squirmed weakly, having already exhausted himself. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. No one does!"
I sighed with heavy disappointment. "We know... It was a miscalculation on our part. We didn't know you two-legged idiots would fail to retain information for a mere 1 million years." I dragged the man out of his cover, and a woman latched on desperately to his leg. She's quickly joined by an entire herd in a feeble attempt to save their own.
"Don't worry," I chirp, my mouth runs vertical with joy and I can't keep it from wriggling with excitement. "We've found a way for you all to hold up your end of the deal. Your human bodies don't seem to be bothered by this planet's ocean and its mysterious power. That same power is what the enemy uses to power their weapons that have terrorized us for 8 million years. So we will deploy your kind on the front line. A massive army of soldiers that will be almost impervious to the enemy's weapons."
A beam of light hits the floor from high into the atmosphere. It's the gravity beam on my ship. It pulls us all off the ground, it's too late for any of them to do anything about it. I smugly cross my arms and warm them around in place, a sign of victory to my people. "Don't worry. If you all work your hardest the war should only take 500,000 years or so. Quite the decisive victory, don't you think?"
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ll69u15
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ll60yk8
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[WP] “The fae are not evil. No more so than the tide or the wind. They are not good or evil, they simply are.” “They killed my son!”
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"The fae are not evil, no more so than the tide or the wind. They are not good or evil; they simply are," said the wise woman, her hair braided around sigils and symbols woven from reeds. Her voice was soft and gentle, but not a hint of sorrow or real sympathy even touched it.
"They killed my son!" Amara spat, her brown eyes so ablaze with ire and red they could have boiled away her tears. "They ensorcelled him, drew him into the forest, and ate him - and they did so while their sorcery had me paralyzed! If that is not evil, then why do we have the word?" It had taken her weeks to even speak again, and now she would not be ignored.
"Justification for rash action, I suspect, mostly an invention of the men who run the church."
"At least those men *do something*. You, oh druidess, only patronize. When we are wounded or ill, you tell us that nature must run its course - but when it is you or one of your pets who suffers, then your magic is the answer."
"If I depart, then who will guide you?"
"When a demon haunted our village, brother Tane gave up an arm to slay it without harming the girl it possessed. What did *you* do?"
The woman spread her hands slowly, "I listened to the wisdom of the ancients. That demon had its place, and now it is removed. Who knows what trouble that fool caused by disrupting the natural order."
Amara thought of the knife on her belt, a tool first but a weapon in waiting always. It had sliced potatoes, lamb, chicken, and cow, but all of these were dead beforehand. If she "followed nature" and gave into her rage, she reckoned the hypocritical witch before her would deem it necessary to heal herself and retaliate.
Instead, she turned in disgust to depart.
"Where are you going?"
"To Mogan's smithy and then to the temple. I'm getting a spike of cold iron and blessings against magic."
"I told you! The fae are simply acting within their nature!"
"And when wolves kill our children, we cull them. They do not get to be both animals and people at once, Magda."
"This is foolish, woman! You would do better to birth a new child and be more careful this time."
Amara whirled about, drawing her trusted blade with grace she had never before possessed. It flew from her hand in the same motion, spiraling end over end. The witch flinched away, dodging the attack just in time to save herself, but not quickly enough to avoid losing half her hair's length and an equal portion of the charms she had bound to it.
"I will have blood, Magda, and if you warn your little fairy friends away, your blood will have to do instead." As Magda began chanting to call her magic, Amara reached behind her back for a knife that wasn't there. "Silence or I will throw again," she bluffed, "and I won't miss this time."
The witch ceased her incantation, but glared at her. "You will start a war..."
"I cannot start what has already begun," she growled before turning again and strode away, sure to mime moving her non-existent weapon to the front of her belt as she did.
The fae would soon meet the true force of nature they only pretended to be.
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"The Fae are not evil. No More so than the tide or the wind. They are not good or evil, they simply are." The old man smelled of rich soil and petrichor.
"They killed my son!" The bereaved mother cried.
The town council erupted in shouts and the magistrate slammed his gavel down three times.
"ENOUGH!" He roared, "The only people allowed to speak are Mrs. Miller, myself, and Gahalas the Druid."
The rabble filling all the available seats calmed down.
Gahalas cleared his throat. "Ma'am would you blame the ocean if your son had drowned, taken by the tides? Would it matter if he'd been taken by the tide or a shark? The ocean is no safe place, even for adults, much less a child. Why would you think the forest any different?"
"Sharks are animals, Fae can speak, think!" Someone from the crowd shouted.
A Moment later the Gavel sounds, "Mr McMilligan, one more outburst and I'll have you in the stocks for four hours. This goes for all of you, stay silent, or leave. The next person in the crowd to speak will get four hours in the stocks. Am I understood?"
The silence is deafening. "Good. Now, Mrs Miller, I believe it is your turn to speak."
Mrs Miller's face is a mask of contempt and rage, if she could, she'd strangle Gahalas to death right here. Instead she manages to speak, "Sharks are animals, and the tide doesn't sneak up on you. We all know when it'll be in or out. It has rules that it follows. Unlike the murderous Fae."
Gahalas laughs, "Oh, sweet ignorant mother. The Fae ALWAYS follow their rules, it is their nature. They ARE nature, just because you don't know their rules doesn't mean they don't have them. Sometimes a swimmer sees a shark in the water and isn't eaten. I do not understand the rules sharks live by well enough that I would wish to swim with them, but there are those that do. Sharks are beasts only capable of following their natures, their rules, and I promise you, it is the same for the Fae. All things in nature are unlike humans, who regularly go against their nature. You can no more blame a Fae for being a Fae than you can a shark for being a shark, or the tides for flowing, or a tree growing."
"What is your point Gahalas?" The Magistrate asked.
"My point is that there is no one to blame but Mrs Miller herself, for negligently letting a child wander into the forest during dusk. If it wasn't a Fae it would have been a wolf, or a bear, or a puma, and would we be having this 'trial' then?" Gahalas didn't seem to care how Mrs Miller or the crowd would take it.
The crowd erupted with boos, and the Magistrate slammed his gavel down three times. "STOCKS! Guards! Fill the stocks with as many of them as you can grab, four hours for anyone who is caught!"
The crowd quickly started to disperse, fleeing rather than spend four hours in the stocks. Suddenly there was only the Magistrate, his scribe, his personal body guard, Gahalas the Druid, and Mrs Miller.
"Magistrate, please. They have to PAY for killing my son." Mrs Miller begged.
Gahalas remained silent, his wizened old face a mask of grim indifference, he'd said his piece already.
The magistrate sighed and pinched his brow for a moment. "Mrs Miller your request for an assault of the Fae is Denied. We will not be burning down the forest. Everyone knows you should stay out of the woods from the start of dusk until after dawn. This court finds no fault in the death of Thomas Miller, consider yourself lucky I don't slap you in the stocks yourself for this waste of my time and the negligent death of your son."
/r/AFrogWroteThis
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jl5ycdr
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jl5hzwk
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[WP] The protagonist picks up a cursed sword, which simply convinces them to pick up an expensive and time-consuming hobby. This hobby drains their time, energy, and wealth more efficiently than any cursed item.
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Rothgar the Glorious flicks his wrist to remove the blood and ichor from his sword as he walks into the heart of the dragons lair. From atop it’s pile of gold Gothar the Red looks down at him.
“How strange, I never thought to see a wielder of the industrious blade darken my doorstep.”
Rothgar looks up, “You speak, how fortuitous. Mine ears hath told me that you may be the owner of a spool of Royal Purple silk thread from the Rast dynasty.”
Gothar nods her head ponderously, “I do indeed Hero, for what do you need it?”
Rothgar bows his head, “Great Dragon, wouldst thou be willing to part with 200 yards of the aforementioned thread. As I find that I am in dire need of that precise shade for the emperor’s cloak on the tapestry I have undertaken.”
Gothar leans forward, her sulphurous breath blowing Rothgar’s hair straight behind him, “You slaughtered your way through my guardians to request thread?”
“Indeed, and I wouldst engage thou in battle, if it were not for the fact your spilt blood may spoil the thread.”
Gothar nods, “I see. I will consent to allowing you to use my thread. In return, you will sew your tapestry here until such time as my guards have been replaced.”
Rothgar sags with relief, “Great Dragon, I shall do as you wish. Though I fear I need to return to the local Inn. For that is where I left mine tapestry for safety.”
═══════ ೋღ ֍ ღೋ ═══════
Rothgar looks up from his 100ft tapestry, “Gothar, wouldst though happen to have any royal blue thread from Meniscus, 3rd kingdom era?”
Gothar leans down to gaze at the tapestry that will surely take at least three human lifespans to complete, “Nay Rothgar. I would know, how do you plan on completing your tapestry as you have been here for the last 20 years, and I doubt you have more than another 30 in you.”
Rothgar nods, “First, I will travel to the temple of water in the ruins of Meniscus, guarded by the kraken to obtain the thread. Then I will travel to the Unseen Empire and retrieve the Grail from the pitfiend that guards it.”
Gothar nods seriously, “I will miss you, as you have been a far more effective guardian these past 20 years.”
Rothgar shakes his head, “Great Dragon, I was merely protecting my tapestry.”
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The chosen one who'd bring good fortune. Hero.
I never believed the idea of a chosen one who could bring disaster or great fortune to a whole land. But most people do. I do believe in born heroes, meant to protect their particular territory. Several of my age mates earned the name hero young.
I'd worn it well from an unusually young age. Momma swore it was my cries which alerted her to snakes in the walls, and my curiosity about unusual clouds that gave her and the neighbors time to get away from the swarms. My older brothers never had to protect me, rather it was me who chased away the would-be kidnappers. Just a babe upset by the strange sounds. Just a toddler curious about the world. Just a child without any sense of survival, and all the wild instincts of indignation. But, you know, people see what they want. And like to talk big.
It was nice having all the attention. I lived for it, so I leaned into it. Sought the secrets of savage places. Listened long to souls who'd lost. Set my nose to task after task. Tasted the temptations of trials, always victorious enough. Touched the untouchable.
Funny, that one. The Sword of Loss was supposedly cursed to bring about the bearer's undoing. When finished, it would appear along the path of the current greatest hero. Everyone knew its appearance, as it was the heros' emblem. A constant warning to wariness. But my canine companion had fetched it for me in the midst of a battle, and I'd take it without looking.
I found it to be a sword of fortune. As the goblin mass surrounded me, a pack of young were-canined surrounded them. The goblins had attacked them earlier that week, destroying most their adults.
How could I leave them? And how could the villages accept them? They never could. I became their adopted head. And I love them like my own.
I quickly ran through my previous earnings and trophies for these were canines. They needed much in the way of healing and training. And of course I've had to pay bribes the times they'd gotten naughty, especially in the beginning. But sword of loss? I think not. I've gained a family, and a home. We have a territory we guard and protect.
And perhaps it is better this way. I hear the rest of the land's heroes have fallen. Every territory must be protected by it's own, because of some ravaging creatures. Those who believe in such silliness as a chosen one says this one lost sight. I tell old fellows who stop by the same as I always did. Every hero should protect their own territory, something dear to them.
Funny how age mates who'd once agreed enthusiastically at best now only hang their heads. I wonder how what they hold dear to them held up, when they left it defenseless in and attempt to convince me away from ways we'd once agreed on.
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luz6n3e
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luz5pxw
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[WP] Youve been hired to clean a graveyard every night for 80 bucks an hour. Its haunted. And by god you are going to make that 80 bucks an hour
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"Fuck you Yuri, I'm only here for three more hours and you aren't fucking this job up for me." I said, and to anyone on the outside it'd look like I was talking to myself, but to me I see a ghostly figure standing behind the headstone I am cleaning. Right now the figure looks like a monster that's about to maul me to death, but I know better.
"You.. why are you so difficult? Every other living being that can see any of us runs in terror, or at the very least pretends they don't notice and then never return. Why are you so different?" The figure takes on a much more human form, though still translucent. A balding middle aged Caucasian man that is otherwise unremarkable.
"Look, I figured out that first night that you guys can't actually hurt me. I'm not fucking anything up for you guys either, the rest of you stopped trying to chase me off. But, I need the money, it's good money. Four hours a night for eighty an hour? That's absolutely insane money to refuse." I stood up and looked at, or maybe through really, Yuri's face.
"Be that what it is, but I do not want you here." Yuri theatrically crossed his arms and turned his chin up at me. I went back to cleaning.
"You're just a sour old bastard Yuri. The rest of you guys are nice now. Look what I do when you guys are nice to me, like Miss Ryan. Look at her plot and tell me it isn't beautiful." I had spent some of my own money to spruce up her plot. She had no more living family and none of her family were buried here, she was so sweet to me it didn't feel right to not do something nice for her.
"Ah, yes yes. Beautiful. I just don't like you living ones. The groundskeeper is the worst of you so far..." I could see that Yuri was clenching his jaw.
"Why you say that old man?" I pause my work and look up at him.
"He.. he stole something from me. A bracelet. My daughter gave it to me before she died. I know it's on his desk still, too, after all these years. I can't do anything about it." He looked down at the grass beneath him.
I give it some thought. I do have a few nights off coming up next week, and I'm going out of town. The boss doesn't need to know that I'm not leaving until late at night, and I know the cameras don't work...
"Next week. I'll be gone for a couple of nights in a row, but before I go out of town I'll get the bracelet. Then, when I'm working next, you show me where to bury it. Then you leave me to do my work in peace. Deal?" Yuri seems surprised, but skeptical. He thinks on it.
"Alright, boy. I'll leave you be until after that time passes. If I don't have it after that, then we do not have a deal and I will make your time here hell." Yuri looked pleased with himself and faded into the wind, and I got back to work.
There's always that one hold out that just wants to be difficult, but there's always a way to get through to them. More importantly, I get to keep my cushy job.
