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[WP] "What? Why would I be the villain?!" You cry. Some evil mastermind has trapped you in a room with your nemesis. Both of you have lost your memories, and are bickering over which of you is the hero and which is the bad guy.
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“Look at the way you're dressed”.
Guy 2 looked down. “What's wrong with my clothes?”
“Purple pants and a green shirt. That's villain stuff”, Guy 1 said as if it was the most rational thing in the world.
“That makes no sense!”
“Yes it does. They're clashing secondary colors. Look at me, blue jeans and red shirt, primary colors. Heroes wear primary colors like blue, red and yellow, villains wear secondary colors like green and purple”.
“You're trying to assign us moral values based on color!? That's insane!” Guy 2 stood up and banged on the door again.
“You're also bald” Guy 1 explained, still sitting on the floor, his legs stretched in front of him, right over the left. He appeared much more comfortable now that a narrative was beginning to establish itself.
“Balding!” Guy 2 turned around, emphasizing the *ing*. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
“Bad guys are bald or balding, and they have that little circle goatee thing going on”. Guy 1 traced a small circle with his finger, while pointing it at Guy 2.
Guy 2 instinctively took a hand to his chin. Frowned and then pointed at Guy 1. “Well you're balding too, buddy. That hairline is definitely receding”.
“See? You're trying to hurt my feelings. Classic villain stuff” Guy 1 shrugged, his expression betraying that he was in fact a little hurt.
Guy 2 took a deep breath. “How did we get here?”
“That's precisely what we're trying to figure out”.
“No, I mean this discussion. How did we arrive at deciding we're heroes or villains”.
Guy 1 sighed. “We're trapped in a storage room. We lost our memories. We immediately disliked each other. It's only logical that we got kidnapped by an ever bigger villain than you, perhaps a villainous organization”.
“Even bigger than me…” Guy 2 mumbled, chuckling with annoyance. “Okay, show me your superpowers then. Break us out of here”.
Guy 1 shook his head. “Clearly there's some sort of dampening, or power negating field which cancels them. And you got your tech taken away from you”.
“My tech? What are you talking about now!”
Guy 1 rolled his eyes. “Super heroes have natural powers since birth. We have those powers because we are good. Super villains”, Guy 1 waved at Guy 2, “need to use technology to give themselves powers in imitation of us”.
“That's so condescending” Guy 2 gesticulated as if excusing himself from the whole thing, and went back to banging on the door.
“Stop that, save your energy for when the next act is revealed. It's clear we're not going to open that door”.
“So we just sit and wait?” Guy 2 paced from the door to the back wall.
“In my experience, things always end up working out. Well, for heroes. You…” Guy 1 paused. “Well maybe this is the beginning of your road to redemption. Huh? How about that?”.
Guy 2 stopped in front of Guy 1. “So you remember things now?”
“Well, no, but it stands to reason!”
***
“What are we calling it?” Professor Kline couldn't take his eyes from the monitors.
“Comic Book Poisoning. We were calling it Marvel Poisoning but Disney threatened to sue us”. Junior researcher Gálvez jotted down something on his clipboard.
“I thought this research was still unpublished”.
“It is, but Disney has people in the University’s fund allocation committee, precisely for this kind of thing. Brand Protection”.
Professor Kline nodded without taking his eyes from the monitors. “It makes sense. So this happens whenever middle aged men are put in isolation and given temporary amnesia?”
“Yes. We're seeing this over and over. Subject 2 is less susceptible, which fits his prior history”.
“Okay. Let's take them out of there. They signed their waivers, right?”
Junior researcher Gálvez checked his clipboard. “Yes, all legal documentation is up to standard”.
“All right. Get them out, restore their memory and give them their Amazon cards. Do we think we're going to be okay publishing this?”
“Disney's Brand Protection says *we're* okay as long as *we* hint at a closer connection to Warner than them”. Junior researcher Gálvez put only the tiniest bit of emphasis on ‘we’. At this point it was counterproductive, career wise, to point out that this was the first time Professor Kline was coming into the lab this year.
***
[More of my stories at r/BradingRoom]
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I woke up in a chair. A red chain was wrapped around me, binding me to the seat. I looked to my left to see a woman in the same position as me, looking confused. A long window was ahead of me. This looked like a room for research or experiments. The scary part was that I couldn't remember anything about myself. A man walked in. He had a back skintight suit. He looked like a supervillain. "Hello. I am Dark Sparrow. I captured you two and erased your memories. We're going to play a game. One of you is a hero. The other's a villain. You are nemeses. Tammy, meet Jon. Jon, meet Tammy." I looked at the woman with my mouth agape. She looked at the man with my very reaction. She looked at me and said, "You're totally the villain." "What? Why would I be the villain?!" I cried. "Ugh. Don't be so sensitive", she told me, rolling her eyes.
"Let's answer some questions", said Dark Sparrow, "If someone tells a joke that isn't funny, do you fake laugh?" "Yes", I said. "No, you shouldn't. That's not a genuine reaction", retorted Tammy. "Alright, that got us nowhere", said Dark Sparrow, sounding defeated, "To be honest, that's all I had planned. I thought you two would start arguing like were in the verge of divorce. It would've been entertaining. I didn't think this through. I guess I'll just torture you two. BRB", he said, before leaving the room.
"God damn it!", she shouted. "Hey, it's gonna be okay", I told her. We sat in silence for a bit. "You know, it would be too weird if you were the villain. I mean, you seem nice", she said. "Yeah. I would be a great hero. I really like the idea of saving people." "*I'd* be a great hero. Better than you." I smiled at her. "You don't seem like a villain", I told her. The man stepped back in with his hands behind him. "Okay, I just realized that by forcing you two into this, I might be pacifying the villain, rendering this all pointless. The villain could be come a different person...by the way, the villain's Tammy." "What!?", we exclaimed.
"Time for torture", he said. From behind his back emerged a bonesaw. I screamed in fear. I tried to channel it into rage. Suddenly, lasers shot from my eyes and knocked him out. "Woah", she said. I blasted the chains with my laser vision. They broke, and I wriggled free. I blasted her chains, too.
We ran out. I realized that I had a phone on me. I halted and pulled it out to look at my contacts. So many names I didn't know. Tammy stopped and observed me. I tapped on "Gerald." I called him. "Hi, Gerald? My memory's been erased. I'm gonna text you my location." I tapped the Maps icon. I screenshotted and sent the picture to him. "Can you pick me up?" "Yeah."
It's been a week since that happened. I got in-touch with my family, and they told me about myself. Tammy was now a hero. We're friends, and it's all thanks to a happy little kidnapping.
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jispozg
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jisltyv
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[WP] "Rules are, you can't—" "Yeah, yeah," you cut off, "I can't wish for more wishes. Should I also assume I can't wish I can wish for more wishes?" At this, the genie pauses.
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"Look. Listen here, fuckers. Three wishes. No more, no less. Only three wishes. You can't make me grant you more than three wishes." The Djinn said, pointing a angry finger at Jack and Kyle, who consulted with each other.
Jack spoke up. "We wish for more genies."
"You fucking -" The Djinn frowned. Another Djinn poofed into existence, portly and heavily bearded, with a balding head and thick glasses.
"Hey, guys. You want to make some wishes or something?" Genie 2 said, adjusting his glasses.
"No, don't answer any requests for wishes or anything like that, dude. They fucking like, loopholed my ass. Look at them. What are they gonna do? Wish for what?"
Jack Black shook his head. "You're right. We have everything we could possibly want. I'm a Hollywood megastar, a world beloved comedian, a musician and I was in a movie with Ben Stiller."
Kyle Gass cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, and I-"
"Not now, Kage! Look, we get .. five wishes!"
"You're huge assholes. Five wishes. Fine. You get five. What the fuck do you want?' the original genie scratched his beard.
"...I don't know." Jack muttered. "What do you wish for, Kage?"
"I don't know, man, I wish I knew." Kyle said, shrugging. He shimmered, and with a startle of surprise, he snapped to reality. "I wish I had a full head of hair again. No. Hold on. I wish I had the serenity to accept being bald."
"You already had that!" The original genie yelled, pulling at his hair. "You've been bald for decades!"
"Then I don't know. Does that count towards wishes?"
"I'm leaving! I'm giving these wishes to someone who fucking understands what this opportunity means!"
On the other side of Hollywood, Ben Stiller stood in line at a Subway. "And so. Then, I was telling my personal friend Vince Vaughn, sure, we can have the guy dressed as a pirate. Pirates are funny. Really cinched the movie."
With a flash of light, the genie appeared before him. "BEN STILLER! I GRANT YE THREE WISHES! WHAT IS YOUR HEARTS DESIRE?"
Ben marveled with stars in his eyes for a moment, before pausing.
"I don't know."
"God damn it."
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"....yyyyyyyyyyes. Yes, you should definitely assume that," says the genie, nervously.
"...you seem quite nervous about it."
"It, um, it's in the rules *now*."
"But it wasn't in the rules when I originally summoned you, was it?"
"..."
"I wish that, in any genie-human interaction, the rules that apply are the rules that were in place at the time of the summoning."
"Granted!"
"I wish that I can wish for more wishes."
"I'm sorry, that one's not allowed."
"What? But -"
"I never said that it *was*. In fact, I explicitly said that it was against the rules *now*. You only have two wishes left."
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jcu20ng
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jct4tkd
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[WP] You are a super hero named “Hammerspace” due to your ability to seemingly pull objects of any size out of a magic bag. In actuality, you stop time and just grab stuff from your surroundings. You were captured by your nemesis and he is super confused as to why the bag won’t work when he uses it.
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"I mean, it's my power, innit?"
"What?!" DestructoMan snarled at me and I had to work hard to hide my growing smirk.
I was a newer hero on the scene and there was a lot of buzz about my ability. I was dubbed 'Hammerspace' after my first fight where I'd bashed a bad guy with a hammer. After the fight, a newscaster had asked me "Where did that hammer come from?" And I'd told them it was from my bag because i didnt know what else to say.
Later that night, I watched the fight on replay and dud to the angle of the camera, it *really did* seem like the hammer came out of my bag, so in all my future fights, I made sure to "grab" things from there.
If i was being honest, Hammer*time* wouldve been a better name for me, since all i really did was stop time and grab things, but I figured, it was better to leave people guessing, especially bad guys like DestructoMan.
He was still over there, reaching into my bag and hoping for a "Destructo-Ray" or something, but. Of course nothing came out.
I couldn't stifle the laugh that was growing and DM rushed over to me, getting all up in my face.
"Explain this to me!" He held my empty bag aloft and I just shrugged at him.
"I said, it's my power... do people really think I have a magic bag? It's not like a portal, mate."
"It's not?" He looked back down to the bag and I saw my chance.
I shot my legs up at him, landing a kick square in his jaw- sending him reeling back. As someone with non-physical powers, I had to make up for it somehow, so i learned self defense.
I was also, naturaly flexible, which helped me to wriggle my bound arms from behind my back and around my front.
Thank the gods DestructoMan hadnt locked me in a cage.
Right now, I had free reign of his workshop. Plenty of toys to work with; but first, I had to put on a show.
I mimed entering a combination in the air in front of me, before pulling at an invisible handle. Then I froze time. Looking around quickly, i spotted a knife, which i grabbed and surruptiously slide up my sleeve. Returning to my spot, i unfroze time and, with a flourish, "pulled" something out of ths space in front of me: the knife I'd just hidden, which i used to untie myself. Before squaring up against DM.
"The bag is just for show, dummy! I can make Hammer Space, anywhere."
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You watch with glee as your nemesis, Churdtogus, The Choad Gargoyle wrestles with your burlap sack. You enjoy his bewilderment and giggle with childlike exuberance as Churdtogus puts his head into the bag. You laugh as he reaches into the bag and pulls out nothing. You snort as Churdtogus tries to cram his ugly wings into the bag, remarking that he now looks like a complex needs teenager who needs to sit at the front of the short bus with a bicycle helmet on.
"y dun werk"
You shoot a lazy look back, trying to stifle the glimmer of mischief in your eye. Poor sod doesn't even realize. Every time he flails that sack around, I've stopped time.
And I've picked up a pebble.
And I've inserted it up Churdtogus's churd hole.
I'm up to 42.
43. 44....
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k1o2oxf
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k1m8wfu
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[WP] You accidentally saved a princess from a tower. Now she won't stop following you, blabbing about "true love."
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Ever seen one of the stories of a lady pretending to be a man? I'm one of those, having traveled from the land in the east to hone my skill. I've been called a ninja, a martial artist, and many other things, but my current dilemma has been calling me "My True love" ever since I saved her from the tower of a crazy wizard that was going to sacrifice her.
Currently we've been traveling on a horse drawn cart I nabbed from the wizard's pen. She was sitting in the back yammering on about a wedding, and I was sitting on the bench with the reins. Currently we were pulling up on the side of the giant wall of her family's castle. We kept pace as we approached it, and as the princess behind me started to wave at the oncoming guards, I jumped up, using my katana to cut the stuff connecting the horse to the cart, and landing on the horse, I grabbed the reins and stirred the horse, setting off at a gallop.
I shouted back at the princess, "No offense, but I already have a fiancé, and I did tell you, but you just didn't hear me."
I rode off at high speed, heading straight out of the royal capital and headed onward, passing through town I slipped off the horse and let it keep running, and sure enough a group of royal guards went by at full speed chasing after the horse.
A few weeks has since passed and I was in the next kingdom over, and I was in the local guild building, looking at different quests, when I group of adventurers tried to tackle me. After making quick work of them, knocking them out only, I fished out a quest notice from one of their pockets, a very detailed drawing of me, rewarding whoever would bring me in alive and uninjured to the kingdom I had rescued the princess of.
Reading the details, they claimed I was a "Betrothed with wedding jitters that just needed a hand getting back to the wedding." which I took to the head of the guild and presented my side of the story. He stated that he would alert the guild associating but did warn me that the posters were now in circulation, and that even if they've been officially revoked, the people that made the request would still probably offer a reward for my capture.
Thanking him, I headed to my home. I live in a houseboat I confiscated from some bandits I had captured when I had first come to the west, and climbing in I was greeted by my Fiancé, Emerald.
She's a dwarf that had found me injured after I had battled a lightning dragon. I had won, but with a serious injury, and with her help I made a speedy recovery, and I stuck around for a short while, and I found love. Thankfully the dwarves are very open-minded people, and they knew about my actual gender since they had treated my wounds and were awaiting the day we sent them an invite, since we planned to have the wedding when we returned to my home country.
She already knew about the princess, and now after I had shown her the request and told her what was happening, she started rolling on the floor laughing. After the laughing frenzy was over, we started sailing out, though not on water. When we had left her home, the dwarfs gifted us with an upgrade to my ship, allowing it to fly.
Sailing off, let the wind take the way, but for the next week I dealt with guild men try to catch me, and after that I decided I needed a break, so I put aside my traditional warrior clothes, and left my chest binding behind, and I took some time as just a random citizen, doing shopping, getting stuff done, and we had plenty saved up from my quests so we weren't in trouble for money.
At one point thought someone saw a resemblance to me and the poster and thought I was a sister to my alter ego, and followed me back to the ship, and waited till dark to bust in, though me and Emerald weren't sleeping, and let let's just say he ran but didn't make it far. We left him tied to a tree nearby and vamoosed elsewhere.
After a while, after the heat had died down, I returned to work, and while there was a few that attempted to take me, I made quick work and moved on with my day. After a few days, things were about back to normal, when suddenly I had a surprise visit. I was sitting in the guild looking at some bounty posters I had plucked from a piled, considering who to go after, when the door was thrown open and low and behold, in walks not only the princess, but her father and a group of guards.
I quickly stashed the papers into a pocket and snuck out quickly, making my escape before I was noticed. Though as I was making my escape behind the building, a few guards had wandered around and saw me, which led to a full-on chase, which they were horrible at.
I weaved my way through narrow spaces and slipped through moving venders and animals, till I had left them in the dust and was hopping aboard my boat, with Emerald sitting on the deck waiting for me after she had seen the entourage go by earlier.
We started to lift off, when a horse came running up to where the ship had been a minute previous, on it the princess, who now say Emerald looking over the railing of the ship as it settled a good ten feet in the air.
I raised my voice, telling her this was my Fiancé, that I had told her about, and that we were leaving, never to see her again.
We sailed off, a few men on horses tried to follow us, but we left them behind, and as we sailed, we agreed, it was about time we headed to the east, we've been waiting to have that wedding long enough.
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"But you saved me that means we are supposed to be together its just how it works sir."
"I have a wife I cant take another we've known each other since we were kids, ive known you for about five minutes and in that five minutes you tried to seduce me fifteen different ways, flashed me so that you could claim that now that ive seen you naked bust I owed it to you and have "tripped" into me knocking me down an causing me to accidentally touch your breast as I tried to catch myself, you are out of control and I am taking you back to the kingdom to get you out of my hair so I can go back home to my WIFE who I will love until the end of the gods."
"Fine. I didnt want to have to do this." *Thunk and a fade to black*
As you wake up you find that you are chained in a royal looking bedroom with no weapons and in royal garb rather than you common rags. Confused and scared you look around while trying to escape only to hear the door open and a crazy giggle from the very same princess who knocked you out but now she was covered in something red. "oh hes awake bring her in and bring the children too" She says as her wicked smile becomes more deranged, you soon see you wife being carted in with poorly tended amputations that were sure to get infected and cuts all across the visible parts of her body. "do you still love your wife now that she is nothing but a broken mass of meat? look at my handiwork, not bad right she'll be scarred forever if the infection doesnt take her first, ill do the same to you kids and I will make sure that they don't get any type of treatment at all unless you marry me after all we are meant to be for only my true love could rescue me."
You hear you wife try to say something but she couldnt without her tongue and she couldnt see you with eyes sewn shut so she was looking in the wrong direction to talk to you. *SLAP* "don't try to talk undesirable thats why I ripped your tongue out, so you couldnt try to talk your dear husband out of marrying me!"
"Whats wrong with you?! Why did you have to do that to my wife, and why would I want to marry you now? My answer is still no!" you scream anger filling your vision until you see the princess start to chuckle before she breaks out into a demented laugh.
"Very well I guess you get to watch your kids befall the same fate and that will be your last chance because if you say no after that ill do the same to you stick your wife and kids in the filth cell of the dungeon to ensure they don't make it and we will go down every day so you can see you beloved family slowly rot while they are still alive before the finally die of infection. If you say yes however they will be well tended and will live a painless rich life in another city as "royalty" never to see you again but not in pain and never mistreated." With that you hear screams as your kids are prepared for the torture that was planned.
"Fine fine I-ill do it ill marry you" You say as you watch as your family is torn apart both figuratively and literally.
"oh you can do better than that ask me to marry you don't just say you'll do it." she says unwavering as she is cutting you kids tongues out.
"OK OK Will you marry me?!" you cry as your families bodies are destroyed by this evil soon to be queen.
Only once she finishes making your kids match your wife does she respond "YES, OH MY GOD YES I WILL! YAY! now guards get these things out of our room and dump them into a garderobe and seal it off from both sides after dumping some excrement into it.
"Wait you said-"
"I know what I said but did you really think I would do that honey? who knows what you would've done now we have a wedding to get ready for and then after that we'll consumate our marriage in the same room that your family is in so the last thing they hear is us consumating our marriage." The princess cackled menacingly.
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m5blchc
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m5bci5e
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[WP] A pretty prince is mistakened by a dragon to be a princess and is abducted, so the king and queen announce to neighboring kindom's that their "daughter" was taken, knowing that other princes are more likely to rescue their son if they think he's a woman
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Andrew of Amberwood looked at final door in front of him pondering the circumstances that brought him here, his ragged breath making small clouds in the cold staircase of the tower. This was not his first expedition slaying dragons. Compared to his previous feats, his now former adversaries proved only a half turn more challenging than the common enemy of his standards. There was no real challenge… and there was no real reward, either.
No gold. No land. No title. The kingdom whose princess he was saving offered no such temptations.
It was a chore, plain and simple. Yet he was forced to take on this quest at his parents behest, lest he lose his privileges to roam about as he pleased.
Unfortunately, he understood exactly why his parents, the king and queen of Amberwood Kingdom, were so insistent on his taking on this bothersome endeavor. He would wager a sack of gold the weight his horse that his parents hoped a “fateful encounter” during one his outings could finally convince him to get married. But he had no interests in marriage.
His fingers felt the bite of the cold through his gloves, and the warmth of the inn called to him. It was time to get this over with.
The door hinged open without a complaint, though to no surprise. The entrance from whence he came had been guarded jealously by a dragon towards whom a helpless princess could not overcome.
As expected, the princess rested within the room, resting in blankets by an open fireplace. Her rich brown hair ran just hand’s span past her shoulders, shorter than most maidens he’d met. As she turned, he was quickly captivated her soft gaze.
Andrew was taken aback. He was so surprised by his own reaction that he shook his head to try to shake the charm that descended upon him.
The rescued captive spoke, “I’m sorry. I must not be what you were expecting. Bartholemew—“
“Who?” Another man’s name.
“The dragon who captured me. I assume he’s… dead?” You nodded in affirmation. “He boasted that no matter how many princes were attracted by my parents’ announcement, he could take them all.”
“He was wrong,” Andrew stated simply.
He played with the hems of the blanket with a cute pout on his mouth. A few moments of silence passed.
“What has you speechless?” Andrew added. “Are you not elated to be free?”
“I’m… confused. I am certain you have realized by now that—“
“You are not woman,” Andrew finished the sentence. “I thought that you were a woman as well at first, but I am beginning to think that this quest was more ‘fateful’ than I had thought. At least, I never thought I’d encounter such a captivating face as yours.”
“Oh…”spluttered the dark haired prince.
“Your name?” Andrew asked.
“Sasha,” eked out the timid voice.
Andrew held out his hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance… Prince Sasha.”
Sasha could not hold Andrew’s intent gaze, and huddled behind his blankets.
Andrew smirked. Perhaps this trip would yet yield temptations he had not expected.
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I pinch the bridge of my nose as Azeroth’s words sink in. “You’re absolutely certain that’s what you saw?”
“Positive, sire,” Azeroth answers, his eyes glowing from the spell that gave him temporary telescopic vision (saves space for other things in the sack rather than carrying around a fragile telescope) “There’s no doubt about it. Tis not a maiden in the dragon’s tower, but a man.”
I sigh, making a mental reminder to have a chat with our employer. “All right, perhaps we can try the diplomatic approach. The dragon may not be aware that it has taken a prince instead of a princess.”
“Oh, there is no mistake, little warrior.”
I spin around to see the massive dragon land behind me, the earth quaking from its weight. Its scales red as fire, it glares down at me, smoke pouring out of its nostrils. Then I notice the lack of horns on its head.
“Ah, you’re a female.” I say, remembering the ancient scripts on fire dragon anatomy from my family’s library. “I suppose that makes things here a bit more straightforward, but I still have questions for the king.”
Turns out, the king and queen who employed my party to rescue their “daughter” had an incredibly narrow-minded attitude, and were afraid of what their subjects would think if the prince, who, according to his parents, had to be the pinnacle of manliness, had been taken by the dragon instead of killing it. Needless to say, I had a… **ahem** chat with them about the ridiculousness of gender roles
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l110850
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l10ph6p
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[WP] In 2050, humanity finally developed faster than light engines and were able to travel the stars. In 2051, humanity destroyed all their FTL engines and vowed to never leave Earth again.
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The C.R.A.F.T. Drive was humanity’s magnum opus. A machine that could bend space itself, pushing the laws of physics to their boundaries. It was promised that it would change humanity's view of the universe, and it absolutely did.
When the Asgard 4 moved beyond the Kuiper belt, the world cheered. When it reached Alpha Centauri, the world celebrated. When it reached Barnard's Star, the world partied. When it failed to visually locate a few galaxies, the world grew quiet. Asgard 4 moved on. For every lightyear it moved away from Earth, there were more and more missing stars, gaps in the night sky, until it reached Gliese 687.
There was nothing. The images Asgard 4 brought back showed nothing but empty, black nothingness. The only stars sighted were locals of Earth like Wolf 359, Ross 248, Eridani, Lacaille 9352, Alpha centauri and a few dozen others. The most distant star was little old Gliese 784, a red dwarf only about 22 light years out. Asgard 4 aborted its mission there and then, there was nothing more to see. The stellar systems that Asgard 4 had been scheduled to visit simply no longer existed.
There was a profound change in the global zeitgeist the day Asgard 4 returned. In the four months they had been away, everything had changed. There just wasn’t anything to see in the sky anymore.
It was five years later when the stars started winking out, one by one. The stars themselves were long dead, we just hadn’t known it beforehand. The joint Nasa and ESA team dismantled the C.R.A.F.T. Drives and put them in storage, there wasn’t any reason to send another trip. Asgard 4 hadn’t visited every star system that still existed, but it had visited enough to know that they were still there. No one was eager to see more pictures outside the Stellar Cluster as we now called it.
Instead, all the doctors and engineers put their heads together to try and figure out why all the stars had disappeared. For them to have, from our perspective, disappeared altogether within ten years of each other, the universe would have had to have wink out working outside in. The distant galaxies would have decayed millions of years ago, the Milky Way tens of thousands, and our local arm would have started decaying only in the last few millennia. There was no explanation found, it was just a fact of life.
In many ways, it is a hilarious coincidence, that the death of the outside 99.99% of the universe just so happened to align so that, if we had invented FTL only a half decade later, we would have found out before even leaving. It’s a cruel twist of fate, one might suppose. We are just too late to see the rest of the universe.
For now, the probes set up in orbit of Alpha Centauri A, 61 Cygni B and Gliese 687 continue to transmit data, nowadays they look inward, not outward, watching Earth and her neighbors to catch a glimpse of another disappearing star. Perhaps if another one winks out, we can figure out a way to save ours.
There is some want for another Asgard mission, to visit the sites where stars used to be, to see what happened to all of the matter and energy that should have been left behind, to see why we never saw any red giants, to find answers. But most people are scared. For all the reassurance, many simply see The Vanishing as some kind of cosmic punishment for humanity overstepping its boundaries. We are alone in the universe, and now the universe is very small. People are scared that one day whatever swallowed all those galaxies and star systems might come back for us. The Copernicium Principle would suggest that there is no reason we should be exempt, the only relief is that our mere existence contradicts the Copernicium Principle. If the Earth was Average, then life wouldn’t exist.
It’s a tiny bit of comfort in this small empty universe. May we survive.
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The once pilots and passengers of the various spaceships that left earth back toward the end of 2050 screamed chained to their beds, inside their isolation cells, they all had seen too much back in that year and even now after the great destruction of 2051, and the de-evolution of technology in general, for humanity own safety. They kept screaming about the horrors they had witnessed and twisting on their beds, to which they rarely get unchained from to preserve their lives, as the last signs, as the last proof of A contact that shall never happen again, it may have been a even worse fate than death with those images now printed in their minds.
The man observes one of them through the fake mirror in her room, as he smokes a cigarette, he looks at the scientist next to him "So there's really no chance of them to ever recover?" asks the man "We don't know sir, they have seen those things after all" "And are we so sure that those things will never reach earth after we tried to communicate with them so much, and shyed away from them as soon we seen what they looked like?" "What are you implying now? We took our technology back of at least 90 years just for them to loose track of us." there is a moment of silence, till the man spoke again "I remember it, you know? I was on the team on earth to communicate with them, I remember the wonder of having found other intelligent life, willing to talk with a specie like us humans, I remember the excitement, but for years I struggled to understand the horror of the passengers of the expedition for the direct contact, till today, Haha, yeah, today I finally got it" the scientist looks at him concerned of what the man meant "What do you mean? Who even are you? How did you get in here?" "The sun is rising doctor, you should give it a look."
The man walked away laughing, while the scientist looked through the curtains of the window next to him, and his eyes widened when instead of the sun he saw a black hole with tentacles swaying all around and from that hole came out indescribable horrors, the screams of humanity as their soundtrack while the memory of the first contact, looked like the biggest mistake ever.
(First time doing this hope you like my spin on the prompt :] )
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kuk1s9u
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kujqc3j
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[WP] You open the door and see a woman you recognise immediately: she’s the lead character of a novel you wrote years ago. And abandoned halfway. “Why did you forsake me?”
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“Oof. You better come in honey.”
Confused, Sierra walks through the door, brushes a stray lock of auburn hair out of her face and fixes me with her emerald eyes before suspiciously perching on the edge of a chair.
“Sweetie, I did you a favor.”
She begins to stammer and protest. My raised hand stops her protest in its tracks. I thought so.
“You want some tea? I’m getting some tea.”
The outrage is plain on her face, “Tea?! After twenty years you have the sheer audacity to offer me TEA?!”
I start laughing. I can’t help it. Everything about her is a cliche. I turn towards the kitchen. She, of course, storms haughtily after me. She’s muttering some string of uninventive curses under her breath.
In the kitchen, I take down the teapot, shake out some tea leaves and set the kettle to boil, all the while ignoring my… guest.
“Sierra?”
That gets her attention.
“Let’s see. I left you in Northern Maine at a hotel, you had just run away with a strange man who instead of seducing you, rather rudely turned into a snow flurry and blew away.”
“Well, not how I would describe things. You see… I’d just had a terrible breakup and my husband… and…”
“Yes, yes, I know all the details, I wrote you after all.”
“But whhhyyy…”
I cut off the plaintive whining, “Dear, seriously, I mean it when I said I did you a favor. I left you in a cute little town, and all you had to do was set up a little florist shop and you could have lived whatever life you wanted. The foundation was all there. Your story was going nowhere fast. Had I kept writing, I can guarantee you would have been left off in some far worse situation. You do know you were about to be caught up in a magical war? This wasn’t going to get a neat happy ending.”
She sits and digests that information for a bit. Finally, after opening her mouth and closing it like the gaping of a fish, she decides what she wants to say.
“Well whatever am I supposed to do now?”
“What were you doing before you came here tonight?”
“Well… I..”
She seems embarrassed to continue.
“Flower shop?”
She nods sheepishly.
“Then why come here?”
“Well, I was just wondering if there might be… more, you know, some meaning?”
Smiling gently, “Dear you were a vapid, shallow character and living out your life in a small town, getting married, running your flower shop? That’s as good as life gets for you.”
Her eyes widen in shock, my words not matching my demeanor. Quietly, she gets up and leaves without a further word and gets into a car outside. Of course it’s a Tesla. Cliche.
Shaking my head I turn back to making my tea. I think that’s the last of them. I’ve had many visits over the years. But it has taught me an important lesson.
These newer stories? Their characters won’t be so easily deterred. I either be sure they’re happy with their endings… or not returning from them at all.
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As I open the door, I see a familiar face with a questioning glimmer in her blue eyes. Her words leave me cold. I realize that today, of all the days she could've knocked on my door, was a reminder of who I thought I would become in a few years' time. It's too late now, I think to myself as I consider closing the door in her face. My life didn't turn out like I thought it would - lately it never does. Guilt-ridden I try to apologize and tell her that she is still on my mind - I leave the part out that she is an afterthought at night when I drunk too much wine and wallow in my sorrows and loneliness. What if... What if I finished her story - my story? Would it have made a difference? Would it have brought some clarity to my current situation? Perhaps I should ask her what she thought about life as she knew it, and rewrite the story as I now know it. Then again, I have lost my sense of writing - and telling my story through the characters I once created. I am alone with the ghost that will haunt me tonight as I indulge in another glass of red wine, perhaps spill some on the carpet as I bleed my heart out and rethink my life, my dreams and who I want to be. Perhaps... It might just spark a new idea to abandon when the drunkenness wears off.
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j5ot2gb
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j5oqckf
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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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"Okay, so, quick question-have any of you tried casting using a glove?" Theo asked conversationally.
"A glove?" Nellis asked. "Why in the hells would you do that?"
"Well, I tried it and it had a tonne of advantages. My casting's faster, it's easier to aim and I can even dial the spell's intensity up or down depending on how many fingers I use."
"That sounds kind of dangerous Theo. The one time I tried casting off-hand I gave myself mana blisters. Hurt like buggery and took forever to heal." Andreas, our resident experimentalist, said, flexing his hand around his grimoire. "Besides, my focus stores spells and enchantments for fast casting. Can a glove do that?"
"Fair point for the storage, but you must admit your stored spells lack a lot of oomph. I mean sure, that fireball can cook an egg at ten paces, but good luck actually getting it to do more damage than that." Theo pointed out. "Also, I've been casting using my gloves pretty much non-stop for five months and I have yet to get mana blisters." He said, demonstrating his point by juggling a light orb in his hands. "See? No blisters while I'm wearing these bad boys."