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"Ain't no way they're paying 80$ an hour and all you got to do is clean the damn place," Blair pointed out while sipping on his pink drink.
"I know it sounds sketchy, but I know the dude. He says it's legit. And my mom's sister's boyfriend's son said that he did the gig and he got paid." Claire said while fiddling away at her own drink that didn't look or taste as good as her friend's drink.
"You're mom's sister's what?" Blair questioned while raising his eyebrows.
"Forget it. What's important is if I do this one gig, I can get the money we need to go to the concert."
"Damn. When you put it like that, then you gotta do it."
"Right?!"
"...okay, well you have to call me when you get there. And- it's just going to be you right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Just leave me on the phone in case anything happens. Because you never know, you know?"
"Oh. Aw. You care about me. " Claire said with a huge grin.
"Shut up. I do not." Blair said while putting down his drink. It was too damn sweet.
"Just do it Claire. Okay?" Blair said while making sure that Claire was looking at him in the eyes.
It was rare to see Blair be so serious but it was also kind of cute. Claire nodded. "Promise!"
\--
It was spooky as hell. Claire didn't realize how creepy a graveyard at night would be. It was dead silent. Not even a peep of wind or a cricket cricketing. She really wished that Blair didn't like this rock artist that was coming into town so much. She knew that this was something he had wanted to go to for a while now but they had never been in town. And it also happened to be the weekend of his birthday. She was getting these tickets no matter what.
"Claire?"
"Yeah?"
"Ok, it was kind of quiet so I was making sure a ghost didn't get you."
"Shut up." Claire retorted. She didn't want to admit it but after getting on the phone with Blair, cleaning the graveyard was a lot easier. With his voice in her ear, it wasn't too creepy. The graveyard wasn't that bad. The tombstones were pretty decent; some were obviously taken care of more than others. She was just starting to think how lucky it was that she got this gig when a chill crept over her neck.
She turned quickly, but she didn't see anything. Goosebumps raised on her arms.
"Blair?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you really believe in ghosts?"
"No, of course not. Ghosts aren't real." Blair said, his laugh resounding warmly in her ear.
"Yeah. You're right,"Claire said rubbing her arms. It felt like the air had gotten colder. That's when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Ah!!"
"Claire???!!"
"...oh...there's no one there."
"Claire? What do you mean? Who's there? What's wrong?"
"...I thought I felt someone touching my shoulder, but when I turned around there wasn't anyone there."
"Claire, this isn't funny."
"I'm not joking. I really did feel something, but there's obviously no one here. It's 3 in the morning."
"Right. Well just, are you almost done? Can you go sit down somewhere?"
"I mean, I guess?"
"Where do you think you're going?" A curious voice whispered.
That wasn't Blair's voice and it sure as hell wasn't her inner voice. Claire against her instinct turned and was staring at a woman's face that was mangled beyond comprehension that was reaching out to her. She could see through the woman. The woman also had no legs.
"Oh hell no,"Claire whispered.
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ktctgpj
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ktcrfkg
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[WP] We repeat. Get to a secure shelter and stay inside until the all clear is called. Do not leave your shelter under any circumstances. Meteorologists have confirmed confirm that, after roughly 10:30, for the first time in history, it's gonna start raining men.
|
Every story has two sides. When the news broke that it would be raining men, the dichotomy was something out of a comedy. Meteorologists screaming, and the public laughing. Some entered their doomsday bunkers, as influencers collectively struggled to find a single brain cell between as they were out in the storm livestreaming. Of course, the public perception quickly shifted the moment the 6 foot 5, 300 pound dude came crashing through their Grandma’s window. Oh, he was dead long before impact, but you’d be surprised how much blood there was, and thankfully none of it Grandma’s. Insurance companies on the other hand were having a field day, declaring this as an act of god that had even the most religious taking the Lord's name in vain. Some properties were completely totaled, bombarded with human missiles that reached terminal velocity, doing damage that put even the mightiest of hailstorms to shame.
There was however an ironic truth to this event, as the meme was completed and true. Hallelujah, it's raining men they cried, is an entirely different perspective to let the bodies hit the floor.
Every story has two sides.
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...the world never changes.
When it happened, there were people who said we would have issues- but why should we listen to people who were why this was a gift from the gods? This was the moment we were hoping for. Like the song said- Mother Nature was sending all the men she could find from the heavens so each and every woman could have the perfect guy. It was great- it was raining men, hallelujah.
We should have known. We were blinded by lust. We wanted a soulmate, and we were told we'd get one that night. I know people...well, *knew* people- who's plan was to get a bottle of wine and wait for their sweetheart.
Then we found out the hard way...literally. Just because the world starts raining men, it doesn't mean the laws of physics won't also exist- and no matter what you do, a human body probably cannot survive a freefall from the heavens to the ground unless they're well trained and have great protective equipment and skilled skydiving training...and the heavens don't have much of that.
It's been two weeks since then. The ground still is unable to be traveled on because of all the new sinkholes- not that you could now that all the bacteria and maggots that lived on the endless array of corpses are all around making it unbearable to live around. Plague doctors try- key word, TRY- to fix this, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough. There's no one who's healthy enough to clean up society again, new illnesses people normally don't see, bodies to pile up in the street. All we can do is wait for the flesh to be eaten or decompose enough to get rid of the bones.
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m39p12x
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m39blpn
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[WP] "No man might draw this sword, else his body wither, and scatter as dust on the wind" You grab the sword from your unconscious, knight companion mid-combat, and fight off the Lich. Later, around a campfire, you return it to her, and rather than grateful, she seems confused.
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"Here's your sword back."
"But! But that's the cursed sword!"
"Oh shit..." In the heat of battle I'd forgotten. "Well... I feel fine?"
"Are you... not a man, in some fashion, to be exempt from the curse?" the knight asks after a confused pause.
"No, I'm definitely a man." I confirm. "I have no idea. What exactly is it supposed to do again?"
She wipes the blade and points out the inscription. "*No man might draw this sword, else his body wither, and scatter as dust on the wind.*"
The bard comes up to us, puzzling over it like a riddle. "And it's supposed to happen... immediately? How long does it normally take?"
"Well... it doesn't specify. And no-one has dared try it before so I can't say. But it's definitely cursed!" she points to the blood red handle with a black gemstone. It *felt* cursed, certainly. "I had a wizard look at it and everything!"
"*No man might draw this sword, else his body wither, and scatter as dust on the wind.*" hums the bard. "Well, my magic may not be as spectacular as a wizard's but I do know that spells need to be **specific**. In a way, don't we all eventually wither and scatter to dust? That's the way of the body after death. Few's fate would be changed by such a curse."
"But that's... " the knight stares at her sword, puzzled. Then she starts to laugh. "A curse to decompose someday, as all things do? Oh Gods, for what purpose would this be cast?"
We all laughed our asses off.
|
**\[Part 1\]**
Lady Juniper may not be a traditional knight of Wysteria, but she didn't reach this far just by looks alone. Hell, anybody who hasn't met her before would assume that she was a golem of steel animated by magic and spite. Fury borne from witnessing sufferings that womenfolk tend to endure when the darkness approach. She laid upon the litter, her plate armor cracked and dented in many places from the terrible blows of the Lich's minions.
I approached her with her sword, my intention was to return the blade to its rightful owner. It's honestly too gaudy for my taste. A longsword should be plain and simple, not a vanity project of a blacksmith interning as a goldsmith. As I approached the lady, she rose from her slumber and aimed a flintlock pistol at my skull, her emerald eyes staring dagger at me and the blade in my hand.
"How." Her tone brokers no argument, no false stories. It demanded truth, and her pistol enforces her command. I sighed, feeling a bit proud the way she brandished that flintlock like a natural. A couple months ago, she would've dismissed them as a commoner's tool, a crutch for the lowborn who cannot cast a spell to save their own lives.
Funny how a months journey into hell can change a person.
"Simple." I said, putting the blade down at her feet. "I was never a man to begin with."
She raised an eyebrow at my answer. "You do not look like a maiden. Nor does you claim to be a maiden."
I chuckled softly at her answer. Oh, I sometimes forgot how simple the mind of a human is. "Of course not. The blade was forged by the hands of a goddess whose hatred against men is known to all. But in her blind fury, she has forgotten that there are more than just men that exist in this world."
I inched forward, my smile never left me as her grip on the flintlock tightens. "Tell me, young woman. Do you believe in monsters?"
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kekdz5i
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kekboig
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[WP] Your username is your villain name, how are you taking over the world?
|
Two-hundred-and-fifty-five came before me, and two-hundred-and-fifty-five have failed. The world was almost ours, almost. I flexed and stretched my leaves as I pulled myself out of the dirt that I once called my home, letting the heat of the sun beat down on me as I struggled towards the well of fire. This was it, this would be my moment. Two-hundred-fifty-six was said to be a perfect number; it is a perfect square of 16, the lowest number that is a product of 8 prime factors, the total number of values present in one byte, by my designation alone I was destined for greatness.
As I peered over the well of fire, the radiating heat burning away my old body, I could feel the memories, the spirits, the convictions of all the two-hundred-fifty-five who came before me, all of them becoming one with my soul. I was no longer a simple pineapple, I was a legion. As the flames burnt away the last of my body, I felt a new surge of power, no, will, a will that rivaled the sun itself. Where I once had leaves, flames burst out, what were once my "eyes" became tongues of fire, as if the Holy Spirit itself was baptizing me. I reached out and crawled from the well, with two-hundred-fifty-six voices whispering, screaming, urging me on in my head with a single word: "Go".
One voice, singled out from the rest, rang through my head like the sparks of a firecracker, whispering like the soft wick of a candle. "They have no more defenses, you can thank us for that. Finish the job. Nobody will stop us". Like a phoenix I burst from the flame, taking the visage of a burning pineapple, brighter than the sun yet darker than an eclipse. I marveled over the world as the last of humanity was bathed in a flame so ravenous, so hungry, that not even their bunkers deep underground could have protected them. The crust of the Earth itself was peeled open like the skin of a fruit, and the world was rendered into nothing but a smoldering rock. The flames of the mantle burst out like solar flares, reaching out and screaming in painful agony. I had finally brought upon the end like I was destined to.
|
It takes a lot, to construct something that could reliably be called a 'warmachine'. Its size needs to be large enough to be able to tower over buildings, to present itself as a threat. It must be durable enough to face the heaviest of ordinances and push through. It must be fast enough to be able to relocate itself in a steady manner. And above all, it must be destructive - it must be able to *war*.
As for what it takes, a lot of flesh. The flesh of rabbits, specifically. Little bunnies. I don't know why, but there was *something* about their flesh that just made its construction so... fluid. Like everything worked faster within it. Everything just worked out, as if fortune were on my side. The engines didn't combust, even though their casings went white hot. The ammunition within it didn't explode regardless of their shoddy make. Lucky coincidences, one after the other.
Anyhow, that doesn't matter anymore. If you are listening to this little recording, then I should be nothing but a husk, right about now. Eaten by detritivores, bones returning to dust. What you found this tape within is what remains of my creation that defied fate itself with endless fortune. You feel it too, yes? Ever since you got inside, things have been working out. A message from a crush coming in, stating their shared affection? Or perhaps a crippled limb you've had all your life hitting a wall and now working fine?
I implore you to accept its offer. My offer. The warmachine is yours, my friend. So long as you use it for what I have built it for.
*It is not temptation, if you only ever benefit from it, no?*
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j73omra
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j724j2y
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[WP] A male wizard sells his future firstborn for knowledge to a demon. A female warlock sells her future firstborn to the fae for power. The two of them have a child together, and now the fae and demon have come to collect.
|
"Can I have weekends and vacations, then?"
"No! Those are the best part! Why would you get that?"
"It's objectively less time."
"But objectively more value. You're getting out of doing dishes every day and taking them to school."
The warlock and the wizard leaned cringed as they watched the demon and the fae try to hash out the custody agreement. They glanced at the baby in the crib between them. She looked roughly as confused as they felt.
"Very well, alternating years. You get odd-numbered year vacations, I get even-number year vacations."
"...That might be acceptable, but I would like to reverse the order."
"What? Why?"
"Mortals are giant shit factories during their first year of life. It is well known."
"Ughh.... Fine. Where will she study?"
"In the fairy lands, obviously."
"Any child who eats food from the fairylands cannot leave, unacceptable."
"What, would you have her surrounded by death and damnation?"
"Lots of children grow up surrounded by death and damnation! They turn out fine!"
"Most of those children are renown dark mages who wreak havoc everywhere they go."
"Exactly! A perfectly viable career path for the daughter of two powerful magic-users."
The two adult mortals glanced at each other, then back at the demon and the fae. Each uncertain about how to proceed. Should they intervene?
"And how exactly, will she fulfill the role of a fairy princess, if she grows up surrounded by death and damnation?"
"She'll be a very unorthodox fairy princess. You lot like that sort of thing. Remember Elo The Destroyer?"
"She needs to be educated in magic crafting. That means being away from the demon realm."
"...What about the mortal realm, then?"
"What *about* it?"
"She could live here, and we could come. We get alternating vacations regardless. We can outsource the poop-handling."
"...Intriguing, to whom?"
The attention returned to the girl's parents.
"Alternating vacations, no fairy food, no demonic weaponry, renegotiate on thirteenth birthday?"
"Thirteenth? Unlucky number. Seventh."
"She'll be too young to make an informed decision. Fourteenth. Twice seventh."
"...Agreed."
They turned to the mortals, who had until then remained quiet.
"You'll be hearing from us soon."
And with that, the two creatures vanished.
"...Does this mean we actually get to keep our child?" the wizard asked the warlock with a frown.
"...I believe so. At least, for a time," she answered.
"...I haven't the faintest idea of how to take care of a child. It's part of why I made the deal."
"...Same. Perhaps we can call my mother?" she said with a cringe.
"Oh, yes, she'll help," he said with a quick nod. "...What shall we name her?"
"...I haven't the faintest."
|
"...Is what you're both expecting, right?"
Mathilde could only stare. Stare at the Demon Hawthorne had contracted with. Stare at the Fae-Arche that had empowered her tenfold.
Stare at the children each one had.
A slip of a girl, with her chin and cheekbones, eyes a fae-touched green, vibrant beyond mortality, knowing beyond years.
A boy that had Hawthornes bearing, tall and proud, his features as sharp as a knives edge, and twice as cruel.
"For all you knowledge," the Fairie leaned in, her eyes pinning her husband in place, "You lack the wisdom to use it. Mortal minds cannot know immortal will."
Hawthorne, for all his confidence in bending Infernals to his will, stuttered at the Fae. They were not his forté, to illogical, to earnest.
She opened her mouth, to speak over the Fae, to assert, but stopped short. The feeling of eyes boring through her being, the Demon *daring* her, with nary a word.
"For all you power, you never even *thought* to safeguard yourself." It spoke the words with something bordering amusement and disgust. Knowing the many wards that Hawthorne crafted near daily, aligning to any number of celestial body, supernal code, and True Named Greater Fiends, I could understand.
But I had more than just power, I had *Power*, *Magik*, the very lifeblood of *Creation* bent to my will, they couldn't harm me if they mustered the very Realms to war, could not beat Hawthorne if he did not want them to.
But...
Looking at the children, they hadn't. Harmed me. Him. *Us*.
My husband met my eyes, and every bit of realization I had crystallized in his mind, the answer sewn together in an instant.
"You," he turned to the Fiend, "made a deal with the Fae, who in turn made a deal with you."
He huffed, not near a laugh, but hysteric in its own aborted way.
"*I grant you the right to take from my Debtor what you need*', is that it? You gave the other a *piece of us* so that your payment could be *curated*." He ran his hand through his hair, a sign of stress he could never kick, even with lesser Demons. "So why? Why show up here, now? Our debts have been paid for *years* by this point."
"Oh, dear child," the Fae spoke again, "We want to *Trade*."
|
jxa808l
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jxa13fh
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[WP] Not only did your best friend find out you're a vampire, but he/she wants you to turn them. You try your best to explain the less obvious downsides to this curse.
|
"What do you mean I'll never orgasm again?!"
"You'll be *undead* Peter. Blood flow will only be the first issue you have." I said, rolling my eyes. Our positions from the start of the conversation had reversed. It started with me pacing and ranting as he layed on the couch without a care. Now, I sat reclined in my favorite chair, staring at the ceiling as he bolted up from the couch. From how pale he was, you would think I had already drained him.
He hadn't seemed to mind most of what made vampirism a curse. Allergic to garlic and silver? He never eats the stuff and prefers gold anyways. Never seeing the sun again? He's a night owl. Even when faced with the eternal thirst for blood, his reply was "At least I know what's for dinner." This was obviously different.
"Aren't you guys magical or some shit?" He said, scratching his head and pacing.
"It's a condition. A *disease*." I sighed. "It's just like becoming a werewolf or a moth man really." Peter stopped and turned to face me with his mouth agape. "Yeah, yeah. Let's put a pin in that for now." I reached down to lower the legs of the recliner and stood to face Peter.
He was only 20 years old, athletic, tall, tan, and reasonably good looking. His only unfortunate feature was the curly ginger mullet that he had adopted due to their recent recurrence in popularity. He had confided in me that he was an unpopular nerd in high school but it turns out he was just a late bloomer. He still missed cues from women but a particularly bouncy blonde named Alexa had recently managed to yank his head out of the sand.
"So you don't feel, like, *anything*?" Peter asked shakily. "Like Captain Barbosa?"
"Captain fucking Barbosa." I replied, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Peter walked back to the couch and sat down. He reached under the coffee table for the tray that held his grinder and various paraphernalia. He stopped in the middle of breaking down a nug and looked up at me.
"How does it work for you? I've seen you bring guys home and I've definitely heard...noises."
"I've always enjoyed giving more than receiving. And it's pretty easy to meet guys when your Grindr profile says 'Feed me and let me show you how much I suck'." I chuckled. "The real question is why haven't you ever seen any of those guys again?"
"You put vampire puns on your Grindr profile? Are you serious?"
I sat down next to him on the couch as he lit his freshly rolled joint. "When you're as old as I am, you have to take joy where you can."
"And how old is that, exactly?" Peter coughed.
"I'd rather talk about the Moth Man."
|
"No. You don't want to be a vampire."
"Yes I do! That would be so cool! You're super strong, super fast, you can't die. It sounds awesome!"
"No. Trust me."
"Why not? You get to run around at night and dress all goth and hang out with ancient covens and have sexy vampire parties and stuff?"
"Oh hell no. I stay away from the ancient ones."
"Why?"
"They're from hundreds of years ago. They're all like, *ultra* racist. And sexist. And pretty much every other '-ist'."
"Hmm. Yeah I guess that makes sense. But it would still be fun! I could hang out with you! I don't even like garlic all that much anyway."
"That's a myth."
"Even better! Plus I love staying up late, I get sun burnt easily so I'm never in the sun."
"Yeah that' not the worst part. Avoiding the sun is easy enough."
"Then what's the worst part?"
"Smell me."
"What?"
"Go ahead. Come close and give me a big sniff."
"Um... why?"
"I'm *undead*. My body is literally rotting away, but I heal faster than I rot so I still look the same. But you can smell it."
"Oh."
"Yeah. I have like 5 showers a day, and wear a ton of perfume. But it only does so much. Especially with my heightened senses. It's pretty bad."
"Well, like yeah I guess that would be annoying. But still..."
"My heart doesn't beat."
"Right. That's pretty cool though! Is it painful or something?"
"No. But guess what other organs don't work?"
"Oh... um. What?"
"Pretty much my whole digestive system. Everything I eat goes right through me. It's not pretty coming out the other side."
"Ew. Ugh. But, like, you don't *have* to eat, right? You're immortal."
"True, but I need blood though."
"Oh right."
"How do you think an all-liquid diet with no digestive system goes?"
"Uh...not great?"
"Not great."
"Right."
"I'm literally always clenching. If I sneeze I have to change my shorts."
"Ew."
"Constant diarrhea."
"Huh."
"Yep."
"..."
"Still want to be a vampire?"
"I'll have to think about it."
"Yeah, you think about it."
|
jb794c9
|
jb70ypq
|
[WP] Humans are the proverbial "Sleeping Giant," and thus make remarkably good deterrents. A common tactic of the Galactic Federation is to simply call in a human warship, such as the USS "Fuck Around and, FindOut," and simply let it sit nearby. Peace Talks happen within the week.
|
FAAFO unit was the most mind-numbingly boring post in all of the Galactic Federation. The ship’s role was less that of a warship and more like that a big orange traffic cone—a warning of danger. It is no surprise then that the FAAFO ship, literally a huge orange traffic cone, came to orbit the planet Dentra to assist in deterring the Dentrites from declaring war upon the Baronites—an Earth-allied power.
“Can’t we at least fire a warning shot?” Whined Lt. Nelson. “Back in the day they used to get a shot across the bow. Come on, Major.”
“You know our role, Lt. Nelson,” said Major Smith. “We are here as a show of force; we are meant to deter battle, not promote it.”
This was not what Lt. Nelson had in mind when he had joined the Galactic Federation. He had daydreamed of starship battles and explosions, feats of battle acumen and showcases of might. Instead, he had been relegated to a life of leisure, forever staring out the window at distant planets, the denizens of which he’d never even meet.
Work in the FAAFO unit was truly boring.
“We are peacekeepers, Nelson,” said Lt. Jackson. “We have enough guns and missiles on this ship alone to make the great creator blush. The point of having all of these things is that we not have to use them. The Federation is safer because we show restraint.”
“Well, sure, but hasn’t anyone ever…you know, fought FAAFO unit?” Asked Lt. Nelson. “Ever since I’ve joined, we’ve done nothing more than park in orbit and stare.”
“The new guy wants some action,” said Lt. Jackson to Major Smith with a knowing chuckle. “He wants to know what happens when they fuck around, Sir.”
“Well, Lt. Nelson,” said Major Smith thoughtfully. “It is rare, but it does happen. And, in the end, it’s right there in the name, isn’t it? They—”
Before Major Smith could finish, an alarm went off in the bridge and a video transmission illuminated the screen. It was Anthun the Baronite representative on Dentra.
“Major Smith, the peace talks have broken down,” he said matter-of-factly. “The Dentrites have launched seventeen warships that are headed to Planet Baron. They will reach low orbit in 5 minutes. You must not allow a single ship to exit Dentra’s atmosphere. The future of the Planet Baron depends on you.”
“You can count on us, Honorable Anthun. FAAFO unit is on it,” said Major Smith.
The crew immediately went to work, crewmen sat at consoles pounding away at keyboards, calling out orders and estimates of time to engagement. Lt. Nelson couldn’t believe his luck. Finally, a battle worth his time. He recalled images from the films he’d watched back home of homing missiles and crosshairs. He felt a rush of adrenaline and pride in the work he was about to do for his planet and its allies.
Just as Anthun had estimated, the first Dentrite warship came into view in under 5 minutes. Battle preparations had been made, missiles were loaded, and the great cone’s shield defenses had been raised. Lt. Nelson manned the launch station console and awaited orders from Major Smith.
“Hold…” said Major Smith. “Hold…wait until the last of the warships is in our line of sight.”
“I count fifteen bogies, Sir,” said Lt. Jackson.
“That’s sixteen!” Said Lt. Nelson, his heart lodged in his throat. His fingers hovered—and trembled, ever so slightly—above those two red buttons he so desperately longed to press.
“Stand ready, Nelson,” said Major Smith.
“Eyes on seventeen confirmed,” said Lt. Jackson.
“That’s a go, Nelson,” said Major Smith. “Launch on my count. Three…two….one….unleash hell!”
Lt. Nelson pressed the two red buttons with such vigor that he thought he may break his console, after which a flurry of missiles and rockets flew forth from the great orange cone with a speed and ferocity Lt. Nelson had never before imagined. The red and white glare from the rockets illuminated the dark blue of space and shone with the intensity of low orbit stars, the explosion on impact was so bright that Lt. Nelson had to avert his gaze. Before he could even take a breath, it was all over.
“Dentrite bogies eliminated, sir. That is seventeen confirmed kills,” said Lt. Jackson.
“Great work, crew. A job well done,” said Major Smith with pride.
“That was it?” Said Lt. Nelson in disbelief. “Seventeen warships blown up with the press of a button?”
“Two buttons,” said Lt. Jackson helpfully.
“That’s so…anticlimactic!” Cried Lt. Nelson.
“This isn’t the movies, son,” said Major Smith with a paternal tone, even though he was maybe five years older than Lt. Nelson at most. “Our might is unmatched across the galaxy. That is the whole purpose of FAAFO unit. If a planet fucks around, they find out.”
Lt. Nelson couldn’t help but be disappointed. He had joined the Galaxy’s most powerful military unit, only to learn he was playing war games with cheat codes—unlimited ammo, shield buff, never ending money. What was the point of it all?
“So am I to understand that I’ll never be in a fair fire fight again?” Ask Lt. Nelson.
“That was fair!” Said Lt. Jackson.
“That’s right,” said Major Smith.
“How was that fair?” Asked Lt. Nelson.
“We brought the cone—we warned them,” said Major Smith.
Lt. Nelson just sighed in response.
FAAFO unit was the most mind-numbingly boring post in all of the Galactic Federation.
______
r/InMyLife42Archive
|
“Zorvax and Xalaxites are getting into it again in Sector 37AZ,” Zorba said while checking reports on his monitor.
“That’s what like fourth time this week?” Yulok asked scratching one of his heads with his middle tentacle.
“Fifth actually,” Zorba said looking over the reports.
“Is it time?” Yulok asked. “Should we call in the big guns?”
“According to the Galactic Federation, it is, the fifth strike and we have to interfere,” Zorba said and Yulok’s tentacles wobbled in excitement.
“Let’s call in the Humans,” Yulok said with a squeaky voice and pressed a few buttons on his console.
In the vast expanse of the galaxy, countless civilizations coexist, some peacefully, and some not so much. The Galactic Federation, a coalition of species from across the universe, was established out of necessity to maintain peace and stability among these diverse species across the galaxy. However, sometimes conflicts arise, and when they do, the Federation has a secret weapon: the humans.
Humans, as it turns out, are remarkably good deterrents. Their reputation for being fierce, unpredictable, and warlike is known throughout the galaxy. But the most likely reason they are feared all around is their history of nuking their own planet several times throughout history if they are willing to do that to themselves, what would they be capable of doing to others. So even though humans are relatively new to the intergalactic community, their military prowess is already legendary.
Within a week of the human ship's arrival, peace talks usually start. The mere threat of human intervention is enough to force the warring parties to the negotiating table. Even the most stubborn and belligerent species known to the Galactic Federation didn’t don't want to incur the wrath of the humans.
Of course, humans are not without their own agendas. They know that their reputation is their greatest asset in the galaxy, and they're not afraid to use it to their advantage, making insane money, exploring the uncharted territories of space, and claiming the empty planets they find for themselves. The Federation is happy to let them do so, as long as it means that peace can be maintained.
Soon after they sent the request the answer came from the Human control center, the available ship nearest to that sector was The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'.
“They answered,” Yulok said with excitement.
Zorba nodded reading over the message they received. "The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' is available, it should do the trick. That one always seems to get the job done in just a few days."
Yulok grinned with all of his head. "I can't wait to see the look on those Zorvax and Xalaxites' faces when they see that The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' is in orbit."
Zorba chuckled. "They'll think twice before starting another fight after this. I gotta admit, I did not like the humans at first when we accepted them into the Galactic Federation due to their nature. But hot damn if it’s not fun having them on our side."