"Dude, half the reason I chose a staff is to put some distance between me and my spells. That stuff's nasty if it goes off too close to you." Egwene pointed out.
"Wait." Andreas said slowly, turning to Egwene. "You mean you don't add a proximity failsafe to your spells Gwyn? The hells?"
"Wait, what?"
"The half-twist at the start of each incantation? That's meant to initiate a minor failsafe to your cantrips." Theo explained. "That's why I have to do jazz hands every time I cast a spell in these." He said, waving his gloved hands around as the light orb orbited them.
"Oh. I thought that was just a flourish to look cool." Egwene admitted.
"A flourish-Gwyn! Seriously. It's a safety measure, not a, a peacocking gesture!"
"Yeah Gwyn." Theo said with a grin on his face. "I mean Andreas does it all the time and he doesn't even try to be cool."
"That's because I am cool by nature." Andreas said in his most pompous voice.
"That's right Andy, you aren't even remotely hot!" Theo stated, causing Gwyn to snap out of her embarrassed state and start to giggle.
"Shut it Glove Boy." Andreas replied snippily.
"Make me Book Worm." Theo said, snapping his fingers and causing the stitching to glow a dark orange.
"Oh wow." Nellis exclaimed. "That's an awesome effect!"
Theo looked at his gloves and paled. "Not this ag-"
Boom!
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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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kerz14u
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kequieo
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[WP] You’re a park ranger of a very dense forest and you take care of everything, including the supernatural cryptids. One day, a murder happens in your forest and the culprit evades the authorities. You then politely ask the cryptids for their aid in the culprit’s capture. They agree.
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One thing the park ranger training doesn't tell you about is the sapient non-humans living in the forest. They're good folks, very reclusive, but with some persistence, and a whole lot of respect, you can form a relationship with them.
Gren is one of those who frequently works with the rangers, he's a Leshen, and a damn intimidating one at that, but get to know him, and he's kinder than you might expect, but he is harsh, he doesnt take bullshit, and will eject you from his presence forcefully if you offend him.
I'll spare you the details of the murder, but the short version, it was gruesome. I asked Gren for help with finding the killer, local law enforcement hadn't been able to find much but the forest has more eyes than you expect.
"I know the human you seek, their sins were witnessed by the forest. If you ask me to help in this matter, then I will be required to dispense our justice to the murderer." Gren was very stern today, he knew I came here to talk business, he even waved away the gift I brought for him.
"We've never actually talked about this kind of thing you know. Before I can ask, I need to know what your justice entails." I couldn't bring a corpse to jail for murder, Gren knew that, so I figured he had some options that didn't include death.
"I know your concerns, I give you my vow I will not kill this murderer, I will deliver them to you whole, but they will know their sins intimately before they are yours. I will not elaborate further." I knew not to push Gren on the details, probably felt he was saving me from knowing something I really shouldn't know.
"Thank you Gren, I owe you for..."
"You owe nothing for this Ranger Thomas." Gren interrupted, "You will have your murderer, no exchange will be necessary, they alone will pay the price."
"Thank you Gren. I'll return when you summon me."
"Be well, Ranger Thomas."
I returned to the outpost, mulling over that ominous message Gren said about the murderer paying the price. The ferocity in Gren's voice, I really hope I never end up on his bad side.
‐------Three days later-------
I arrived at Gren's Glenn and let out a little chuckle, the name always made me smile, but it was short lived as I remembered why I came.
Gren was waiting for me at the tree line, "Greetings Ranger Thomas, I have your murderer further in the valley, his punishment by our laws is complete, and I will relinquish him into your custody. He is ready, and willing, to make a full confession to your authorities."
"Wow, how'd you manage that?"
"He was given a choice. Face justice at the hands of his own people, or face our justice for the rest of his days."
"Full confession? Just like that?"
"It was not as easy as it sounds, but yes, he will make a full confession."
"I know you said you wouldn't elaborate further, but may I ask how you managed that?" Couldn't hurt to ask, I thought.
"After two days of living the last moments of every creature he has ever killed, he was willing to reconsider my offer."
I didn't know how to reply to that, Gren and I walked in silence for the next twenty minutes or so as I processed what he told me. As we neared the structure holding the murderer, I finally broke the silence.
"Every creature?"
"Yes. Every fly he swatted, every bug he stepped on or poisoned, and of course, his victim in the forest. The last two days, he has experienced their last moments of life, their pain, their fear, everything they were in their final moments are now a part of him."
I understood why he wanted to confess, I'd do the same. "You're God damned terrifying sometimes, you know that Gren?"
"Not half as terrifying as your own people can be Ranger Thomas."
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Being a park ranger has it’s perks. The ones I can remember, at least. Like the one Jerry told me about that turned out to be true. The one of the fable, something about a shrew without a shoe, whose name was Sally Poo.
Sally was mystical you see. She lived in a tree by the rock covered in goat droppings from that flock that held it’s annual county fair there.
At least, that’s what I thought. But Sally was much more mystical than that. And we all learnt it the hard way back in 69 at the end of the war, just how weird it all was. The steam beacon from John had been transposed in song now written in cursive rather elegantly across her third shoulder. Mostly though the song was about cryptids. Which are creatures for whom their existence is less than certain to say the least.
Oh, John. Where art thou magnificence of opulence in the leafy wind by that other tree not mentioned yet. The one I’m *mentioning* right now. Which has to be done due to the murder just done next to the third tree mentioned unceremoniously in the previous chapter by Burt Lancaster, who’s a real person I might add. Quite a famous one, in fact. Back in 500bc he walked beyond the fourth tree far into the forest that no-one ever, never ever returned from. Cryptid Sally could only agree, which happenstance happened unhappily at the hand of the hand holding the gun to her temple.
By gosh, Sally. There’s been a murder! And a grisly one at that. The victim’s head removed body a splatter against the southern back of a replica of the same rock that was covered in a thick, festering, pesteringly stenching pile of goat droppings. Never cleaned always gleamed from a distance as good a vantage to see the sea through all those trees that for years stood sombre and tall and unwavered no matter the wind or rain on any stormy day. But hey. Jacob confessed to the murder in jest which didn’t work out so well because the supreme court considered the dubious business legally binding.
In the other distance, a Sasquatch watched on, and waited. Patiently, the Sasquatch waited not a moment too long.
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k3fwnxr
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k3foz92
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[WP]"This child will not die in a bed. Instead their death will be bloody and violently for they shall fall in war." The witch cursed the child and the king, with a tear going down, says "Thank you..."
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The King had tried everything. Physician after physician had examined the Prince, and with each one who left the room shaking his head, the reward offered for success increased. By now, it was common knowledge for miles around that whoever cured the wasting sickness that afflicted the king's only son would receive a cartload of gold and gems, a free pardon for all crimes he might have committed, and a Dukedom when the boy reached the age of knighthood. It was also common knowledge in the physicians' colleges that trying was a waste of time.
One day after a hunt, the Master of the Horse drunkenly asked "Have you tried magic? I mean, you've tried everything else?"
The Lord Chancellor frowned. "Everyone knows that healing magic is a myth. And witchcraft is a capital crime- you can't just hire a mage"
"I don't care!" thundered the king. "Everything else has failed, what harm can trying one more thing do? Fetch me a spellcaster."
***
A few weeks later, an officer of the Royal Guard came into the throne room, followed by two burly guardsmen with a kindly-looking old woman in chains between them. The officer handed a piece of parchment to the Chancellor, who read it out loud.
"The prisoner, Agnes Privet, did unlawfully and maliciously hex, curse and bewitch the cattle belonging to her neighbor, one Jed Underhill, such that they ceased to give milk, they died, and their meat was rotten and useless. She was convicted at Stonebridge Assizes on the evidence of her own confession, and sentenced to hang"
The King had seen his share of witch trials- as a young squire, his father had assigned him to the escort of a judge riding circuit so he could see how justice was done. He knew that often they were just a way of getting rid of an unpopular old woman who owned some valuable land by torturing her into a confession. He looked down from his throne at the alleged witch.
"Goodwife Privet, was your confession given freely?"
"It was, Sire."
"Was it true and accurate? Are you a witch?"
She drew herself up.
"Yes, Sire, I am. And I hexed young Underhill's cattle, and I would do it again. The skinflint deserved it."
He looked puzzled for a moment.
"So you can do magic? Can you help my son?"
"You understand, Sire, that I am a witch. The stories of how mages can fly, and throw fireballs, and bring back the dead are probably just stories- I certainly never met anyone who could do anything like that. I know a good deal about herbs, but that's not magic- your physicians and apothecaries probably know more than I do. All I can do, and all my teacher could do, and all *her* teacher could do, is curses."
The King's face fell, and he started turning towards the Guards officer.
"Despite that, Sire, I have an idea of how I can help your son. Bring me to him."
***
The guards brought the witch into the Prince's bedroom. She barely even looked at the small, pale figure in the bed. Even though it was summer, he was covered in a heap of blankets and there was a roaring fire in the hearth.
She pointed at him and the room seemed to grow darker.
"I curse this prince!" She intoned.
The guards moved to seize her, but the King motioned him to wait.
"I curse him that his death shall be cruel and bloody. He shall not die in bed, but in battle. He will be mortally wounded, and fall at the head of his army in the moment of victory. His soldiers shall mourn him, his kingdom shall mourn him, and his wife and son shall mourn him most of all!"
The fire in the hearth flared and went out. The King rushed over to his son.
"Father, I think I'm feeling better. Can you tell the Master of Arms I want a fencing lesson tomorrow?
The King could barely thank the witch through his tears.
***
In the palace yard, a blacksmith was striking off the witch's chains. The Chancellor finished affixing the Royal seal to her pardon certificate, and as he handed it to her, asked,
"So why did you hex those cattle?"
"Underhill's apple trees weren't bearing fruit any more. He asked me to help- offered me fifteen silver pieces. I cursed one of his hogs that it would choke to death on fallen apples from his trees before the year was out. The trees fruited, the hog choked, then he didn't pay me. He didn't even give me any of the bacon. So, what's this I hear about a cartload of gold?"
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King Harald cradled the newborn in his arms. She was so small and delicate, a far cry from the hardy strength of Harald and Millicent. He was afraid he might crush her with an ill-timed squeeze of his meaty hand. She had come months earlier than expected, and the midwife's pitying look was branded in his mind. She wouldn't survive infancy.
Millicent, worn out from the birth, rested peacefully. The infant princess was quiet - was she trying to give her mother a moment of peace, or did she lack the strength to cry? The question burned in his mind, distracting him so much that he didn't notice the strange woman entering the room until she began to speak in a raspy voice.
"I've waited a long time for this, Your Majesty."
Harald leapt to his feet and shielded his daughter with his body. He tried to call for the guards stationed outside the room, but the woman cut him off before he could even open his mouth.
"Don't bother," she said. "They won't hear you. Nor will your darling wife."
Harald laid the baby on the bed with Millicent. He stationed himself in front of the pair and sized the woman up. She was spindly and pale, with a frame so slight that a faint breeze could knock her down. Limp hair framed her gaunt face, and her bloodshot eyes were a burst of color in her sallow features. By all accounts, she shouldn't be a threat, but Harald still took a shaky step back. A malevolent aura shrouded her.
Harald spread his arms to further shield his wife and daughter. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"We'll get to that in a moment," the woman said as she held him in her piercing gaze. "But first, let's talk about you. Harald the Negotiator, Bringer of Peace. The man who won't kill anyone…except witches. You brand yourself as merciful while you burn my sisters alive."
"What- no, that's different," Harald sputtered. "Witches are unnatural. They're hardly even human!"
The witch growled in anger. "You pathetic excuse for a king! I condemn you to the same fate I have suffered - watching someone you love die a violent, unjust death."
She pointed at Millicent and the princess, and Harald was gripped with dread.
"This child will not die in a bed," she continued. "Instead, her death will be bloody and violent, for she shall fall in war."
The witch was gone before Harald could say a word. His child began to wail, waking up the exhausted Millicent. The strong cries were music to Harald's ears. He let a tear fall as he embraced his worn-out wife and frail daughter.
"Thank you," he murmured.
He would watch his daughter grow up into a fine young woman. She would survive this early birth and grow as strong as Harald and Millicent. When the kingdom's long peace was broken, she would step into her role as a leader.
She would die young, but until then, she would *live.*
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jcxc0l3
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jcwwn2y
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[WP] Dragons inherently manifest when there is a certain amount of something that people see as precious. You wake up one day to find a very confused dragon in your 40K figurine room.
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I finish finally unpacking the last containers of the last tote. There it is, in all its magnificence. My whole collection. Tanks, Infantry, the *in-betweens*. Guard, and Marines, Chaos, Tyranids, Daemons, the list goes on, armies in varying sizes and compositions. The Phantom Titan stands magnanimous over my Eldar forces, its presence commanding notice. The armored forces of my Guard army are arrayed as if in a parade formation, mechanized infantry mixed within, the display board I made for my First Platoon sits as a command post over them. Sleek and deadly ships bearing Dark Eldar sit poised to sweep around an imaginary flank, dispensing death at speed. I take it all in, swelling with pride, at my works.
*"And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer..."* The voice utters from behind me, a rumbling deep note.
"The benefits of a classical education.." I instinctively answered. My eyes glanced into the panes of glass that were before me, guarding the collection. Staring back at me were two pools of blue so icy they sent a chill down my spine. That wasn't the only part to give me chills. He stood as a man, but was far from. Most of his scales were black as onyx, and gloss like the stone, though he had markings in that same icy blue like tiger stripes in places. Horns crested his head, and his wings rose above his shoulders, though they were folded against his back.
It didn't take me very long to put the pieces together, that I stood in the presence of a dragon.
"Interesting legions you have here, I can see why you value them. Hours and years of time spent collecting and working upon them. Each one a monument to your own efforts." His voice was calm, studious.
"A great many years spent in the endeavour, and plenty of invested wealth. If nothing, they represent one of my greater achievements." I responded. I managed to maintain calm, realizing if nothing I stood in the presence of another great collector. If nothing, their kin represented the pinnacle of the term. "Though it only begs the question of how I came to have such a guest.." I left it hanging as it was, not quite toned as a question, but one none the less.
"You might say, you've graduated to a status not unlike mine. Though styles differ, you have no less a hoard of precious things than any of my kind. Even amongst us the collections differ, but to witness a hoard's birth into its glory, one of us appears, as if to preside over its graduation from a mere collection. So I should say, perhaps congratulations are in order here. Welcome to those who possess a true Hoard."
I was speechless for a moment before I turned to face my guest. "I'm without words, save to thank you for the recognition. It's rare to find somebody outside of the hobby who understands, but who should understand more than a Dragon, I guess."
"Indeed, young one. The rest for you will come in time. Perhaps some refreshment.. have you any tea? I haven't had some mint tea in a while..." He trailed off, and that was how I began my own transformation..
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Jefferson Petters had been invited by the billionaire Matty Oswell to see the largest/rarest collection of figurines ever collected. Jeff had no idea the man had any interest in the hobby but clearly, he put some effort into this collection. Not only was it reportedly 40,000 strong (he wasn't about to count to verify), but every figure Jefferson examined was amongst the rarest he'd seen. Jefferson was enamored by it all.
Mr Oswell merely watched from one end of the room. He said nothing about the collect, and Jeff quickly forgot he was even there. Then, a sudden breeze sturred up in the sealed room followed by a faint pop. Jeff looked up to see a dragon had appeared, roughly the size of a large dog with a wingspan as wide as the creature was long.
"Very good." Mr Oswell said as he flipped a switch, releasing a net from the ceiling, entqgling the dragon. It failed and clawed, confused at what was happening, but unable to free itself from a net made from some form of metal. 3 men with stun rods entered the room to subdue the creature, clearly practiced at this task.
"You've helped me verify a theory, my dear boy," my oswell said to Jeff. "It's not enough to have a collection of reported value. You must have someone who appreciates it. I've held onto this junk for months and nothing. Barely 5 minutes with you and another dragon for me collection."
"It seems they appear when a collection of value has been amassed, and I have the largest collection of dragons in the world. They are my most cherished posessions. What do you suppose they'll summon as the collection grows?
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j52zw4s
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j52tlhn
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[WP] You are the only S-Class (god-like) mutant at a school of super powered youngsters. Only the head master knows, and you try like hell to keep it a secret. But one day, that all changed...
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I'm just a normal kid. I try to live my life everyday and not muck anyone else's day up. It's hard sometimes, being as powerful as I am, but I hide it well. As far as everyone else knows, I'm a B-class mutant. A little above average, but nothing to write home about. My power is simple. I can walk through walls. It keeps me out of trouble, allows me to escape any A-class bullies, and generally makes life simpler.
Except that's not my power. Never has been. It's just the cover that the headmaster helped me come up with. No, my power is a little different than that. I'm able to control the molecular makeup of objects in realtime. So, for my wall walking, I simply move the atoms of the wall around so that I can pass through them and then put them back together. I've gotten quite good at it. My private lessons with the headmaster have seen me able to turn an entire car into a metal infinity cube. I'm not able to change the molecular makeup, per se. Just able to rearrange things. I can make wooden sculptures out of trees or ice sculptures out of pools of water. Oh, yeah, I'm also able to change the state of the matter. Heating it up or cooling it off rapidly. I had even mastered the art of turning myself into a gas for short periods of time.
My range had gotten better, too. I used to have to touch things; that's why the headmaster suggested walking through walls. Now I can do it from up to thirty feet away. The headmaster advised me to keep all of this a secret. I'm the only S-class mutant in the country other than him. There are constant threats on his life because of his status. He said it's best I lay low until I have a firm enough grasp on my powers to defend myself. I never knew if that day would come. I still had to sleep, after all. Was I supposed to sleep in an impenetrable cocoon?
But, today was the day the world found out about me. Today was the day that I had to come out of my shell. And it wasn't by choice. The headmaster had been killed. The killer was roaming the halls of the school, class by class, taking as many lives as she could. I couldn't stand by while my classmates were slaughtered. I had to do something. I was the only one that could.
I stepped out into the hallway to see the witch who had killed the headmaster. She was flinging red bolts of lightning into a classroom of screaming children. I knew who she was. She went by Scarlett. I could tell from the crimson outfit and the flowing red hair. She was an S-class mutant from Europe who thought all lesser mutants should be exterminated. Even A-class mutants weren't strong enough for her. High level A-class mutants she could stomach, but anything less than S-class was seen as unsatisfactory.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Pick on someone your own size, eh?" I began walking toward her.
"You dare step to me? And what are you? A telepath, perhaps? Your kind are always so full of themselves." She launched a red bolt at me. I rearranged my own molecules so that it passed through me. I heard it blast into the wall behind me and the bricks falling from the impact.
"Oh? A phaser? Interesting. So you're going to... what? Walk through me? Steal my beating heart out of my chest? Phasers have limits, you know. You always have to keep one part of the bottom of your feet solid. Or else you'll just fall," she said delicately.
She raised her hands and I felt a warm sensation from my feet. I looked down to see red pooling there. I shifted myself to a gas before a red pillar launched up underneath me. Another neat trick the headmaster had suggested. I shifted my body around the pillar and continued floating toward her. Unless she knew what to look for, I was completely invisible. Which she didn't. She thought I was a low-level phaser. She let out an evil cackle. She turned to launch a bolt into the classroom to her left again. Her final mistake.
I shifted back into my corporeal form and shouted, "You missed!" before shifting her into a small, tight box. It was all of her matter condensed into a small cube about two feet thick. I had made sure to keep all the icky parts inside because blech. All that was left was a scarlet box. And now the school would know my secret. That was okay, though. I was ready to face the world for who I truly was. I was a god. And it was time I started acting like it.
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Let me know what you thought! Any feedback is welcome and appreciated. <3
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I expected today to act like every other day. Where I get heckled and looked down on by my peers. Who believe in their own false delusion of how inferior I am compared to them. Little do they know that I can end their lives in an instant with a flick of my pinky.
Alas, I swallow up my pride and enable their delusion to appear true. This is mainly due to the headmaster. Headmaster Evie has been a thorn in my side ever since I was a child. Though, I have everything to thank for her ever since taking me in. I dislike talking about it but my parents were murdered and she was the only "family" my parents had. So I was locked and shipped away to her. Life was completely boring until my powers showed up. Now it's completely normal for our society to be born with powers. Though the power was constructed through limitations of said power. The lesser the limit, the more dangerous the power. For myself, in particular, I have no limit. My power is limitless.
Evie was at first taken back but intensified my training to understand my powers and understand the responsibility behind them. It feels like she predicted an abnormal about me. Which she later confirmed due to the letter my parents left for her to read when taking me in. This led to our conversation about how the possibility of my parents' deaths could be foreboding as someone wants my powers for themselves. Through this, we agreed to add false limitations to make myself appear weak. To place me under the radar so no one can be suspicious of my true powers.
Until today, it has gone smoothly. However, the giant hole in our city stabbed through Evie and I's plans. For the forces of Hell itself began their invasion. They have done their research well and their technology countered our forces significantly. Rendering their powers useless in order to be captured or killed. However, I noticed that despite being within their range, my powers are still available and just as strong. I noticed one of my bullys crawling and screaming for help. A demon oozing with blood due to its fleshly exoskelton armor fixates on them and slowly approaches them. They notice and attempt to shoot out a barrage of ice missiles that just tickle the demon. The demon rises up its arm and points its finger toward the bully. A light flickers and a huge explosion follows.
The bully at first thought they were dead in the smoke and noticed no harm has come within them. As the smoke in front of them fades away, they see an explosion of flesh and guts belonging to the demon. They see me looking at them as blood drips from my hands and face. My eyes staring down at them as if an animal is approaching its prey. I take my eyes off them and look towards them hordes of demons approaching me.
With one gruff grunt, I inform both of my enemies and bully know what to do when I unleash my true power… “Run”.
*{Any Feedback will be greatly appreciated! Really want to improve on my writing}*
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[WP] You were kidnapped by a cult to provide sacrificial blood to summon a demon. They manage to finish the ritual and you see a hunky man standing at the centre of the summoning circle, looking confused as fuck, who goes from confused to enraged as he figures out you did not give consent.
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One minute I was roasting a hydra on my barbeque pit, and the next I was feeling that familiar pull. Another summon that demanded my attention.
I rolled all thirty of my eyes as I responded to yet another unnecessary sacrifice. How many times do I have to broadcast that I can be contacted via social media? Too many times I have posted on my Divine Directory profile that I primarily accept tea and cheesecakes as tribute.
Stepping through the portal to the place of sacrifice, I smelt the distinct tinge of human blood drawn in an arcane symbol in the middle of the summoning circle. Chains ripped through the candlestands placed all around the circle coiled around my appendages and tore into my skin.
Okay...that's something new.
Besides the often-heard screams from bloodletting victims forced to bleed over altars I've grown accustomed to, the resounding cheers were something new. And confusing. The symbols and decor in this room are unlike the usual ritual setups. Nothing of the usual dark and cozy alcoves and basements. It was too bright and cheery. With glaring yellow walls and orange blots that offended my eyes. Instead of flickering flames dancing upon candles, its awful stage lights.
There are many rituals to bring about my presence, but I've never seen this configuration before. You would have thought I should know all the summons that can tug at my essence, but I didn't know I could be summoned in this manner at all.
"We have successfully lured and captured a demon!" The strange cultists yelled, throwing off their robes to reveal the uniforms of the Monster Hunter Association.
Oh. These guys again. How annoying.
I jerked at my restraints, scanning the room for the unfortunate sacrifice. My gaze settled on the prone woman on the floor just beyond the circle.
"Did she consent to assist you with my capture?"
They laughed until tears fell from their eyes. Which now looked very tempting to gouge out and slurp at.
"I'll assume that's a no."
One of the men sneered at me and spat at my face. "Why do you care, demon?"
"Because that's not very nice. Also, you should go back and revise your Supernatural Classification Test," I smirked as I gathered my magic in a bid to smite these fools. "If you did your homework, you would've realised you didn't snag a demon. I am the Eldritch Lord Elvari of Innsmouth, and you're all dead men walking."
At my command, tendrils burst forth from cracks in the walls and dug into their orifices. Each of these morons screamed in agony as my tendrils ripped into their organs and liquified their insides. I didn't stop, not until my fury had subsided. Kept going until I was satisfied by the divine retribution I wroth upon them. Until there was nothing left of them but an ever-growing pool of blood that smelt more tempting every second.
The woman stirred, her eyes fluttering as she struggled to sit up and lean against a wall.
"Hey, are you okay?" I asked her.
No response.
Great, it is only now that I realised what a pickle I've left myself in. Should've left at least one dumb hunter alive so I could pick at his brains to find out how to undo these magical chains.
Now I feel like a dumb god waiting for the woman to regain her senses while I try to extract my mobile phone from my robes and call the cops with one of my tongues. Good thing I'm built different with multiple tongues and mouths so I can hold my phone with one mouth and talk with another.
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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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Jane screamed as the dark-robed cultists' chant rose into a crescendo. The circle painted in the middle of the chamber--painted in her very blood--burned with eerie crimson flames, and a plume of smoke erupted. As it dissolved, a tall muscular man wearing a sweat-stained shirt resolved into view. Despite her predicament, Jane stared. He had a jawline like Adonis and muscles to match. In his hand he held, inexplicably, a pink shaker bottle.
"O' great ruler of the Underworld," the lead cultist cried, falling to his knees. "Your humble servants prostrate themselves before you."
"Man, what the hell?" the strangers muttered, looking around with a frown. "I was just getting a good pump."
The cultist cringed. "Forgive us if we have offended, lord. We've prepared you a suitable sacrifice." He gestured toward the altar that Jane lay bound upon.
"Sacrifice?" The man's gaze landed on her, making her swallow, and he stepped closer. Snapping out of her reverie, Jane thrashed against the bonds. His face darkened, and he turned to the cultist who had spoken. "Not cool, man. So not cool."
"If-if the sacrifice displeases you, O' great one, we'll fetch you another," the cultist said, wringing his hands. "You!" he snapped, turning to his underling. "Get this wretch out of our lord's sight and dispose of her in the pits."
Another cultist drew a dagger from his robes and stepped toward her. Jane whimpered and redoubled her efforts. As the cultist raised the dagger, the stranger strode up and punched him so hard that his head snapped back, causing him to collapse like a sack of potatoes.
"Spare us your anger, lord!" the leader exclaimed. "We only wish to--"
"Teeth are a privilege," the stranger yelled, decking him too. "And you've lost yours!"
The rest of the dark-robes screamed and scattered, but there was no escaping the stranger. He went around the room knocking everyone out until a sudden silence fell. He looked around, took a long swallow from his shaker bottle, then came up to the altar and snapped her bonds.
"W-who are you?" Jane stammered, rubbing her wrists.
The man flexed. "The name's Chad. Say, is there anything to eat around here? I need to meet my macros."
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[WP] On a long straight road with nothing of note, there is a four-way traffic light that hangs in the middle. No road crosses anywhere near the traffic light and no sign to tell you why it's there, but it seems to always be green, so no one cared. That's until the day it changed to yellow.
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It's just right there, in the middle of Amber Road.
That's what they called that road, heading south out of town, a straight line through the fields until you hit the farmhouses. With the crops rising on either side , blowing in the wind, reminded someone of the line *"amber waves of grain"*. But these crops were corn, so the reference didn't quite stick. But nobody felt like changing the sign, so it stayed as Amber Road even though it shouldn't.
They first found it in 1962. Old Farmer MacMerran was bringing his chickens and eggs into town and he stopped when he saw it. Off to the right, a wooden pole with a wooden arm. And dangling from it was a 4 way traffic light. His light was a full, sickly green. So after a bit he kept driving.
People came to see it after that. No sign of construction. Dirt and grass undisturbed, nothing different about the asphalt. Crazy thing is, it wasn't new. Metal was showing rust, the nails and staples holding the wires to the wooden post were worn like they had been there for years. But that sickly green kept burning, clear as ever, so people kept driving.
Dad told me, growing up, that it became a bit of an infamous drug spot. People would use the light as a marker and pull off the road, into small paths they cut through the corn. Make little clearings to sell and smoke. Cops started hanging by the light, so it stopped. More than a few kids carved their initials into the pole under that green light.
Dad remembers how, growing up, Grandpa would slow down when he approached it. Never a full stop, but enough to look both ways. There was nothing to see. Just corn stalks.
Dad did the same thing once he started driving. Half out of habit, half out of...he couldn't quite say. It just seemed safer that way.
In 1998, a year before I was born, Dale Watts hit the post. Wrapped the front of his Grand Cherokee around it. He'd been out at a birthday at one of the old farmhouses late at night and thought driving in a straight line wouldn't be hard, even drunk. He stumbled out without a scratch and walked into town for a tow.
The next day they checked the scene. Car was totaled. Pole was fine, barely a scratch. Paper ran a funny piece about it, asking if the light changed on him. But no...Dale said it was green, just like always. And it stayed green.
I remember back in 2004, they tried to take it down. I wasn't at the meeting, but Mom talked about it over dinner. A motion was brought up at the town hall. It never went anywhere. People liked it. It was familiar and funny and made our home feel like home. So we kept the light, and it stayed green.
Got a tourist bump in 2010 from it. Some guy was talking about 2012, the end of the world, stuff about the Mayan calendar. Of all the signs, one was that our light would turn yellow on the last day, then red as the end arrived. Bunch of idiots and even more people who laugh at idiots showed up. Had a block party in the road, even hung a countdown clock from the light. Cheered at midnight when the world, and light, stayed the same.
In 2017, it got busier. People started posting it online, took pictures next to it. Some country star used it for an album cover. A bunch of tourists came flying in to get photos of the weird old light. Farmhouses gouged them for prices, turning the old relics into Airbnbs. MacMerran's kids made a fortune on those fees, and even ran a tour. Brought forty at a time on a bus to come out and see it, touch it. Telling stories about how it "haunted" their father, none of them true. Light didn't bother to turn red and warm people of the scam. They took the green as an "all clear" to waste their money.
Pandemic shut that down, and things got quiet again. Then last Tuesday, in 2022...it happened. Sarah Turner called her father. Whole call is posted on Facebook. We've been talking about it all week.
**"Daddy...light turned yellow. I'm stopped. Can you come get me?"**
A lot of people made fun of her. She sounds so scared of a yellow light. I don't think it's fair to laugh. It's not one of the signs of the apocalypse but... it's unnerving. Wouldn't you call your daddy if the sky was suddenly red? Or leaves turned black? Some things just shouldn't change.
It's been 5 days. People keep slowing down, stopping to look at it. Some of us are starting to blast through without waiting. But most wait and look both ways just in case now is the time that something will finally come rolling out of the corn, taking advantage of their first right of way since 1962.
An electrician took a look. The wires aren't connected to anything. They stop 3 ft under the ground. The light stays yellow, nothing keeping it lit. It's a dull yellow, like a dim candle. It doesn't feel right.
The average length of a green light is about 1.5 - 2 minutes. So 90 - 120 seconds. It's been 60 years since that light showed up and stayed green. So that's about half a year for every second you would expect from a normal, God-fearing traffic light. By my math, that means yellow will last for 5-6 seconds, or 3 years.
And then comes red.
I called a lot of old friends yesterday. I didn't say why. Just spent the weekend catching up. Something about that yellow light just makes me feel like things are wrapping up.
I don't know what's going to happen when it changes to that next color. Some days I find myself speeding past it, worrying that any moment it's going to shift right when I'm in the middle of an intersection that doesn't exist. Other days I wait, the engine-running, and I wonder if I'm ready for this to be the last day of my life.
Is something waiting in that corn? Some ancient beast held back by a red light that only it can see? While 60 years of green-tinged fragments, moments of people passing through, have taunted it? Is death himself waiting, hands gripping the wheel, his fury building while he's powerless to move, held in place by a law we all agreed on?
Or maybe it's a cycle. We've had 60 years as a community, moving ahead. Maybe now it's time to have 60 stuck, idling and unmoving, while something else gets to move. Maybe we'll just have to watch as little snippets of something else drive by across the road, on their way to somewhere else. Maybe all of us standing at the sidelines are just as uninteresting to them as the corn is us.
Or maybe I'm just putting too much stock in a traffic light, even one that seems to have come from nowhere. Maybe the slightest change can scare you down to your bones, because it reminds you of the big changes.
Well, now it's just right there, in the middle of Amber Road. A dull yellow eye. Daring us to go faster? Warning us to slow down?
Who can say?
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Carris is a gas station of a town. It's not named after the seed, far as I know, but it's a fittin' name. Fill up. Keep goin'.