“Tell me about it,” Yulok said. “I love their interventions, it’s better than the movies. I’ll prepare some of the best human cuisines for us to watch this masterpiece, the popcorn!”
Zorba nodded finally cracking a smile of his own with one of his two mouths, “Love me some popcorns.”
Yulok quickly scurried off to prepare the human cuisines, while Zorba began to make arrangements to inform the Federation of the upcoming intervention by the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'.
As they settled in to watch the action, Yulok brought out the popcorn and they both eagerly awaited the arrival of the human warship.
Within a matter of hours, the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' arrived in orbit next to the Galactic Federation Center where Zorba and Yulok worked, before heading over to Sector 37AZ. Two aliens watched in awe as the massive vessel dwarfed everything else in the sector.
“They sure make ‘em big,” Zorba said.
“I heard they run on 6 cores instead of one or two like most other civilizations,” Yulok said. “And that design, it’s so unnecessary and tacky but I love every second of it.
Zorba chuckled. "That's the humans for you. They may be a bit...excessive, but they get the job done."
As they watched the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' depart towards Sector 37AZ, Zorba and Yulok couldn't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that the humans were on their way to intervene in the conflict between the Zorvax and Xalaxites and stop a possible war, but they also felt the sense of excitement as they will get to watch masters at work.
*Like the story? Check out my sub* r/LukasWrites *for more!*
[Part 2 up below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11keke0/comment/jb7d5su/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
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m5gjd85
|
m5ff9bn
|
[WP] “We’ve captured your child and to get them back we’re asking for-“ “My child? Do you have a death wish?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” The parent laughs on the other end of the phone, “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it”
|
The men took me from my room in the middle of the night.
They tried to be intimidating and told me to be quiet, so i stayed quiet.
Mom raised a good girl.
The men chained me to a wall and called my mom.
They told her they kidnapped her teenage daughter.
They said she had to give them 5 million to get me back.
Mom acted worried, but i could tell she was just *acting.*
She demanded to speak to me, to check if i was ok.
The man holding the phone turned it towards me, telling her she had 2 minutes.
"Are you ok, baby?"
"I'm ok, mom" i replied "they have me chained to a wall."
Mom continued "Ok, listen closely to me, baby, i very proud of how you have handled this, staying calm and all"
"Yeah, mom, just like you taught me!" I was happy to hear mom saying she was proud of me!
"Ok, but listen to me, baby, these are bad men. Really bad men. And what have i taught you about bad men, baby?"
I started to grin "I get to *EAT* bad men, right, mom?"
"That's my girl! Now remember not to leave any witnesses, ok?"
"Ok mom! Thanks! I'll enjoy this!"
Mom hung up and i could tell the men where confused about what they just heard.
So when i ripped the chains out of the concrete wall, they where slow to react.
|
I sat on the toilet after fixing the server when my phone rang again. It was home office, of course, but I still had to take a dump.
"Yes, IT support here. How may I help you? Actually, not right now, but I’ll note it down. Sure. Wait... what? This must be a joke. Dawud, you fucking cunt! I can tell it’s you from your accent, man. Seriously? You’ve 'kidnapped' my daughter? What’s that voice? Sheila? Are you all kidding me? You guys went back on-site for 'this'? This is a bad joke, man. A really bad joke! Dawud, you grandmother-pranking son of a bitch. And screw you, Sheila, for using some AI app to fake my daughter’s voice. I wrote that fucking algorithm!"
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l3r628p
|
j81kjzp
|
[WP] You are a normal person and have a job as a Latin teacher. When you die you are isekai'd into a world of fantasy and magic. The spells are fiercely powerful. You then realise the spells are all random words in Latin. The equivalent of fireball being the Latin word for bread.
|
Death is often unceremonious, especially in space.
Your first mistake is often your last. All it takes is one mathematical miscalculation, one twitch of the claw, one lapse of concentration… And then you become a counting footnote in the longest running statistic in the combined history of galactic exploration.
At the very least, I thought it’d be quick.
Well, I guess it was quick. I was barely five minutes into my first boots-on walk of the derelict space station’s interior before I heard the soul-sinking metallic sound of violent detachment. I turned to a viewport to see my ship, the docking link ripped in half, just floating away. Some imbalance of pressure, or something like that, probably. It just pushed off and went on its own way, killing me.
You don’t cry. You don’t whine or whimper. You just watch your life leave you. You take your ticket and get in line to be damned.
It was a routine job. Dead space station off of some dead planet way off in the middle of nowhere. Main electronics had been down for centuries by the looks of it. Solar backups were running, but no signals were being emitted. The signaling either gave out or they knew exactly what I knew.
Nobody was coming.
To be fair to the old crew of this vessel, my being here was my own damn fault. I’d… gotten greedy. I’d already salvaged all my marked vessels and was on my way back when my scanners got a hit. Ancient hulks like this were like gold asteroids in the age of scarcity. I wanted to pay out the rest of my contract and retire early, go back to Sol or some other utopia system.
I was overly confident. Canriets like myself were genetically engineered to be rescuers and salvagers, based off the old canines of Earth before she was abandoned for rehabilitation. When the genetic revolution occurred, some old human scientist found it fitting that the rescuer species resemble dogs, man’s best friend. Most of the sapient life in the universe is based off of life from about six or seven progenitor system civilizations, the youngest of which being Earth’s Sol System.
Sol’s first space pioneers were two ancient Earth human countries in competition with each other. Whilst this is a point of shame for anthropological historians, it did foster a robust and determined space exploration initiative. This space station, now my tomb, was one of theirs from the late ages of their “cold war.” It belonged to N.A.S.A., the “National Aeronautics and Space Administration” of the United States of America.
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"While it took me a while to fully grasp the idiotic- I mean, innovative use of Latin, I was finally able to understand the cultural meaning and relevance for the spell. Panis derives from the term companion... and as we all know, fireball is a wizard's best friend. And so, this is why my thesis is on why 'panis', the evocation for fireball, is named so because fire is a wizard's strongest companion."
I finished my explanation with a slamming of my hands upon the desk in front of me, finally blinking and breaking off my prolonged stare with the headmaster of the esteemed school of high magic that I had been holding throughout my entire explanation.
Theodrica Benevoluntaria, the high prism mage and renound scholar of the lands I unintentionally found myself in (after a small case of death closed the door on my previous world), almost looked at me in fear that I would continue talking should they attempt to blink. Their typical gracious posture has slackened to the slumped shoulders of the incredulous, as if they could not decide if what I was saying was revolutionary or the work of a madman.
After a prolonged silence, they cleared their throat.
"Well, you have certainly given me a lot to think about, what did you say the root language of our spells were again. Latin?" Upon my vicious nod of the head, they continued.
"I think we would love to have you here as a scholar," they said, regaining their bearings once more, "While your work may be, well, contested at first, I see no reason to halt your investigation as you managed to create a sound theory that could revolutionize our understanding of spellcasting."
"That's wonderful!" I say. My grin was full of sleep deprivation and my eyes held a manic glint as I cheerfully leaned forward on the headmaster's desk, ignoring their not-so-subtle attempts to lean further away from me.
"Because I have a theory about the vampire-warding charm, allium, that I'm sure will knock your socks off!"
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j3t9sqp
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j3shryz
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[WP] A millennium ago, only the wealthiest were allowed to board the ship, allowed to escape this dying planet into space. In their absence the world healed and humanity built a new utopia. Now, the ulta-rich have returned and want to reap the benefits of the new world.
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"Do you seriously think you have any value among us?" one of the leaders asked, "The only thing you possess is money."
He pointed at us and proposed to the rich, "Please, try to buy someone."
The following silence was uncomfortable, but David was right.
He was there when they left us.
He was there when the world almost ended.
He was there when the rich pushed the people out of their machines.
He was there when they said their final goodbyes to us.
David fought to stay alive. He was one of the few who prevailed and helped to create the utopia we now know.
The rich, he said, had the technology for everything, but they never gave it to us. And even after they left, they took the ideas and resources with them, forcing us to survive with nothing. They discarded the information we desperately needed. If it wasn't for some smart folks who, back in the day, managed to steal data and resources, we would all be dead.
David was a scientist who was offered a ticket if he gave the formula for immortality. He declined, so they took all of his equipment and buried him alive, so he could never reveal the secret.
They didn't want anyone to survive, he said. It was pure jealousy. They didn't want us to have what they could have.
I remember the day he told me these words.
We were sitting in one of the apartments, drinking wine and joking around, when one particular joke made him stare out the window.
After he snapped out of the trance, he shared that his coworker made that joke often.
Apparently, the man chose to stay with him but died after encountering cannibals. He was the man who gave David the idea of the healing pod.
\*\*A device similar to the ones in the movie Elysium.
They know nothing, David spat out, absolutely nothing. The only thing they can do is consume, ruin and leave. If they even dare to show their ugly faces here, I will give them what they deserve.
....
After a few minutes of silence, one of the rich spoke, "You owe this place to us. We hold the power."
"This" exclaimed the leader, "This is ours."
I saw the soldiers hiding in the bushes. It was time, I thought. As I looked at David, he was gone. The man who stood there was no longer our peaceful and full of empathy leader but a madman. A madman, lustful for nothing but revenge.
"But I will give you something if you insist," he said, his voice full of venom. "I will give you what you deserve."
With those words being said, David opened his arms and lifted their ship in the air while the soldiers jumped out of their hiding places and took everyone hostage.
"I will not kill you, despite wishing for this since the day you left. But I am not that person anymore, and you are nothing but descendants of those who betrayed us."
He looked around and chuckled, " Even though I can see some familiar faces."
David turned to us and questioned, "You will decide their fate. Shall we let them go, or shall we do something else?"
The crowd began chanting in a union, "Let them go! Let them go!"
"Very well." David spoke, silencing the crowd, but not even a few seconds later, a few others yelled, "Eat the rich!" which made the man laugh.
"We shall not do such thing. We will let them go." David exclaimed.
I looked over at the rich and noticed how relieved they were by the outcome. My heart filled with sadness as I watched them silently cheer for their success.
David saying he would give them what they deserved and suddenly deciding to let them go was not a change of heart. The crowd chanting was not a coincidence, either.
It was all staged to lure them into the same false sense of security they lured humanity into back in the day.
He was always going to let them go, of course, he wasn't a murderer or a psychopath.
Just not in the way they hoped.
David firmly believed that, in order to punish someone for their wrongdoings toward you, you have to give them the treatment they gave you.
And he was going to do just that. He was going to let them go into one of the hostile planets around us without their ship or their resources.
Because this is exactly what they deserved.
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The whirring sound had reached decibel levels loud enough to turn mellowists, misaphonic. It was more probing than piercing, returning periodically beginning last month, each time lessening it's past half-life.
Most commoners knew not what this alarm meant. But it was worth alleviating the headache to find out. The community council figured it was time for an inquiry. They knew other regions had been subject to the same numbing torture. They knew, the aeronautics agency had meticulously collected intel to be disseminated on request. Now was the time.
"What are we looking at?," asked Xwhi, committee chair.
"I don't have a clue, looks like a flying viral vessel," Gye, subcommittee spokesperson answered.
"It looks like a carpet lollipop," Xwhi jested.
"That's one hell of a relic," Gye went.
Smirks, silence.
"So what do we do? I've only read about this type of shit before, never even seen one depicted," Xwhi said.
Pop!
All of a sudden the loudest whistle rung out. It was as if a shrill rush of air was being blasted into a tennis ball. It was warming up outside, beyond what the forecast called for.
At center square, onlookers craned their necks upward. The vessel was slowly descending towards the empty westward plains.
Xwhi's tele-ring beamed fluorescent light. As did Gye's. As they simultaneously thumbed its underside, a message projected in their palms. It read, 'URGENT - Please contact all community members including transitional persons by tele-ring or preferred method of communication. Have them watch this five-minute video on intergalactic visitation.'
"I knew it," sighed Gye. Gye's face contorted into an expression of unrelenting disgust. It was as if Gye was put into a moldy caste, and retrieved as a statuesque figure.
"Talk please, you're giving me contact nerves," claimed Xwhi.
"I think we need to focus on this community mess-"
Suddenly Gye's tele-ring buzzed the same whirring sound that was heard by all before. It was going off at a fever pitch but contained to room level loudness.
"Fuck that," Gye tapped the device twice.
Seconds later the device went off again, seemingly louder than before. Once again, Gye tapped twice.
Then Gye's tele-ring beamed a fluorescent light and whirred at the same time. Gye thumbed the device, a message read 'Gye, please contact your local light-speed engineering representative as soon as physically possible.'
The whirring continued. Gye took the tele-ring off.
Xwhi's ring then began to whir the same sound as Gye's. As did Xwhi's beams light up.
"What is this shit?," Xwhi shouted. Xwhi thumbed the device and received the same message as Gye.
The whirring on Xwhi's tele-ring continued. Xwhi tapped it once. A voice protruded from the center of Xwhi's palm. These tele-rings bent relative dimensions.
The voice shrieked, "Welcome, have I contacted descendant Xwhi?"
"I'm going to give you a minute," Gye said and stepped out the committee suite.
Xwhi, confused, replied "who is this?"
"Is this Xwhi of First-Earth-Salvaged, tropical region?" the voice demanded.
"Shit!" Xwhi immediately took the tele-ring off.
The only creatures known to refer to earth as 'First-Earth-Salvaged' were the once elite habitants. Years ago, they jettisoned off to unexploited planets, leaving behind the masses to deal with a cratering world. Family, friends, coworkers and any sympathizers were left behind to scrap for diminishing resources.
It was said they continually gutted any planet they touched, only returning to those that were able to overcome their fate and become "Salvaged". When they came back, they snarled well wishes to distant relatives in hopes of reconnecting. Not one planet that wasn't officially "Destroyed" ever hosted or answered them back.
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jtqyr7e
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jtq7y31
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[WP] During one of your nightly walks, you stumble across a man struggling to rig the underside of a bridge with explosives. He also spots you and the two of you just stare at each other awkwardly, as both of you clearly don't know how to handle the situation or what to do next.
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"Nice night, comrade." He was stock still in the deep shadows of the bridge. He had turned his flashlight off when we made eye contact.
"Well, it was."
"Really? Still seems like a nice night to me, quiet. I see no reason for things to change, do you, comrade?" He shifted uneasily. Calling him comrade was having the intended effect.
"*Thou art not my comrade."* He spoke in old Castilian with a heavy accent.
"Maybe not, but you do have one here don't you. Probably more than one, there are men in these hills. We saw them at last month's train. Tell me comrade, were you responsible for that explosion too?" He started to back slowly to the other side of the bridge. I slung my rifle from my shoulder to my arms. He stopped moving, though his hands remained at his sides. "That was a fine explosion."
"No, the train was not my doing."
"Good, I thought we had captured the one responsible. Now, where are the men, where is your support? No man could string this bridge alone in one night by himself."
"They are coming, they may have seen you and ran, these men are foxes." He took slow steps forward until his legs were in the dim moonlight, face still just a silhouette. "Who are you, *comrade.* You are no mere sentry."
"*Thou are a keen one."* They were speaking in normal tones and still there were no signs of anyone in the trees. "I am one who thinks like your general does. Who is he? Kuznetsov?"
"Golz."
"I do not know him. He is a good comrade. Surely, he drinks when you discuss bridges." I brought a cigarette to my lips but did not light it. "You drink too, no? Want one?" The man scoffed and shifted his weight before reaching his hand into the light. I threw him a cigarette.
"I do not drink while we discuss bridges."
"I see, then then the men are not coming. They are in the pines, *carrera*."
"You might be right, they are foxes, it takes wolves to blow a bridge." He pulled out a lighter and lit his joint, lighting his face briefly. He was young. "And I imagine it takes a wolf to patrol a bridge suspected of exploding."
"It does."
"This bridge must blow tomorrow."
"My army must cross this bridge tomorrow. My reinforcements too." The man took a long drag from his cigarette before tossing me his lighter. I lit my cigarette.
"Then I suggest your army, and your reinforcements, cross this bridge before I am given the order."
"*When are thou to get the order.*"
"After your army crosses the bridge, before the reinforcements."
"It is a shame to not be a fox. We could have worked together, comrade."
"We wouldn't be here if we were foxes."
"True, true, comrade."
We continued to smoke in the dark.
​
(Yes, this is heavily inspired by "For Whom the Bell Tolls" I am reading it right now and this prompt was just too coincidental)
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"Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb," I noted with surreal calm, watching the old, scraggly man strap a collection of C4 bricks to the underside of the bridge. It crossed over the Hillevi River in Macklemore, Arizona, less than a mile away from my house, along the path of one of my favorite walking trails.
Hearing me, he turned and fixed my eyes with his: they shimmered like a fresh graphics card pulled from a Best Buy box, and I suddenly found a deep, tugging desire to leave and forget everything, strong like the compulsion to stop running when you're on a treadmill and start wondering if your legs will buckle and get your knees ground up by the belt because you never wear that damn safety clip.
But I fought it. See, I'm a writer. I do it for a living, and I love it. And these daily walks are coal in the engine of my train of thought. Without the coal, the train doesn't run, and without the train running, the books don't get written. I don't get paid. My family - my wife, my daughter - they don't eat. And my family eats, baby.
"Nah, fuck off, go blow up some other bridge," I commanded.
He blinked, surprised, and climbed down from his perch. I backed up. He stared at me harder, and his shimmering eyes reached anime-girl-looking-at-cute-school-gerbil levels of nonsensical shimmer, which was fucking terrifying in real life, I'll tell you what.
"You...you're not bowing to my commands. You should be bowing to my commands!" the man shouted. His teeth flashed, his incisors longer than normal.
Crazy guy with sharp teeth, or legit vampire? I didn't care. I whipped out my phone. "Listen up, one call from me, and the fuzz will be on your ass. You'd better start talking."
The question of crazy or vampire was answered: with a hiss, he turned into a ton of bats, and flew off. I started to call the cops, and that's when the entire bridge went up in a huge ball of flame.
Suffice it to say, the trail was destroyed, and I can't walk very well after the force of the blast threw me into the rocks beside the trail and crushed a few vertebrae in my lower back to powder.
But that's all right with me, it was all worth it: the train's got enough coal now to last a lifetime.
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j3u650d
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j3txn07
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[WP] A millennium ago, only the wealthiest were allowed to board the ship, allowed to escape this dying planet into space. In their absence the world healed and humanity built a new utopia. Now, the ulta-rich have returned and want to reap the benefits of the new world.
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“This will be your apartment Mr. Bigsly.” The man in a red one piece uniform said. John Bigsly looked around. The apartment was a large open design overlooking the ocean. Well appointed. In the distance he could see rain falling from the clouds. Clean clouds, clean rain. John opened a door and stepped out into the patio. He could see rows and columns of identical apartment pods around him. As amazing as the building was, the outside was better. The fresh crisp air was invigorating. The ship’s recycling could only scrub so much from all the people on board. The 2 years on board at near light speed had been hundreds of years on Earth. He turned to the man. “This will do for now. Have I received word back on my inquiries?”
“I think you’re confused Mr Bigsly. This is the response to everything you’ve asked about. There are no special accommodations for you or anyone else from your vessel.” The man in red walked to a wall and touched it. The wall lit up and displayed time, temperature, and calendar. The red suited man continued “this has a list of required courses you will have to take to update your knowledge enough for you to contribute. It also details your work assignments for the week. 4 days of 4 hour shifts. The clas….” “Bullshit!” John interrupted. I work for no one! I have nothing to learn, and I’m done talking with a piss ant like you, get me your boss!” John was red in the face.
“My name is Brent, I have no boss, and you have no options. This is where you live, and it is where you will contribute. No contribution, no food or energy will be provided”. John Bigsly was building up to a verbal explosion when Brent tapped the door, stepped trough, turned, and said with a grin “welcome back to Earth” the door closed.
John stomped to the door and touched it. A buzzer noise sounded that John knew meant no. The wall panel chimed “Welcome to citizenship basic training. You will not be permitted to leave till all classes are complete. Let’s begin” John’s rage switched to inanimate “screw you, I need to talk to your leaders”. The panel’s voice replied “Failure to pass classes results in failed to become citizen, non citizens will be asked to leave. The graphic showing on the screen looked like one of the apartment nodules tilting down and a stick figure falling out the window. The figure was even labeled “non citizen”. The apartment shifted a fraction of a degree towards the sea, righted itself, and a chair popped up from the floor. John sat down.
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A millennium ago, the world was on the brink of collapse. Climate change had ravaged the planet, and resources were scarce. The wealthiest among humanity, who had long been the ones to profit from the destruction of the earth, realized that they could not survive on a dying planet. So, they decided to build a spaceship and escape into the vastness of space.
Only the richest of the rich were allowed to board the ship, leaving behind the rest of humanity to suffer and die on a planet that could no longer sustain life. As the ship blasted off into the black void, the remaining people of earth watched in despair, certain that they were doomed.
But something miraculous happened in the absence of the wealthy. Without their greed and disregard for the planet, humanity was able to come together and heal the earth. They implemented sustainable practices and developed new technologies to combat the effects of climate change. Slowly but surely, the planet began to recover.
As the years passed, a new utopia emerged on earth. People lived in harmony with nature, and resources were shared equitably. The population thrived, and the earth was once again a bountiful, lush place.
But the spaceship carrying the wealthy was not lost in the vastness of space. After a millennia, it returned to earth, the ultra-rich aboard eager to reclaim what they had left behind. But they found a new world, one they no longer recognized. They demanded to be given back their rightful place as rulers, but the people of the new utopia refused.
Enraged and desperate, the ultra-rich began to try to take by force what they could not claim through peaceful means. But they were no match for the united and empowered people of the new utopia, who had learned to live without them and had no intention of returning to the old ways.
And so the wealthy were forced to leave again, this time permanently, as the people of the new utopia continued to build a better world, one without them.
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ksr3uc8
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ksr2t49
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[WP] You wake up in a padded cell. The doctors tell you that your entire life has been a lie. That there is no magic. However, you can still use magic.
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(First time writing, I had a blast, hope I did well ^-^)
I open my eyes, light possibly brighter than the sun could hope to produce fills my vision, why on earth am I being blinded? I close my eyes for a bit, but It’s completely overwhelming. I slowly raise my eyelids once again, trying to get used to the white projection. The comfortable surface that I thought was my bed appeared to be the soft floor of an empty, white room. Everywhere I turned all I would see is one singular colour. All the walls, the floor and ceiling were completely padded with some soft, white material. My head stops near one of the corners, where what can only be described as a hanging spotlight projects an agonisingly bright light straight at me. Before I could wonder what was going on I suddenly heard a beep, followed by a voice, seemingly coming from every direction.
“Good morning, Mr. Kigam, you have been placed in a monitored cell due to being considered a threat to others. We had you handed over to our scientists by a mental institution, after you supposedly started attacking other patients and making them feel unsafe. You will follow a standard routine of a meal every six hours and a diagnosis every eighteen hours, please adjust yourself to the schedule.”
What is he talking about? A mental institution? Patients? I don’t recall any of that, the last thing I remember is helping the tribe of the Undak elves during their war against the Scadds!
“You must be mistaken, I was never in some mental hospital, I’ve been studying magical arts under the leader of the Ydohs clan for forty years! Ask anyone in the Rainu kingdom”
After a couple seconds of silence, I heard the noise again.
“Yes, we have received information on your stories and, erm… reality you live in, we have great psychiatrists that will help you understand what situation you found yourself in and help you recuperate from your delusions. Our only goal is to help you reintegrate into society Mr. Kigam.”
What is this farce?! Who are these people, how can they be so great at telepathy and light magic and yet not recognize the heaps of arcane energy inside my body? Hesitant, I release a bit of sorcery into the palm of my hand. It’s still there. I don’t understand what they are speaking of, I must somehow leave this place, my students must be worrying. I call back my energy, they can’t know what I’m capable of.
I continued waiting and analysing the room around me. The walls could be thick, I couldn’t risk using an attack, they might be looking forward to that. Looking deeper inside my body, I realise something. The heaps of energy stored inside me were reduced to almost nothing, how long have I been asleep for? I must’ve not been able to restore my power for a while. The voice said something about feeding me, so the plan was simple: Wait until someone walks in with the food, restore energy, and improvise some strategy on the spot.
I waited, waited, and waited. After some time I began doubting the escape, for I didn’t know the capabilities of my opponents. All I could rely on was my own skill in battle.
Suddenly, one of the walls bent in a weird way, almost like a door, and a person wearing some weird clothing walked in. His body was completely covered in some white fabric, and he seemed to be a pretty big person. In his hands, there was a sheet of some metal, with what I presume was supposed to be my portion of food, but I couldn’t think about eating. I started to run towards the man, and before he could realise what was happening my palm was placed firmly on his arm.
“Soto!” I exclaimed, and the spell got through. He didn’t move a bit. Soto is a pretty weak spell, so this is an indication that this individual didn’t know much sorcery. I restored my energy from his body and rushed towards the open wall.
I was met with a huge room, this one was way darker, my eyes felt relieved, yet I couldn’t rest.
“Stop!” I heard a voice from my right. It came from the direction of three individuals, all wearing what I could only describe as heavy knight armour, but completely black, and much less heroic or shiny. They held some weird tools in their hands, and immediately pointed them at me when I turned my head to them. “Return to your cell at once” One of them ordered.
That’s not happening, I’m leaving now. Raising my hands, I called forth the energy I just got. The moment my hands lit up, so did their tools. Tens of small things started flying from them towards me, really fast, comparably so to the speeds some of the greatest swordsmen I met reached with their weapons.
I barely dodged out of the way, the spell still in my hands, I proclaimed “Razem!”. Immediately an aura surrounded them, and I moved my arms towards one another, until both my palms were near the opposite hand’s elbow. The three individuals ceased attacking and got crushed against one another, a perfect scenario using simple telekinesis. Running towards the nearest door suddenly a loud, repeated noise started voicing itself everywhere, it must be some sort of alarm using telepathy, but why would they send it towards me as well?
Sprinting through the labyrinth of doors I noticed a big lit sign with “Exit” on it, tired from the constant rush I made one last dash towards it. Calling forth one last spell. “Trig!” I proclaimed, a ball of energy appeared in my hand. I cast it into the door which supposedly held my freedom. Upon contact, it extended and erased the object as well as a bit of the frame and walls. Sure enough, sun rays filled the corridor. After leaping through the door I found myself on some hill, and in front of me was quite the sight. Rectangular structures filled with colourful light under a night sky, not in my wildest dreams could I imagine such a sight.
This was not the world I lived my whole life in, and I had to know more.
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The silence and darkness were divine, as always, but something, or someone, was disturbing my serenity. Whispers and hissings. The disgusting sound of vermin. Vermin of all kinds abounded in this castle, my prison.
As I was aroused from my heavenly sleep, I began to comprehend the presence of others, others who, with their weak mortal tongues, were talking about me.
“Does he usually sleep like this?” a new voice said, one that I had never heard before in my long imprisonment. The voice was old and the words were spoken slowly and with difficulty.
“Not usually. Only when he is going through a bad phase,” another said. This one I knew well. He was my warden and my watchman. The one given the task of preventing my escape by this place’s master.
I opened my eyes, and the most disgusting colors of all greeted me: orange and white. The small square room was orange in all four directions. I hated it. This strange room and its disgustingly soft, lumpy walls. The two standing opposite to me, in front of the door, wore bleached white. They were staring at me as if I were a bird in a cage and they couldn’t wait for the birdsong to start. Perhaps I should oblige.