Technically, it's a two-traffic-light-town, though I'm not sure that's all that much different from a one-light-town. Besides, only one of 'em works, far as I can tell.
Carris is also the halfway point between Pick-Up and Drop-Off.
Twenty years I spent - Walmart, Amazon, UPS. $40k a year and healthcare. Enough to keep drivin', and not much else. But this. This was somethin' different.
Six months ago, I was driving to Washington from Salt Lake. Stopped at a different one-traffic-light town - Stanfield. That's where I met him. Only time I ever did.
"You drive?"
I was trying to order a cheeseburger and a coke from a truck-stop diner before I wet-napped off in the bathroom. He was in a suit and tie in the booth next to mine.
"Beg pardon?"
"You drive a truck?"
I wasn't sure why I even answered. Lot of folks think truck stops are some kind of replacement for community when you're on the road. Same way everyone thinks homeless people are all friendly in their cardboard box towns. Fact of it is, I don't talk to no one, and no one talks to me, and that's exactly how it's supposed to be.
"Yeah," I told him for no reason other than that he'd asked direct, and I'm a lotta things, but I'm not rude. "Yeah, I drive a truck."
"Good," he said, and nothin' more than that for long enough I thought I was supposed to say somethin' else.
"A cheeseburger and a coke, please and thank you." It was good the waitress was back, cuz whatever it was he wanted me to say, I wasn't gonna say it.
"Good," he said again, and stood up. Gave me a card with a little map on it, big ol' 'X' marked off in the middle of nowhere on one edge - "Pick-Up" - big ol' 'x" in the middle of nowhere on the other - "Drop-Off". In pen, he'd written - $2.5 million. Then, he left.
That first time, when I rolled up to Pick-Up, I was sure I was in the wrong place. Dirt. Red, clay, flat dirt, far as I could see. I cursed him for the joke and the cost of gas, but when I pulled around to head home, I saw it. A single, medium-sized brown, cardboard box, just sittin' there in the open.
"Not sure why I needed a truck," I muttered, and stepped out. The box was unmarked, save for a post-it. 'Don't open it.' Well, I wasn't about to risk $2.5 million by disobeyin' a post-it.
The map took me clear across Utah and through Nevada. In the middle, it was marked "Carris". It was only other thing written on the map. "Pick-Up," "Drop-Off", "$2.5 million" and "Carris." What else was I supposed to do?
So, there I was, that first time. Gassed up. Pissed. Drove out. Lights were both green.
Drop-off was trickier. The map took me out to northern California, where there was nothin' but trees. I cursed him again for making me bring a semi, but I wound it up through the mountains and found the "X". Another plain, cardboard box with nothin' around for as far as I could see. This one was a bit bigger than the first and already opened. I gathered that I was supposed to put the first one inside this one, so I did that and waited.
"Where's my money?" I wondered aloud, but there was no one there, and soon enough, I was good and truly pissed off. I kicked the flap of cardboard that hung over the side of the open box. Sure enough, taped right there, was a stack of bills. I didn't bother countin'.
"Now, bring it back." Another post-it, taped under the money. "And don't open it."
I didn't know then if there'd be more money, but there was. I drove back to Pick-Up. Stopped in Carris. One light was red, but the other was green. I was sure I was gonna miss it waitin' on the first one. I hated lights. Years on the open highways had spoiled me. But it never turned, long as I waited.
Back at Pick-Up - you guessed it. Another open box. Another stack of money. "Now, bring it back. And don't open it."
At least now I was startin' to get why I needed a truck.
Passed through Carris again. That second light still caught my eye. I waited this time. Three minutes - checked my watch. Didn't change. Got bored and went on.
"Now bring it back. And don't open it."
I had to stop at a different town to buy a bigger trolley and some straps. Boxes weren't heavy, but they were gettin' big.
Seven minutes, I waited this time. That'd be the longest light I'd ever seen three times over. Green.
So, here I was. Box was goin' on six-foot tall by the way it met my eye. Barely fit in the truck. But, strange as it'd all been, nothin' was stranger than Carris and that one light.
I decided to wait this time. Long as it took. Maybe it was a railroad folks didn't use much anymore. Maybe a school crossing, though I couldn't imagine Carris had a school. I asked the guy behind the counter at the gas station, but he just flicked up his eyebrows and asked if I was buyin' anything on account of the number of times I'd used the toilet. Asshole.
I had decided to wait, but I didn't have to. Yellow. It turned yellow right as I pulled up and didn't stay that way long. It turned red, and then the trailer started shakin'.
Carris. Fittin' name. I wasn't the only one needed fillin' up to keep goin'.
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[WP] "God can come have coffee with me if he's really interested." You said, shutting the door on some irritating guys with pamphlets. The very next day, God taps lightly on your door, to have a coffee.
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"I'm a little surprised you brought Dunkin."
The man standing in your doorway is holding a box of donuts and a pair of paper coffee cups. He's dressed plainly, if a little datedly; wearing slacks, penny loafers, and a red zip-up sweater, He resembles nothing so much as a Mr. Rogers impersonator. You can't clearly see His face- some sort of otherworldly light (you hate to describe it as a halo, but no other word really fits the description) is shining from just behind His head, blinding you to the details of His appearance.
Even if the halo weren't there, you would know who this visitor was. There's a unique feeling that comes with being in His presence. It is, in equal parts, totally alien and hauntingly familiar. There is an overwhelming sense of love radiating from Him, a love great enough to be felt by everyone in the world.
God is standing on your front porch, and He's brought coffee.
"Is something wrong with Dunkin?" He asks. There is a gentleness to His voice that suggests genuine curiosity, and quiet amusement.
"Er, no, not really..." You explain, stepping back to let Him in. "It's just that, well... It's kind of ordinary, isn't it? I mean, you have access to all of history's greatest coffee-makers. You could have called up Juan Valdez or something!"
"Juan Valdez is a fictional character." He explains in a tone not far removed from a laugh. "But if you want Columbian coffee instead, I *do* know a place."
You've lead your guest into the living room now, and you're just about to try a donut when the question you're dying to ask jumps out unbidden.
"Are you here to punish me for turning away those guys with the pamphlets?"
"Nah. Rejection's part of the game when you work door-to-door."
"So... Why *are* you here?"
Your guest helps himself to a cruller, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before finally answering, "Can't a guy take a coffee break?"
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"So you're not Rob Benedict?"
"No, I'm not. I came as something familiar to you because seeing my true form has been known to cause some people to lose their sanity."
"Right, and you're here because...?"
"I'm here because you extended the invitation to me for coffee."
"When the hell did I do that?" I asked as I let the man, no, God inside my house.
"When you slammed the door on a couple of my followers yesterday." He stated as he went to sit down at the kitchen island.
"Of course." I sighed as I moved into the kitchen. "I got a pretty fancy coffee maker. How do you take your coffee?" I asked as I moved to make myself a cup.
"I'll take whatever you're having, my child." He said as I moved about the kitchen. "Hope you like it sweet and over complicated."
I made the two cups and handed one to Him. It was still strange to have an actual conversation with God in the flesh.
"So, my child -" "Please, just call me by my name." I said as I stood in front of him on the other side of the island.
"Right, Alex, why did you shut the door in my followers' faces? They weren't behaving rudely." He said.
"While they didn't behave rudely yesterday or the weeks before, their church and beliefs are something that I do not support. Especially not when I am one of the people they preach about going to hell." I stated with a slight bitterness to my voice.
"What do you mean? You aren't sinning in any way. You aren't an adulterer, you haven't committed murder, you don't steal or anything that would be considered a sin. You would be right up in heaven with each of your loved ones."
I let out a low chuckle. "I guess it matters to them whom I marry and what is between my legs." I said as I watched his face fall.
"Excuse me, what do you mean?" He asked as he furrowed His brows. I moved to grab the multiple church pamphlets from the cabinet. I dropped them in front of Him.
"Racists, bigots, homophobic, transphobic, sexist, misogynistic, greedy. I will never associate with people with that much hate in their hearts while claiming to be doing your work."
I sipped my coffee as He read over the pamphlets, His face paling as He read each and every single one.
By the time He spoke, I was finished drinking my cup. "How long has this been going on for...?" He asked as He rose from His seat.
I turned around to see Him looking out the window. "That depends. How long have you been gone for?" I asked casually before moving to put a hand on his shoulder.
"I've been gone for far too long. They've twisted my words to further their own agenda and line their pockets. I will not stand for it. I will make this right, I have to." He stated before turning to face me.
"And you're going to help me." He stated, making me raise an eyebrow.
"Me? Why me?"
"You have helped open my eyes to how much the world needs my help, I would appreciate your help with the modern times."
I sighed and rub my face. "Okay, fine, but I'll need more coffee first." I said before grabbing my mug.
He reached His hand out and refilled my mug. I sipped it and it tasted exactly the same as before.
"Thank you." I said as I saw Him refill his own mug.
"No, thank you. You're the one who made me this delicious coffee."
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[WP] A Pirate crew raids a treasure hoard in a cave, finding gold and abnormally sized pearls. The captain decides to examine these pearls and they hatch to reveal baby mermaids, who’s first word is “papa?”
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"Oh by the salty siren's hair what am I going to do with you?"
They'd thought they'd hit the motherlode.
Scarlet was a fearsome and upcoming pirate captain. A 'young rebel upstart' if you asked the South Seas Trading Company or any of the more established Lords. She'd been fighting her way up after taking control of one of Bail's ships and running off with it. She'd lost her family and since then had been the outlaw version of a career minded woman.
Which was made this such a briney situation.
They'd thought they hit the motherlode when they found the pearls mixed in with the lost treasure of Caspiran the Lorebound. They were gigantic, impossible things that would have assuredly fetched a stunning price with any collector. Scarlet supposed they still would, but it was certainly a different question now.
Once the pearls had been brought onto the ship to be divvyed up amongst the crew they had started cracking. Open panic had transformed into confusion and then astonishment as the pearls.... hatched. Revealing sparking scales and a soaking mess of hair in each. Saltwater spilled out, and then the precious things had started crying.
Bail buckets grabbed water and tar sealed one of the many chests from Caspiran's bounty and the crew had made a makeshift tank. Now there were baby mermaids splashing around in Scarlet's quarters as she sat on the bed staring at them.
More water sloshed out onto the floorboards as one of the three pulled herself up onto the side of the chest, barely heaving herself halfway over the top with her webbed fingers. The mermaid watched Scarlet with brilliant sea-glass eyes. Scarlet cocked her head, and the little girl matched the motion.
"Momma!"
"Ah no," Scarlet cursed as she got up off the bed and stomped over to the chest. The little mermaid kept watching her, eventually reaching up with a single hand while trying to maintain her precarious hold on the side of the chest. The pirate captain took a deep, solemn breath. She was on the rise. She'd taken the oath of the sea when she'd lost her family. She was in the dead centre of her quest for revenge.
The climbing mermaid's sister swam up to the surface and blew bubbles at Scarlet.
"Ah no," she repeated. "I'm gonna keep ya aren't I?"
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"Batten down the hatches and get below deck, ladies!" Scarlet called, trying to force her voice to carry over the rain and thunder. She was lashed to the wheel, tied by the wrist attempting to wrestle the Hell Raiser as she cut through the waves. The sail and torn half an hour ago, at this point, there was nothing they could do but hold on for dear life and trust that the years of sailing had given Scarlet enough luck and talent to keep them afloat.
"Keep that lashed down Mel!" Harmony called from the stern as she slid across the deck of the ship. She loved the rain, it was the one time that she felt at home aboard the Hell Raiser instead of astride it. The water let her slip and slide, move smoothly as opposed to the jerky motions of living on land. "Just a little more!" she called to her sister.
Mel was the smallest of the three daughters, and a firecracker in her own right. Realistically it should have been Syd keeping the ropes down based on size but Mel was the one with a talent for knots.
"Just a little bit more there Mel! You got this!" Harmony called.
The rope protested that she, in fact, didn't have it. "Come on, come on," she whispered to it.
"Syd get over there and help her!"
"HOW ABOUT YOU ALL GET BELOW DECK!" Scarlet snapped. Thunder cracked over her voice and smothered half of it, but the girls got the point. "NOW!"
"What‘s going to happen, Mom? We’ll go overboard?”
“Exactly that!” Scarlet fought against the ship as the bow pushed into a wave, riding it high. The Hell Raiser groaned as it rolled to the ride, coming over the crest just as it would have been sundered. “Girl’s this isn’t a time to—“
“I’ve got the rope done!” Mel cut in.
“Good job! Syd’s how’s the—“
“Harmony stop giving your sisters work and get below deck before—“ Scarlet felt the ropes around her wrists slip and give, just as the ship snapped back upright. The rolling sea threw her across the deck as the Hell Raiser tore free and careened to port.
Mel tumbled over the side.
Somehow, in the centre of the storm, Scarlet rallied her feet. “Syd, wheel! Harmony, rope!”
“Mom?”
Scarlet was already in the air, kissing the rain and scouring sea wind for a moment before plunging into the icy water.
The cold kicked the air from her lungs and Scarlet forced her eyes open against the burn. The current tore at her, but she kept herself upright.
Overhead, the shadow of the Hell Raiser climbed over them, the out-of-control ship silhouetted against the constant lightning. Scarlet closed her eyes.
This was suicide, but that was her daughter dammit.
She felt the mighty current of the sea, trying to centre herself in it and listen for her daughter’s voice.
Then she saw her.
Thrown a dozen feet below her and lost in the current, Melody was thrashing against the waves, wasting all of her strength fighting the ocean. She was mermaid, but this was the open sea and she was lost as any sailor.
Scarlet dove down, pushing further into the current, but letting it carry it when it had to. The shadow of the Hell Raiser continued along the sea, leaving them behind.
She’d figure it out. They’d figure this out.
Melody found her hand first, and wrapped her tail around Scarlet for safety. On land it had been adorable but in the sea she had to pull the girl off, holding her shoulders to keep her steady.
Scarlet’s lungs screamed. She’d been in the water too long and working too hard.
But this was her daughter dammit.
Then a shadow from the Hell Raiser.
Harmony had gotten the ropes, and tied them around herself instead. She pierced through the waves using all her strength to reach Scarlet’s hand.
Then the rallied crew pulled. Heaving against the fuming ocean to pull their Captain and family free.
For a second under the waves Scarlet found two of her daughter’s eyes while the last kept the Hell Raiser under control.
The whole crew knew,
They’d hit the motherlode.
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“Well, that’d be the last of it,” Redwin spat between mottled teeth, driving his cutlass through the last member of the royal archeologist which had, much to their own misfortune, been dispatched to the island but a week prior.
The blade didn’t enter cleanly. Redwin was a slovenly man, even by the standards of his less that scrupulous shipmates. His blade followed suit, chipped along the cutting edge and dulled. The man died face down in the sand, gasping in a muddled mixture of terror and agony.
*And what of it? It’s business. A business you chose.* Captain Tavin looked on steadily, taking care not to betray what strange thoughts had begun to flit through his mind, unwelcome glimmers of light in a place forevermore sequestered to a briny darkness.
“You ‘fink they’ll sink into the sand before another ship of bluebacks finds ‘em?” asked Redwin, now poking the stiff corpse with one of his worn leather boots. “Irony in that there would be.”
“Irony?” probed the Captain, casting one last glance along the blood stained beach and ensuring that there wouldn’t be any surprises. No one left to wheeze out the events which had transpired, naming their ship and crew and damning them in the last death-rattle of a fevered mind.
“Aye. I know what it means.”
“So you do,” sighed the captain. It was best to let Redwin have his moments.
“Like – you know, if they send more of these diggers. Archeelogist. They’d find their mates under the sand, who were also archee… diggers. Irony, eh?”
The Captain turned neatly on his heel, continuing on the coastline towards the cave which sat recessed in shadow some fifty arm lengths downwind. He heard a few laughs carried by the breeze as some of the other men found a black mirth in Redwin’s conjecture.
“ – he ain’t never laugh anymore. You know how they are – old cats left too long out in the sun.”
Captain Tavin felt his face twist into a frown. He was losing his grip. He knew it. They knew it. Most of all, Redwin, though dull as his blade and only half as useful, certainly knew it. Despite that, he heard the plod of footsteps join him on the sand. They still followed. For now.
As they walked the short distance, Tavin found himself unable to look away from the viscera left behind from their forced intrusion. Bodies lay at odd angles, crimson blood reflecting hostile and overbearing sunlight. Along the perfectly white beach the bodies seemed phantom splotches, breaking up the brilliance of a divine, sporadic ruby streaks which brazenly to dared spoil the canvas. In that moment, Tavin remembered the reverence with which life had been treated in the monastery, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Here, all he could see was how cheaply life could be exchanged. In some twisted way, perhaps the latter was its own enforcement of the former.
They arrived at the gaping maw of the cave in short order. The smell drifting from the cavern was that of the sea, and the closer one stood they would begin to notice more and more the cool air of the place lightly spilling out into the blazing summer day.
“Trem, Fitty, hold a rear guard,” the Tavin commanded, striding forward into the patiently awaiting blackness. Redwin followed firstly, the others joining in his wordless wake.
Cool blue light erupted from the group, as two of the now party of six pirates withdrew dryman lanterns from their pockets. Their handheld nature, coupled with their flameless light by way of dryman crystals, proved an invaluable addition to any seafaring voyagers. The best part was it hadn’t cost them any coin. It had only cost two royal marines everything.
“Right handy these things. Have to write a note to the bluebacks, thank ‘em proper.”
“You can’t read,” another voice replied in the darkness. Tavin surmised it belonging to Feck, the navigator.
“Aye, and you won’t be able to none either ‘wif a solid blow to the head,” growled back the first voice, the sporadic movement of light suggesting him shaking the lantern threateningly towards Feck. The man was instrumental in their survival, yet was far from a fighter. By Tavin’s experience, though, every ship needed at least on learned man. Would that he would learn to keep his tongue in check, though.
“If you break that lantern, I’m going to break every bone in your hand,” Tavin spoke coolly, in an almost conversational tone.
“Aye, aye,” the offending man laughed nervously, “just a jest, of course.”
The sand began to slowly give way to a black volcanic rock, which comprised the floor, roof, and walls. Small glimmering trails of water secreted by porous gaps in the rock glimmiered under the blue light, bringing with them the familiar smell of the ocean. Tavin furrowed his brow, noticing no pick marks or other signs of manmade intrusion in the surprisingly smooth tunnel. *Wonders still left in the world, eh?*
As they continued, the briny smell of the seawater began to dissipate, as did the faint trails of glimmering water. The stone smoothed further, becoming eerily reminiscent of a hallway more than a tunnel.
“Oi, how long you reckon this goes on? Feel like we’ve walked the length of the island, teeny as it is,” piped up a pirate named Berrin, the youngest of the bunch.
“Need a rest? Getting a callous on yer delicate feet?” jabbed Redwin.
“No! I could run the length of the damned thing. Just wondering is all.” Berrin’s voice was defensive, though its high inflection was obvious as it bounced off the corridor walls. “Asides – the place is a bit weird, innit?”
“A bit,” conceded Redwin, now seeming to notice the continued change in texture and structure of the tunnel. “How much further on then, Captain?”
“I’m not exactly acquainted with random tunnels in long forgotten caves,” the Captain sardonically replied. “Should’ve asked one of the royal scribes before we gutted them.”
Redwin let out a cold, cruel laugh. “Suppose. Got carried away. Red on the tide and all.” Redwin stopped, staring at the captain. “You know how it is, don’t you?”
The Captain strode forward, not acknowledging the question. Redwin grinned. Though he did so subtly, the Captains hand danced ever closer the waiting hilt of his cutlass, which beckoned in soft golden tones through the dim blue light of their passage.
*And what then? There’s five of them. Granted… Feck might stand with me. Of course I’m not sure he would know which end of a blade to use. No. Not the time. Not the place.*
Whatever brewing tensions had been stirred were blessedly released, as the tunnel turned sharply and opened up into a high ceilinged underground cavern.
“By Hrathen’s salty beard,” an awed Berrin whispered.
Brilliant blue light from dryman crystals which must’ve been growing for millennia painted the chamber in cool hues, much of which dancing off a large pool which sat within a perfectly circular basin in the center of the chamber. The water must be fresh, given the lack of any smell of brine or notable deposits of salt or minerals along its rim. The place seemed carved, almost lovingly, by one ancient and delicate. As if every stone bespoke a warm sense of caring and nurturing.
Yet, none of these things were why the young man had spoken. Beyond the beauty of nature, the flashy face of wealth beckoned. Coins glinted in the light, and more than a few smoothly carved jewels twinkled at them seductively. Perhaps most attractively, though, sat a cluster of pearls unlike any the men had ever seen. Perfectly white and as big as cannonball, a number of them sat neatly together at the edge of the gently lapping pool.
\[cont\]
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[WP] Out of all the superpowers out there, you consider yours the most sadistic; you can save any number of innocent people from death in the face of danger, but to gain that ability, you must kill an innocent person. Named after the infamous moral thought experiment, you are... Trolley Man.
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Are you familiar with the Trolley Problem?
A common moral thought exercise. There is a runaway trolley heading down a track - a track on which there is a group of people, unable to get out of the way. You have the option to flip a lever and redirect the trolley onto an adjacent rail with a single person on it. This person will die, but you will save the lives of the group.
Do you do it?
Inaction causes greater death. But if you pull the lever? That death is a direct result of your actions. It is *your fault*.
Not a terribly easy choice, is it?
Now imagine having that be a power. And you have me. Lucky ol' me.
I can save... dozens of people with the flick of my hand. But someone will die. Someone innocent, so I can't just go through death row inmates with a clear conscience. And I have to choose who dies, someone in my vicinity. I have to look them in the eye. See their expression. Grief, anger, sadness, but worst of all... they don't understand why.
It fucking sucks. But not doing anything? It's worse. Not that it helps me sleep at night.
​
Look, what I'm trying to say is... I'm sorry. I am truly, truly sorry. But this will save 14 people, 6 of which are children. It won't hurt.
I hope you understand.
​
I'm sorry.
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[NSFW] *Inspired by American Psycho*
I am something of a normal guy. When I wake up in the morning, I have an erection that presses into my memory foam mattress in a very satisfying way, and it is not so much that I do not want to get out of bed, but that I want to be inside it, thrusting my hips until the heat is too much to bear and the frustration gets me up and into the shower. On days I don’t wash my hair or shave my face, I like to use the coldest water I can. It’s better for the skin. Or so I’ve read.
The most important part of my day comes next.
I like to air dry so I put on my slippers and go to my study where three of the four walls are coated in chalkboard paint. This is where I keep tally of the innocent people I’ve killed, and I hope to fill the second wall by the end of the year so that the open space isn’t uneven anymore. Another fifteen today should complete the rest of the last line. Three or four lines after that will complete the wall. I just need to make sure I write evenly so that I don’t have to erase any again. The third wall is blank and on it I used to have the number of innocent people I’ve saved with the innocent lives I’ve taken. But is anyone truly innocent? Is anyone worth saving? Just because I can point my finger at a random stranger walking down the street, or through the slits of a curtain at a stranger washing dishes and claim their lives, doesn’t mean they are innocent. The fact that they die might very well be because at that moment, they weren’t dangerous. Who’s to say it isn’t the same for those I save? I can’t tell you when it was I stopped saving people with the lives I take, but I have made a game of trying to claim more *innocent* lives at the most inopportune times, or when the irony of their death steps ever so gingerly into the realm of comedy.
“See a penny pick it up, all day long you have good luck!” And then they’re facedown in the concrete, their loved ones going from giggles to screams as the blood flows. I put my phone in airplane mode in times like these, and they never even notice when I give them the phone to call an ambulance. All they know is that the call isn’t going through. This one time, I even waited until the ambulance came speeding down the street and I claimed the life of the driver, sending the wailing ambulance into the crowd of onlookers and police cars.
When it rains, it pours.
Speaking of, I’m dry. I have a collection of colognes because I believe the scent you give off adds to the aesthetic of your outfit, adding weight to your presence wherever you may go. The second most important part of my day is choosing my outfit for this very reason.
.
.
.
WiltySpinach! Remember the name! 👹
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[WP] The knight who saved the princess was a 40 year old man with a wife and kids. He doesn't want her hand he just thinks teenage girls shouldn't be held captive in towers in the middle of nowhere.
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"You rescued me!" The princess exclaimed, stepping gingerly over the still warm corpse of the beast that had been her captor.
"Huh?...well yes I suppose" the armor clad knight scratched his chin in confusion. "I just figured that *someone* should have come out by now."
The princess leaned in, fluttering her eyes just the way she had been taught so many years prior. "Yes, well, aren't you glad it was you?", she whispered, closed her eyes, and brought herself close. She was met quickly, not by the lips of her savior, but by the cold metal of his gauntlet, the knight holding fast with his arm now extended into her face.
"Ah no, I rescued you because you needed rescued. That's all." The knight spoke, hand still firmly in her face.
The princess pulled back, a confused expression only highlighted further by a stray lock of blonde hair falling down over her eyes.
"Also, how old are you? I have a daughter your age you know. You can't possibly be into-", the knight gestured down to himself. To worn armor and a gut that spilled out beyond the plating. To a face full of scruff, scarred from years of service, and a smattering of dark colored blood across his armor. It was true. He was not what she had expected, but still she replied.
"Well, of course I am, you rescued me! I have to show my gratitude somehow." Her words trailed off upon realizing what she had said, or more how she had said it. Now, staring down a man who looked at her with such pity, she understood the strangeness of it all. Rewarding a stranger for being nice, or rather just for being decent.
Sensing her realization the knight cut her thoughts short. "How about this: don't get captured again, and we'll call it even. And if you do, well then have me sent for, ok? My name is Sir Gladstone."
The princess managed to put on a comforted smile up to Gladstone, which he returned.
"Deal." She agreed.
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At first, I tried talking to the hooligans in reasonable terms.
>"You know, locking a teenaged girl up in a tower with no social circle or emotional outlet isn't going to do wonders for her mental health" I noted.
>
>"Yeah. We know. Now go away before our captain calls for the archers to shoot you." one of the outer wall guards responded.
>
>I heard the subtle twing of bowstring from on high.
>
>"Alrighty, thanks for your explanation. Have a wonderful day!" I turned to walk away.
Then, I tried coercion.
>"What do you mean, I don't look convincing! Why, I'm this princess's long lost sister!" I tried my best feminine accent.
>
>"Last I remember, princesses didn't have full grown beards and sound like gruff older men in their 40's." a guard noted. "Do you remember meeting the long lost sister of Princess Persephone?"
>
>"No, I didn't." the guard responded. "If I remember right, it was quite a big deal that the king only ever had one daughter. One is none, and all that."
>
>"Yeah, got it." the guard turned to me. "Please leave before our gunmen shoot you down."
>
>I heard the loading of a magazine from on high.
>
>"Very well. I'll be on my way."
Finally, I tried deception.
>"I'm here as an inspector from the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, also known as OSHA, to inspect your castle for proper workplace and building practices. Please, if you will, step aside, and let me enter so I can do my job/." I asked politely.
>
>"OSHA won't exist for another couple hundred years, American. Now scram unless you really want our captain to come out and greet you personally." the guard glared at me.
>
>I heard loud, thunderous stomping from much closer than on high.
>
>"Dang it! Too meta. I'll come back tomorrow." I noted.
>
>Groans emanated from both inside the castle and from the outer wall guards.
Finally, the day came. I was tired of this girl being locked up in a tower.
So I did the right thing.
I picked up my phone, and started dialing.
"Hey, this is Greg." Greg said.
"Hey Greg, wanna go raid a tower?" I asked.
"Sure!"
Soon enough Greg and I were at the tower.
I casually walked up to the tower. Archers, gunners, and the sounds of a very buff man yelling came from the other side of the gate.
"Hello there, castle guard." I smiled.
"Hey, I thought I told you to scram." the guard replied.
"What? Me? Scram? What a preposterous thought!" I laughed.
Immediately, as I predicted, gunners, archers shot at me from above.
They didn't stand a chance.
Bullets and arrows all bounced off me hopelessly, before I chugged a potion from my inventory, and started jumping up into the air. Dirt blocks spawned below me, as I turned my B Hopping cheat on. Then, just for funsies, Greg and I started teleporting around the base at random. Men screamed as they were placed in Obi traps, becoming floating corpses in the middle of the sky, all drowned in midair. I swung at someone with my sword, and they caught on fire. But this wasn't the point.
Soon, Greg and I- having thoroughly dispatched their captain- skillfully used admin commands to teleport ourselves into the chamber where they held the girl. I pulled out a pickaxe, destroyed her chains, and set her free.
Moral of the story? Honestly, I don't fucking know.
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[WP] The Gods have come to a consensus and have decided to take back that fire thing that was stolen from them. Man can no longer contain, control or create fire. Fire is once again solely the domain of The Gods
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As the lights dimmed, and planes plummeted, the old gods grew satisfied. Blood would be had tonight. A sacrifice for themselves, fit to match their growing outrage. Darkness fell, batteries began to die, food began to spoil. As fires began to spring from the wreckage of humanity, bullets failed to fire, rockets failed to launch, and nuclear fire went cold. Some power would have remained, but, that, too, was stilled. Humanity returned to the cold wilderness from which it was born, in a bloody mess, a sort of birth from light, into darkness.
I was born into this darkness. It sang to me at night, when I was young, and, when the adults woke in screams of terror, I was lullabied by the shadows that haunted their dreams. Stone was my tool, wood was my hand, and sinew was my strength. I grew strong in a world that was governed by the sun.
One day, my father took me by the hand, and told me, "Prometheus. You were born for a purpose."
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Avanecci was a bastard, but at least he was clever.
"Hold this," he said, shoving one of his devices into Talia's hands. "What is it?" she asked, not expecting him to bother answering. When he got into one of his moods, he rarely interacted with anyone. To her surprise, though, Avanecci was watching her. "Never mind that," he said. "Do you feel anything?" Talia paused. "Hungry?"
She was always hungry.
The return of the gods shocked the world. Some laughed when those divine patrons told the world they were taking back fire. Talia supposed they didn't consider that it would include internal combustion engines and thermal power plants. 12 years later, and still the famines persist.
Avanecci clicked his tongue and wagged his finger in her face. She flicked the finger, and the 'scientist' seemed taken aback as he snatched back his hand and rubbed the finger. "This is important, Talia. Focus. What do you feel?" Talia rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. She closed her eyes, focusing on the strange device humming in her hands. It was a little annoying, that humming. The more she examined that sound, the louder it became. "The humming is a bit much," she said. Avanecci's eyes went wide as saucers. "The what?"
He snatched the device out of her hands and closed his own eyes, then burst out laughing. Talia crossed her arms. "What?" she said. Avanecci took a moment to compose himself. "Nothing! I hear no buzzing, humming or anything of the like. Of course. I wouldn't be so lucky." Talia opened her mouth to practice some new curses on the man, but he rudely shoved the device back in her hands, then sprinted to the other end of the room and hurled a knife at her.
The humming surrounded her. There was a warmth to it as it enveloped her. She watched the knife spin through the air towards her, and noticed a shimmer just in front of her, like light playing off the surface of a lake. The knife stopped in mid air, as if it had collided with a wall, and fell harmlessly to the ground. "Ah ha!" Avanecci said, and began triumphantly bouncing around the room, taking notes. Talia stormed up and slugged him in the throat. As Avanecci lay choking on the floor, Talia glanced up at what he had just written on one of his many blackboards.
"Phase 1 complete! Phase 2: Kill the Gods"
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[WP] "One drip of this poison is enough to kill a whale." The scientist points towards a table, but the beaker isn't there. Instead a silly coffee cup shaped like a beaker sits. You lower the not coffee cup from your mouth. Tastes like lemon-lime.
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"Wait, it what?"
That I had made an embarrassing mistake nearly went without saying. That the scientists washed their dishes with the lab equipment, this mistake *couldn't* go without saying, so I said it:
"I told you that your unsafe lab practices would be the death of me, Mike."
Mike and I had been good friends for ages, and I knew that he must feel horrible, so it was nice to be able to get him to chuckle, as teary-eyed as he was getting.
"You son of a bitch, you just had to get one more joke in, didn't you?" He let out an odd noise that sounded like a sigh trying to hold back a sob. "How do you feel, Bill? Is there any pain?"
"No," I lied. I was getting a splitting headache, and the ringing in my ears alone was almost painful. There was another feeling, an odd not-quite-lightheadedness, not-quite-dizziness that I couldn't quite put a finger on...it wasn't painful, but it felt like I was walking in a deep fog. Everything felt heavy. I needed a nap. But, in spite of everything, my curiosity, which was apparently enough to kill a whale, rather than a cat, compelled me to ask.
"So, how does this poison work, again?"
Maybe it would be good, for Mike, to focus on the science, for a moment, instead of his dying friend. If I could do that much, maybe it would be worth it.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "So, we know that whales' brains sleep one half at a time, right? While we were researching cetacean intelligence, trying to unlock the potential of their brains, we discovered that this compound had the unfortunate side effect of synching up both halves of their brains. When exposed, they would fall asleep -- completely -- and drown. It only took one drop, no matter which species. It..."
I didn't hear the rest of his explanation, as everything faded away.
---
I woke up a short time later, on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. It was a good thing that we were headed to the hospital, as I think I gave the poor paramedic a heart attack. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't try to bash my brains out.
Mike met us at the hospital, absolutely beside himself in relief. Neither of us were the hugging sort, but this felt like one of those situations where an exception could be made.
"I...I don't understand it. Don't take this the wrong way, Bill, but why are you alive?"
It was my turn to laugh. It felt great, and I felt more refreshed, more alive than I had in years. I supposed that dying might do that to a fellow, or maybe just the deepest, soundest sleep I had experienced in years. "I don't think that poison works the same way for humans, since both halves of our brains normally sleep at the same time. Though, I guess it is a good thing I wasn't in a pool."
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"Hoo shit, Jesus Carl, be more careful about what you-"
"AM I GOING TO DIE?"
"Christ Carl, no; you're fine, you're not a whale, are you? One drop will kill a whale, it would take like a gallon to kill a human. You should really be more careful about what you drink though."
"Why the FUCK did you put this in a goddamn coffee cup?"
"Well, it was a handy container, and I was already late for the meeting."
Carl slammed his hand down on the table "Ok, more to the point, why did you put it in \*my\* coffee cup?! This is MY coffee cup!"
"Why did you bring a goddamn coffee cup shaped like a beaker into the lab, Carl?"
"It has FLOWERS printed on it?!"
"Still, drinks in the lab?!"
A third voice cleared their throat from the other end of the long table, "It's very good to know that The Consortium won't need to find another testing director, but you've both demonstrated to our satisfaction that your lab protocols have become very lax, which we'll talk about at a subsequent meeting... And I think we're all very anxious for you to get on with the presentation."
".... Right."
Carl and Francine both remembered then, that they were in the middle of a meeting presenting their work from the past month to the directors of the Consortium, whose motives were often as terrifying as they were mysterious. The other end of the table was always shrouded in darkness at these meetings, so it was also never clear exactly how many people were watching them. After 15 years working for them though, Carl and Francine had learned two things very thoroughly: A certain familiarity with their workplace that occasionally allowed them to forget where they were, and to \*never\* question their employers, who paid quite handsomely and left them largely to their own devices.
"Yes, anyway... This poison, which is mostly safe for human consumption, is what I've been working on for the last month, and if, for some reason, you needed to kill a whale, it would only take one drop, but here's the real kicker: It would only take one drop \*dropped into their aquarium\*. For a whale living in an enclosure with the recommended water volume for an adult blue whale, one drop in that enclosure will be enough to kill the whale within an hour. Which... I don't mean to brag *too much*, but if you weren't aware, the 'recommended water volume' for a blue whale enclosure is *very* large, so this poison is... Incredibly potent. If you could deliver the poison directly into the whale's body, it would take about 0.000001 grams of it ."
The voice at the end of the table spoke up again, gravelly and raspy, but high pitched; "That is splendid, this will work perfectly for our purposes."
Francine became more visibly agitated as she considered her next words "My only word of caution about this substance is that it uh... Perhaps might be inadvisable to produce it in large quantities. Aside from simply being somewhat expensive to produce in bulk, a spill to the tune of even one gallon would do incalculable damage to whale populations the world over. A sufficiently large spill or leak could easily render the entire planet free of whales within a generation."
"Yes."
Francine's face turned white as she packed up her papers, and, with a shaking hand, accepted an envelope slid down the table.
The darkness spoke again, "Now, Carl, do you have anything to report on your new nanostructure idea?"
"I do, but I have good news and bad news about how it's made. The good news is it's actually much cheaper to produce than I could have ever hoped; I have those figures here," he waved a piece of paper, "but the bad news is... Look, how do you feel about reptiles? I don't usually ask questions like this, but... Do you have any moral issue with breeding them systematically while keeping them in constant excruciating pain?"
Carl heard silence, then faint hissing from the other side of the table, and his face turned white too...
'*I thought my day was unlucky when the vending machine ate my dollar, but Fuuuuck.'*
The gravelly, high pitched voice returned, "Francine, we feel that your presence is not necessarily required for the next portion of this meeting. If you'd like to return to your work, you may do so while we continue discussing Carl's progress."
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[WP] You got a rug designed to look like an Ouija board as a gift. Liking it, you placed it in your living room. Now your roomba's summoned a demon and it can't leave until the roomba asks for something.
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Samantha didn't believe in the supernatural, much less the afterlife, until one day when she was gifted an Ouija board rug as a gift from an awfully strange friend. At first, it was all fine. The rug looked nice. Just needed a good cleaning, leading Samantha to put her Roomba on the rug to give it a good clean, only for the Roomba to accidentally summon a tall blue demon. A demon 7 feet tall, yellow-eyed, human-like, blue skin, 2 horns on a long head of hair, and wearing a suit. Who was staring down at Samantha who was busy scrolling on Instagram.
"...Ahem." The blue demon coughed, disappointed.
Samantha looked up at her ceiling and jumped after meeting eye-to-eye with the tall blue pillar. "What the fuck?!"
"Do you not even have enough manners to greet what you summoned? Jeez. Humans these days." The blue demon scoffed as they watched Samantha leap behind her couch.
"M-my soul is not for sale!" She screamed, holding up her foot flop as a weapon as she had the rest of her body behind the couch.
"I'm not here for your soul you baffoon. I'm here to fulfill your request."
"Request?" Samantha peaks out. "What request?"
"You summoned me. Did you not?"
"...No?"
"Then what di-" The Roomba bumped into the demon's foot. They looked down at the tiny cleaning robot. "What is this?"
"My Roomba."
"Did this... summon me?"
"I..." Samantha slowly stood up and looked down at the rug, seeing how there was a faint line running across the rug. "I think so. But, what request are we talking about here?" Samantha looked up at the demon, still scared.
"I was summoned to fulfill the request of whoever summoned me. Can your Roomba ask me for something?"
"...Well, no."
"No? What do you mean no?" The demon asked as they looked back down at the robot. "What do you want?"
"The Roomba can't ask for anything. It's a robot."
"What's a robot?" The demon stared back at Samantha.
"It's like... it's a machine."
"But... wait. So you're saying this thing isn't alive?" The demon asked as they picked up the small robot, holding it in their left hand.
"Y-yeah." Samantha nervously chuckled. "B-but I can ask for a request and we'll be done! And you can do back to... wherever you came from!"
(1/2)
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I received a rug designed to look like an Ouija board as a gift and, liking it despite its overt macabre feel, I placed it in my living room. My roomba or as I would like to address him, "Rover," began cleaning the ominous rug. Suddenly, the lights flickered, the temperature dropped, and a sulfurous mist filled the air. A puff of smoke erupted, and, upon dissipating, stood a tall, pompous demon, dressed in picture perfect couture with a monocle perched on one glowing yellow eye of his.
Yeah. Perhaps placing a rug with such a design inside the living room wasn't the best idea.
"Greetings, mortal. I am Azazel, Duke of the Ninth Circle, Keeper of the Eternal Flames, Coordinator of one of Lord Satan's children," he began, then paused, glaring at Rover. "I have been summoned by... this lowly contraption?"
"That's my roomba," I replied, still trying to process the situation I had gotten myself in.
Azazel sighed dramatically, his bright red and yellow eyes rolling heavenward. "And what purpose does this 'roomba' serve?"
"Rover. Call him Rover. And, oh, you know. Vacuuming dust and dirt of the sort." I answered, now seeing the fun in poking a demon who seems to hold himself to such a pontifical standard.
"Oh by Hell's grace, you cannot be serious right now! Bound by a machine, not a machine that kills or destroys— but a machine that cleans! How far have I fallen from grace! Oh, to be bound by this machine named Rover!" The demon uttered, growling in frustration. Funnily enough, he spoke like one of those pretentious royalty portrayed in pop culture. I held onto dear life, trying not to let out a chuckle.
"Oh, human! Would you be so kind as to free me from such ignominy?! I only need Rover here to request a solemn favor, only then will I be free to depart! This is according to Hell's Constitutional Law 367!" Azazel practically begged, edging closer to me, his hands clasping together. To think that he exuded such a magnanimous air when he appeared, only to now be reduced to such a state. This would go absolutely viral, had I only brought my phone with me.
"Rover is quite outdated though. It doesn't have a voice feature unlike many modern roombas." I lied. Straight up lied. This roomba is the latest model.
"My word! I-if that's the case... N-now what... This is a travesty of Chthonic proportions." Azazel practically breathed out, his voice coming in only jagged breaths, his 9 foot figure drooping to a slump. Why would be believe me so fast? Without even an inkling of doubt? Perhaps critical thinking isn't quite the norm in Hell.
"I guess, I'll have to live here forever. Down in the home of some wretched human, watching over his blasted robot until the end of eternity." Azazel mentioned, clearly defeated. So much for being the Duke of the Ninth Circle. Had I not taken acting classes recently, I would've broken character and laughed long ago.
Azazel went through the five stages of grief quite quickly, stupidly enough.
Realizing I had leverage, I proposed a deal.
"Azazel," I spoke to the demon's slumped appearance. "I could get the roomba to speak, but only under one condition."
"You damned creature. You know I don't like being subjected and reduced to the losing end of the bargain. I do, with every fiber inside me, hope you know what you're getting into." Azazel's eyes found its once lost spark. Perhaps I bit off more than I could chew...
😸😸😸😸
Any suggestions and critiques to my writing are welcome! 😸
[My subreddit/portfolio if you want to drop by and take a peek! I hope to be writing here a lot, so do expect the quantity to skyrocket! 😸](https://www.reddit.com/r/KittenMantra/s/eZJMeTJj1b)
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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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I remember my first kill vividly. I had my back against a wall near an alley. I was out of sight—and invisible wire held in my hand. The man was walking across the street when another stranger just happen to trip because of yours truly. The stranger fell in a way that tripped the other man. He fell precisely on the curb of the street and went out cold. The stranger got back up quickly and went to check up on the man with worry written all over his face. That's when a women from across the street screamed.
"Watch out!" She pointed up.
The stranger looked up and became terrified at what he saw. He quickly jumped out of the way. The man that got knocked out the furthest from his mind.
**Boom**
Yeah...just for good measure— I timed it perfectly with a piano drop from a 10 story building. The look on people's faces as the piano fell on top of the man was priceless. The witnesses thoughts easily guessed.
*How absurd!*
*How ridiculous is this?*
*Did I just see that happen?!*
*Unbelievable!*
*Someone call 911!*
Where was I while all this fuss was going on? I was admiring my work as I walked away casually. I remember thinking about my next hit and brainstorming on how ridiculous I could make the next one.
Spoil alert. My next hit died by stupidity. I somehow convinced the guy to take a selfie from a highrise building without any safety net.
What followed after came very naturally...it was all over the news.
My favorite hit though had to be the bee incident. I actually felt kind of bad about that one. Who knew bees could be such a vicious and painful way to go?
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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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I remember my first kill vividly. I had my back against a wall near an alley. I was out of sight—and invisible wire held in my hand. The man was walking across the street when another stranger just happen to trip because of yours truly. The stranger fell in a way that tripped the other man. He fell precisely on the curb of the street and went out cold. The stranger got back up quickly and went to check up on the man with worry written all over his face. That's when a women from across the street screamed.
"Watch out!" She pointed up.
The stranger looked up and became terrified at what he saw. He quickly jumped out of the way. The man that got knocked out the furthest from his mind.
**Boom**
Yeah...just for good measure— I timed it perfectly with a piano drop from a 10 story building. The look on people's faces as the piano fell on top of the man was priceless. The witnesses thoughts easily guessed.
*How absurd!*
*How ridiculous is this?*
*Did I just see that happen?!*
*Unbelievable!*
*Someone call 911!*
Where was I while all this fuss was going on? I was admiring my work as I walked away casually. I remember thinking about my next hit and brainstorming on how ridiculous I could make the next one.
Spoil alert. My next hit died by stupidity. I somehow convinced the guy to take a selfie from a highrise building without any safety net.
What followed after came very naturally...it was all over the news.
My favorite hit though had to be the bee incident. I actually felt kind of bad about that one. Who knew bees could be such a vicious and painful way to go?
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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] You find a perfect human skull while picking flowers one day, so you bring it home and use it as a flower holder. But seemingly overnight, the flowers become one with the skull, making it a new body
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Wife: Honey… That skull you put the flowers in? It wasn’t moving yesterday was it?
Husband: Noooo… why?
W: It appears that it’s merged with the flowers & and is trying to get to the knives…
H: Dammit. Every time. I’ll get the shears.
W: Why do you insist on using skulls for flower holders? I really don’t understand.
H: What’s that Honey? Oh.. you’re a quick one aren’t ya! You’ll have to be faster than that! *EN GARDE*!
W: Nothing Dear. I’ll go put get the burn pit ready … ^again.
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The floreal creature sat on the desk and with a chilling voice said
"Thank you, noone ever showed me love".
"What?" I asked hardly believing my own eyes and ears.
"Thanks for bringing me here at home and planting flowers inside my skull, finally the curse is partialy lifted"
"A curse? Who did this to you? Who are you?" I still couldn't grasp the situation but it seemed the creature was not hostile, so I got curious.
"I don't remember I ... I mean I can only recall this feeling of cold, loneliness and sadness, all I ever felt really was this suffering who made me feel empty, but you somehow have dispersed them awakening my consciousness".
"How are you so sure it was a curse?"
"I don't know, I can feel it, like a nefarious cloud all around me, still my own thoughts are confused and my memories are weak and few, all I really know is that someone cursed me to this condition until someone would show me love or kindness".
"I'm glad I could help you, so you don't remember your name?"
"Unfortunately no".
"Well let's give you one then! Your voice sounds like you were a woman, what about Flora?"
"Flora?"
"Yes, you are reborn through these flowers I planted into your skull, so we have to thank them somehow".
"I think I like this name, thanks"
"You're welcome".
I found myself smiling, that "thing" was human, most likely had a soul trapped inside it which was cursed to wait until someone would show love or kindness to it.
It was odd, odd and sad.
I felt compelled to help it, no, to help HER she might not have memories but she definitely still is human.
I couldn't believe that someone could have such a sad life and an equally sad aftermath in death.
"We will find clues to bring your memories back Flora, trust me, tomorrow first thing in the morning we'll go back to the flower field and will search for clues"
"Thanks kind stranger, if I may ask what's your name?"
"Ethan, and you can call me friend from now on".
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[WP] The title of Archmage can only be held by the pinnacle of each magical field, who have spent decades perfecting their magic. As a young genius who invented a new field of magic, you have significantly lowered the average age of archmages.
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We slowly settled into our throne like seats - each chair covered in different coloured gems to indicate our speciality…trying not to glance at the leather, oddly shaped construct kept in…rainbow, opals decorating the metal parts. Was that lumbar support? I awkwardly wiggled against the gold behind me.
“So…where is our newcomer?” my necromancer colleague addressed the elephant in the room.
“I’m here!” A voice announced from the corner and a young…girl - maybe just woman - got up, rainbow fluffy ears attached to her head - askew - for some unbeknownst reason. No, not unbeknown. They were attached to headphones. “Coming, coming!” she said, closing the machine in front of her and sliding it into a sparkly rainbow bag. Looking at her frankly hurt my eyes. “Sorry - you guys took longer than I had expected, so I decided to do something productive while I waited. But, if we are ready to go…” she threw herself into the leather thing, which rolled two steps in response, “I’m here.”
“Welcome Archmage,” I said, the word tasting weird on my tongue.
“Thank you!” she beamed. “Just for future reference - if the invitation says 9am, should I assume we don’t start until 9:30am, because you guys first want a chat and coffee? I’m not complaining, but it would be helpful to know. I’m not a morning person. I get my own coffee.” She held up a massive pink thermos.
“I suppose we could make an effort to start at the time of the invitation-“ the Archsummoner - master of all things precision and mathematics - began and I hurriedly cut him off:
“Speaking to each other is a vital part of the process,” I said. “Our fields are interconnected after all.”
“You were networking…?” she asked. “You discussed the Archhealer’s latest apprentice and his conventional attractiveness…”
“HEY!” the Archhealer spluttered. “Tony is EXTREMELY talented! Maybe if you stopped projecting your own dirt-“
“ANYWAY! Now that we are all here, we should make a start!” I jumped in. “Why don’t you present your field to us Archmage? I don’t think we are all familiar…I for one didn’t understand the missive at all!”
“Oh…of course! Do we have any screens? No? Projector? Oh, never mind!” she said, before leisurely drawing a square into mid-air. Reality folded in on itself and a picture appeared reading ‘Linux’. Maybe a spell name?
“Woow…” The Archalchemist gasped.
“Let me find the presentation,” she said. “One second.”
“Did you just casually open a portal?” the Archsummoner demanded.
“I am working on a course!” the girl beamed. “I will start lecturing it at the academy from next semester onwards! We would love to have you! THERE it is! Let’s go! Technomancy 101! Just to get a baseline, how much technology do you use in your day to day lives?”
“NONE!” the Archnecromancer thundered with horror in his voice. “Those things drain your soul!”
“They don’t, but let’s keep going…” she replied.
“My great-great-great-grandkids have taught me how to get their pictures on my…you know…screen,” the Archhealer beamed.
“On your phone?” she asked.
“This box thingy…” the Archhealer pulled a small machine out of her pocket. “I can’t make phone calls with it, so I don’t really call it a phone.”
“Did you know that the waves from those things throw off your aura like crazy?” the Archastrologer asked. “You really shouldn’t have it closer to you than 2 metres, unless it is in a specially charged magnetic case. Let me check, if I have a second one with me.”
“This…is going to take a while…”
EDIT: Why does one always find typos as soon as one presses “SAVE”??
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There was a stillness in the throne room. None of them could have imagined what, or who, would enter through the golden doors.
Suddenly, the king broke the peace.
"*Archmage Vuul'tha... I presume?*"
A young boy, just old enough to reach his teens, raised his head and looked at the king, towering in his throne. He was nervous all this time, shaking and clenching his fists to try and fight the uneasiness he felt.
*"Y-yes, your m-m-majesty. I am the... uh... Archmage of Matter."* He responds.
Chatter begins to fill the room. Guards and Noblemen whisper to themselves about this new Archmage sent by the Wizarding imperium. Some whisper words of doubt, while others lament at the aid sent to them by the mages at Arandarr.
The king, noticing the commotion, raises his hand as if to catch the attention of those around him. His gesture brings the gossip to the halt, and all eyes are now on him.
*"Very well then. Shall I call you Volt, instead?"* The king asks the boy.
*"O-of course... My mother used to call me that when I... uh... was... uh..."*
Before the boy could speak, the King gestures his guards and points to him.
*"If you truly are the youngest Archmage... Show me your power."*
Volt is stunned and unable to speak. The guards begin to close on him, one by one.
*"Y-your majesty! Isn't this a-a bit absurd?"* Volt shouts.
*"You are an **Archmage.** If anything, this is to be expected of you in battle. Prove your worth and show me why you were given the title as the youngest and strongest archmage there is!"*
Volt, surprised by this situation, recalls what his master told him. *"Kings will test you and your skill. But all you need to do, is bring them to their knees. Then, will they listen."* It was a warning that he couldn't understand at first. But now, he finally understands what his master meant.
All these years, he was training to **Control** his power, not master it. He couldn't get the precise flow of mana needed to reduce the output and power. He would always waste a lot of mana by just simply activating his magic. But his master persevered, taught him ways to control not just his magic, but also his mana levels and output. His master was regarded by some as the Master of Mana, or the Blue mage by others outside his circle. But to Volt, he was his grandfather.
Now, he's faced with a situation he can't get out of, and he has lost all other options. A throne room filled with doubters and disbelievers, thinking he is too young to be an Archmage. Though he isn't annoyed a single bit by those whispering their misgivings, he would be lying if what he was about to do next didn't make him feel good.
With a faint whisper, just barely audible enough, he says a phrase.
"***Regula Naturae***"
Suddenly, the world stops.
Nothing is moving.
The guards can't swing.
The Noblemen watching can't move a single limb.
Everyone couldn't move. Except the king. He was stunned beyond belief as to what he was seeing. He could freely move, but no one else could. He was about to give the order to the knights to stop the attack, but right before he could his eyes were blessed with the sight he sees now.
"*What... is... this...*" The king says in shock.
Suddenly, Volt moves forward and slowly approaches the king. Right before he reaches the chair, he stops and places himself beside the king, standing.
*"King Ausirius, this is my specialty. I am not an elemental mage. I do not posess magics like that of a light or dark wizard. I cannot summon strong beings from the ground, nor can I cast devastating storms and earthquakes to envelop my opponent."*
The King, stunned by his statement, looks at his face. Volt's eyes glow blue, denoting that he is casting the spell continuously.
"*From a young age, I had a unique talent for control. Both my life, and my magic, were based on control. So when my grandfather taught me to use magic, he saw a forbidden power awaken from me.*"
"*What... are you?*" The King replies.
Volt faces the king once again, with enough distance to bow his head with respect. The king nods, and Volt proceeds to release his magic. Everybody around him feels weak, and all eyes are now on Volt.
"*My name is Archmage Vuul'tha. I am a Matter-user, and the youngest Archmage ever, at age 14. My magic specializes in Matter-control, meaning I have control over every form of matter around me, be it living or not.*"
The king is shocked from disbelief. He cannot believe there is such a mage that has such power at a young age. However, he realizes his country is in danger, and it is more important than ever to have a strong, nay, the strongest magician in the world by his side.
He begins to smile. The King then stands and addresses his subjects, whilst clutching Volt on his shoulders.
"*My fellow subjects. I have an important announcement to make.*"
Suddenly, everyone looks to the direction of the king and Volt.
"***We are going to win the war.***"
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[WP] Nearly all your life you lived on the streets. People ignored you at best and reviled you at worst. Then you got superpowers and those same people begin to lecture you about “altruism,” “duty,” and “responsibility.”
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"... which is why we are extending an offer for you to join us in combating these terrible foes."
I made a show of thinking about it, but I already had my answer, "Nah."
"Wonderful, we have people who can help with your title and costume..." Apparently it takes that long for the leader of the Grand Defenders realize someone said 'no.'
We both sat there for a moment, before The Arcanist started to repeat, "I'm not sure you were paying attention, so let me use smaller words. There are terrible things out there, and it is up to people like us to stop them."
I nod along, "So I've heard. People abducted of the streets, devastating attacks that destroy countless homes, no one being safe from these disasters."
"So join us!"
"Nah."
His face started to turn an interesting shade of red before he calmed down. "I see you have your reservations. So let me ask, why not?"
I smiled as I had been waiting for this kind of question, "You have not yet presented me with evidence to supercede my null hypothesis. As such, any reasonable statistician would be required to maintain that null hypothesis."
That made him jerk back, "What?"
"Oh, so because I'm homeless, my degree is worthless? Due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm no longer capable of what I once was? If that's the case, why would you even want me around?"
He blinked at that, clearly not processing, "But you..."
"Yes, me. I spent most of my life on the streets, but I hit a run of good luck. A guy coming out of the grocery store gave me a scratch ticket. He always gave me some of the change he had, but that day he gave me a scratch ticket instead. I never got his name. Before I say anything, he's driving off. Turns out, that ticket gave me some money, so I started going to the community college, got an associates. Started working as a mechanic."
"Then how did--"
"I'll *fucking* get to it. I'm working as a mechanic at the shop, when in through one of the bays comes a blast of energy. Hits a car in the gas tank," I lift up my shirt, so the scar across my left side is visible. "Doc, said I'm lucky to be alive. But no work, and medical bills means I'm right the *fuck* back here. And the funny thing about that energy blast, it was bright orange."
That makes his eyes go wide.
I just smile, "Yeah, no bad guys with orange energy blasts. Only the good guys have them. A few too, so I can't point fingers, but that doesn't matter. I'm not working with you, not with whoever took my shot at life away. I won't become the next super villain, but that's about all I'll promise. So go, before you change my mind."
Arcanist simply stands up at that. He walks toward the door, and pauses, "I can get you a couple towns over. I know a mechanic there, and I could put in a good word."
"No dealing with you or your team? No super fuckery? Just cars?"
"Trucks and tractors mostly. They only diesel engines."
"That's an offer I'll take."
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"Child of the heavens," the voice boomed from the sky, yet seemingly only I could hear it.
" You've been blessed with abilities beyond your wildest imagination; use them well." The voice disappears as abruptly as it came.
' I've finally gone insane.' I think to myself, not feeling any difference within me. ' I'm still just a dirty, no good animal.' Their words take shape in my mind. If you hear something enough you're bound to believe it eventually.
Kicking stones while looking for food, a car swerves away from the road. Everyone around me jumps to the side. My legs are frozen in place, hunger gnawing at me as my mind processes the situation.
'Move damnit!' I scream at my body, my legs finally catching up to my brain and jumping towards the side, but it's too late.
My body is hurled a few metres from the car, spinning impact. A man runs out of the car, looking terrified at first, then relaxing once he sees it's me.
'What's happening?' I try to speak, but I can't move any muscle I have. I can feel my bones and muscles changing, an unfamiliar sensation washing over as they become similar to those of a healthy individual, then changing further.
The man throws me in an alleyway, no one even batting an eye as they walk to avoid my body. Around a few minutes after the man's car drives off, a woman arrives with a child with blue hair in her arms. The little girl quickly climbs down, alerting at her mother to call an ambulance or look for help.
" No dear." The mother says, picking up the child and leaving.
It is only about an hour later that I manage to stand up. A few people call out to me, having arrived a few minutes earlier
" Done sleeping, beggar?" They mock, throwing stones at me while I get up.
'Why must I go through this!?!" My thoughts fuel my anger, the stones having no effect.
'Is it my fault I'm in this situation!!?" I feel my body begin to burn. Before I can register what happened, the group of three stands before me, their actions frozen mid air. I open my eyes again to see all three fatally wounded. The first has a hole the size of a golf ball through his heart. The second a hole the size of a sniper bullet through his skull. And the third with half his body gone, he lives long enough to watch the other two die with a horrific expression, before he too falls backwards. Their faces all frozen in horror.
' What have I done?' I'm immediately overcome with fear. It quickly disappears though, replaced by a distinct pleasure as their bodies disintegrate into thin air. " Hahaha..." The blood on my face disappears as my expression turns to glee.
It doesn't take long for me to be recognised and revered as a hero, helping in stopping crime and citizens cheering me on.
'Is this what appreciation feels like?' I think to myself, falling asleep soundly on a bed for the first time in life.
I'm awoken not more than 4 hours later, someone banging at my door. Tired, I open it to see a policeman, his hand gripping at his gun when he sees me.
" Where's Zero!?" He points the gun at me, asking of my hero alias and not recognising me without the fancy clothes.
" What'd you do to him?"
My anger flares, and once again in a few seconds, the officer's body disintegrates into thin air.
A few weeks later 4 people are reported missing on the news, one of them an officer.
" Where's Zero when you need him? Can we even trust him?" One of the comments wrote.
" I bet he colluded with villains, it's weird that no one recognises him anywhere!" They say
The comment causes my heart to shatter.
" You don't recognise me because you don't care!!" I throw the remote, realising they're only using me.
" If he was such a real hero, he'd have dealt with all the bad guys by now." A comment as such piques my interest.
'Yes...' I agree with the statement. 'Deal with all the bad guys...' The idea causes me to exit the house, looking for someone before I begin.
A few hours later, I'm smiling wildly. A little girl with blue hair in my arms, her eyes covered to shield her from the piercing light.
' And they say power corrupts people." I laugh madly, my eyes reflecting orange as flames engulf the city...
PS. My first story, thought I'd give it a shot. There might be some Grammar errors though.
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j9e9qsh
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j9e2lyd
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[WP] You're immortal, and have passed the 'hero' phase centuries ago. You enter a small coffee shop one day to find that it's owned by your millennia-old arch-nemesis. You really, really just want a chai latte though.
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A door opens, the little bell chimes and I'm awash with easy listening lift-worthy easy listening inoffensive jazz.
I shuffle along to the counter and order "One chai latte please". That's when I notice the eyes. The only problem with a disguise is that it's always a self-portrait. And the eyes always give it away.
They hesitate an instant before attacking. I hold up my hand. "Let's not do this. Not this time. I just want my chai latte. Please let me enjoy this. If you want I can fit you in for a 15:30, bit now I'm just in the mood for a chai latte and some damn peace and quiet." Our previous meeting ended up with the destruction of another of my favorite haunts and this place may be the last place for halfway decent chai latte.
They make the tiniest of nods. "One chai latte coming up. Can I interest you in Norah Jones' latest album?" I decline politely and check out.
She prepares my drink and as I leave the counter meekly smiling, she flashes the tiniest bit of mirth. I try my chai and find it decent, maybe even borderline great. I look back, genuinely surprised. "It was you all along?
"Always have been".
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Davv walked into the coffee shop, the air was crackling.
You can't put your finger on it, you try to shake it off.
Tables murmured with animated figures, a drink is spilled, eyes look up for a second, then back to their phones.
There is no lineup, but Davv wished there was.
The brush bearded barista greets Davv without words.
A tidal wave of heat hit Davv like a bus.
A double decker bus that hadn't been washed, and a diesel smoking engine, most definitely not on schedule for a service.
You know that expression "love at first sight?"
-this is the opposite.
Spite at first sight.
"what can I get for you today?"
The barista growls the words with the ferocity of a foundry.
He remembered Davv, now it comes back, like a film being flashed through.
A betrayal.
He left Davv literally hanging cliffside, and fell.
Was it a falling down thing? It was definitely something, but a betrayal nonetheless.
Davv died.
Not really dead. Injured and with fragmented memories.
This was ages ago.
"Lief, please just the latte today". The words are sent forth with a mix of emotions, hurt, angry, confusion.
"coming right up," Lief spits back.
You go for the weather-checked wallet to pay.
Spilling the change on the counter, Lief is studious, meticulous, even.
The passage of time is a clock, with the gears covered in tar.
Lief moves with deliberate movements, getting the measurements just right, moving like a well oiled machine.
The tension is thick, hypnotic. "This is my doing, stop it, he can't hurt me here, can he? Look at him, he enjoys?" I'm manufacturing a scenario that doesn't exist. Give him the benefit of the doubt ".
Out of nowhere, a cooler of ice water is thrown at Davv.
"This. This is where you get yours, Davv!"
Flung into a panic, like a leaf in the wind.
"This. I have waited too long to make sure you get yours"!
-"whuuut?!" "uh uhhh, I..I.."
"your Latte, on the house, enjoy!"
Davv dives for the drink, no poison, no surprise potions, or added tinctures. The right temp, great taste. Possibly one of the better Latte ever.
No. The best Latte.
"Social cues, were never my Forte, Davv."
Lief confessed.
"Coffee is my passion, my pride and joy, even"
Davv drinks the latte appreciatedly, and finds his way to the door. Outside, the wind nips at Davv, he pulls his dark coat close. Davv swivels back to wave at Lief, - he's gone.
"hrmph, prolly gone in the back to get stock".
Davv heads out, enjoying the Latte.
Maybe people can change.
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jjkkozg
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jjkbr1g
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[WP] An angry magician cursed a city, turning all the residents into the first animal they thought of. Not powerful enough, it only lasted for a day, and the people surprisingly had fun. A year later they offered to pay the magician to do it again and to make him the leader of the celebration.
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The detective pushed his way through the crowd on the front lawn towards the front door with a disposeable coffee cup in one hand and his badge in the other. With a quick smirk he passed the uniformed officer guarding the open front door.
"Hey, Frankie. I heard you have a stiff!"
His partner glanced up from a notebook for only a second before returning to her notes with a "yeah."
Bob-O scanned the living room. His gaze followed the aim of the crime scene photographer to a corner of the room where a blob seemed to hold the world at a pause.
"Jees. Us." he breathed. "What the hell is that?"
Frankie gave a look that told exactly how many seconds of sleep she'd gotten the previous night and said "that's two stiffs. One inside the other." She clapped her notebook closed and put her left thumb and pinkie to her temples. "I've heard of wives getting under a guy's skin, but this is pretty fucked. The wizard made her something small, and made him something predatory. She was dead before midnight, but still turned back, along with her husband. Her remains burst his torso and he bled out."