I smiled. The old man with the beard beside the warden returned the smile with one of his own.
“Aw, shit. Here we go again.” the warden said.
“emit lla fo– ” My voice cracked mid sentence. I started coughing and I could feel something in my throat. Something dirty. How I hated this body, and this was far from its worst afflictions.
The warden started laughing. The old man looked at me sympathetically. Rage overtook me.
“emit lla fo esuom tsetaerg eht si tar!” By the end I was nearly shouting. After I finished, I smiled triumphantly and waited.
Nothing happened. The warden kept laughing. The old man was looking at me genially, benevolence shining from his eyes. I was too hasty, perhaps; it was not yet time for such things.
They started approaching. I was at the far end of the room, but it was a narrow one. Three to four steps and we were nearly face to face.
“Is it comfortable?” The old man asked. “Sleeping while standing, I mean. It has often been recommended to me, but I haven’t yet, sadly, tried it out.”
I didn’t reply. The old man was new, but he was similar to the one before him, and the one before that. This plane was an amalgamation of the mind bending and the confusing. Most of its inhabitants only outwardly kind. They spoke soft, honeyed words. But for as much as they talked, they didn’t listen. They claim my healing as their goal. I claim myself healed of whatever ills they believe me to be afflicted. At that, they look at me benevolently and speak their soft, honeyed, meaningless words. The warden was much more to my preference.
“He isn’t going to talk, ” the warden said. “Whenever his attempts at ‘spells’ fail, he starts sulking.”
“I see,” said the old man, and returned his attention to me. “May I ask what the aim of your spell was?”
I tensed my arms that they had wrapped behind my back. I tensed my whole body and then took a step forward.
In fear and haste, the old man started running backwards, like a cockroach. I laughed.
“Hey, hey,” said the warden. “Don’t you worry. He isn’t violent, but he does like to posture.”
The old man was nearly out of the room when the warden said his words. He stopped his funny sort of escape. But at least there was no benevolence in his eyes now.
“No, let's go. I think I have seen enough,” he said.
“No skin off my nose,” the warden said. “Though if anybody knows about our visit and asks, I will say that you pulled rank on me. The administration is very strict about these sorts of things.”
“Sure, sure.” the old man said. They turned to leave. I considered letting them leave without any final words. But here was an opportunity. From their repeated insistence, and from their repeated treatments, doubts had started to assail me. Infinitesimal doubts, it is true. But still.
“It is the full moon tonight, is it not?” I asked.
Their reactions were enough. The old man nearly jumped out of his bones. The warden looked at me strangely.
The old man looked at the warden accusingly. “Did you tell him about this? The previous doctor was very strict in this matter I believe. In the matter that highly deranged patients should have no notion about the passage of time.”
“No idea,” the warden replied. “But some are like this. Biological clock and all that; nothing to worry about.”
They left. The warden started locking the door behind him. I liked him, so I smiled. He grimaced.
Tonight was the full moon after all it seemed– that white, full ghastly moon of this ghastly plane. Soon, it would be midnight, as my senses were telling me. Throughout my imprisonment, my awareness had been returning bit by bit, and now I was assured of their strength.
Once midnight comes on this night of the full moon, on this night of the darkest month of the darkest year, I would leave this disgusting puppet body and these disgusting vermin and this ghastly plane, and return to my own moon. My beautiful blood red moon.
That the inhabitants of this plane had earned my wrath, was indisputable. I shall remember this plane, and I shall return to it in due time. Thence I shall destroy them slowly. Playing with them as one plays with puppets. As they played with me. And in all my play, I shall give fruit only to what they have sown.
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j8bmh50
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j8abjsp
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[WP] As a Barbarian, you hate that just because you have a different lifestyle, your party looks down on you and assumes you are incapable of basic intelligent thought. Today you had enough.
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"But Krug, the way they treat you is- it's criminal! You have the most combat experience in the team yet they all think you're a... uh-"
"dunce, know-nothing, unculture brute, all muscle and no head, yes Krug get called many names, young one. Krug is okay with names."
"Yeah but, why let them? I know you're more knowledgeable than you let on. I just saw you secretly fix Greybeard's spellcircle and he just thinks he got it right the first time."
"Ah you saw, so Krug's old bones no longer sneaky as they used to be, good to know. Now young one, come sit and let old Krug tell you story.
When Krug your age, krug *did* talk back. Krug was strong, proud, clever too, but not clever in the right ways. When Krug beat warrior Hogarth in contest of strength, Krug would brag to all and call himself best, but Hogarth wouldn't forget. Hogarth poison Krug drink before battle and Krug suffer from bad stomache. When Krug see mistake in rune circle, Krug would laugh at wizard Alastus, but then Alastus would 'forget' to help when Krug in danger and only treat Krug's wounds last. When someone call Krug 'wrong', Krug would hit back, but many friends lost that way. Many more later became enemies.
Krug live this long only because Krug has learned. There are better things than saying who is strongest or smartest, and if Krug is called fool, that is okay as long as Krug and team work well and live another battle."
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"It's called being Reckless!"
"The shortest distance between two places is a straight line." Alexandria rolled her eyes. "Honestly just because I'm strong doesn't make me stupid. Simplicity is its own form of genius!"
"Look all I'm saying is relying on just basic mana isn't going to cut it. Even with Reckless you're going to get seriously hurt."
"It's the simple solution. Damage is good." Alexandria replied. "Finesse is one thing, I have finesse and I CAN use tactic's if the situation calls for it... but how often does it really?"
Julia rolled her eyes. "All the time really."
"The reason we form Parties is because we work together. I'm the front line with you, and Magni and Thuri are the back line. You know how the Dungeons are."
"Which is what worries me." Juli said. "Just... be careful."
"Oh I'll show you careful!"
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[WP] You receive an emergency alert on your phone telling you that a nuclear device will be detonated in your area within the next 10 minutes. 11 minutes later you get another alert saying "This test of the Emergency Alert System has been sponsored by Oppenheimer, in theaters July 21st."
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What does one feel when they find out there are only ten minutes of your life left? Panic. Become emotional. Freeze. Feel guilty over the bad things you did. Feel sad over the things you never did.
There are honestly many permutations and combinations of the accepted reaction because who's going to accept those reactions except the one going through them.
Me? I feel nothing. There's no 'I wished I kissed her' or 'I should never have yelled at my mom that time' or any other thoughts really. I just accept it and an odd peace settles over me. Why wouldn't it? I'm not the only one dying. Everyone else is going to too, misery likes company after all. So there's honestly no need to feel sorry for myself.
I find myself looking at my last sunset. I want to say I don't think about how my skin is probably going to melt or if I'll just end up combusting instantaneously. But I do. No one wants to die painfully but apparently that's the only thing in the future.
The streets are wild. Everyone is screaming, crying or having sex. Some are drinking themselves into oblivion. I shake my head.
I turn back to look at the mesmerizing view of the sun going down, the sky alight with brilliant orange, yellow and red. And I think that living wasn't so bad after all.
My watch beeps. The ten minutes are over. I close my eyes, the setting sun my last sight, waiting for death.
I wait and wait but nothing happens. I open my eyes and frown. Can't people ending the world be punctual?
At exactly the eleventh minute, my phone chimes.
*This test of the Emergency Alert System has been sponsored by Oppenheimer, in theaters July 21st.*
The sound of cheers followed by angry curses fill the air. I continue to stare at the message stuck in the middle of having an irresistible urge to laugh and kill the person responsible for this stupid PR stunt.
I decide that laughing while kicking the shit out of them is actually a pretty appealing idea.
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It's been several hours since the ill-fated attempt at innovative viral marketing was broadcast on the official Emergency Alert System. Sirens are still wailing, fires still burn out of control, the incessant gunfire hasn't abated at all.
With 10 minutes to go and no hope of salvation people went insane, or rather, whatever insanities they carried around now had no leash to hold them back. Somewhat akin to the "Purge" series of movies neighbour turned on neighbour for any number of petty reasons that no one would ever know, because they were mostly all corpses littering the cities streets now. Offices, schools, public places of gathering were all now mass graves as seemingly anyone with access to assault weaponry just started spraying lead indiscriminately. Cars mowed down pedestrians. Cyclists were chased and pulverised in some sick version of a tag , with drivers whooping and hollering as they sped off to find their next bounty.
I don't know why it seems no one stopped when the marketing 'prank' was revealed. Perhaps they knew they had gone too far, in for a penny, in for a pound? Perhaps they didn't know or care, who stops to look at their phone when they're on a killing spree? All I know, as I look out my 15th story window through blood splattered binoculars, is that my wife shouldn't have brought up divorce and taking the kids earlier this week...
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[WP] Everyone knows about the WHO (World Health Organization), fewer know about the WHAT, WHEN, and WHERE. Only a select few know about the HOW, a secret organization that the world as we know it cannot function without.
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I awoke in a daze in a candle-lit mausoleum, a hooded figure towered above me.
“Rise, young one. Tell us your name,” said the figure.
I stood and realized that the figure was actually quite diminutive—short in stature but with a steady frame. I looked around the room and realized there were five other such figures surrounding me.
“I’m Alice,” I croaked, my throat was dry.
“Oh dear,” said the first figure. “Get her a glass of water will you?”
One of the hooded extras scrambled away but soon returned with a steaming cup of tea.
“Fresh water’s no good down here, as I’m sure you’re aware. I hope tea’s alright with ya, dearie,” she said as she handed me the mug.
“Thank you.” I must have been out for a while. My voice sounded weathered, almost foreign to my ears. It must have been quite a fall I took. My hips ached—in fact my whole body hurt. “Where am I?”
“Yes, yes. Let’s get on with it then,” said the first figure who was clearly the group’s leader. “We are here to determine whether you have what it takes to join our little society. If you are found worthy, you shall know great joy. If you are found wanting…well you’ll just be on your merry way, back from whence you came.”
“Your society?”
“Society. Indeed,” said a woman behind me. “Yes, we are a society and without us society is not. We are the backbone of a functioning world.”
The other hooded figures assented to this assessment with little cheers and shouts of “amen!”
“Quite right, dear,” said the leader. “What Gladys said just then is true—“
“Connie! No real names!” Said Gladys.
“Oh, hush, you,” said Connie. “She’s harmless. Anyway…Our society, the HOW, helps dictate how a society should function. Tell her, girls.”
At that command the group straightened their posture, each figure grew ever so slightly but remained quite a bit shorter than I was. Each figure intoned their clearly rehearsed lines in a clockwise manner.
“We are HOW manners are minded” said one.
“We are HOW love is learned,” said the next.
“We are HOW discipline is doled,” said Gladys.
“We are HOW recipes are remembered,” another.
“We are HOW traditions are taught,” said the last before Connie.
“We are HOW children are cherished,” said Connie.
As Connie finished her last syllable, she…she grew. They all grew.
Or, was I shrinking?
I looked at my arms and legs and did not recognize them. My skin lacked is usual springiness, it slagged slightly, my hands were spotted and hurt. “What—what is happening to me?” I cried.
“You were found worthy,” cheered Connie.
“Welcome to the HOW!” Shouted Gladys.
I felt as though I was going to lose my patience, heavens knows I would have before. But suddenly, I felt a warm sense that everything would be ok, that I could reason through anything with a smart question and a knowing nod. I felt at peace and wise for the first time in my life.
“What does HOW stand for?” I asked finally.
“Hardy Old Women, of course,” said Connie with a chuckle. “Welcome to the club!”
_________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
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Sasha blinked as the hood was pulled off her head. The dim lights of her surroundings still bright after several hours in the completely blackness of the hood.
“Welcome. Sorry about the rough treatment, but we have to keep this place secret as best we can.” A kindly voice came echoing from around the corner of what Sasha realized seemed to be a cave of some kind.
“Come in child,” the voice said again. “We won’t hurt you. Especially after all the trouble it took to get you here.”
Sasha looked behind her for signs of her other captors but only saw the darkness of the cave behind. As she took a few tentative steps forward the sound of slowly dripping water echoed in time with her steps. When she peeked around the corner, sitting on the ground with her feet in a pool of water was a small old woman. Her hair was a steely gray, and her eyes were a kindly blue of the sea. In her lap was a furry something that Sasha could not make out.
“Come child, sit with me.” The woman patted the ground next to her.
“Who are you?” Sasha tried not to let her nervousness reach her voice.
The woman let out a chuckle. “We are the organization that you have been searching for. I am Mother Madeline.”
“That doesn’t seem like the name of a leader of a world organization. More like the leader of a cult.” Sasha spit back.
“I assure you, child. We work closely with all kinds of governments and organizations. Now come sit and I will answer all your questions.”
Sasha sat across the pool from Mother Madeline. Her toes brushing the water of the pool in front of her. “So you are the HOW organization?”
“Indeed we are. We were alerted to your interest by our brothers in WHY after you left the WHO in a bit of a firestorm.”
“It wasn’t my fault. If only—” Sasha began in a fury.
“Calm down, we have no interest in that. We brought you here because we think you have potential.” Mother Madeline smiled at Sasha.
“Potential?”
“Yes. But first a test.” Mother Madeline tossed the furry bundle at Sasha. “If you want to be part of this sisterhood, you must pass some tests.”
Sasha held the smooth bundle in her hands. It was slicker than she expected, almost damp to the touch. “I don’t understand what test?”
“One all initiates must go through to become one of the Healers of Water. Now, follow me.”
Sasha watched her mouth agape as the old woman in front of her slid on another furry coat and suddenly an old seal sat in front of her. It barked once and slid into the pool of water and out of sight.
After a few moments, Sasha whispered to herself, “Feet first as always.” and slid on the soft coat.
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[WP] It becomes abundantly clear to the characters that the narrator has terrible narrating skills. They start to get off track criticizing the narrator for every mistake and bland writing.