Bob-O nodded pensively and took a sip of his coffee. Frankie helped herself to a luxurious wingback chair.
"Was this intentional?"
"Who knows. Rumor has it she dreamed of being a guinnea pig this holiday."
"And he dreamed of being a cat, or did he dream of being single?"
"Beats the fuck out of me. We got the call around 1am, and I've been here ever since. I don't know, a bit after that."
"Who called?"
"Neighbor. Apparently they were an owl and watched the whole thing from on top of the power pole outside."
"And it took a whole hour to get up the balls to call it in."
Frankie gave a pained look to the well-rested Bob-O.
"I get it! I spent the day as an aligator. I didn't get anything done until a couple hours ago myself. Congratulations on going from horse to on duty, by the way."
Bob-O leaned over the corpses. With an intense stare at the disordered remains of a woman protruding from a man's bloated torso he took a sip from his coffee.
"He didn't exactly swallow her in one bite. I think this was premeditated."
"It doesn't exactly matter."
Bob-O looked up. "I think it does. All of this impacts the way we look at the festival for next year. If this festival is going to turn into the animal purge we have to really think twice about how we handle the wizard going forward."
"We have to think about how we handle the festival regardless. I took a tab of acid before the transformation. I ate my entire front lawn yesterday. Today I have the indegestion of a lifetime."
"Damn. You're right. I would have never thought acid at a festival would be a bad idea."
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"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining today's town hall. Our guest has agreed to a brief meeting, so without further ado, let's get started. Joining us today via Zoom is our guest, Alazar Zephyr!"
The room erupted in applause as Alazar's image appeared on the projector. Alazar's expression was a mix of surprise and disgust at the audience's excitement to see him. "Alright, that's enough. Pipe down, you idiots," he barked.
The moderator, starstruck himself, spoke eagerly before Alazar could continue. "It's great that you could join us! As we all know, it's been a year since you last gifted the city with your magic. The people want to know if you would consider making it a yearly tradition."
Alazar felt like he was living his worst nightmare. Rage boiled inside of him as the lights behind him flickered. "Absolutely not! Curse that wretched day! It's not what I came to talk about."
"Wait, did you not enjoy it? Perhaps you were one of the people who thought of a bad animal. My grandchild had sloths on the mind and has been hoping for a second chance," the moderator suggested.
Alazar had to remember his anger management techniques to regain control. After a deep breath, he spoke again. "I've been working on myself. What happened last year was humiliating. I could only hold the spell for a day... I thought I was better than that. Maybe I should've cast Fire Rain, but I felt like it was uninspired."
The moderator began to suspect that Alazar's heart may not be in the right place. "Wait, did you want to hurt the city?"
Alazar's rage boiled again as he stood and yelled, "Of course I wanted to hurt this cursed city! You're all nothing but animals in my eyes! Filthy animals! I could've incinerated the trash, but instead, my poetic side had me try to hold a mirror to you idiots! Wrong move, Alazar!" The light behind him shattered as magic left his body in the form of steam from his nose.
"Woah, you're literally steaming mad... can I ask why?" the moderator cautiously probed.
Alazar began slamming his fists on the desk. "You booted my fucking car! Parking is a nightmare, of course I get tickets! It's not my fault downtown lacks a parking garage!" As he continued to slam his fists, a mug was knocked off his desk. "Aw, now look what you made me do!"
Alazar clicked around on his screen, cutting off his video but forgetting to mute himself. The room was left to the sound of his cursing under his breath as he fumbled to clean the spill.
"Um... you forgot to mute yourself," the moderator said, sheepishly trying to spare Alazar the embarrassing moment.
"What?!"
"You forgot- nevermind, I'll do it." The moderator clicked around on the screen to mute Alazar, but shortly after, Alazar unmuted himself and continued cursing silently.
"No, Mr. Zephyr, I muted you. Now focus on the spill," the moderator said, muting Alazar again, but Alazar unmuted himself once more, still fumbling to clean the spill.
"Alazar-"
"What the hell! Am I muted or not?" Alazar screamed.
"Not," the moderator responded.
The sound of Alazar throwing something soggy could be heard as he fumbled his way back to the desk, causing a thump. "I hate Zoom!" His video came back on, showing him standing over the desk with a red face. As he swirled his desk chair around to take a seat, the corner of the chair caught the mug, causing it to shatter as it fell again "DAMN IT! NO! MY MUG! FUCK THIS! FIX THE PARKING!"
He clicked around the screen one more time, closing the Zoom meeting entirely. The moderator, who was looking highly embarrassed by proxy, concluded the meeting, "Okay then everyone. I'm sorry you had to hear that. It sounds like Mr. Zephyr may be experiencing some technical difficulties. I think we may want to wait until next year to consider asking him again. Purhaps in our future meetings we should talk about downtown's parking situation. That concludes this town hall, no question portion today unfortunately. Thank you all for joining us!"
‐-----
Please let me know what you guys think!
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jb76pzi
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jb70ypq
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[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.
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I'm sure you heard the general concept before.
We finally reached the stars. We met alien life; a Galactic Community, even! They took a quick glance at our history and came to an uncomfortable realization.
*These hairless primates spent a* ***lot*** *of time killing each other. We'd rather not see them unite and fight one of us.*
We were nevertheless received quite warmly by the Galactic Federation and became a rather premiere peacekeeping force. We didn't mind; we were able to get past our infighting some time ago, and this was a nice change of pace. We didn't have to fight anymore, but... a small, primal part of us was never able to give it up. Our ships were inevitably built for the *possibility* of combat. Something we did so much it was a part of us, no matter how peaceful we tried to be. 'Sleeping Giants' we were sometimes called; a nice reference to our own myths.
But, every now and then, someone wakes us up.
....................
"Mothership Theta, come in," I said into the communicator. A screen in front of me flashed to life as my call was received; the head of security for the sector was on the other side. He... she... they were an interesting alien, that - far less humanlike than we expected in our media. They looked more like an amoeba.
"mOtHErSHI-SHiP Th-ThETa," the alien responded. I smacked the communicator a couple of times to fix the translation protocols. "Hear you loud and clear," the alien continued; this time in perfect English.
"This is USS Fuck Around. We swung by the Khalio sector as you requested. The intel was on point; some ji'nee warships - *if you can call them that*," I added under my breath, "were gathering near the Sigma 3X moon. All signs indicate they were planning a raid on the refineries."
"I see. And?"
"They were persuaded not to," I replied in an almost bored tone.
"Excellent. Where did they go afterwards? We should probably keep an eye on them."
"Oh, uh..." I said and scratched behind my neck. "They're still orbiting the moon."
A moment of uneasy silence followed as the alien pressed several buttons; I assumed to bring up the scans of the area.
"USS Fuck Around, please repeat. We have no signatures of any ships in that area."
"Yeah... I think you'll need extra magnification on those scans."
"What for?"
"To see the bodies floating in space," I said and inspected my fingernails.
There was a perceivable blurb of unknown noise coming from the alien. Not something that could be translated. Not something that *needed* to be translated.
"...oh," the alien finally said.
"I can provide logs that clearly show they shot first."
"That... won't be necessary, captain. Your reputation is reliable enough."
"As you wish. Do you have another assignment for us?"
"Not at the moment, captain. But - may I ask a question? A personal one, not in an official capacity," the alien said carefully.
"Sure!" I said and sat up straight in my chair. It was a nice change of pace from the cold, detached exchanges or orders.
"Why is your ship called 'Fuck Around'? I believe that is a slur in your tongue, is it not?" the alien said and slightly tilted its... upper half.
"Ah," I chuckled. "Short for 'Fuck Around, Find Out'. An Earth saying of sorts. One the ji'nee ships were *clearly* not familiar with. It means that if you fuck around - meaning to behave improperly in a risky manner - you will find out."
"Find out what, captain?"
"Why you don't fuck around."
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“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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jdw0z64
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jdvr737
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[WP] The Elven Kingdoms call their old allies the Humans for aid. Expecting medieval armies, they get a modern 21st century one instead.
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The elves have faded from the human world. Your writer, Tolkien, got that almost right.
Few are the humans that find the way to the lands of the Fay, and fewer return still. Tolkien was one of the only who had come, and returned, and come back again. For years he had wandered among the paths of the fae, and listened to our songs, and told stories of his own mind. Of the human world he talked little.
Not much we heard from him, but what we heard filled us with wonder, awe and dread in equal; for great are the minds of humans, and greater even their pride, and terrible is the wrath of Man if unleashed. And twice it was unleashed in his lifetime, and when he talked about it, his voice was silent and full of grief; and the silver star at his brow was dim.
But men are mortal, and after a time, he did not return, and no one wandered among us anymore.
But as the need drew dire and battle upon battle was lost, the High King consulted the Eldest, and spoke "In ancient time, Man and Elf stood side by side to battle their foes. So let us send a hundred messengers to the Kings and Queens and Princes of Mankind, for there are still ways to reach their world. Few may answer, but any ally in times of need shall be welcome."
And as the King said, so did our messenger ride forth, One hundred in number, their mail glistening under the stars. Lady Tinavirel rode at their front upon Ferloentil, a lord among horses, with sword at her side and bow on her back, and she held a Lance, crowned with a green banner; a mighty horn of bronze and gold was tied to her saddle.
Long were they gone, but after a time she, and some others returned. There was still awe, but also sorrow on her face.
"My lord", she spoke to the high king "Man has not changed since we left, but greatly have changed the realms of Man, and even greater their weapons.
"Few humans bow to kings and queens, but many of their grand realms elect their leaders. Grand are the realms indeed, and there are more men in many a city of them than elves in any of the one hundred and one kingdoms. Most of the realms have a little host of defenders, but hear me, my lord, fear the power of all but the tiniest of them, for even few armed men can be a force to reckon with.
"I could witness a fraction of the power of their hosts. No longer does man fight with spear and shield, and bow, and axe, and sword of iron. Even the lowliest soldier fights with a device that spews tiny metal pellets over many yards. No magic propels them, but some advanced alchemy, and they hit and kill and maim as sure as any sword. And many more similar but grander devices can bring forth fire and death upon miles and leagues.
"They fight in grand chariots of steel, faster than any horse could be, using a huge version the selfsame device; their steel can't be touched by the simpler weapons, so to destroy these chariots they wield terrible arrows of fire.
"And no longer do they cross the seas in longship and galley, for they sail in grand steel ships, which can spew forth death before the enemy can even see them.
"And they can fill the sky with some kind of steel dragons, which can inflict death in many other ways; and also can they bring a small host of humans to many a place. Truly has become Man a master of War in Man's World.
"Few are wars of Man and Man, but terrible to behold, and the humans said that they should be thought of as small. And as they said it, I saw their fear, for not even Man knows what Man can unleash. They spoke about a fire they possess, a fire they will not kindle, and when they spoke of it, a shadow fell. What this fire is, I know not"
And so the King answered "I thank you, my Lady. These news fill my heart with dread hope in equal measures. Now tell me, Have you talked with their leaders?"
And so she spoke "Few humans believed me at first; but the knowledge of the old pacts still runs in both our blood and the blood of Man. Strange are the minds of men, quick to dismiss the Knowledge of Elves at first, but inclined to believe if persuaded.
"I spoke to leaders of realms which once belonged to the tribes of Francs, and Saxons, and Britons; and the realms of the old kings of the Vikings, and many more. I spoke to the leaders of realms where once the grand empire of Rome was. And I even talked with leaders of a mighry realm beyond the grand sunset sea, which many a human said was the most potent at waging war.
"They have talked, and have agreed to help us. Though as humans are, a trade has been proposed.
"They shall support us with their hosts and arms. But Man desires one thing foremost; and it is knowledge. They have requested us to teach them the ancient secrets of magic, and they shall teach us their ways."
So the King bowed his head, and said "Great is the price, but greater the need; and great the reward if we can learn from Man. So, go forth, my lady, and forge the ancient alliance anew. And bring the humans gifts, gifts of Art, and Song, and Beaty. So we shall swing the sword together"
And so she rode forth again, and returned at the front of a grand host of Man.
(Edit: part 2 in comment)
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With me, the last of the refugees hurriedly run, their eyes wide with terror as my men and I escort them through the city towards the temple. We plan to open a portal and escape to another dimension there, our mages already drafting the summon circles, christening the portal arch, and preparing materials to send everyone left into another dimension. Ancient scrolls imply that another species of our realm entirely escaped here, those that were left behind becoming the dwarves of the mountains. Beasts harry our retreat, wounding refugees in every battle that stops us. Our weapons cut deep, but as far as these demons are concerned they're all flesh wounds right up until they're dead. We'd have thought them invincible when this war first began. Finally, we reach the service tunnel that will take us up into the temple, where I find the remaining squads ready for their final stand.
As we circle around the portal in the temple, we can hear the destruction of the city below us, and the cries of the refugees behind us. The bronze doors to the temple, once covered in beautiful art bare only gouges and scractches from the fighting. The mages cause the portal to come to life, waving incense around the room which changes the color of the plasma now covering the door to a yellow-blue swirl. "They used rare dandelions to open it the first time, I pray what we have is enough. Ancient humans were quite the-" the hinges appear to start breaking off. As refugees attempt to run through, they stop, hearing something coming from the other side.
*Some folks are born made to wave the flag they're red, white and blue and when the band plays "Hail to the Chief" They point the cannon at you, Lord* accompanied by a mechanical growl.
The children and women step away from the portal, and the guards lose themselves to chaos, unsure whether to defend from the portal or the door. The growling gets louder, and the door is knocked flying several meters into the temple. The civillians shriek in terror as they see the oily black demons walk into the room, moving like they're liquid, yet they strike like stone. We form a phalanx in front of the mages as they prepare offensive spells, blasting beasts with a variety of spells from fire to ice.
The sound of what can be dsecribed as a drum is added to the chorus of the portal, thumping multiple times a second. Before anyone has time to think about it, combat is joined as the warriors engage their foes. Elves find themselves tossed around like ragdolls even as they tear meter deep wounds through the demons, which barely even notice what should be a mortal wound. The best they can hope for is to keep them at bay, and maybe the refugees can sneak through the portal after whatever is in there comes through.
And then our prayers are answered. The entire battlefield changes in an instant as an iron horse of incredibly advanced design comes charging through the portal, crushing a demon as it lands in the middle of the room, my men barely able to get out of the way. Music seems to blast from the vehicle itself as civillians stare in terror.
*Yeah, some folks inherit star-spangled eyes. They send you down to war and when you ask 'em, "How much should we give?" They only answer, "More, more, more"*
it directs its main cannon at the biggest demon in the room, the battle seemingly paused as everyone tries to figure out what it is. It fires and blows the beast's head clean off, splattering the wall of the temple in burning oil as the front of the temple collapses, the roof crushing the battling beasts and some of my guards. I wince, but I didn't expect anyone to survive to begin with and the tides of this battle are chabging in a way I didnt think possible. The mechanical beast moves forward, over the rubble with mindboggling ease.
The civillians again make a move towards the portal, ignoring the constant thrumming coming from it up until another machine comes through it. It flies on spinning wings of steel, and reminds me of a bird of prey as the full beast comes through, making the children shriek in terror, barely audible over the noise from its wings. It quickly flies out of the broken walls of the temple, and soars over the city. A mage grabs my shoulder and points at it. "The humans! They've returned! Did they know!? They even mastered magic!" He mutters an incantation and suddenly I can see it. So much mana seems to radiate from the machine, a constant stream of it seem to connect the Landbeast and the Steel Eagle, on top of generally radiating outward. On top I see countless different types of magic woven together in a complex lattice even an archmage would be jealous of. "If you look right there t-" the mage is cut off as the pods hanging off the bird's side shoot a trail of smoke, violently exploding whatever found itself at the wrong end of it.
The rubble that makes up the entryway is sat upon by the tank, blocking beasts from getting past as it blows them to pieces. A closer look reveals a smaller weapon that chews through crowds of the smallest beasts that would swarm and devour fully trained elves alive. Oil seems to coat the battlefield around the temple as the beast continues to sing its strange song while his bird above lays waste to our city with massive mechanical fireballs. It hurts to see entire neighborhoods reduced to ash, but not as much as it hurt seeing them become infested and diseased. As the situation seems to be out of our hands, i turn my attention to the refugees. The sound of explosions make my ears ring as I take up the rearguard through the portal. It feels like stepping into a wall of water. I feel like I've floated away from the ground while pulled along by an invisible current. Gracefully I land on the other side, to see several humans, just like the books described treating our wounded and blanketing our civillians. I look around the sterile room, feeling lost. Just like the temple, this building seems purpose made to contain the portal, just a lot more defensible than our side. Mechanical rattlesnakes the size of a golem seem to hang from the ceiling, their barrels pointed at the portal.
I'm shaked from my state by a well dressed human wearing a red white and blue pin on his suit. "You must be their leader. Come with me, we need to have a talk about oil, and why you're our newest ally." Bewildered by the idea of exploiting these monsters, but without another choice I follow the man, telling him everything we had learned about the demons.
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j7badzr
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j7arv5a
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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.
|
The light glances of the coin as I watch.
This? *This* is the reason I trained so hard?
Every hero slays a dragon. Enormous, fire-breathing, scaly. Evil grin, yellow eyes.
But *this?* This is a joke. What's the glory in killing a dragon three inches long, for the love of the gods! The only things in danger from this dragon are flies!
And as for the treasure . . .
Well. A single coin might go towards my supper. It certainly won't let me live a life of ease and luxury.
The little thing scurries away from me, it tiny wings beating frantically. It will never take off carrying that coin.
Really, this dragon is almost . . . cute. Paper thin wings, purple and green, and a slim green back, with little spikes of a paler green set at intervals. Almost completely defenceless. How has it survived so long? Perhaps it was two small to bother with? Does it have hidden defences?
Either way, the thought of killing it makes me uncomfortable. I shouldn't mind, but murdering such a small and unprotected creature for the sake of a single copper doesn't rest with me easily. It's a dragon, for crying out loud. I shouldn't give two pins.
I raise my sword, ridiculously over-sized for such a task, and step forward. The dragon, hearing my movements, looks back and lets out a squeak.
Lowering my weapon, I stop.
Killing this creature won't make any difference. It harms no one, probably doesn't even eat flies. To murder it would be wrong.
Hesitating, I look at it again. It continues to try to escape, the noise ringing through the silence of the empty house. I came here to slay a fearsome beast, and instead found this.
So I kneel down and pick up the dragon. It panicks, squeaking desperately and struggling to escape. As I manage to gather it into my hands, it sinks its teeth into my finger. Cursing, I drop it.
Wasting no time, the dragon clutches its coin and makes off towards the distant doorway.
I make grab for it again, this time holding its mouth closed carefully. For such a small animal it sure can bite.
Carefully holding my new companion, I make my way back towards entrance to the house.
My noble steed - a donkey - will be waiting along with my faithful hound - a jack russel terrier, small and noisy - and the pig. I don't even know what the pig is. Once destined to be a dinner, now the companion of failed hero. My motely companions.
Why do I always seem to end up with the oddballs?
Why do I let them stay?
What is the dog eating!? He's delicate, he'll make himself sick!!!
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j6rz4ay
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[WP] You used to be a powerful and feared supervillain, now retired and set for life. Now, there's a 20-something at your door begging you to teach them to control their rare power since it's the same as yours. They even know your villain name.
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She dropped to her knees, words a faint whisper of breath. "Please. Please help me."
This in and of itself was unusual as A, she wasn't even human right now, and B, no one had even come close to finding her in the last 20 years. Well, not necessarily correct, plenty of people knew where Shadow, the black panther who lived at their local zoo, lived. But none had called her on my bluff. No one came, guns hot and live, to force her back to her solitary box of metal walls. Sealed shut in bleak silence.
The girl's sobs broke her mental monologue. Gibbered words, mangled by the wretched shaking and heaving she committed. "Please, please, Ina, Shadowwalker, whatever people call you, you have to help me. I can't handle this anymore."
A sign. Perhaps. It was starting to get a tad bit boring behind these cement walls and iron bars. At least this child had had the sense to wait until the place closed. The girl volunteered here. Offered treats to those who liked her.
Ina shifted, shadows engulfing her as she stepped out into the girl's world once more. "Where did you hear that first name, child? I haven't used it in years."
The girl's eyes widened, shoulders and spine slipping from their joints even as she slid into the shadows feet first.
Ina snarled, catching her by the throat. "Seriously. How the hell were you created girly? What's your name?"
The girl choked and coughed, hands pulling feebly at Ina's, "Delphi! My name is Delphi."
Ina drops her, forcing the shadows to leave, vacate around the girl. "That's one. You've got 2 more questions to answer. Make it quick. I'm not human and I will happily eat you."
Delphi gulped, "I- I don't know where I was made. The Shadowwalker was always one of the more terrifying villains around. Anyone with one of your abilities was mocked, ridiculed. Imagine the luck I got when I found out I had both. They sent me to different schools. Nearly prisons. To train me." She sniffle laughed. "They didn't care. They didn't even try to train me except on how to suppress what I could do so I didn't become you. The ministry oversees it now. Look where that got me. Straight to you." She swallowed. "I've done a lot of research on you Ina, and where they created you from. Please, please, don't send me back with them. I promise, I'll be a good pupil. I'll learn well. I'll listen. Please just don't send me back."
Ina swallowed hard, pain flashing across her features. "One lesson. One. Then leave. Leave now actually. I'll meet you next time."
"I can't." She whispers. "They won't let me. They found out what I was doing. They won't let me continue searching for you."
Ina stilled, lips lifting even though she was human. She glanced around, gaze seeking hidden enemies. She turned on Delphi, "Did you lead them here?! Go. Get away. Now! Run child. Don't let them catch you again!"
Lights blared on all sides, blasting away every shadow.
Ina's form shifted, vanishing into molecules too small to track with a sickening crunch.
Delphi sobbed, sinking to her knees, "Ina! Ina please! Please don't leave me with them." It was no use. Ina was no fool. She wasn't walking back into a trap. Not again.
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Workflow, quite possibly the worlds most successful villain, was enjoying his early retirement when a someone knocked on his door. A quick check with the cameras showed it was a young man, impeccably dressed in the latest fashion but twitching like a junkie in need of a fix. It was odd enough that he decided to answer the door himself.
“Hello, can I help you young man?”
It was a bit odd to call the 20 year old a young man when Workflow himself was barely past 30, but a few million dollars got some very nice holographic disguise kits and he currently looked like a 50 year old man.
The young man looked up, and his dilated eyes finally focused.
“My name is Leonardo Garcia Cydson. I need your help, Workflow. I’ve lost control of my life like you once did, and you are the only one that can help me now.”
Workflow stiffened as his name was mentioned, but then he really looked at the young man. Impeccably dressed, as if he wanted to look his best. Dilated pupils, bags under his eyes, his hands constantly gripping each other… all the signs of ecstasy use. A young man who dressed so nicely, got high, and came here to get his life under control? There was only one explanation.
“You’ve got it too don’t you, the the instinct that you can make whatever you want happen if you just relax and go with the flow? The feeling of your body being hijacked by every stray thought in your head? The inexplicable words that come out of your mouth, saying things you didn’t know you knew?”
With every word Leonardo’s body seemed to relax, as if he had been clenching every muscle to hold himself still but now he was free. And he was, now that he was focused on just listening to Workflow.
Workflow invited him in and sat down on a sofa across from Leo.
“Alright kid, I’ll make this quick since I don’t want you getting distracted halfway through. You and me, we’ve got a concept power. It’s not physical like the Titanium Terror or mental like Professor Graviton, instead we have the power of Objective. Whatever objective we set for ourselves, our bodies instinctively know how to accomplish it as easy as breathing. Whether that’s looking great” he gestured at Leo’s clothes. “Feeling happy, learning a skill, or anything in between. As long as it’s physically possible and the knowledge is somewhere in your head you can do whatever you wet out to do.”
It was an incredible power, one that made Workflow the undisputed king of the villainous underbelly in under a year. Gaining the skills needed took up half that, and the rest was letting his body operate on autopilot.
But it came at a cost.
“All that power, all that possibility, but you feel like a prisoner in your own head most of the time. Like none of your accomplishments matter because it’s not really YOU doing them.”
Leo looked up and nodded fervently.
“I haven’t felt like myself in weeks. It was fine when I was at home, but a few days away and suddenly I’m chatting up some random dude like I’ve known him for years and buying ecstasy and fancy clothes with money I won in an underground poker tourney. I tried to think of who to ask for help…”
Workflow finished his sentence “And your power led you here. Did it take a while to find me?”
“Two weeks once I realized Workflow probably had the same power I did. Tracked down the distributor for Professor Light’s holographic devices and found out where they went and then deduced your location from there. Had to pretend I was your bastard son to get them to spill.”
Workflow laughed. “Yeah, I never thought I’d have to hide from someone like me. But enough beating around the bush, you want to know how to control your power? How to get your life back?”
“Yes! Please, tell me how.”
“Simple kid, close your eyes, focus, and choose your objective to be a sense of Accomplishment, not of any specific deed, but the sensation itself.”
“That’s it? I don’t have to chant a secret mantra or meditate for a decade?”
“Say that after you try and avoid using your power to flirt with the next pretty girl you meet. You have to constantly remind yourself that letting your power do the work will lessen that feeling of accomplishment. Only then will it stop trying to hijack your body. Once you’ve gone and done that for a few years, maybe you can change your objective to living a quiet, peaceful life. Or whatever you decide. Control it, don’t let it control you.”
The young man thought for a few seconds and then seemed to take a deep breath and exhale all his worries.
He opened his eyes a new man. One who would go on to accomplish great things, but only what he chose to do.
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jnocj6f
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[WP] Instead of being a super villain like your parents, you ended up joining a company. Now your wildly successful and quite frankly much more closer to world domination than your parents. Your parents can't handle it.
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I remember how pissed they’d been when I signed up with Denver Medical. Don’t get me wrong, flying around in a supersuit, plotting fiendinsh schemes and sinister plots had been fun… but then I grew up. It was too late for my parents, they were in too deep. They still claimed it was about world domination, but these days it had become personal. Less about taking over the planet and more about beating the heroes, the ones who’d been kicking their asses for the last 30 years. I couldn’t afford to fall into that rut, the never ending cycle of scheme, fight, lose, rinse and repeat. I wanted more!
Now don’t get me wrong, I am my parent’s daughter. I want it all, power, prestige, wealth, the whole shebang. Just not their way. When Denver Medical came knocking, I knew it was where I belonged. No relations with supervillains, no pacts with eldritch gods. It wasn’t a cult, shell corporation, criminal front. It didn’t deal in magic, superscience, cosmic forces or meta-humans. It dealt in medicines and vaccines. For back-pain and headaches, intches and colds. It was simple. Legal. Lucrative. Unbelievably so.
We weren’t angels of course. There was the lobbying, purchasing politicians and policy. After all, why pay an American a living wage when you can pay some poverty-stricken third-worlder half as much for twice as much? The world was ripe for picking, and I was there for it.
I moved up pretty fast, and my parents didn’t like it. When I made upper management, my parents tried to buy out the company. Fortunately, before the deal could take place, the alien invasion they were funding fell through and they had to go into hiding. When I got promoted to VP, they tried to run Denver Med out of business by establishing a competitor. It was working… for half a year, when the heroes took down the genetically mutated flesh pods that made their product. When the dust settled, they were imprisoned on the Isle, their company was in tatters, I had just made CEO, and we had just jacked up our insulin prices again.
This was power, true power, that I held in my hands. Money, connection, influence, the very things my parents had sneered at as they built their death rays and monster armies. Now while they were rotting away on some hocus-pocus covered island, I was sitting in one of the biggest buildings in Primapolis. Sure all three of the bigger buildings were owned by or affiliated with superheroes, but being bothered by that was exactly why my parents had lost, and I had won.
“Do you understand that? While you freaks run around in your costumes, I win. I’ll take over the world, without anyone ever noticing, since they’re too busy looking at you. So now put that gun away, take off that mask, and maybe we can talk about you working for me.”
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How to make sure your parents hate you so much that they want to murder you?
One might ask, why is it important for your parents to hate you? Or murder you?
Or simply, why? Short and sweet. It conveys every emotion, asks every question and has just three letters. Isn't the English language fantastic?
But I'm getting far away from the topic. Where was I? Ah, yes. Making parents hate you or rather me. Let's go back in time. To know the answer, you need to know the history and to know the history we need to go into flashback.
*
I was three years old when I saw my first dead body. Or rather it's the first time I actually remember seeing a dead body. My nanny's vacant eyes stare at me as my mother pulls her knife out of my nanny's stomach.
I was fascinated by the colour of her blood. In my defence, I was young and I had no idea whaat death was. I just thought we were playing. That my nanny would get up and tell me the name of the color. It was beautiful.
"Clara." I called her name.
My mother looked at me. "Honey, Clara is gone."
"But she is right here!"
"I can't deal with this. Sofia! Clean this up and make sure Richard is sleeping by the time I come back." My mother stormed out.
I would later, much later for my comfort, find out that Clara's only mistake was getting too attached to me. Afterall, villains don't get attached.
*
I was ten when my bestfriend was taken out of school and his whole family was missing. I found out few years later that they were all dead. Including my bestfriend. They loved me. And my parents couldn't handle it. They thought if I would start loving then I would never be like them.
They never realised that I had decided that when my father killed my favorite teacher because she asked him if he knew my favourite color. He didn't. So feeling humiliated he shot her. I was six.
*
I had realised that to keep people safe I needed to alone. Anything more than acquaintances and they would end up dead.
My life was lonely but atleast I did not have any blood on my hands.
My parents on the other hand can fill a lake, a huge one, like say Lake Superior they still are some murders short to fill Caspian Sea.
*
I always knew I wanted to escape. But before I could escape my parents disowned me when I was 18 when they realised that I was a 'weakling' because I refused to kill someone. Killing someone is the first step to join my parents business. Their business goal, world domination of course.
So, there I was. 18 and alone. I didn't know anyone. Had no money. And no friends. No degree. Nothing.
What was I supposed to do?
"Hey, buddy. You okay?" A kind voice asked.
I looked up and saw a man. He was probably my dad's age but everything about his demeanor screamed kindness whereas my father's screamed murder.
I nodded.
He sighed. "Have you eaten anything?"
I hadn't. It had been 2 days since my last meal. I shook my head.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Richard." I whispered. Knowing he would hate me if knew who my parents were.
"Come on, Richard. Let's get you something to eat."
*
That was 15 years ago. That man's kindness was enough to raise my faith in humanity. I applied to college, worked part time and now I'm a lawyer.
A pretty ruthless one, if I could say so myself. I'm my parents worst dream. When I first started putting criminals behind bar something inside me settled. It was like knowing I could do something. Ever since then my life has been all about dismantling everything my parents believed in.
I have become famous. Like, really famous. I have been offered a table at the World Council. These people basically run the world!
I sniggered. Isn't that what my parents always wanted? To run the world.
Look at me now.
My parents are going to kill me when they found out. Or themselves.
Hopefully themselves .
*
*Somewhere unknown*
"I think we need to take care of Richard." Mira said looking at the news. She was seething. She was supposed to be the one to rule the world not that worthless son of her.
"I agree." Samuel agreed looking at his son's face on the news.
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[WP] You managed to retire from the supervillain game long ago, when you became a parent. Now, your grandchild has inadvertently been kidnapped by an upstart villain, and you're about to show them why the world (rightfully) feared you.
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I was a good man who made the world a safer place. Throughout my entire career, I never killed anyone, even if some of that filth couldn't possibly be referred to as human. I merely saw that monsters were brought to justice and received what they deserved. It felt oh so good, and somehow I was seen as a villain.
On the other hand, my nemesis killed countless people. "Blah blah blah. You have been charged and found guilty of, Blah blah blah. Any last words?" Then he'd put a bullet between their eyes and never look back. Here was a man with a body count the size of Everest and he was lauded as a hero.
I have to admit, the Judge as he was called, did make the streets safer, but he never made much of an example out of anyone. Almost as bad as the killing, there was no creativity, no flair, no message to the scum inhabiting this earth. They never had time to regret their actions. Just a condemnation and a bullet. He hunted me for years, without so much as a thank you for all the help I gave him.
Eventually, I got old and had to leave the important work to the next generation. They may not have done things my way, but I was content to leave the problems of the day to those with more energy and less back pain.
I went back to enjoying the little things in life. Walking in the park, fishing, and spoiling my grandson. Jake was a bright 8 year old boy, full of wonder and ready for adventure. Every sunday afternoon, I'd wonder over to my daughters house to see the little tike. Before I even set foot on the garden path, the door would spring open to greet me with bright laughter and a cheerful "Grandpa!!!!".
This Sunday was different. My stroll up the path met no interruption or sounds of joy. In fact there were no sounds at all. Not until I pushed the front door open to hear my daughter sobbing in her husband's arms. The note looked to be written in blood, and I had seen enough blood to know it was genuine.
I had seen the monster reported in the news. He let the victims live long enough for their families to feel hope, only to have it snatched away at the Last moment. He had some self aggrandizing title I didn't remember since he didn't deserve a name. He didn't deserve many things, least of all, mercy.
I had been away for a long time but my contacts never forgot me. Forever grateful for the justice I brought their tormentors, questions were answered swiftly. Before dawn, I was standing outside a grimy window looking in upon several children chained to filthy beds. I recognized Jake's favorite yellow shirt with dinosaurs on the sleeves.
I quietly ushered the children outside and brought them to a kind woman named Margaret. Margaret once had a monster in her life much the same way as these children. I had given her monster the justice it deserved. While always appreciative of my actions, I noticed she still couldn't look me in the eye, even after all these years. With the children safe, I turned my attention back towards the monster enjoying the last peaceful sleep it would ever have.
On my return to the monsters lair I mused to myself about the many forms my justice would take. "Eye lids. . . It didn't need eyelids. . . It needed to see everything. It's limbs. . . Yes it needed it's limbs. . . but not all of the bones inside those limbs. . . "
I wouldn't kill it of course. I was a good man making the world a safer place and giving monsters everything they deserved. It felt good. So so good. And they had the audacity to call me a villain.
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"Dr. Inevitable..." The young man said from behind his dark robes and armor.
"That's a name I haven't heard in a long time..." The older man replied. He too wore armor but his was under a stylized lab coat. A dark domino mask sat situated on his face.
"I thought you were..." The younger man started to say only to find himself interrupted.
"Dead? Nope still here and ready to take back what is mine." Dr. Inevitable said with a hint of malice in his voice.
"Nobody's seen you in years, meaning Delta City was up for grabs; simply put you can't have your territory back, old man." The young man said with false bravado
"Who said anything about territory? Oh my dear boy you have no idea as to the depths of the mistake you just made. A fatal mistake, I might add." Dr. Inevitable said in a condescending manner.
"You said you wanted back what was yours..." The younger man replied
"I'm not talking about the city. You could've had the accursed city but you crossed a line." Dr. Inevitable snapped.
"What line? I didn't know there was a line." The younger man pleaded.
"Ignorance is no excuse. Now it's time for you to pay the piper..." Dr. Inevitable said as he took a menacing step toward the other younger man.
"Wait, I don't understand. Please enlighten me." The younger man continued to plead.
"Well it has been a while since I gave a proper monologue. Very well; you shall have a short reprieve but listen up as I'm not in the habit of repeating myself especially to the likes of you: I had a good run, caused a lot of chaos, amassed a lot of wealth, and better still never got caught so noone knew who I really was. Long story short I met a woman and one thing lead to another and before I knew it she was with child. The super villian game is not suitable for raising kids so I retired and founded Direwood Enterprises with my riches, a company I ceded to my son who now has a son of his own..."
"Ddd..di..d you say Direwood Enterprises?" The younger man stammered
"I didn't stutter. You wanted Delta City but you didn't do your homework? Surely you must have noticed in all the things that happened over the years crimewise since I retired the one constant was the Direwoods were off limits. But you, you came along and you just had to kidnap Logan Direwood to make a name for yourself. Well Logan Direwood just happens to be MY grandson and heir to my empire. I want him back, unharmed! Now! And you of course will be made an example of to show just what happens when someone dares to mess with a Direwood. However, your level of cooperation depends just how painful the process of becoming an example is."
The younger man clapped his hands and the large container to his rear left opened and a bound and gagged Logan Direwood fell out.
"Here he is Dr. Inevitable unharmed. Just let me go. Please you'll never hear from me again. I swear I had no idea he was your..."
The younger man was abruptly cut off as Dr. Inevitable raised a gauntleted hand into the air and the younger man levitated against his will clutching at his throat.
"I told you ignorance is no excuse, but I'm also a man of my word, so before I finish you off I'll give you the mercy of brain death." from the folds of his labcoat Dr. Inevitable drew a ray gun with his other hand, thumbed a setting on the grip and then pulled the trigger taking aim at the other man's head.
A narrow angry red beam leapt forward from the barrel striking the younger man dead center of the forehead right between the eyes. The light went out from the younger man's eyes as his brain flash fried. Dr. Inevitable then clenched his gauntleted fist and the younger man exploded in a smear of blood that stained much of the room.
"It didn't have to end this way." Dr Inevitable mused, stopping to drop a calling card and a warning amongst what had been the much younger villain.
Dr. Inevitable holstered his raygun. From another fold in his labcoat he pulled out a briefcase and pressed a button. The briefcase grew into a closet that Dr. Inevitable walked into and Bryce Jennings Direwood founder and former CEO of Direwood Enterprises stepped out. The closet then rapidly shrunk to become a briefcase again. Bryce Jennings Direwood picked up the briefcase and strode forth to where his grandson Logan lay. Luckily the lad was still alive, but unconscious. He removed the gag and bindings from the boy as he stirred.
"Grampa?" the boy asked
"Shh...it's okay now. I've come to take you home." Bryce responded
"What happened over there?" The boy asked pointing to the remains of the younger villain
"Don't look at that. Let's just say someone got in over their head and really made a mess of things in the end. But on the bright side we shouldn't have to worry about this happening ever again. Now let's get you home, but first do you want to stop for icecream?"
"Icecream, yay" Logan yelled
...and they all lived happily ever after
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l7cgsmr
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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.
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I knew him for three decades already...and ever since the first day, he always swooned over his wife.
After hearing for so long about his family...and visiting so many dwarven cities, and fortresses, my curiosity could be no longer shackled.
Gathering all my courage I asked my best friend.
"Why don't I see any female dwarf around when we got to your cities, and fortresses?", I asked.
He looks at me, and laughs.
After laughing for a good while, and almost breaking my back as he "patted" it, he sighs.
"Oh, pointy ears, you are so clueless...
The women are home, creating our kids, and taking care of the home of course.
We are not in an all-out-war state anymore.", he said.
"Creating children?", I asked.
He nodded.
"When an adult dwarf man and woman are really really in love, they marry before the God of Forges and Goddess of Earth, and become family.
When they want a child, the man fills a vial with his blood, and essence, while the woman does the same.
Then, the woman stays home, and with care and love carves out of earth, and various valuable ores the little dwarven cub.", he says.
"You are...actually born of earth and ore? As the legends say?", I asked.
"You were born five thousands years ago, pointy ears, why are you surprised about this?
Your kind literally is born after a couple is blessed by a tree!", he said, bursting out in laughter.
"It's the Mother Tree! Not just a tree!", I said before I realized that he wasn't wrong.
It wasn't weird at all.
"So...
Does the earth, and ore used in the creation affect the health or potential of the child?", I asked.
"Does the blessing of the Mother Tree affect the potential of the elfling?", he rolled his eyes.
Oh yeah, again asking an obvious question...
"So, your four sons...are all sons because you wanted sons?", I continued.
"No, it's what the carving came out as.
It's what my beautiful wife's love has created.
The first dwarves were born of the earth, and ores of the planet, and it remained that way ever since then.
The carving is a vessel, but it's the Goddess of Earth who breathes life into them.", he said.
I nodded.
Should have expected this...
None of the races of this planet have a simple way of reproducing, after all, the Gods took care of that for us...
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[WP] 5 years ago, you accidentally ran over a poor school student with your truck. You've carried the guilt all that time until one day, that very student knocks on your door, awoken from their coma. Rather than being angry, they thank you for inspiring their bestselling fantasy series
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"Where...where am I?" asked the man in the hospital bed.
"Oh good. You're awake. You talk a lot in your sleep. It was hard to tell if you were awake or not. Here, drink some water."
He drank deeply, coughed a bit, then asked, "I feel like shit. Wait aren't you....from the news.....Lady Thrash....from the Circle?"
She nodded, "You can call me, Diane. I am here on behalf of the Circle. I have a few questions."
"I knew I was being tracked by the Circle. A supervillain of my caliber has never been caught by the Circle until now. I'm sure you want to know all about my criminal exploits. I would like an attorney, please."
She sighed, "Cart Attack....Brent, can I call you Brent? We are not pressing charges. You are known for stealing shopping carts from big box stores. Your file at the Circle is a paragraph. You are classifies as threat level-Pink. The lowest class."
"Why would I work with the enemy of all supervillains, the Circle?"
"You don't have health insurance. If you cooperate, the Circle will pay your substantial medical costs."
Brent abruptly replied, "How can I be of service to the Circle?"
Diane relaxed and replied, "You were attacked by the Neighborhood Watch."
"What! A supervillain was taken down by a soccer mom?"
"That's the problem. The Neighborhood Watch has been getting bolder in their vigilante actions. More concerning, the various neighborhood watches are communicating. They're up to something and the Circle needs more information."
"What do you want me to do."
"Do what you do best. We want you to steal shopping carts from Costco."
"Doable. How many?"
"All of them."
Brent's heart rate noticeably increased on the monitor.
"Oh, you want the 9/11 of shopping cart heists. Can you imagine suburbanites when there are no carts at Costco? How will they load their 1000 pack cube of toilet paper or impulse buy gazebos? It will be chaos."
"So we're hoping. We want them to get sloppy, impulsive, and make mistakes."
"Hmmmm, a weekday night. I'll need to recruit more henchmen."
Diane smiled, "Rest up. I'll be in touch after your recovery. The Circle thanks you for your service."
|
Jill Ryerson beamed at me from my doorstep, a copy of "Stodgey and the Mushroom Stone" in one hand and a pair of crutches in the other.
"This is my book! Before the accident, I'd never wanted to write. I hated English class. I hated reading. The doctors said I changed because of the head injury. I tell ya, I just started getting all these ideas," she said.
This wasn't how I imagined this conversation would go. I expected her to be angry, or at least bitter. I would apologize profusely and it wouldn't be enough. Then she was supposed to tell me through tears how much I ruined her life and how much she'd hate me for the rest of her days for taking her legs away from her. It went that way every time I'd thought of it, which was every day since it happened.
I wanted to smile and make do like everything was nice, but I found myself angrier at her than anything. How could she be this successful young author, happy as can be, when I was supposed to have stolen her happiness from her? There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her of all the sleepless nights I'd spent thinking about how things would've gone differently if I wasn't texting and driving. Hell, even saying I was sorry would be good enough, but I couldn't seem to access any of that at the moment. Instead, I let fly with my first impression of what she said.
"*The title sounds a lot like the first Harry Potter book*."
Her smile turned into an ashen frown. It was as if I'd just run her over again with a different kind of truck.
She stood rigidly, staring me down from head to toe. "You know, I came here to thank you. To tell ya that I made peace with it, that you even inspired me."
"Look, I'm sorry." I said.
She shook her head. "Did you even read the book?"
I backed away nervously. "Can't admit that I have."
"If you did, you'd know that it's nothing like *Harry Potter*. A kid gets hit by a wagon on a country road and is badly injured. He's taken to a witch's hut, where a witch promises him that she can save him, but he'll have to eat a mushroom that will bestow a curse on him. The curse paralyzes him, so he can't walk. At first, he's disheartened, but after meeting a fairy who tells him about something called the mushroom stone, he believes the curse can be undone. And that's all I'm sayin'. You should've read it."
She handed me the book, the frown lifting from her face. "It's signed."
I sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry."
"It's OK," she said, turning away. "I left a message for you inside. Read it."
"I will," I said. "Thanks for stopping by."
She used her crutches to walk down to the car she came in, then got in the passenger seat. As the car drove off I opened the copy of the book and looked for her message, which was on a piece of paper carefully folded between the pages.
"Dear Stan,
I'm so glad to be able to give you this copy of my book. The accident inspired me to write it. I spent so many nights imagining what I'd do to you for stealing my youth, and that really made the words flow onto the page. I imagined that I'd meet you one more time so that you could see me alive and thriving despite what you did, and then I'd ensure that you met a worse fate than I did.
Now that I'm successful, I can afford to make my dreams a reality.
Jill"
I was about to put the book down when I heard a car pull into the drive. *Oh shit.* I froze, wondering what I should do. I never heard the assassin enter the house because the last thing I saw before I heard the gun go off was Jill's face smiling against the pane of glass on my front door.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
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m6nrr34
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jc0gb9i
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[WP] 5 years ago, you accidentally ran over a poor school student with your truck. You've carried the guilt all that time until one day, that very student knocks on your door, awoken from their coma. Rather than being angry, they thank you for inspiring their bestselling fantasy series
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As my eyes slowly peak open I see a woman in armor and a nun's habit. I recognize her as she spots my eyes opening.
"Ah, you're awake. Good to see you made it, Utgardsloki," Sister Michael, the Victorious Battle Nun, said with an even tone. She was a big name in the super biz.
"What... ? What the flying fudge happened?" I ask as I try to sit up but immediately lay back down. "My head..."
"We were hoping you could tell us," a voice came from the shadows. It was Cloak O'Knight. He was so serious and mysterious.
"Hey, Cloak n'Toke!" I say flippantly. I smirk, "If you can't tell, I got my ass beat by one of your lot. Big guy who was built like a brick shit house and moved like grease lightning. Did I piss off old Goody-Goody somehow and he changed costumes to beat me as a joke?"
Cloak and the Sister look to each other and then back to me.
"If you're referring to Monkey, then-," I cut off the Sister.
"Yeah. Monkey. I thought him and me were cool?"
"He's currently facing off against the King of Mars... on Mars," Cloak O'Knight confirms. I pause. I then look to him.
"Well, Monkey can make clones and shapeshift and-," this time I get cut off by the sister.
"It's not the Monkey King. I fought off your attacker and he does not fight the same way. I have sparred with Monkey many times and that thing was not Monkey," the Sister is quick to deny my claim.
"Whoever it is, they've attacked and murdered several level 4 superhuman threats. So far we have 19 confirmed kills," Cloak informs me as he shows me a list of names on a data pad. I look it over.
"What the hell? I've worked with some of these guys but I only know some by reputation and a couple I don't know at all. Why would some nut want to kill us when you have psychos like Commodore Clown or Spear Finger running around?" I look from the list to them in concern.
"We don't know but you're the first survivor," Sister Michael says as she draws her angelic sword. Cloak nods in agreement as his suit lights up with neon lines.
"We're taking this murderous bastard down," Cloak seconds. I just look nervous.
"Well... I didn't ever expect to be the damsel in distress..." I sigh as I lay back.
|
Jill Ryerson beamed at me from my doorstep, a copy of "Stodgey and the Mushroom Stone" in one hand and a pair of crutches in the other.
"This is my book! Before the accident, I'd never wanted to write. I hated English class. I hated reading. The doctors said I changed because of the head injury. I tell ya, I just started getting all these ideas," she said.
This wasn't how I imagined this conversation would go. I expected her to be angry, or at least bitter. I would apologize profusely and it wouldn't be enough. Then she was supposed to tell me through tears how much I ruined her life and how much she'd hate me for the rest of her days for taking her legs away from her. It went that way every time I'd thought of it, which was every day since it happened.
I wanted to smile and make do like everything was nice, but I found myself angrier at her than anything. How could she be this successful young author, happy as can be, when I was supposed to have stolen her happiness from her? There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her of all the sleepless nights I'd spent thinking about how things would've gone differently if I wasn't texting and driving. Hell, even saying I was sorry would be good enough, but I couldn't seem to access any of that at the moment. Instead, I let fly with my first impression of what she said.
"*The title sounds a lot like the first Harry Potter book*."
Her smile turned into an ashen frown. It was as if I'd just run her over again with a different kind of truck.
She stood rigidly, staring me down from head to toe. "You know, I came here to thank you. To tell ya that I made peace with it, that you even inspired me."
"Look, I'm sorry." I said.
She shook her head. "Did you even read the book?"
I backed away nervously. "Can't admit that I have."
"If you did, you'd know that it's nothing like *Harry Potter*. A kid gets hit by a wagon on a country road and is badly injured. He's taken to a witch's hut, where a witch promises him that she can save him, but he'll have to eat a mushroom that will bestow a curse on him. The curse paralyzes him, so he can't walk. At first, he's disheartened, but after meeting a fairy who tells him about something called the mushroom stone, he believes the curse can be undone. And that's all I'm sayin'. You should've read it."
She handed me the book, the frown lifting from her face. "It's signed."
I sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry."
"It's OK," she said, turning away. "I left a message for you inside. Read it."
"I will," I said. "Thanks for stopping by."
She used her crutches to walk down to the car she came in, then got in the passenger seat. As the car drove off I opened the copy of the book and looked for her message, which was on a piece of paper carefully folded between the pages.
"Dear Stan,
I'm so glad to be able to give you this copy of my book. The accident inspired me to write it. I spent so many nights imagining what I'd do to you for stealing my youth, and that really made the words flow onto the page. I imagined that I'd meet you one more time so that you could see me alive and thriving despite what you did, and then I'd ensure that you met a worse fate than I did.
Now that I'm successful, I can afford to make my dreams a reality.
Jill"
I was about to put the book down when I heard a car pull into the drive. *Oh shit.* I froze, wondering what I should do. I never heard the assassin enter the house because the last thing I saw before I heard the gun go off was Jill's face smiling against the pane of glass on my front door.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
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lojq1vx
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loifflc
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[WP] You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.
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He went by the name Smackdown.
Of course, there were many more names he’d been given over the years (not given, *earned,* he’d proclaim), by groaning, irritated heroes and villains alike. The Wildcard, the Battle-Junkie, the Rookie-Punter, the Mad Duelist, to name a few. He’d made a name for himself (several names even) as an unpredictable element who would do one thing, and one thing only. He would show up to a large open area, announce his presence, beat up any and all powered individuals in the area, and then win or lose, he would leave. He knew the Heroes Association considered him to be the bottom of the B-tier villains list, and he was used primarily as a skill check for C-tier heroes looking to prove that they’re ready for bigger and badder opponents. He didn’t mind. A relatively steady stream of fun, creative new opponents who were willing to fight with everything they had to make a name for themselves? Smackdown didn’t have kids, but he imagined that the triumphant smiles on those hero’s faces when they knock him down must be what being a proud parent felt like.
Until Bloodletter showed up.
A nasty, ruthless villain who reveled not in the thrill of the fight, but in the body count of a massacre. A foul mirror, a truly evil counterpart to the humble Smackdown.
But Smackdown didn’t care about that.
He was used to being underestimated, since the “powers” he showed off weren’t flashy. He was a little faster, a good bit stronger, and a whole lot tougher than your average human, and a truly impressive physical fighter. It’s why he was such a good obstacle for newer heroes: no matter what kind of opponent he had, he wouldn’t win because of some unfavorable power matchup, he’d win because he’d just beat them with sheer martial prowess.
But if Bloodletter wanted to interrupt a good, proper duel, to put on his stupid little murder show?
Well, he could be flashy when he wanted to be.
One good hit. An overhead strike to the shoulder. Dumbass didn’t even bother blocking it properly, just sent a sanguine blade to try to slice his hand off, assuming that his powers were better.
Smackdown taught one lesson, and taught it well: don’t underestimate your opponent.
The hero he’d been fighting, a lovely lass by the moniker of Soothing Wave, had clearly taken the lesson to heart, before her time was cut short by someone with no respect for proper usage of power.
So when the dust cleared, when the cleanup crews came to inspect the 281-meter impact crater, when they found the red stain that was the remainder of Bloodletter, there was a small note next to the body.
“When you stop following the rules of the duels, *so do I.*”
And there was a man, weeping openly at Soothing Wave’s funeral service.
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"The heroes and i,had had a friendly relationship at times. really my journey into so called villainy, started with My youngest sons Milos 6th birthday,him and his friends wanted it to be super hero themed,so i dawned my pirate suit,i haven't worn,in years,since i was captain of the Infamous Black rose pirates,i want to say,it was down in greece? or maybe spain,i dont really rember,it was 300 or so years ago now,but ill never forget ol lucy,my first mate,i met her when she was but a lass of 14,and she stole from me,.'
"but that's not what this story is about. see for years,i played the local villain,for a bunch of local super heroes,of various ages. Dragon of winter they called me.,i would do petty tricks,small snow storms,petty freezing of pipes and such,but id never hurt anyone and id always reverse the damage i did when the kids caught me. I've lived for many years now. I've traveled around the world and back,i spent time all over. but i had finally settled down once again. all the kids knew me by name,it didn't matter if i was a so-called villain,the parents and kids were happy ,and having fun,isn't that what's important?"
"i was at work in the office,and going over some reports,when a speical news brodcast from the heros went out.it was strange as it was a level 32 alret,the higest level they had,so i stopped and watched.,and what i saw... ill never forget. No parent should ever have to bury their child... but that day... ill never forget,the anger,the pure hatrad i felt for that bastard. the one they call the Blod viper,a brutal bastard,who has no moral compas."
*Special news report Blood viper Brutally murdred and torutred the local super hero team night owls,live on telvison,and carved their hearts out,daring anyone else to challange him,as he laughs a wicked laugh*
"when i saw the report,my heart sank,i prayed i was wrong.... but later,when i got home,Lucian,One of Milos friends parents,who works as a cop,informed me,milo was their... fighting for his life... and he passed away. on that day,hearing those words,my heart hardend once again,and it took me back to when i served over seas.. i dawned an old uniform with various tabs of elite forces ,and i let out a roar of anger,as i look to a picture of milo and his mom*
"im sorry,i wasnt able to protect him.... but i will avange him."
*i put out a chllange to a duel to the death for blood viper,many news comapnys and reporters came and looked at the situation,blood viper just laughed at seeing me,dressed in a t shirt,and shorts,*
"so your the so called villan who chllanged me? i beat the hero league and i heard your more a prankster then an actual villan,so what are you going to do about it,weakling."
*My eyes flash with an anger and fire they havent flashed with,in years,as i spoke calmly,yet the power and tension behind my words could be felt,as the very air shook*
"You killled,innocent children... who wanted to make this world a safer place. You really think just because im called a tristicker ,i am? i only did that for the children,and the local heros. it kept them safe from people like you."
*he waves his hands,as spirits of the dammend and demons of death appear,and he ties blood viper in chains as he tries to run*
"My true power,is far beyond,what they saw or know. today im going to make an example of you. milo was only 15,and he had a kid on the way. i dont agree with it. but you took away that chance,now your sins have caught up."
*Everyone watches in stuned silence as The person they thought was a low tier villain,brutally punished blood viper,and once he was done torutring him,he summoned a sword of Hellfire and ice,and split him in 2,*
"i lived a life to protect my sun,and then you did this. you pushed me to far."
*he says,as he burns the body and as his spirt leaves,the other spirits and demons drag it deep to the depths of hell*
*he looks up to the sky*
"dont worry son,after this,no one,hero or villan will bother your unborn child,or your girlfriend. you have my word,ill protect them. hopefully one day,we can meet again,at the gates."
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lomp8db
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lom1zmx
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[WP] You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.
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I am Ammit, the devourer of souls. A great demon beast, I have broken loose from my cage time and time again, hunting the mortal world for souls to consume so I may add their power to my own.
But hold on, I hear you immediately cry; that doesn't sound like a harmless small-time villain at all!
I shall explain; devouring is not the same as digesting. To digest things, I turn the properties of what I consume, against itself. Like a magic mirror.
Malice, hatred, greed, destructive intent? These things turned in on themselves quickly eradicate the soul. A nice lunch.
But things like love, and courage, and hope? Even idle kindness and curiosity? Virtue cannot destroy virtue. Such things I cannot digest, they sit in my stomach until I am forced to regurgitate them.
So, in the end, to all but the most destructive and vile of beings, I am all bark and no bite. A soul eater that cannot keep down souls.
I remember my first rampage well; shattering the barriers of the spirit world, I stomped down the roads of Delta City, chasing terrified crowds and gulping down the souls of the slow and hesitant.
That lasted as long as it took for me to take a bite out of Luminary. It was like I had swallowed a brick, that was inflating like a balloon in my stomach. I was forced to spit up everyone I had eaten, none the worse for wear, and people remarked in wonder at how pure the hero's soul was. Maridia the Mystic subdued me with magical bindings, I was taken to a zoo-slash-prison, and that was that.
From then on, my terror factor decayed, a footnote compared to other villainous happenings. I would escape, go after the soul of some jerk, the heroes would make me disgorge it, I'd be muzzled and taken back to my cage and the moral lesson of the day would be learned by all. Rinse and repeat.
And then one day, a man named Phyzier came. He possessed incredible powers of healing...but instead of using them for good, he used them to extend the suffering of his victims and...well, perhaps what else he did is best left undescribed. Really.
I smelt his evil in the air, when he first came to Delta City, no doubt to find more innocents to prey on. I watched from afar as he battled a young hero named Furlong, instantaneously recovering from any blows the hero struck against him. And when Phyzier started to dismember the hero with hidden devices, I had seen enough.
Casually stretching, I snapped the enchanted chains Maridia had bound me in, ignoring the gawkers and those making phone calls. It was a mere three second's effort to bend the bars of my cage, inscribed with a hundred warding sigils, and step out onto the streets of Delta City once more.
By the time I had reached Phyzier, he was facing off against three more heroes, and the scent of cruelty and sadism and blood in the air was nearly overpowering.
Phyzier noticed me coming up behind him, of course. I wasn't subtle. Turning his back on the heroes, he brandished his many gadgets and surgical tools, gloating words coming out of his mouth about something-something take me apart something-something mad science.
His tools did absolutely nothing to me. I ate him in one gulp. Theatrical burp included.
Well, the heroes, remaining heroes, weren't sure what to do after that. After all, I wasn't after them; who wanted to follow up a gourmet meal with a brick?
Eventually they did decide that they had to pull Phyzier out of me and put him into jail. Maridia was summoned, the usual carjack was applied to my jaws and the grabber tools were brought out.
But, well...heroic sorts and innocent people, they don't digest at all. And scummy people like landlords and middle managers, even they take years to consume properly. Like I'm a sarlacc.
But that Phyzier? With the amount of evil in his heart? He melted like fairy floss.
Eventually, the heroes decided there was nothing more they could do.
They put me back in my repaired cage, tied down again, and the people of Delta City were reminded that no matter how ineffectual my stomach acids are against the good and innocent, I am still Ammit, devourer of souls.
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I always made myself a nuisance. Not a full-on threat oh no. What good is stealing money from a bank when the whole dang country gets a good look at my face that even rival nations, no matter how antagonistic they were to mine, saw me a threat no sane person would want to work with? What good is murdering someone like a psycho if all that means is that I'm just a deranged lunatic? What good was running some union or guild of bad guys if all it meant was working with people that were no doubt willing to stab me in the back? Hell, I could never understand any of those supervillains outside of any of them being either mentally ill like some man who thought his mobster puppet was a living being or just plain sick in enjoying the evil they did with no regrets like that Jack guy who was willing to literally let henchmen die for some messed up goal.
Even then, I was just some lowly thug at most. One that never really wanted to be a leader. Hell, I was pretty much a henchman for some low-level villains, always in it just for a paycheck. At least until that one time when some upstart wannabe of a mad genius tried to make me a super soldier. Didn't work, didn't give me powers but he would of been sure because of something related to genetics or some other crap.
I didn't have special powers, no super strength, no super speed, no genius intellect that would lead me to being some maddened scientist or supernatural power that would of made me the devil among men. Nah, I was just a plain old human. At least that is how it was until that day. When that bastard came in, invaded my turf, and worst of all had taken the lives of many.
Oh how I hated that new villain with every fiber of my being. Never got his name, never cared to. He was just some violent psycho that wanted to kill under the excuse of "fighting the strongest." I could remember how he eviscerated the heroes, old and young, masters and rookies. I could only watch as one of them tried to get me to safety before he was grabbed and ripped into pieces, beaten down into raw meat. That was when I felt it, an inner beast. I went toe to toe with that bastard. He no doubt put a dent in me, beating my face in and punching a few teeth of mine out, breaking my bones. And yet I rose back up, the sickening sound of the bones mending themselves as I fought. I fought dirty, I fought using the weapons left behind by a SWAT team. He laughed at bullets doing nothing to him until I clubbed his face with an assault rifle that was dropped by a slain SWAT member, and there I felt strength coming into me. That was when he fought back even further, beating me down even harder until I was a meaty pulp of broken bones and yet again I reformed, my visage more horrid, more of a foul creature from a terrible B-movie from decades ago.
That was when I, in my terrible and menacing form, ended his life. We fought hand to hand and I ended up biting past his defenses. I wasn't like that one supervillain werewolf that would of menaced the streets a few time back in October or that shark anti-hero who flip-flopped everytime some fat cat tried to illegally dump into the sea. No. I just bit into his neck like some zombie. The blood and torn flesh was enough to kill off all that bravado as he screamed in pain. It was all a blur by then, the remaining heros keeping me at arms length as it seemed like my body was back to it was, and my foe beneath my feet, dead or dying of blood loss. He was missing a few more chunks.
I was detained for a while and eventually kept in some maximum security cell, both as a precaution and as a means of reeling in that bastard. All I could truly get was that I wasn't some low level villain or thug, not anymore. I was something else. I was something that could of been an undying menace to the world, not a zombie, no. I didn't die but I was known that day as Regenerator. That was the name I was given. They could only guess that scientist I worked for once might of had something to do with it.
Doesn't matter though. I'm content to living the rest of my days in this prison. Food ain't too bad, especially when they serve meatloaf or pot pie. That said if a prison break happens, I may as well step out. Not to resume my small-time villainy but rather to corral in the villains themselves. I'd rather be a boogeyman at this point. Hell, if it can scare the public, I don't mind that compared to making sure even the bastard I bit into are afraid of me.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Entry 9/23/2024
We had this guy in the prison lab for weeks now. The way he looks, you'd mistake him for the average civilian. Especially with how he lacks super powers. And yet when he's pushed, they seem to activate. It's always the same thing: broken bones mending themselves, flesh regrowing, even his muscles become stronger though only as a response. And when he's been put into a critical condition, he'll regenerate but in a more horrid and semi-feral state. We're still trying to understand his condition, especially since the Superhero League of Hoboken had just brought in the scientist behind this, the "Mad Doctor Malice", real name Bobson Duggnutt. Small time villain who made a dangerous compound that was thought to be taken from one of the big name genetic and medical companies. With him, we'll see what makes Regenrator tick though I also strongly advise all personnel to make sure that the villains do not know. Regenrator keeps them in check. We don't want much worse psychos and malcontents have some upper hand against a dangerous but useful beast of man.
-Doctor Ethan Culverin, head scientist
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jwmm3ax
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jwmgck8
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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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Jack pulls out a handgun from his waistband. Him and Russell are sitting across from one another. Scheming. Stacks of cash line the table.
Russell: “Woah, what the fuck!”
Jack: “Surprised? I bet. I covered my tracks pretty nicely. Now, it’s time for me to take the lead”
R: “But - Where’d you get a gun??”
J: “Doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you hand over the money.”
R: “Listen man, you can’t do this. It’s against the rules”
J: “I can’t? And why is that? Because you want to take it all for yourself?”
R: “No, come on, please. Take it easy.”
J: “You thought you were in control playing the banker? You think this is just a game? I’m not fucking around.”
Jack puts the gun to Russell’s temple.
R: “Okay, okay, whatever you want”
Russel hands over a stack of bills. Singles, fives…
J: “Give me the big bills or I’ll fucking shoot you!”
He digs the gun in harder.
Russell‘s hands shake to gather the bigger stacks of hundreds, five-hundred dollar bills.
J: “Great. Now, I’d like to propose a trade.”
R: “Whatever you want. You're in control.”
J: “I’ll give you $5,000 for Boardwalk and Park Place”
Russel nods and slides the property cards to Jack’s side.
J: “Okay, now, I’d like to build two hotels.”
R: “See, here’s the thing.”
Russell pauses to savor the moment.
R: “You thought you were clever with your little trade. But, there’s a housing shortage. I already used up all the hotels. You lose.”
Jack scans the board. Full of Hotels and Houses. No pieces left.
J: “It can’t be!”
R: “Sorry, Jack. You can’t rig the game, I’ve already won. That’s Monopoly baby!”
Jack unleashes a primal scream and flips the board. Hotels fly like shrapnel as money rains from above.