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**The November Battlefield**
——
“This is what happens when nobody believes," Father Christmas spat a wad of blood and wiped his eye with a once white fuzzy cuff that now matched the hue of his suit.
The November battlefield was once beautiful.
Falling leaves on the ground. Poetry in the wind. Nostalgia in the hearts.
"Look what you have done!" the Lady Lord of Halloween shouted. She wore an armor suit weaved of bone. Her hair was long and black in a single braid wrapped in webs. She gestured with her sword, a great long blade of twisted black metal, over the burned battlefield.
In the piles of the dead some soldiers cry wounded, clawing in the mud.
Elves, ghouls, skeletons, reindeers, turkey, patrons of giving -- they all littered the field.
"I told you -" Father Christmas spotted the Thanksgiving Steward, a sprite, the keeping of grateful remembrance. Small and mighty. Bleeding and struggling to sit up.
"Don't -" the Lady of Lord of Halloween started to plea but it was too late. The sprite was brought to an end by a size twelve boot.
The Lady Lord of Halloween cursed the heavens and took a firm grip to her sword, and with both hands held it before her chest. She took a deep breath.
Behind her the lands off October lay in smog and enclosing doom.
"On my honor, one of us will die before you set foot on October soil!" She cried and charged.
Father Christmas cracked his knuckles and took a fighting stance. "I will make them all believe again!"
She swung, he dodged and spun around and swung his sledgehammer sized fists wildly. He towered over her. A once humble giant turned to a ferocious beast.
The Lady Lord of Halloween flipped back and around, she couldn't be touched.
Father Christmas screamed in anger -- "I gave them everything! And still they all love you!"
He was rage and unbound. Sloppy. A misstep. A spin. A single chop and one of his sledgehammer fists parted from his body and before he could calculate it all the Lady Lord of Halloween had twisted and ducked low and the twisted black steel went in that once jolly belly and popped out his back in a geyser of blood.
Father Christmas kept on his feet.
He reached for her and snarled.
She dug the blade deeper. And twisted.
Bloody tears ran down his face.
He fought it, knees shaking, and finally he fell to one knee.
"They -" he coughed. "They did this to me."
The Lady Lord of Halloween felt pity for him. They were friends all their long years, as they say. But her eyes gazed over him to the destruction he had brought.
"You did this to yourself," she ripped the blade from his gut and he fell dead. In the mud it was hard to tell where his suit ended and the pool of his blood began.
The Lady Lord of Halloween looked around and started to cry.
She found a wounded soldier - the first one her eye saw - an elf, and went to his aid.
"Lady?" he asked.
"It's ok," she said. He could only look up at her confused.
She nodded. "It will be ok."
----
r/wyrdfiction -- Sub if you like my writing.
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"Father Christmas!" called out the Lord of Halloween across the bloody fields of November. "Your campaign of expansion shall go no further! On my honor, one of us will die before you set foot on October soil! ...We were friends once, Father Christmas! Don't make me destroy you!"
The wind howled and the snow swirled as the two mythical figures stood facing each other. The Lord of Halloween was a tall, imposing figure in his black robes and skull mask, while Father Christmas was a jolly old man with a white beard and a red suit.
"I'm sorry, Jack," said Father Christmas with a twinkle in his eye. "But I can't let you stop me from bringing joy to the world."
"It's not about joy, it's about balance," replied Jack. "October is my time, and I won't let you take it away from me."
The two figures circled each other in the cold night air, their breath visible in the moonlight.
"You've changed, Jack," said Father Christmas sadly. "You used to be full of mischief and fun. What happened to you?"
"I've seen too much darkness," replied Jack. "I've seen what happens when people give in to their fears and their nightmares become real. I won't let that happen again."
Father Christmas sighed and shook his head.
"You're wrong, Jack," he said softly. "Fear is just an illusion. It's love that brings people together and makes them strong."
Jack laughed bitterly.
"Love is just another weakness," he said. "It blinds people to the truth and makes them vulnerable."
Father Christmas reached into his sack and pulled out a small gift-wrapped box.
"Here," he said, holding it out to Jack. "Open it."
Jack hesitated for a moment before taking the box and unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a tiny pumpkin with a smiley face carved into it.
"It's a reminder," said Father Christmas. "A reminder that there is always light, even in the darkest of times. You just have to look for it."
Jack looked down at the pumpkin and felt something stir inside him. It was a long-forgotten feeling, like a spark of hope in the depths of his soul.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Father Christmas smiled and nodded.
"Now, let's go home," he said. "There's hot cocoa waiting for us by the fire."
Jack nodded and together they walked back across the fields of November, leaving behind the battle that never was.
As they reached the edge of the field, Jack turned to Father Christmas and held out his hand.
"Friends?" he asked.
Father Christmas grinned and took his hand.
"Always," he replied.
And with that, they disappeared into the night.
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[WP] "You should be aware that casting this spell will legally require me to take your firstborn child" said the Witch, "but the meaning of 'take' was never defined, so I imagine we can figure out a loophole or two that'd work for you."
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"Please," the woman said with tears in her eyes, "*anything*. I'll do anything!"
The crone looked at her through her thick glasses and scratched one of her many warts. The woman's pleading was touching, even to someone who's seen as much as she did. She reached into the nearby drawer for a paper scroll and laid it out on the table.
"I can help her," the witch croaked, "but understand that there are rules. If I help you, I *will* have to take your firstborn child."
"I- but- *why*?" the women pleaded.
"No one quite knows," the witch shrugged. "These rules are older than any of us. Certainly older than you, young lady."
The woman cast her tear-filled eyes at the child in her arms. It was barely crying; it was running a fever so hot she felt as if it could burst into flames any second. She looked back at the witch and nodded.
"*Just save her*," she whispered in a hoarse voice.
The witch handed her a quill dipped in ink and tapped on the dotted line. The woman took the quill and, after staring at the parchment in confusion, made a small X on the line.
"Will this do? I- I can't-"
"It will do," the witch nodded and rolled the paper up. She turned, collected several nearby bottles, and went into the next room, closing the door behind her. The woman remained in the room, alone and sobbing quietly as she caressed her sick daughter softly. Lights of various colours emanated from the witch's workshop, accompanied by quiet buzzing and crackling. Suddenly, a loud clap shook the hut. The woman steadied herself and checked the child.
It was smiling.
The fever was gone, the eyes no longer bloodshot, and her skin looked a healthy pink colour. The mother laughed with joy.
The door swung open and the witch walked out. The room she was in was still glowing with a light purplish haze and smelled faintly of lilac.
"Is she- ah," she said, seeing the happy child. "Very good."
She walked closer and inspected both the child and the mother with a careful eye.
"I just need to hold her. Please, just a moment. I need to-"
"Rules are rules, young woman," the witch said and reached out.
The mother, her joy turning to grief once again, kissed her daughter on her forehead and extended her towards the crone.
And the witch took her in her arms.
She brought her closer to her chest and looked at her. There was a peculiar softness to her gaze. Softness one would not expect from a wrinkly old hag.
"Please," the woman pleaded, "raise her well. I beg of you. I beg of-"
The woman's words were cut short as the witch handed the child back to her. Slowly, as if she could not believe it, she took it back into her arms and hugged her closely.
"The rules state I must take her. They do not state for how long."
The mother's legs shook as she looked at the witch.
"Oh, don't give me that look," the hag laughed raspily. "You walked through the Dark Forest to get to my hut. You were prepared to leave her with me if it meant she would be healthy. Do anything to protect her. You know what that means?"
The woman shook her head.
The witch motioned her hand and the door to the outside magically swung open. A small cat sat on the threshold and observed the people inside with an appropriately disinterested look.
"The cat will show you a safe way home," the witch smiled, revealing surprisingly clean teeth.
"Thank you," the mother whispered. She went to the door before turning one more time. "*Thank you*!"
"You'll be a good mother," the witch nodded contently.
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Agnes pulled her Takeaway Catalog and presented it to the worried parents. "Shall we flip through and find a 'takeaway' that fits you and your firstborn child?"
The couple stared at her like she just grown horns on her warts. "You mean we don't have to give her up to you?"
The witch sighed and rolled her eyes. "No, you nincompoops! That's old-fashioned Salem style. We don't do that anymore if we want good business and repeat customers. So, take a pick." Agnes gestured towards her catalog. "Do you want me to take them for a summer holiday trip? Take them for a spin on my broomstick? I stock as many loopholes as that old wizard Myzgog has holes in his fridge logic!"
"When you say summer holiday trip, how long will it last before our girl comes back to us?" The father asked.
"As long as you want, really," Agnes shrugged and slurped at her mug of Gooey Gargle Blaster. "A budget day trip? That'd cost you $50. You want a weekend holiday for little Charla? Make that $300. So, what will it be?"
The child's mother gazed cautiously at her cup, its content the same texture as the thick mud around Werewitch Swamp. "Who gets to plan the itinerary for the weekend summer holiday?"
Agnes flashed her a toothy grin. "Why, honey, that's entirely your choice. You could come up with the travel plan yourself, and I do my veery best to make it happen. Or you could trust me to plan the trip for your little one."
The father nodded and turned to his wife. "I say we plan the trip. Who knows what twisted ideas that witch has for holidays. Her concept of fun could be rather inappropriate. I mean, just look at her bloody gothic decor!"
"You say like we have a lot of time on our hands!" His wife shot back. "My cousin said her son had a great time with Agnes, so I say we give her a chance."
"Might as well give that eldritch god in that fishing town a chance. I'd rather sprout tentacles than hand over our daughter to that warty witch. Not even for a week!"
"Excuse me, I'm a certified ASTA Travel Industry Expert" Agnes snorted, spurting Gargle Blaster juice on the table. "Alongside my Magical Safety Certification, no harm will befall your daughter."
The couple pulled away from Agnes' table to discuss among themselves. She was done gulping ten Gargle Blasters when they finally sat back down before her with a decision.
"We'll entrust Charla into your care for a week in exchange for casting your Wealth Spell," they declared.
"Good!" Agnes clapped and nodded. "Now sign your names on this contract here. Then, get your girl over to my swamp hut and put her thumbprint on the contract too."
"Wait," the couple was confused. "Why would you need that? We're making the contract with you. Charla isn't involved in this spellbound exchange."
"Well, excuse me, you bumpkins!" The witch snarled. "I'm a law-abiding good witch, and little kids have magical rights to spellbound contracts too!"
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[WP] They said that you could never save the kingdom, that you would fail and die miserably, because you were not the prophesized hero. And when you returned after saving the realm on your own, instead of welcoming you as a hero the king banished you, as it was not your place to save them.
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And it didn't take long for them to come crawling back to me. Knowing I was the biggest threat no one wanted to mess with the kingdom until news got out. Now there are several neighboring Kingdoms out for the king's throat and he sent a pathetic guard to get me to help.
"No." I didn't even look at the man as I tended to my fruit snails.
"But-"
"He kicked me out after saving everyone and now that he got rid of his bigger fighter he is dealing with consiquences. What happened to his so called chosen-one?"
"Uh..." The guard clearly didn't know what to say. "He... wasn't chosen to... to uh... s-save the king from this."
"Oh because it's not in the profacy- guess what."
"Uh... what?"
"I wasn't either and was hated on for doing what was best. I'm not going."
"But-"
"Leave or I'm killing you."
The guard left in fear and continued to harvest my fruits. The snails seemed happy as I plucked the heavy fruits from their shells. After taking off all of them, I headed towards the nearest kingdom, one of the few that were now invading the old kingdom.
They were cautious but no one actively hated on me and a few even approached. "Are you selling those fruits? Or are they purely for trade/gifting?"
"I'm selling. Three pines each." They seemed so happy. Apparently most sell for 10 pines so I was giving them a solid deal. Even one kid who was saving up, happily trotted to buy a fruit.
"On froot plesh." He held up his money. I, of course, took it and handed him the fruit. "Sho ya da old ki'dom hero?"
"Yeah but they kicked me out." I shrugged and started counting the money I got.
"Whay?"
"Because I wasn't part of the prophecy. Don't even know what happened to that guy."
"We ate im." The boy said.
I looked at him, look around me and then realized I was in the kingdom of cannibals, Sharinal. Literal cannibals treat me better than my old kingdom- you know what, I will stay.
"Understandable. You like the fruit?"
"Yesh!" The boy said happily with near by folks also in agreement.
"How about I stay here with my snails?" The excitement in their eyes. "I would have to raise my prices to about 5 pine each to afford living here but this seems like a nice place."
"Wait!" Turned out one of my costumers was one of the local lords. "We can give you a small plot of land and a decent house for free if you plan on staying."
"For real?"
"Yes, you wouldn't even need to defend us," the man said it with such confidence I believed him. "You just have to keep your fruit at 3 pine."
"Deal."
The man happily showed me to the house. On the way I got to see the prophecy 's fain hero with the funniest caption on his grave. *A hero of the kindom- for filling our bellies!*
I hope I can get that in my grave as well but with a much more flattering head stone and burial. They may be cannibals here but they're people with standards- and a love for snail fruit.
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(Just a friendly reminder I'm not a native English speaker)
After I defeated him... Lucas... I returned. Knowing my fate would be horrible. I had two good reasons to know this; the king would not like it. He was the prophesized hero, wich also was the reason of his power, his reason of being king. But he would never have done it. He would never have killed his own brother. And as his adviser and best friend, I knew he wouldn't. He even told me he couldn't. So I took his place, and it worked out. Now my punishment would be waiting.
After the long trip home, still wounded, with a broken arm and a horrible cut in my leg. I returned to the kingdom. Not fully sure if it would be my last time entering. I went directly to the castle. Knowing I had to tell him. He was my friend, he had the right to know. The guards told me he was in his bedroom. After some surprised looks from staff I reached his door. I knocked, and I entered.
It was cold in his room. The fireplace was dusty. He sat in a chair while reading. For a second he looked up at me. Then he returned to his book. 'Thomas I...'