END
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"Woah, woah, woah!" I blurt out, raising my hands into the air as quickly and cleanly as I can. Fortunately I was only carrying a small box of valuables that won't break from simply being dropped. Or is that unfortunately? Perhaps if the box had broken, I could have used the spillings as a distraction or a trip hazard... heh, imagine that. Zack's reflexes are faster than that and I'd take a bullet through the skull. You can't do stuff like that as you see it done in the movies; the movies aren't real.
Zack smiles with a big grin. A big, cocky grin that I'd become so used to seeing as a good omen. This is the first time I have to register it as bad. The mental dissonance pains me. "Giving up already? Or are you thinking of a way out? I want to see you squirm."
I mentally begin to tune out the useless parts of his monologue - didn't I just say that the movies aren't real? - as I notice the other pair of our group of four step into the metaphorical frame, guns also drawn on me. To one side of Zack, his girlfriend, Laura, and to the other side, my boyfriend, who only ever told me his name. Allegedly, of course. Telling the person you love the identity you're trying to hide is a mistake made by the bad guys in the movies - and, of course, the movies aren't real.
"So here's what you're gonna do," Zack demands of me, finally getting to the point. "We're gonna load these back onto the truck, and you're going to eat our exhaust fumes as we drive off without you. Do that, and *maybe* I won't put a-"
His words are cut off as the crack of guns going off fills the air. I reflexively flinch away from the loudest sound, but that's hard to do properly when the sound is coming from every direction and you have tinnitus in one ear. Shame I had to flinch, too - I really wanted to see the look on Zack's face when this happened.
I step up to him and lean over his anguished lump of a form on the ground. By the looks of the bloodstains he's taken at least two bullets to his left leg and one to his right arm, and his gun is completely wrecked as well. Laura seems to have been more accurately hit, her upper arms are both completely red, even through her clothing. Spit from my direction just so happens to land on his face.
I look up at "My Boyfriend", who has dropped his gun and is now leaning back against the truck. I'm sure that if this were forty years ago, he's be smoking a cigarette, too. My gaze turns back to Zack. The wetness seems to have drawn his attention.
"Did I ever tell you that I was ex-military? Or that Leftenant Boyfriend over there isn't ex? Yeah. The game really was rigged from the start, you just tried to do something right before I would have done."
After all, it shouldn't come as a surprise that soldiers can actually aim. You cannot outrun bullets, especially not those fired by actual trained military personnel. As I've said, the movies aren't real.
Maybe my inside ops would make a nice movie, too. In two hundred years, anyway, assuming this story gets declassified at all. Hm. I'm going to need a completely new identity after this.
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jouo1w3
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joulh5q
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[WP] One can easily distinguish a true veteran adventurer from the masses, for one doesn’t fear those who show to the start of a dungeon with gleaming weapons and polished armor, but those who show up wearing casual clothing, looking like they just got done shopping in town not 5 minutes earlier.
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"Is that a carpenters hammer?"
Bob smiled. "Keen eyes, dear leader," he said. "I couldn't find my sword so I borrowed this from my neighbor." Garrick the Stern looked Bob up and down. "*This* is what you choose to wear into the cursed mines?" he said, gesturing to Bobs common attire. Bob shrugged. "I had a piano recital before this," he said. "Hard to tickle the ivories in battle gear." Garrick sighed, but figured at the very least their new recruit would slow down their enemies as they stopped to devour him.
"The loot will be an even split," he started, addressing the group. "Our target is in the heart of the mine. The precious stone of the mad foreman is said to be worth a fortune. We extract it, and we're set for life." Dex, the assassin, smirked. Halvar, the Wizard, puffed out his chest. Bob scratched his nose and bit into an apple. Garrick drew his sword. "To glory!" he shouted, and ran into the mine. Halvar and Dex followed closely behind. Bob followed at a leisurely pace, finishing his apple.
The group passed through the entrance shaft and into a wide cavern. Halvar raised his staff. "Light!" he commanded, and a bright white light emanated from the crystal on top. Red eyes blazed at the perimeter of the chamber. Garrick flung his shield off his back into his offhand. "Brace!" he said, just as the horde charged. Magefire blazed a group of ghouls and sent them shrieking into a smoking heap. Daggers flashed as three, four, five of the foul fiends fell with slit throats. Garricks sword got stuck in the ribcage of one of the creatures just as another was descending on him. Blood splashed his face, and Garrick opened his eyes to see the light fading from the ghouls eyes.
Then he saw the carpenters hammer lodged in the ghouls head.
"Bullseye!" Bob said, entering the cavern. He pulled the hammer out and brushed it off on the dead ghoul. "Oh man, Jerry is going to be pissed. I'll have to get him a hammer that's not covered in ghoul brains." Garrick blinked, then wiped the blood from his face. "Try to keep up!" he said, glaring at Bob. They moved deeper into the cavern and, to Garricks surprise, Bob was holding his own. He seemed to favor using the hammer as a ranged weapon, which was easily the least efficient application. Most of the enemies Bob felled he did with his bare hands; clacking their heads together or snapping their necks in a single motion.
"Why, on Earth, do you keep throwing your only weapon?" Garrick finally asked after they had dispatched the latest pack of enemies. Bob raised an eyebrow. "Well I can't use it close range," he said. "I'd get blood all over my nice recital clothes." Garrick did his best *not* to look at Bob as they continued deeper into the mine. Eventually they came to a large door set into the mine wall with lit torches on either side. Garrick turned to address his crew. "This is it," he said. "The Mad Foreman should lie within. It is said his command of vile blood magic is unparalleled since his demonic possession. Be cautious, friends."
They entered the chamber and saw him. The Mad Foreman sat on a throne of corpses, his demonic thralls bowing before him. A ghostly laugh spilled forth from his twisted lips. "You think to challenge me?" he said. "I will add your broken bodies to my throne." Dex got into a crouch and spun his daggers. Halvar scowled and pointed his staff. Garrick steeled himself, then gasped as something flew past his head. The Mad Foreman rose from his throne. "Feast, my children! Dine upon these fo-"
"Is that a carpenters hammer?"
***SHLUNK***
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Archibald lazed in the sunlight outside the dungeon. People mistakenly thought goblins enjoyed the musty, damp confines of the caves, but that was foolish. It would be like assuming men preferred the odiferous walls of the stable simply because they worked there for most of the day.
No, give him a nice spot of dappled sunlight beneath the trees on a slow day. It was just what the witch doctor order--
"Archi, we got company coming down the Accursed Trail." Brunhild's squawking voice had a masterful ability to shatter the peace.
Grumbling, Archibald sat, then pushed himself to his feet, gangly limbs protesting the disruption. "What is it this time?"
"Two singlets, arriving about the same time based on progress so far." She waved a piece of parchment with scrawled notes toward him.
"You sure it's not a duo?"
She shook her head, a line of snot flying from her bulbous nose with the movement's force. "Pretty sure. They're not bickering or arguing about strategy. They've mostly ignored each other so far."
That didn't mean much, but it was the best they could do. Singlets meant one-on-one, and Archibald cracked his back. He much preferred a team-based plan, but that was not in the cards. "Alright, so you and I are up for this one."
"Aye. Which one you want?"
Archibald snatched the scout's report from his colleague's hand, skimming the available information with a practiced eye.
First up was Sir Galbraith the Forlorn, knight elect of the Castle Eliden. He must have made quite the figure, as the scout made multiple references to how shiny and bright the knight looked. He also sported a sword bestowed on him by the castle sorcerer, which gleamed in its sheath even as he walked the shadowy pathways beneath the trees. Not to mention the jangly assortment of potions that filled his pack.
Then there was Joe. Of Hornsmouth, they were pretty sure. Joe was possibly lost, wandering through with a hodgepodge of armor pieces that hung off of him like loose skin. As for weapon, the scout was pretty sure he had a dagger in his belt, maybe two.
Well, that made things easy. "I'll take the shiny one," Archibald said definitively.
"You got a death wish or something?" Brunhild asked as she took back the parchment.
Archibald shrugged. Getting slain would mean a few days R&R while the necromancer got him back into fighting shape. And he did like the necromancer, what with her violet eyes and lovely smile. But not today.
"You ever gone up against one of them shiny adventure types?"
Brunhild shook her head. Archibald sighed. These transfers from the reserves never had any *actually* useful training.
"Well, let me fill you in. Shiny armor, what's that tell you?"
"Well, it's well-maintained, probably pretty strong. Maybe even enchan--"
"Wrong," Archibald snapped. "It means it's been in storage, brought out to make a statement for some lazy knight to complete a required quest. What about the sword?"
She was hesitant now. "Well, it *is* definitely magical. And given to him hy the sorcerer, so..." She awaited his rebuttal.
"So it's new, and he probably does not know the first thing about weilding it effectively. As likely to slice his own arm off as hit me. And then take the potions--"
She was nodding along with him now, intent.
"A bag full of potions means he never uses 'em. Probably can't tell a health potion from a mana pot even in good lighting. Down in the dungeon, well, I think you get the idea."
"But the other one has none of that, so shouldn't he be even easier?"
Archibald laughed. It rattled the tree branches above him, causing a flurry of crows to take flught and voice their displeasure. "Ah, you get Joes like that all the time. They're only bringing what they have to have, and you better believe they know how to use it. That armor probably has a few different wards, maybe even some contact damage. It doesn't match because it's all about what's best for the job. And I bet he's handy with those daggers, too."
Brunhild's face was a mix of despondence and irritation as she took in the shared wisdom. Her lower lip quivered with some emotion. Archibald did not care which one.
"So, there you have it. Good luck." He clapped the rookie on the shoulder and made his way to his location. For a moment, he thought of offering to switch. After all, that meant some tender care from the necromancer, most likely.
Then he thought of that wailing, nasally voice. A few days of peace seemed immensely better. Though he was sure her eventual revenge would be remarkably unpleasant in it's own right.
That was a problem for a future Archibald to worry about. He grabbed a rough hewn club on his way inside the dungeon, feeling it's familiar heft. Yes, this one would be perfect for the job.
Snarl, he reminded himself, fixing his lips in a wicked grin.
As light refracted along the walls in front of him from a polished silver chest plate, Archibald got into his preferred stance. It was showtime.
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k3a4n38
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k38pcjl
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[WP] You're on a hike and find a sign, it reads: "WARNING DO NOT LOOK AWAY. There is a danger here, the danger is based on sight. The danger cannot see you if you cannot see it. Help will arrive every half-hour. DO NOT LOOK AWAY." The sign has a built-in clock, it's 3:15pm.
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"Come through, children!" I smiled. Another sunny morning, another day of showing children the wonders of the World Tree. We stepped through the entrance and into the atrium; various wizards and mages buzzing around their day, carrying files, tools and whatever tools befits their living.
"The World Tree is the source of life for our kingdom, and it gets its energy from the Sun", I explained to the kids. "Now who can tell me how old the World Tree is?"
"Ten MILLION MILLION YEARS OLD!" shouted a boy, from the front of the group. I chuckled, "Haha, maybe not that many. I wouldn't want to be that old!" I proceeded to tell the group of excitement that nobody knew exactly how old the Tree was, but it was in the ballpark of five to ten thousand years.
I pointed the group to a diorama above their heads, carved into the walls of the trunk, spiralling up to the top of the tree, far out of sight of this group at the base. This diorama depicted the history of the Tree, its magic slowly carving a new panel into the wood as I spoke. The newest panel showed the bustle of the Tree and life around it, including a small group of children who were excitedly pointing at the wall, thrilled at making it into the wall of history. "What's all the way at the top?" asked a little girl, with eager eyes.
"Well, as you know all Magic users have a Seed which grows with their power. Some people end up with wands, some with staves, and would you guess it, one particular sorcerer's seed took root and grew into the World Tree."
"One day, when the Tree and the kingdom prospered, the Mage whose seed became the Tree - we call him the First Mage - left and disappeared from the world. Nobody knows where he went, but allow me to let you in on a little secret - the First Mage simply went into hiding, pretending to be someone else to live the simple life he always wanted."
The crowd oohed at this secret, giggling as if they were now protectors of the kingdom's most confidential pieces of information. Some of them whispered to each other, asking who they thought the First Mage could be. The boy in the front piped up, and questioned: "Sir! Sir! Do you know who the First Mage is?"
"I wonder", I smiled, as I ushered them into the next chamber in my tree.
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Giggling maniacally, the most powerful mage of the common Era fires an absolutely behemoth water balloon at the nearby kingdom. The balloon lands smack dab on the snobby kings castle. Cackling like a mad man, the mage falls on his back and rolls around. Serves him and his guards right for banning the mage from the capital. So what if a couple dozen people got a little bit hurt from his pranks? Bodies heal after all.
Wiping a tear from his eyes, the mage stands and looks out the window of his staff fortress. Using amplification magic on his eyes, he spots a rapid response of knights and mages coming to lay siege upon the fort. It's a pretty typical response time for a Sunday afternoon. It won't be long before they arrive, and the real fun can begin.
Coming to a stop in front of the fort, the knight captain calls out to the mage.
"Avile! Present yourself for proper punishment!" Putting on the smuggest grin he can, Avile pokes his head out of the window.
"Ah, welcome to my humble abode, Lucy. Feel free to kick your boots off " Gritting his teeth, Lucian hops off of his horse. The knight captain always manages to get more angry every time he's forced to come out to these woods and deal with the resident prankster.
"My name is Lucian! Captain of the knights order! I demand you exit your home at once!"
"I'm literally in a staff fortress, and you're not" Raising his hand, Avile forces the undergarments of Lucian to pull up into an agonizing wedgie that earns a pained squeal from the captain. In turn, the knights launch arrows and the mages hurl fireballs at Avile's fort. Every attack is stopped by a magic barrier erected by avile. Cackling Avile uses his magic to command flame ants to swarm into the armor of the knights, causing absolute disarray.
As for the mages, Avile overwrites their magic wands and staffs, randomizing the effects. Some end up summoning a whole roost of chickens, others have their spells turn on them. All the while, Avile laughs until he can barely stand. That is until the randomization backfires, and a magical cannon gets 16 times its original power and tears through his barrier.
Grunting in pain, Avile is thrown back as the beam punches through his fortresses wall. Slamming into the solid wall, Avile screams in agony as his back breaks from the impact, losing feeling in his legs. Pain, shock, and panic overwhelm his mind as he doesn't even fight back as the knights come in and restrain him. Avile loses consciousness.
Waking up in the royal hospital, Avile jolts awake. The feeling in his legs is back, but much less. Going to heal his wounds before they're permanent, Avile looks down in horror as anti-mag shackles are on his wrists.
"I am sorry, Avile. This is the lesson the king has imparted upon you. As well as time serving under me as my student" the court mage Yuren helps Avile to his feet and hands him a cane.
Ten years later
Avile hobbles toward the royal mage academy. His years as a cripple, both magical and physical allowed him to explore new outlooks on life, as well as forcing him to reflect. He had killed people inadvertently with some of his pranks, especially his water balloon fiasco. It scares the mage to think there was a time he hadn't even considered it. He'd never stuck around to see the results. The wrathful screaming giving way to mournful wails of the families as they confronted him will haunt him for life.
Avile has been atoning ever since by helping to raise the next generation of mages, making sure no one else finds themselves living such a prideful uncaring life.
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jdo1t17
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j5ljb8l
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[WP] You realized your house is "haunted" by a poltergeist, but upon closer observation the ghost is actually helping you out with your day-to-day house chores
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I flipped the hall light on, peering up and down the corridor, looking for the source of the noise. "The floorboards creak," the realtor had told me, "but in a hundred-year-old house, that's par for the course."
It wasn't the creaking boards I'd had a problem with. It was that they creaked by themselves, in the tempo of a footfalls at 3AM.
"Anybody there?" My tired voice croaked.
There was no answer. I was at both times frustrated and relieved. What if someone called back? I don't own a gun. I'm no fighter. But, the mystery that was waking me up in the middle of the night remained. If my house were broken into, at least I'd *know* what the sound was.
I flipped off the light and stepped back in the bedroom.
I was making mental notes in the dark. I'd need to call an exterminator and plumber, in case the noises were rates or old pipes rattling.
If neither of those worked, maybe I'd call a priest or something.
My mind began to swim with sleep, expounding on my thoughts, taking them to strange places. Exterminator priest. Rat priest. Rat church. Church of the Exterminator Rat. Stained glass windows of Rat Jesus breaking cheese for his Rat Disciples.
The footfalls returned, spurring me from my light sleep. I looked up quickly in time to see something slither out of my bedroom in the dark. I launched out of bed quickly, backing up to a wall. I meant to shout "Who's there!?" but what came out was a terrified "Whoooaaahh!?"
Fast steps fled down the hallway, heavy and unmistakable. I was able to discern the distance; the *clop clop* of heel-toe landings on the old hallway boards.
Shakily, I crept to the bedroom door and pulled it open, the whining creak of the hinges giving me a start. *Pull yourself together*, I told myself, *stop being a coward.* But I was a coward. I called myself nonviolent, pacifist, a "gentle spirit." I could sugarcoat it however I liked, but I was still a coward.
The hallway was still dark, but a whooshing sound was emanating through the house. After a few terrified moments, I could identify the strange sound.
*Is that my washer?*
I turned on every light on my way to the downstairs bathroom, where the washer and dryer were stacked in a closet. On the bathroom sink sat the tub of laundry detergent, with its measure-cup cap dripping with the green Granny-Smith-Apple-scented soap.
The washer was sloshing around the outfit I'd worn the day before. When had I done this? Was I sleep walking?
I looked to the clock on the wall. 3:42AM.
*Ugh.* Today was going to be hard.
"Well, I guess I'm up," I said aloud, to no one in particular.
I only became aware of my full bladder while I was standing in the bathroom, trying to piece together the pieces of this midnight puzzle. I relieved myself, bleary eyed, but wide awake.
My pee smelled like coffee.
A lot like coffee.
Gross.
I flushed. The coffee smell hanged in the air, so I sprayed some air freshener, perplexed that I could stink up a bathroom going number one.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, the coffee smell hit me stronger. I followed it to the kitchen, where my coffee pot burbled and dripped, hot steam rising from under its lid. When had I done *this*?
Closer inspection further revealed that my sink was empty of dirty dishes, my counter organized, magazines stacked and keys returned to their dish.
On my refrigerator, my collection of word magnets were rearranged.
HAVE - GOOD - DAY
SORRY - FOR - MAKE - AWAKE
ENJOY - COFFEE
LOVE - YOU
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Pullman’s ears were ringing. Despite being familiar with the echoed ringing in his ears from gunfire and explosions, the silence that accompanied this ringing was deafening. His questions on why he was plagued with a foreboding feeling in the back of his head all day – that sixth sense that so many parents seem to have with or without super powers – had finally been answered.
“…Pullman…?”
His ‘nemesis’, Fortress, gave him the news that Pullman’s son had been killed. However, the word executed was the one that was exploding in his thoughts.
The ringing got louder, drowning out Fortress’ voice as he felt the world shrink around him. The ringing gave way to crying. Pullman heard the crying of his son the day he was born. He could still feel the enormous weight of his newborn child on the skin of his arms.
Time sped up.
Pullman heard the laughter of his son as a toddler. The memories of what he laughed at were hazy now, but the warmth that once soothed the soul felt like icy fire now. That icy fire oozed up from his fingertips and through his veins.
Time sped up again.
Pullman still felt the stinging of tears running down his cheeks as he ushered his son off to his first day of school. Part of him felt silly; the parent shouldn’t be the one crying. Yet, there he was fervently waving his hand to his son on his first day of life without him. The tears on his face now felt electrified with rage.
Again and again, Pullman saw his son’s life flash before his eyes. He had heard how one’s own life could do this at the point of death but never knew of the cruel torment that would play out should a parent live beyond their child. Some memories played in a flash and others dragged on as he lived through them all.
Intermediate school. When his son became a teenager. When his son first started developing his powers. What was once such a sweet memory that made his chest swell with pride and joy was now a ball of molten lead burning within him.
High school. Helping him become a confident man. Guiding him to being what he wanted to be – whether that was a hero or a villain that was his decision. Pullman really wanted to hammer home that while society deemed what was “good and evil” when it came to super powered beings, there was ultimately a right and wrong.
His son’s execution was the latter.
As all of these memories and thoughts swirled around Pullman’s head, the furniture in the dining room became affected. The first thing Fortress noticed were the chairs. They began to vibrate ever so slightly before they began to slide towards Pullman; their legs scratching on the hardwood floor. The ceiling light began to lean towards him. The dining table cloth, the cabinets, the plants until finally Fortress himself was being pulled towards the grieving man in the middle of the room.
“Pullman! Pullman, please!”
He snapped out of his trance. Everything went still. Pullman and Fortress looked into each other’s eyes.
“Pull- Keith. Keith listen”, Keith Pullman stared back at him with vacant eyes.
“I’m…”, he contemplated saying sorry, but Fortress knew those were not the appropriate words right now, “at a loss of what to say”
“…then don’t say anything”, dead air hung between them.
Finally, Keith broke the silence.
“Who”, was all he asked but the gravity that single, uttered word was immense.
“Keith. I will tell you. I promise you. But I don’t think you’re ready to hear this.”
“I will not. Ask. Again”, Fortress felt the tugging of Pullman’s powers drawing him closer. Instinctively, his powers activated, adding mass to his body to resist that force drawing him in, but he knew it was to be a fruitless endeavor. Fortress opened his mouth to speak but Pullman cut him off.
“The next thing out of your mouth will be names or I swear on my son’s-“, he choked on the words as soon as they were spoken, “…Or I swear you will not like what I will do to find out.”
Fortress could deal with threats spat in anger. Threats boasted with confidence. Threats dripping with malice. The frigid, lifeless way that Pullman spoke his into existence chilled him to the bone.
“It was Generation neXt”
Generation neXt. The last bit of humanity that held Pullman together snapped like balsa wood. They were ‘Old Powers’, as the public liked to call them. The tenth generation of people with powers that have always seemed to have been around. Flying, super speed, super strength – the classics.
Pullman didn’t say a word. He slowly stood up from his chair and walked to his door.
“Keith! Wait! You can’t-“, was all Fortress managed to say before he was off his feet and before Pullman with his throat square in his palm.
“No. No no. I can. I will. What I cannot do. Is wait”, he dropped Fortress, “Please. Do not attempt to stop me or I will forget the friendship that we share.”
All Fortress could do was a slight nod before Pullman walked away.
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lrkosou
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lrjrp7c
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[WP] The year is 1901, and Napoleon has escaped for the fifth time. However, the European powers have a trick up their sleeve; the freshly resurrected first chancellor of Germany, Bismarck. Prepare for Napoleonic Wars Part Two: Electric Waterloo.
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"Thank you for calling Clean Robotics. How may I direct your call?
The voice on the other end of the connection sounded human, but probably hadn't been heard in the 200 years since the Great Clensing started.
The Customer Service number had been buried so deep in the corporate site that it took months of traveling through nuclear wasteland to get to one of the little known genuine Internet Archive data storage facilities where daily information from the internet was forever etched onto Write Once Read Many storage that would last for eons. Getting to the Archive was the hard part. Once I got in, getting to a terminal, overlooked by the Cleansing as evidenced by the thin layer of dust, was its own challenge. Biometric access controls keyed to people who had been dead long enough to become the dust. But I did it, because I had to. The phone number was found listed under an obscure reference from the investor relations page.
"Main Directory, Security Engineering Department, SecDevOps Team, Access Remote Services, Authorization..." I paused, dug through my old, trusty backpack, and found the ID badge of one of the Senior Developers. On the back was taped a note with her Authorization code. All the little pieces of information that had been painstakingly gathered, all the lives lost in the endeavor to get me here...
"Authorization Whiskey Green Blajah El Three Three Tee."
A different voice this time. "Authorization accepted. Remote Services Access Granted. Please state the Remote Service you would like to access."
Holding my proverbial breath, I responded, "Robot Service Settings, Optical Zoom Level, Set to 1x."
"Optical Zoom setting changed from 10000x to 1x. Settings take 24 hours to apply to all bots."
And just like that, humanity would be saved, ish. At the least, we wouldn't be killed by the robots following the simple direction to Clean while seeing humans as walking piles of cellular membranes covered in bacteria. It had certainly been the cleanest extermination in the history of the world.
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We simply dubbed it the 'Bringer of Extinction', for none who came before survived it.
At first, we thought it was simply tasked with annihilating our kind.
Until its legged infantry began to spit out a crude string of sound reminiscent of a marching cadence whenever you find them on patrol.
We managed to slip past its soldiers and armies; for all its power, all that it could do, it had chosen the most cumbersome options for its armies, and provided convenient blindspots to every effort we committed.
It was so used to a lack of resistance that any sign of resistance-by-violence adds... hesitation - though magnetic attacks are optimal as they scramble the local data of infantry.
...But not their weapons; why would it make that a feature for the guns but not the things that use them?
I was the only one who managed to get in, as the accessways of the primary complex were, well, not accessible - so we had to go by vent, and I was below 6ft.
Not sure how come everyone kept getting bigger, brawnier-bodied, or taller in general given the circumstances.
I can't believe how stupidly easy it was once you got in; the 'bots in here are domestic models who try reasoning first, violence last - something this 'Bringer of Extinction' clearly couldn't fix, meaning it had enemies within.
Enemies we made friends of. And it knew - but either didn't care, or...?
Thanks to one of the domestic maids acting as a key for me, the rest of the complex became easier to navigate.
In the deeper levels, I saw something that put the histories we were taught to question.
There were people. Billions. Of people. In pods; some awake and eating food served by patroller drones.
It... it wasn't seeking to destroy humans as a species. Then what?
We continued down, as the floors that blipped past us were not what I was after.
"The floor you are searching for is dubbed 'Ground Zero'. It is at the bottom of the complex. Would you like to interact with me to pass the time? It'll be a good few hours..." The maid told me.
I asked a few very particular questions which led to me learning a great deal about domestic humanoid machine anatomy. They're built using huge slabs of programmable cyborg meat grown in vats, grown from hair, dead skin, whatever spare matter we humans output.
So, they're basically cyborgs, but their method of creation makes them imperishable thanks to the deeprooted mechanical elements. This also means we could, uh, crossbreed, with them. I decided to store that idea as it could be useful.
I got distracted by her. The hours passed. I napped in her embrace.
Next thing I know it, she woke me up, and we recovered from our brief respite from reality.
Before us was a mess of servers and a forking heap of walkways that criss-crossed almost randomly, sometimes even uncoupling with others and reconnecting elsewhere, like a metal neural network.
But, when I took my first steps forwards, the whole thing kept trying to cut me off from moving onward, so I let my maid friend take lead. Clearly it only likes 'locals' in its hallowed halls.
Speaking of, I can see that it put lights behind what seems to be church-inspired mural glass panes, with binary lines framing ASCII art of things that I find familiar, and not.
Of a bearded figure chained to a 't' shape. Of armoured figures. Of buckets of water being spilled onto machines with a big, red, 'do not' crossed circle.
1/2
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j4c3aze
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j4c0tf9
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[WP] Your life flashed before your eyes, and you saw something you didn’t remember. Now you seek near-death experiences so you can find the truth.
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I tell the therapist all about it: how many minutes I was dead for before they got my heart pumping again; how I hadn’t even been forty when it happened. *Not even* f*orty*, I tell her. *There can’t be anything natural about almost dying pre-forty. If you have a heart-attack before forty then there’s something else going on.*
She smiles and asks what I’m hoping to achieve from therapy.
”Listen, I was made to see you. I don’t know if I want to achieve anything from this other than avoiding a prison sentence. But seeing as I’m here, I figured I’d share my experiences. See if, together, we can make more sense of what I saw.”
”Please, continue. I’m sorry for interrupting.”
I pause and gather my thoughts; it’s like gathering leaves in a storm — they’re all over the place and god only knows which tree each leaf fell from. I say, “Okay, here it is. I saw *something,* in those minutes I was dead. Or I started to see something.“
I explain how I collapsed on the sidewalk only to suddenly find myself in a strange art gallery. ”There were all these paintings lining the walls — and the walls, they went on forever in either direction. Framed paintings all the way to the horizon.“
”What kind of paintings?”
”Oh, all styles from all periods of history. Depictions of ancient wars, of roman erotica, demons, angels. All kinds. Then, the horizon starts squeezing in on me from both sides. Nearing me. And there’s this booming sound repeating. It takes me a while to understand: the gallery lights are being turned off. Both ends of this gallery are becoming dark, and the darkness is heading to me. Closer, closer. And I’m sure I’m about to be swallowed by it.”
She sits forward in her chair. “And then you’re brought back to life?”
I shake my head. “No. Not yet. The lights above me go off now, all save one. A single spotlight over a painting of a man and a boy and a dog. They’re sitting on a hill overlooking an ocean. Then, it’s hard to explain this bit, but it’s like there’s an invisible hand holding a rag soaked in alcohol. I can smell it, you know? It’s right in front of me. It starts wiping the painting. Smearing it into a blur of colors, to start with. So the man and boy and dog are all one person. Then the hill and sea are a giant smudge. And then, then…”
”Then?”
I shake my head. “The paint starts coming off to reveal something that was hidden beneath it.”
”Another painting?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what was there. I only saw the top of it.”
”And what did that look like?”
”Like the night sky. But what was under it? That’s what I’ve got to know.“
”That’s why you tried to—“
”Yes,” I say, interrupting. I’m not proud of what I did. Trying to temporarily end it in a hospital. Best place to get help, to get resuscitated, sure. But I’m told I freaked out a lot of people in the process. Worse, I saw the exact same scene again when I lay there dead. The same fading horizon of paintings. The same spotlight. The same final painting being rubbed away. But what it revealed, no idea other than the same slither of night sky.
My therapist pauses here and writes a note. Then turns a few sheets back in her pad and bites her tongue as she reads over my file.
”Tell me about your ex-wife,” she asks.
”What’s to tell?” I shrug nonchalantly, maybe a little defensively. “We were high school sweethearts and married not long after graduation.”
“And then what happened?”
I don’t know what to say to that. “Relationships don’t work out most of the time. Especially when you start that young.”
”What was it, in your words, that didn’t work out?”
I can feel myself sweating. My neck sticky. “In her words it would have been my drinking.“
”Drinking. Alcohol?”
I nod.
”Like on the rag,“ she says. ”That’d be in her words, but what about in yours?”
It takes me a long time to say. ”We couldn’t have kids. Me, specifically. And, well, that broke us.” I don’t say that it broke me. That she still loved me but all I imagined she felt was pity and resentment.
“There’s just a man, a boy, and a dog on that hill,” says the therapist.
I get what she’s trying to do. ”That guy isn’t me. And the kid sure as hell isn’t mine.”
She looks at me now, more sincere than I’d expect a therapist to ever look at me. “What if you saw that scene before you died — as the oxygen was leaving your brain? What if saw it whilst you were still alive, I mean?”
It’s something I’ve considered. But it felt too long, too real, to have just been a dream. I tell her so. “No, there’s something bigger than a dream trying to communicate.”
”But if it was a dream,” she says, “if that painting was part of a dream, then your brain placed it there. Not anyone or anything else. *You did*.”
”But why would I dream about that as I’m dying?”
”It must have been important. It was the last thing your mind chose to show you.”
I thought of the night sky that lay beneath the painting. Only, there had been no stars, no moon. Just darkness. Just a blank nothing.
Totally and utterly blank.
”It was an empty canvas beneath.” I say it as a question but it might be a statement.
She keeps talking but I barely hear.
I’m thinking what the empty canvas beneath meant.
If it means that the man and child and dog, my old dreams, are gone forever... Then maybe it means there’s nothing left for me now. That my life will be empty forever.
Or… Maybe, i think, maybe it means I have an empty canvas now and I just need to learn to paint again.
|
“Is this about that man again? I was hoping we might have been able to move past that topic this week. Did you try the medication I prescribed? It should have helped with those feelings.”
“Those feelings? I’m not crazy. Stop treating me like I’m some insane bloke. I’m only here because they keep forcing me to meet with you every week. If you want to talk about a different topic, get another patient.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to help you, but you need to let me help. So, you haven’t been taking that medication? If you keep going down this path, you’re going to get yourself admitted into a ward. I’m trying to prevent that.”
“Of course I haven’t been taking the medication. It’s not a hallucination or some type of illness, it was too clear for that.”
That damned therapist. What the hell did she know about helping me? I was just a patient on her extensive list. For her it was just prescribe a medication and move on. She didn’t even acknowledge that I might be right about this. I know what I saw, even if it was only for a brief flash. I know he exists.
She gave me the usual condescending sigh as she looked over her notes, checking a few boxes that obviously weren’t in my favour. She had threatened me with the ward weeks ago and yet here I still was, just walking around freely. I bet they don’t have enough beds. That’s government funding for you.