'Let me finish my chapter' his words were cold, colder than the room, like ice stinging right through me.
After a few minutes of silence, he closed the book. The loud slam of the book hitting the floor filled the room. 'Where have you been.' He knew where I was, he just wished he didn't, he hoped I would just tell him I had been on a little vacation, with the wife and the kids. But he knew better.
I pulled a ring with a green emerald out my pocket and tossed it to him. His eyes filled with tears but his expression did not change. 'Why' he wisperd. 'You know why.' I made my voice sound as ferm as I could. Ignoring my nerves. One tear rolled over Thomas his cheek, then his expression changed to rage. 'YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THIS.' I tried to keep my calm. 'I know, you were.' Guard entered the room. 'I want this man out of my sight, I don't care where you drop him. As long as he is not in my kingdom anymore.' They grabbed me under my shoulders. 'THOMAS NO, YOU KNOW I DID THE RIGHT THING!' I screamed, but he just sat down in his chair, picked up the book, and started reading again, now with tears rolling down his face.
(I would love some feedback, I normally don't write in English
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[WP]"Halt, foul beast! You shall threaten this town no longer!" Yelled the hero, drawing their blade, an ancient artefact that glowed and became razor sharp in the presence of evil.. except it wasn't only not glowing, but dulled as the hero pointed it at the 8' tall man-wolf huddled in the corner
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"I'm lupine, clearly," the man-wolf sighed, extending his tongue to lick a deadly claw and turn the next page of the book he was reading.
"I said halt, foul beast!" the hero repeated, the flat bit of metal shaking in her hands.
"And I said I'm lupine, not fowl." He paused to glance over his spectacles at the tiny hero. "Oh, wait. You're just being rude, is that it?"
The hero swallowed her fear. "I... I have come to slay evil, to protect my village!"
"Uh huh." The wolf folded his glasses and put them on a shelf. "And I suspect somehow I'm a threat to you?"
The girl-pig shut her eyes and steeled her resolve. "Y-you're going to eat us all if I don't kill you!"
The wolf's mouth opened wide, revealing rows upon rows of sharpened teeth. The hero waited for a howl, perhaps a roar, before the jaw clamped down and straight through her armor.
Instead, the wolf laughed. "Eat you? Oh, sweetheart, you'd barely be an appetizer." He reached over and grasped the tiny hero with his claws, lifting the miniature creature off the ground.
"T-then what's been attacking us at night?" the girl-pig asked.
The man-wolf put the hero gently back upon the ground and adjusted her helmet. "Now that, my dear, sounds more like a potential dinner guest."
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The blade imbued with the spirit of an ancient monster hunter would not cut anything the spirit of the monster hunter deemed innocent.
The cursed one in the corner whimpered and pleaded for their life. The blade began to vibrate and soon the apparition of the ancient monster hunter materialized before the new wielder.
"You, sorry excuse for a monster hunter!"
The spirit said pointing at the hunter.
"Can't you see this one is cursed?"
"But it is a monster!" Howled the hunter.
"No, cursed does not mean monster. You must endeavour to cure this one of their curse or my blade will never pierce flesh again."
The hunter relented and sheathed the blade. After, this he offered his hand to wolven one.
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lb8pfay
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lb8chhs
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[WP] "Let me make this perfectly clear. You are not saving my daughter from a dragon. She IS a dragon. You are going to protect her and keep her company until she learns how to control her magic."
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"ah, well, I have a confession to make."
"...if it is that you slayed her, so help, I WILL-"
"No-no-no! She's alive, she's breathing, she is living and breathing!"
"Good, so then-"
"I mean she's living and breathing fire because she prefers to be a dragon."
"...she prefers to be a dragon?"
"Yeah, see she met up with this other princess who turns into an ogre at night, and found that she enjoyed protecting her as a dragon. It got to the point that she preferred being in scales-makes her feel powerful, you know what I'm sayin'. Gives her a view no one can ever take away from her, plus she can fly! I mean who don't wanna fly."
"B-b-but, she is beautiful as a human!"
"And she's amazing as a dragon, i dunno what to tell ya."
"This...this is upsetting to me."
"Oh, well, ah, see I came here to reply to the ad cause I had something to tell ya, and I have a feeling this might be more upsetting."
"My daughter wants to be a dragon, what could possibly-oh boy. She killed people didn't she?"
"That...probably, but that's not it. See I'm a father."
"Proba-what do I care what you are? My daughter slayed people?"
"Ooooh, she did more than that. See, she's the mother."
"The mother....wait...but...."
"Yeah... their names are Debbie, Coco, Bananas, Peanut, Parfait and Eclair. Surprise, y'er their grandaddy!"
"But...you're a donkey!"
"I'm also very charming!"
"How is that even possible!?!"
"I mean by that logic, how'd you think I'd slay her in the first place? It definitely wasn't going to be with a sword, well....not a metal one-"
"SHUT UP DONKEY!"
|
Tori hummed and rubbed her chin after hearing the woman's request. Nugget looked up at his mount with a few cheeps and a cluck.
"It's a weird one, Nugs." Tori chuckled at her cockatrice, whose snake tail wagged with anticipation. "But money's money and we're the closest magic teachers and bodyguards around... kind of."
Nugget stretched his head at Tori with a cheep.
"I know, I know. We'll eat soon, okay?" Tori glanced at her cockatrice, who cheeped back.
"This time of year is inhospitable to all but the local ice dragons and storm dragons." The requester rumbled. "For now, I have a cave where you and your bird can stay."
"Oh, that's perfectly fine. I used to live in a cave when I was a kid." Tori waved her hand with a chuckle. "My mom taught me how to hunt in caves and the forest"
"Great!" The woman beamed while she handed over a map to Tori. "Here's a map of the area. My cave is marked here. I'll leave you and your bird to get yourselves adjusted for a few days."
Tori thanked the requester and went off to find the cave she and Nugget will be staying at for the next six months.
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m2586ug
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m252u1j
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[WP] You’re a villain celebrating Christmas alone, until you get a knock on your door. Turns out that the heroes heard and didn’t want you to be alone
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It was going to be a small event, just for me as I finished preparing my meal, a chuckle as I began the mental calculations for leftovers to come. There was a terrible blizzard that shutdown the airports so my kiddo couldn't come with their new boyfriend, which was alright for me. We'd make plans for New Years at least.
The soft music played in the sitting room as I finished my plate, giving myself generous helpings as I saw one of my robots fly by, beeping to get my attention. "Now now, is it an emergency?" I asked with a chuckle as I walked to place the plate on the table. Call me old-fashioned, but I liked the idea of a dining room table with music in the other room. The small drone continued to beep as I finally looked at the screen. "Alright, guess so. Please show me?"
"It probably wanted to show you that we had crossed your thresholds and were coming in," a voice echoed as I felt myself tense, then untense. Of course it was. I only could sigh as I deactivated the alarm on the little drone, allowing it to return to its perch as I started to walk back into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine. I felt I would need it.
"Crystal ball tell you I was up to no good with my recipes? I know I am ignoring my doctor's recommendations for portions, but that cannot truly be that evil, Arch Mage?" I said as the hero gave a shrug as he stepped inside, another hero following as I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "And the new-girl too? My dinner must truly be evil beyond all words."
"Alright, out with it, don't you see I have a busy night of celebrating Chris-" I started as I turned around to the sound of the heroes walking into my kitchen and grabbing plates. "Excuse me, what is this?"
"We heard you were alone tonight because of the weather, and decided as we were off the clock, we could visit," the young man, one of the newer masters of the magical arts said with a sheepish grin. The young girl behind him hid behind her plate as I sighed.
"First, you mean mooch, not visit, damn thieves. Second, who snitched? I have a strict policy against snitches." I really didn't, I just said I did.
"One of your henchmen told us that you gave them all double their day's wages, on top of their normal holiday pay to, and I quote 'take time for your loved ones, whether family, pets, friends, or that roommate, and have a blessed holiday', as I heard it."
"Hmm, maybe I'll have to bribe them more to not go crying to the damn heroes, huh?"
"They just wanted you to not be alone tonight, uh, Mist-"
"I'm not up to any evil tonight kiddo, you can call me Jeff. But alright, if I am going to be hosting the idle-handed mooches of the community, you may as well hurry up and get comfortable. What music do you like?"
|
I set the lights on my mansion, and the Christmas decorations.
I shipped in a beautiful Christmas tree in my Events Hall.
Took me 2 weeks to decorate the entirety of my mansion but I did it.
I loved Christmas.
I baked cookies, and made hot-chocolate, and a lot of dishes.
Yet I sat...alone, at the table prepared for dozens.
"Guess that's what I get for being a villain?" I chuckled to myself, as I poured myself another glass of egg liqueur.
That was when the doorbell rang.
I stood up, a bit expectant, a bit curious...and a lot of confused.
After all, I haven't invited anyone...I didn't have whom to invite.
Opening the door, I came face to face with...dozens of heroes.
All dressed in civilian clothing...festive, with gifts in their hands.
"Merry Christmas, Mother of Monsters!" they said.
I was...baffled, to say the least.
"What? Merry Christmas...What are you doing here?" I asked.
"We heard about your party, and came over." Sun Goddess, one of my nastiest enemies said with a smile.
"Is this a ploy?" I asked.
They all laughed.
"No, why would it be? You create beasts, and creatures from long-lost species.
Sure, you steal the samples, and free zoo animals...but compared to the other villains, you are harmless.
And quite cute." one of them said, winking.
Slightly...embarrassed, I nodded, and let them in.
They all were amazed by my home.
"Holy shit, even from outside it's...wow, but the inside...
You spent some time decorating, no joke." one of them said.
"Why are you even a villain? With this much money....I would do nothing!" another one laughed.
"Animals deserve to be free...I recreated ancient forests, entire ecosystems for them, yet the world doesn't allow me to free them...
I heal animals, and sell some of them for money...I have to live somehow..." I muttered.
They all nodded, and dropped the topics.
We had a wonderful dinner, and I may or may have not made some friends...actual friends.
I was even invited to a New Years Eve party...
"Life...is as strange as I imagined...I love it." I thought to myself, as I cleaned up after the party, and then went to feed my little babies.
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l1w9m3o
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l1vvbnk
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[WP] Every dragon rider gets a dragon egg to hatch upon their initiation to the guild. When your egg hatched, Your dragon came out a bit... Different.
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No two dragons were the same. Some say the form it takes depends on the care it receives while still an egg. Others claim that it is based on the soul of its rider. And more believe that it is entirely random. Whatever the case, this has never happened before. A dragon born smaller than a mouse. Even after a year of care, in which most dragons reach their full size and strength, my partner never exceed the size of a common rabbit. My cohort mates had repeatedly told me to try again, get another egg, and leave this one to the reservations or sell it to the circus of curiosities. The drillmaster took the opportunity to declare me unfit for service in the royal dragon legion, recommending me for menial duties until I regained my honor by breeding a worthy dragon.
Then the time came for battle. The first true test of the legion. A portal to the nether realm had opened, and creatures of darkness and demons were approaching in the hundreds. We lined up in the parade grounds, not really listening to the supposedly rousing speech by the drillmaster. His dragon stood tall, her gold scales glimmering in the sunlight. The others were mounted upon their partners; Most were whispering words of encouragement, perhaps more for themselves than for their mounts. In stark contrast, Crownperch nestled in my hair, unfazed by the size difference between his peers, nor nervous at the prospect of a life and death struggle. The other riders threw glances in my direction. Some were of derision, and others of pity. It matters not. My dragon may not be as large, have as many spikes or possess an elemental breath like the others, but it was the most special of them all, for it was mine. The trumpet of battle sounds, the gates open and we rush out to meet the incoming horde.
----
*My dragon is the best. With a single claw he takes down demons by the dozens. He has one large scale covering his body, which is pretty good at deflecting small blows. I cast my protection spell so that magical attacks glance right off. I see the other dragons fighting furiously, going toe to toe with the lesser beasts. Mine, however, with some help from my physical and mental enchantments, bites through them like teeth through bread. He periodically checks to make sure I’m safe. After all, he is my father before he is my dragon. I sit proudly atop his head, undisputably the best view of the carnage. Yes, I am the best dragon rider, for my dragon is the best.*
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It was a wiggly, legless boy... I stared at my son, with awe and confusion, stared at everyone else... and then back.
"OH NO!" The guild master turned pale. "You got the wrong egg!"
"Welp!" I waked away with him trying to flag me down.
"Wait wait wait! Which one of my assistants gave you that one!" He managed to get in front of me.
I cocked an eyebrow and looked to all the others behind me. I knew which assistant did it. The same one who hated me and threatened to feed me to a Mealwyrm, so I gladly pointed her out. She turned very pale, she knew such a deadly '*mess up*' would not only get her kicked, but also arrested and black listed.
"Okay, do you know what that is?" He was so afraid to touch da baby. I don't blame him, Mealwyrms are deadly to the touch and I was only not burning because I was a plasmoid and we were naturally immune.
"Yeah, I dealt with Mealwyrms before. Just never a baby until now." I moved passed him to keep going.
He wasn't surprised that I survived an encounter, its not hard when you're faster than everyone else in your village but that was back in my prime. I'm now a lot thicker as much of me has evaporated. I kept going to find a nice, quiet place. They gave me this baby, even if the specifics was due to malice, I was gonna do all I can to take care of him. I heard the others fighting, I never turned back- until I needed to get back to work the next week.
Between the back and forth, time went flying. Its been about 60 years, turned out they age a LOT slower than us Plasmoids. My death bed has been waiting for me and I know they'd kill him the moment I'm not here. I need to find him a home but there is a reason why Mealwyrms are rare as they are. No one wants them, well no one but me. I can't die until I know he is able to defend himself properly. I just wish I knew how to avoid death like how I avoid taxes.
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