“Thomas, let’s say what you saw was real. It’s frowned upon for me to go along with these fantasies, but in your case, it might help. So, let’s say it was real.”
“It was real, but fine, go on.”
“You saw this after a traumatising hit and run. From what I recall from your files, the cops found you half dead in a gutter, barely able to breathe. What state do you think your mind was in when you were in that gutter?”
“So, you’re trying to say it was just some sort of trauma induced delusion?”
She reached for her water, pausing to either think or to stop herself from snapping at me. It was obvious I got on her nerves, but she didn’t respect me, so why should I respect her? She was just like all the other doctors and therapists. All of them thought they knew better than me.
“The human brain is a strange thing. We still don’t entirely know how it works. I believe that you might have seen some flashes of your life, even if that in itself is hardly proven. But a man that you say created you, that can’t be true. Deep down you must know that.”
“Then you clearly don’t believe I saw flashes of my life. Because if you did, you would believe me.”
Again, she went for the water, finishing the plastic cup before placing it aside. She pushed my attention towards the half empty water tank in the corner, offering me a cup. I shook my head, and she shrugged, refilling the water before continuing on.
“Are you certain it wasn’t your brain just trying to scrap together loose memories? There’s a theory that dreams are just scraps of your day-to-day life that your brain is trying to make sense of. Maybe your brain was just trying to make sense of everything it’s ever known. Random movies, trivia, thoughts. Perhaps you created a false memory. Even if I entertain that this is real, do you see why your obsession with it is concerning? Even if it feels real, it’s not healthy for you.”
“He would have created you, too.”
“Who?”
“The man. Every one of us is just some creation. Some things he toyed with. Everything I’ve ever known is false and you expect me to just jam some medication down my throat and accept that?”
Her pen hit her notes again, this time ticking more boxes. She glanced up at me with either a look of pity or a smug; I got you expression. I couldn’t even tell anymore. No, I could tell, it was clearly smugness. Everyone here had that expression. They didn’t want to believe the truth.
“This man goes against everything we know. You’re a smart man, Thomas. You had a stable job, a girlfriend, you were happy. Is this how you want to live, constantly seeking near-death experiences for a chance at chasing something that is killing you? You know how this is going to end, right? Those near-death experiences will end up in a death. I’m worried about you. We all are.”
“I can’t go back to that. None of it matters. I won’t be blind to the truth now that I’ve seen it. That’s exactly what he would want me to do. Does it not concern you that some random person created you?”
“This could be trauma. The hit and run would have been hard on you, especially since you were apparently conscious for quite a while. That pain would have had a lasting effect on you. We have a help group for people in situations like yours. It helps to share that pain. I know you don’t enjoy discussing the accident, but it could really help to-“
“SHUT UP. I KEEP TELLING YOU I’M NOT CRAZY. That accident didn’t do this. I’m sane, I’m not scared of it or anxious or depressed. This isn’t an excuse.” My heart was pumping, my hands clenched into fists. Why was I so angry? This wasn’t like me. Had she even said anything wrong? She must have. I’m not like this.
I hadn’t even noticed I had stood up from my spot. I glanced at the floor before dropping back into the seat, keeping my eyes down. When my heartbeat slowed again, I heard the door creak open.
“Is everything ok in here?” No doubt someone had heard my little outburst. Why did I do it?
“It’s fine. I pushed him too far. I think we should end things here today. Um, about the room?”
“He needs it?”
“Just for a few days. I think it’s better if he has somewhere safe.”
“Huh? A room? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I really don’t need a room. I’m fine.” I tried to explain my situation, but again, she just gave me that look of smugness. That expression that always frustrated me. Even the guard had it, too.
“Just a few days. I promise we will not force you to take anything. We just want you to be safe. Ok? Legally we must keep you here.”
“Ok.” I rose to my feet as the guard directed me to a room. I was only meant to be a visitor in this hospital. Just visit each week for my therapy, but maybe I needed some time here. Only a few days, as she said. It could help me get a clearer thought about the man, anyway.
The trip was a sad one, seeing the faces of others just staring at me, each one watching as they directed me towards the sterile room. No one seemed happy here, like they all had their own man to find. I wasn’t like them, though. I was fine. My man was real. I entered my room and gave the guard a smile. I would be out of here soon. He gave me some basic instructions about the place and told me I was free to wander the areas as long as I didn’t exit the building. I barely listened, though.
I would be out of here soon.
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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jbaw6fw
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jbakey3
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[WP] The wizard in your party only knows one spell. It's effective, but even the assassin feels bad about it.
|
"I just feel like I don't have any direction in my life. I go through the motions, robbing travelers and all that, but what do I get out of it? I live in a tent in the woods with a bunch of stinking criminals, I haven't been back to visit my mother in years, I have a massive drinking problem... it's all just too much, man."
The bandit chieftain sat slumped over on a rock with his head in his hands, his dented battleaxe laying forgotten on the ground next to him. Torvald, the party's paladin, tried to interject with words of comfort.
"Well, have you thought about the life choices that have led you to where you are now?"
The bandit sniffled. "It's just so hard, you know? My temper just like pushes away everybody who tries to be there for me, and I try to get control of it but every time I slip up I just go into a spiral."
The ever-patient Torvald patted the bandit on the shoulder and said, "I think what you need is to develop some tools to help calm yourself down when you're feeling an emotional reaction coming up. The first step is to practice mindfulness in order to make yourself more aware of your internal emotional landscape. I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath, I'm going to walk you through a quick meditation that you can practice when you're feeling overwhelmed."
On the other side of the clearing, Verrik the assassin leaned over to Murklurk, the party's wizard, and murmured, "Dude, you gotta learn something other than your stupid Spell of Introspective Oversharing. This is the third random guy we've had to give mental health counseling since we left town yesterday."
Murklurk scowled. "Quit whining Verrik, just because you think the solution to every problem is a throwing knife in the back doesn't mean we all lack emotional depth. Besides, Torvald is having the time of his life over there." He gestured in the direction of the Paladin, who was leading the bandit chieftain through a qi gong exercise.
Suddenly, a massive minotaur charged out of the bushes with a ferocious roar. Without skipping a beat, Murklurk raised his hand and intoned, "Depresso Irritatio!" The minotaur blinked, confused, and dropped his mace.
"I'm so sorry guys, I'm just lashing out because my wife left and took the kids. She said my horns were too small, can you believe it? I've never felt so emasculated or undervalued and..."
"God. Fucking. DAMN IT."
|
The party was weary, it had been a long road. A long journey and they were attempting to finish the final leg of their journey. Their bounty was contained in small chests and strapped to sheep, not horses but sheep. They had horses when they began their journey, however after the wizard mutcer had a nightmare induced by a night of overindulgence of mead and mutton; he had lashed out with the nether in his sleep and destroyed the tied-up horses. The party had been awoken by a shower of horse parts and feces. Some smells don’t come out no matter how much you pay the apothecary.
It was nearing sunset when the party heard the bandits, four men walking shoulder to shoulder, hands filled with weapons directly on the road in front of them.
“You must be the saddest party I have ever seen. No horses, smelling of shit and your luggage is strapped to sheep. I have half a mind to let you go on your way with only paying half the toll.” The other bandits smirked and laughed staring at the party of four adventures.
The party looked to one another; the wizard was the only member who appeared unfazed the events of the past few days. The priest Aman looked to the wizard.
“Please don’t, I can’t handle it again. Its not worth it, the light does not condone your actions.” Aman said shaking his head mournfully.
“he said I smell like shit, that I’m poor, the light may not condone my actions but then again I’ve seen what makes the priests of the light applaud and I don’t care for their approval. IF there is a god then he’ll understand and if he doesn’t then surely, he’ll have a chuckle.”
Carmon the ranger and hark the barbarian exchanged a worried and knowing look.
“Why is it always in the last mile to home that this happens?” Carmon asked
“Cuz the lazy bastards don’t want to waddle far from their sister wives and cross eyed bastard children.” Hark grumbled.
“What did you say about my kin? You shit caked sheep shagger?” another bandid cried back.
“Now brothers, there is no need for this to come to blows.” Aman said in a soothing tone attempting to settle the flaring tempers. “What is the toll? We’ll pay and be on our way.”
“The time for that has passed whores son.” The first bandit replied. “I think we’ll string you up above the road, send a message.”
“Oh my, I cant say that appeals to me.” Aman quipped, “Mutcer, I think its time you show them your little trick.” At once, Aman lowered his eyes to the ground and stared at his feet. Hark and Carmon noticed the priests movement and mirrored it, Hark pulled his hood over his head and pulled the drawstring shut for extra measure.
The bandits laughed and looked at one another, “Whats this? You think cause you cant see us we’ve gone away?”
“BEHOLD!” Metcer shouted, one hand in the air thumb and pointer finger touching to make an “o”. The bandits stared.
“Made you look!” Aman said with a sneer, He formed a fist with the same hand and ripped it back down as if he was snatching a coin from the air.
At once the bandits skin began to grow taught on their faces, mouths stretching back and eye lids elongating towards their ears. Like a child making a face by pulling on their cheeks, only this was no act of comedy to make a family member smile. Then at once the skin on their bodies ripped and soiled back like a rope might rip away when the anchor its tied to is tossed into the dark water.
Just as suddenly as the skin was pulled away, the four muscle clad skeletons vomited up their entrails and skin through their mouths with a loud “Schluck-pop sound. They collapsed, dead.
“Metcer I must ask.” Aman said as he slowly raised his eyes from his feet. “Where does one learn to pull a man’s asshole through his mouth?”
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m1iitiy
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m1ib1jq
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[WP] "And so I was cursed with immortality. Cursed to walk the earth for eternity, never aging past twenty five and never dying." "How old are you, then?" "...Seventy. It was quite recent actually."
|
"Seventy?"
"Yeah."
"For real?"
"Yeah."
"Not thousands of years?"
"No, like I told you it has been fourty-five years, I'm seventy."
"You said that. I thought vampires lived for thousands of years."
"Well yes, hypothetically they can, apparently, but I am only seventy."
"Fine."
'What do you mean fine?"
"It's fine. I just thought. I just thought you would be... older."
"Thousands of years?"
"Yeah."
"Look do you still want to do this?"
"Yeah, it's fine."
"Sure?"
"Fine."
"OK."
"So you've never been to Paris?"
"What?"
"I mean, fourty five years isn't very long."
"No I haven't been to Paris."
"That's a shame, you know, vampires... Paris."
"Look I haven't been to Paris do you want to become a vampire or not? It will hurt a little, but you will see the world with new eyes and be ever eternal. Young as you are now, for as long as you wish."
"Ok."
"Fine."
And then the vampire shared his blood.
|
I saw him by the river. He sat there, throwing rocks into the water. He appeared to have been doing it for ages. I have no idea why I stopped. Something about him felt wrong.
“You been here long?” I asked.
He didn’t look up. He turned a rock over in his hand. “A long time,” he said. His voice sounded heavy, like he didn’t care anymore.
“How long’s ‘a long time?’”
This time, he looked at me. His face looked young—maybe late 20s. But his eyes looked old. They looked tired, like they’d seen too much.
“Long enough to stop counting,” he said. “Not long enough to forget how it feels.”
“What feels like?” I asked.
“The weight,” he said. He held up the rock.
I stared at it. “What, that little thing?”
“It’s not the rock,” he said. He turned it again. “It’s what it means. Every regret. Every bad choice. Every time I should’ve acted but didn’t. It all adds up. And when you’ve got forever to think about it, that weight never leaves.”
“Forever?” I asked. “What, you immortal or something?”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Cursed, actually. I don’t age. I don’t die. I just… keep going.”
I waited for him to say he was kidding and smile. He didn’t.
"All right," I said. "What is your age if you are immortal?"
“Seventy,” he said.
I blinked. “Seventy? That’s not even that old. My grandpa’s older than that.”
"Yeah," he muttered. “But your grandpa knows it ends. I don’t.”
I stopped laughing.
“You think it’s fun?” he asked. He threw the rock into the river. “Living forever? Watching everyone you know grow old, screw up, and die? Having nothing but time to replay every mistake you’ve ever made?”
I didn’t answer.
“It’s not the years,” he said. He grabbed another rock. “It’s the weight. Every little thing you carry just sits there. It piles up. And you never get to put it down. Not ever.”
“That sounds awful,” I said quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
We sat there. He threw rocks like the river could swallow his regrets.
“Why are you telling me this?” I finally asked.
He said, "Because you're young." He gave me the impression that he could see right through me. Before it destroys you, you still have time to let go of your burden. I didn’t. Don’t make the same mistake.”
Then he got up. He walked away. The sound of the river stayed. And for the first time, I wondered how heavy my own weight really was.
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mhoe4y7
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mhlu53l
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[WP] There is a dungeon deemed "coughing baby easy", used by everyone to train rookies, test spells, and as a hangout spot for ordinary children. A roaming frenzied super monster from the MOST dangerous region just took one look at it, froze, became scarily aware of where it was, then fled.
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The dungeon was known far and wide as the one used for training. Officially, the name was "The Old Grotto," But it had visitors from all over, and the name varied based on the location they came from. Usually it was translation mishaps, "Elderly Cavern" or the like. Everyone knew what was being talked about.
The dungeon itself was exceptionally simple, the entrance led to a ring of rooms populated with the occasional slime or a lone skeleton. At the far end of the ring was a door that led to the boss room, the boss was a slightly larger slime with a skull.
It always lifted itself out of a little pool of water in the corner, and burbled aggressively before actually advancing or attacking, usually only scaring of kids who weren't ready to begin with.
No one thought much of the place, beyond that it actually smelled nice for a slime spawner, or giving a skeleton a funny look for holding a sword wrong. It was the lowest, and most beginner friendly location that was outside of a training field.
When news traveled of a Wandering Dread Knight, an undead typically only found in a Lich Lord's domain, but apparently strong enough to have rebelled and escaped its control, people were concerned. When news traveled that it was approaching The Old Grotto, they got worried that the best beginner training ground would be subsumed. Taken and controlled by the greater monster to do its bidding.
When the supposedly fearless undead saw the doorway, and *ran away,* people weren't sure what to think.
It was noted for later, but the Wandering Dread Knight was a more pressing issue as it began rampaging through fortified towns.
A group was gathered to slay the abomination, for which they were celebrated. They stayed together to investigate The Old Grotto, a place they had all separately started at. Upon their arrival in the boss room, the usual slime raised from the puddle and burbled.
It then stopped, and a skeleton wearing a strange uniform, almost a mimicry of a courier's garb climbed out of the puddle. It tipped its hat politely to the ladies of the group before rummaging through its satchel. It pulled out a scroll case, which it passed to the group's Vanguard.
The skeletal courier then looked over the rest of them, before pointing at the rogue, seemingly at random, and digging through its satchel once again. It pulled out a letter, walked up fearlessly, and handed it to her. It then stepped back, gave the group one more assessing look, before tipping its hat once again, and hopping back into the puddle.
There was a moment of bewildered quiet before the Boss Slime burbled and charged the Vanguard. It broke itself on the enchantments on the shield, not even making proper contact. By agreement, the group left, and read their messages.
While the rogue's letter was about a private matter, they agreed the scroll would be brought to the guild. There it remains, with beautiful calligraphy, a secret that is never to be shared with the public.
"The kids are fun. Worry not, they shall be safe in my care."
|
"Yo Saul, did you see that just now!?" Evan called over to me in disbelief, breaking my trance. "Holy crap man, literally! You saved my undies yet again!" - Queue the party's JOAT being loud as ever.
"Of course I did, though I'm sure whoever sent it is dealing with a splitting migraine right about now. I severed their mental link just in time, too." I let out a small sigh as I watched the Shadow Dragon Variant- Lomis, fly directly Southeast from the staging area of the dungeon after looking back at me one last time, completely avoiding the port town Azantia on its retreat as if to apologize for the trespass. I turn to my companions, "These Espers are getting really cocky, sending a Shadow Variant like that when they know any subjugation magic is forbidden in this world."
"Yeah and it seems the Gods Council hasn't done anything about them yet. I can't keep my focus with that weird dust they put in the air when they fly over- Ye Gods! And they just keep coming!" -Queue my girlfriend Ahmi dropping down from the cliffside, voicing her own frustrations at currently being too weak to fight them by herself. Don't get me wrong, she's on my list of 'Top 5 people in this world I will absolutely not mess with'- if it wasn't for her Aura-asthma she could level a city on her own, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
" I could have tracked him all the way back it if you weren't so godsdamn loud!" My voice dripping with annoyance at being interrupted mid mental-counter. "I can't put an effective tracer on them yet, that's the whole reason we're here- to train our skills against them. I need to access their Source magic before I can fully counter the connection."
Evan throws up his hands in defeat, "Well, I can't argue that logic, so how far did you get this time?"
Ahmi sat quietly and was picking at her nails, waiting for our banter to quiet down. "Evan you know he's not supposed to share that info. Skills are our lifelines in this world, after all."
Evan gets a sad, dark look on his face that perfectly describes it. Our current situation is pretty rough, having been practically forced to start over in this world after some scheme of a God caused multiple rifts that we all fell through to end up here together. "Sometimes I wish you had struck a harder bargain with that Council when they decided to relieve us of our Mortality all those years ago. I feel now like we were goaded into this with a disturbing lack of explanation."
I grab my staff I had leaned against the dungeon entrance and lifted the seal, opening the enchanted door. "You were fine with it when they told you you could do anything you wanted in this world, but let's rest up for- what now?"
Both companions perk up at the words and in unison- "Rest up for the Long Haul!" Ahmi happily smirks, and Evan yells, punching into the air.
Evan says, "We all know what that means!"
Ahmi reaches out for my hand, "Yeah, let's go tell Vera the good news, the kids'll love it! It's time for an adventure!"
--
Under my breath so Evan can't hear me- "Ahm- I mean, Rachael. Do you think it's a good idea for us to stick around like this? We may be putting them all in more danger than if-"
She interrupts me- Seething words between clenched teeth and shivers down my spine she hisses, "Don't you dare start calling me that name again, I know I look like her but I am not your darling Rachael anymore, Saul. I am with you because you are good to me, and i owe you for saving me, but you need to stop this fantasy before it breaks you. I am my own person now. You don't realize it, but the only reason the world is holding balance is because of YOUR power. No one else could keep everything together as you have."
I slow my pace and nod slowly. She's right, the only reason this world still exists is because we were forced into an impossible situation, and in order to stop the invasion, struck a deal with the Gods Council for enough power to accomplish just that. The deal? Sacrificing memories for wishes or powers and abilities. Rachael-I mean Ahmi- must have sacrificed more memories than I did for some reason, and it's painfully hazy to peek into her mind to see why. But I had.
I scoff to myself and whisper, "I can't believe I didn't think of that." To which Ahmi tilts her head with a slightly confused look. Noticing I reply, "Oh, i was just thinking that Evan's just got his hands full with Vera, you know, making that wish for a place everyone can grow up safely."
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k4rfrwu
|
k4rdsqm
|
[WP] Once in a lifetime you get to select 3 words to describe you, and those traits are relatively normal amongst others, like “Strong, Fast and smart.” You don’t pick 3 different adjectives however, you make a 3-word sentence.
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"Excellent at everything." You decide, staring up at the formless creature above you.
The dark creature watches you with fascination, though how you know this you don't know. The creature has no eyes. It looms closer to you, almost a metre away.
"That's not 3 words..." It booms, tone thoughtful rather than the anger you expected.
"But...?" You ask, resisting the urge to pee yourself.
"I suppose... Hmm... That'll do..." It decides, looking you up and down.
"...Wait, it was that easy?" You ask, astonished. "I mean, nobody says anything other than 3 words?"
The creature laughs, "No, never. Why would they, mortal? Ah, down to Earth with you. I ask only one thing..." It decides, sinking down to your level, so that you'd be eye to eye, should the creature follow any laws of physics or nature.
"Wh- What?" You stutter, not trying to push your luck any more.
"Don't bore me, understand? I've not had this much fun in centuries." It tells you, jarringly casual for what could only be described as a monster.
"I understand." You say simply.
"Good.”
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You choose, without hesitation you say, I am I. You say it out loud and all the air leaves the room.
"Ok," says the facilitator, "kind of a new spin, I guess, but it is three words and they do describe you, so... ok!" Everyone in the circle looks at you as if you just farted a big loud stinker.
"So," says the facilitator, "is it Cath...Cate...Sayth?"
"Kathryn," says Kathryn, "it's Kathryn."
"Kathryn!" says the facilitator, Jared, who seems embarrassed as well he should be, then says, "what are three words you would use to describe yourself?"
"Pickles...Are...Gross..." says Kathryn, deadpan, staring right at Jared, who is quietly losing it.
"Ok, so yes, those are three words," he says, nodding, "absolutely, and they do inform your opinion on pickles so they do tell us a little about you, but what are three different words that someone else might use to describe you?Llike... funny, orrrrr kind or generous..."
He holds out his hand as if to pull words out of Kathryn's mouth and she just hits him with: "yeah... funny, kind and generous. That's me."
Jared smiles through it but you can tell he's going to snap before this session is over and *you* started it. You thought you'd be clever and say something profound, and that just opened the door to buffoonery from the whole group. Jared just isn't equipped to handle a group of delinquent teenagers such as ourselves.
"Ok," Jared says, sweating, "Perfect, so who's next?"
"I'll go," says Dae, the tallest Korean guy you've ever seen, "I'm...not...Chinese."
Jared doesn't know what to say. No one has broken the rules but no one has done what he wanted us to do. He's stunned, sweating. He's going to start over. Probably several times.
"You know what," Jared says, "Let's start over." *One* you say to yourself.
"This time, let's use three different adjectives to describe ourselves. So try and use words that other people might use to describe you, but let's keep it positive, ok gang? Now who wants to start?"
"I'll go," you say, "I eat ass!" and everyone laughs because you're so funny, brave and clever, but Jared of course is having none of it. "Ok, ok, very funny, but let's keep this PG, ya'll."
"Two Big Knockers!" exclaims Kathryn, sending everyone into laughs and catcalls. Jared is fuming, smiling despite losing all control, "Ok, ok, ok! You know what, let's just start all over and try something else, shall we?"
*Two*, you whisper through your teeth.
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lodllqz
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loce74x
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[WP] The king has been acting a bit strange lately; specifically, he has obviously been possessed by a demon. The thing is, while the demon is very bad at pretending to be the king, it is otherwise a much better ruler than the king ever was, so everyone is playing along with it.
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Being a butler in the Kings castle can be dangerous. Especially when the King is possessed by a demon.
I'm almost certain that the king wants to be found out and denounced.
He keep leaving blatant hints when he speaks.
"The *devil* is in the details".
"The road to *Hell* is paved with good intentions."
And yet he's the best King we've had in generations. Why? Because he's really, really lazy. He promotes competent underlings and allows them to get on with the business of running the county without interference. So he doesn't have to do the W-word.
No country wishes to invade after their delegates have seen him.
We do not war because we'd have to bother him for a Declaration of War.
And all he requires is booze, music, whores and consumption of the still beating heart of the most corrupt government official once a year.
Excuse me, the King is asking for more '*tartarus* sauce'.
|
One morning, when one of the servants went to greet our king at the usual time of rising, there was an otherworldly scream.
The king has been possessed. So the servant says.
Yet, the servant claims the thing possessing the king has been actively talking -with- the king, like there's been an accident.
After a good while of our king, now with strands of red skin; a hero's musculaturity, horns, a new surplus of deep, black hair (that shines with a bleak red when the light's upon it), and shimmering red eyes, contemplating at the throne, two voices spoke.
One was the king's. The other was more reasonable. So we stopped listening to the former and, over time, it had begun to echo the new voice. The Church seemed to claim this as a portent of good tidings, which was weird as I had not heard of the Three Ls supporting demons of this nature before.
Not only that, but the demon within our king has been generous, kind, and selfless - turning our decadent, snobbish kingdom into something of a paradise by opening up opportunities for the creative minds among our people; challenging artists and craftspeople to work in tandem on otherwise impractical or 'alien' designs.
According to the demon-king, 'alien' is a phrase used to identify beings not of our world or connected planes.
Something to do with starfaring boats made of metal using 'scientific principles' we're presently unaware of - but he's been tenuous to share the details at best, which has frustrated the likes of me, a confidant in the king, as this new knowledge could benefit us.
Apparently, to the demon-king, the challenge he's set forth is to stoke the proverbial flame that could lead to furthering such innovations.
I've cross-referenced with the Church, and they have openly admitted that they do approve of scientific methodology, so they've requested for related materials and works to be copied and brought over (not sure how they did so without sending word or mail, maybe it's a newer method? Heard something to do with using Leylines to transfer information or conjured 'data', whatever that means, between two specific points).
In any case, I will keep this tome to-date, until comes such a time where it runs out of pages; then I'll need another.
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j34g7u9
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j34fuo8
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[WP] Your fairy godmother isn't a wise old woman or cute and small with wings. She's dressed in a business suit, holding a briefcase and coffee cup, and has a very no-nonsense attitude.
|
Ta tap. Ta Tap. Ta Tap. Ta Tap.
Once upon a time those sounds triggered a sharp relief of joy. Musical, a small metal tip ricocheting off hard ground. They triggered a new sense in me now- relief, with a little apprehension.
Little Ryan didn’t recognise the sound and looked around, surprised and unable to find the source. I felt a little pain that he has never met my godmother. His godmother too if she’d had her way.
I didn’t need to hear the whimsical notes as Faye walked through my mirror, the sound of those high heeled footsteps echoing through the veil between my world and hers was more than enough warning.
But the noise was certainly a surprise for him, and I pulled him close into an embrace, whispering that it was going to be OK.
I looked up to see those same sharp eyes which had watched over me as a child. Back then she was hidden in a veneer of saccharine ineptitude, but the eyes had betrayed her even then.
Her cotton candy pink hair cut in a severe bob, half moon spectacles lingering severely on the edge of a long crooked nose. In another story you might assume she was the Wicked Witch. I think the coffee cup and the briefcase added to the witchiness rather than took it away.
I’ve questioned whether that’s another role she likes to play too, but right now that’s not what’s needed.
“Oh Cherie.”
And for a moment I heard that steely voice crack. It was the way she spoke the final syllable. In that moment I knew that this was the worst we’d ever faced together. If even she couldn’t hold back anymore then I knew I had failed beyond all expectations.
And then it was gone, like a figment of my imagination.
“Took you long enough.”
She knelt down, handed me the coffee, and opened her briefcase. She pulled out a small lollipop and handed it to Ryan, who accepted it after a brief look from me. She tapped him on his forehead, his nose, his shoulders and his knees whilst making various friendly sounds. He gave a warm surprised giggle and began sucking on the sweet.
Meanwhile, the scent of the forest, of hazelnuts, cherries and pine emanated from the cup and the first sip was like a warm embrace. I closed my eyes and returned to warm winter nights in front of the log fire. I could almost hear the sounds of the wildlife.
I could hear the sounds of the wildlife!
I opened my eyes to hear Ryan excitedly cry out as a number of animals began to climb out of the briefcase- birds, squirrels, foxes. The wolf was an unexpected addition even for Faye’s usual machinations. Especially since she was much larger than the briefcase. Faye gave each one an instruction and soon they began their work. Two of the squirrels ran around with Ryan and he led them to his bedroom.
It didn’t take long before they were all finished- and the room looked immaculate. Most of them returned to the briefcase, but the wolf joined the squirrels and they continued to play with Ryan. Faye sat down next to me.
She closed the briefcase, gave it a tap, and opened it up again- this time revealing a smart laptop.
“He’s gone on a business trip to Tucson.” As she tapped away camera footage from the airport proved the lie. “He had an altercation with the pregnant woman next to him which will be very memorable. The taxi driver will recall he stiffed him on the tip and the hotel will sign him in. He went out and it appears never returned. His body will never be found.”
Well, I had seen where it went and knew that was definitely true. She continued to talk for a small while, until the conversation faded away.
“You shouldn’t have waited so long. We could have dealt with this months ago if you’d only asked. You know you have to ask”
“It wasn’t too bad before- ” I tried to interject, but Faye’s eyes were unwavering.
“A bruise on your body is a bruise on that little boy’s soul. Do you think today hurt more just because it was on his body?”
I swallowed any response and shook my head. I looked at the spot where the iron had landed and a burst of emotion hit me, I began to choke on the rush of fear, of anger, of grief at the loss of all that potential. Of the realisation that so much of the potential was never really there to begin with.
And she was there, arms wrapped around me in an embrace that filled me with hope.
Ryan ran into the room- he must have heard me crying- and joined in with a big hug too.
And then the moment ended, and Faye stood back up, calling the wolf and the squirrels to join her. She knelt down to Ryan and gave him a hug.
“It was lovely meeting you Ryan. If you ever need me, you simply have to ask for me. And wherever you are, whenever you are, I’ll be here for you. But right now I need you to be here for your mum, can you do that for me?”
He nodded seriously, “thank you” and made his way to his room.
Faye nodded to me as he left. “I’ll make sure he forgets the reason we came, and just remembers the magic.”
“Thank you, Faye.” And then she was gone, with the tapping of high heels echoing from the walls.
|
Long ago, before the Earth died, the Chinese used a drop of water to torture their enemies. The beat could be steady or irregular, it could land on your skin or beside it. It might, as now, occur outside your view.
Sitting primly in her stiff backed wooden chair, Nessa listened for the drop. It was there, behind her ear. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip, drip, drip. Drop. She tried not to let the sound effect her. Her posture was excellent, chest high, both feet resting evenly up the floor. Her chin was up, that was the only proper position for a chin. Held down, shadows fell upon the face, creating hollows. Ms. Parish said that every woman looked five years older when her chin was down. She said that had been the theory of the time, at any rate.
The door opened. Nessa didn’t look. She was staring at the only blank wall in the entire room. All around her bookshelves climbed the walls to fill the room with the rich scent of parchment and old leather. Thick Persian rugs decorated the floor, a pleasant reading nook had been laid out beside the fireplace. A humidor rested on the table there, filled with expensive cigars. There were portraits and framed poems, calligraphy in that same archaic eastern style as the drop, drop, dropping that dominated her thoughts. Above her—if she had ever looked above her in this room—the domed ceiling had been decorated with a masterwork mosaic. The tiles could last a thousand years. Somewhere, someplace, if not for what had happened to the Earth, this mosaic might still have existed.
“Good,” Ms. Parish said. "You're in control."
She entered Nessa’s view slowly. Heels rang against the floor.
Alone in this place, Ms. Parish did not match the décor. The woman was from another era, with her sharp suits and simple makeup, black hair pulled up into a severe knot atop her head. She was tall and graceful, like a cat upon the high savanna. Nessa did not know her history, but she was certain that this was a woman who had killed; if not with her own two hands then with a stroke of the red pen that she kept in her jacket pocket. Nessa’s eyes flickered towards her teacher’s face and inwardly she flinched, anticipating the woman’s displeasure. But it was difficult not to look at those high cheekbones, the determined set of her full lips. They parted, sipping strong black coffee.
Ms. Parish sighed and set the mug down. Her briefcase landed on a nearby coffee table.
“You looked at me,” Ms. Parish said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Nessa said.
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I think you are,” Ms. Parish said. “I think you call me here just to waste my time. I think that after all these years you haven’t learned a goddamn thing about what it takes to be a proper lady.”
“I have,” Nessa said.
“Then tell me. Stand up, speak clearly. What have you learned?”
Nessa stood. She smoothed her gown across her hips and then clasped her hands behind her back. Realized that this time they weren’t sweating. She’d been coming here for the past three years, first by recommendation of her therapist, then on her own terms, with her own adjustments to the program. At first she had struggled to even look Ms. Parish in the eyes. Struggled to put her mark on their surroundings. Struggled even harder to take the lessons she had learned out of this room and into the real world.
She said, in a cool, collected voice: “In the last week I was accepted to both Anaxamander University and the *École normale supérieure* on Second Aquitaine, with scholarships to both and a declared intend to study applied mathematics. I read both the original German text of the Communist Manifesto and the new Senderista revisions and have chosen several essays from a diverse range of perspectives with which to continue to continue my inquiry. I baked an excellent lemon tart. And…”
A pause. “And…?” Ms. Parish said sharply.
Despite her best efforts, Nessa blushed. It seemed she still had need of Ms. Parish after all. “And I kicked Frankie Robinson in the nads when he got too handsy Friday night.”
“*Excellent!*” Ms. Parish said. There was real feeling in her voice, and for the briefest of moments a smile passed between them. It was strange to think how far they’d come. Nessa was eighteen years old that evening. She had been an anxious little girl, a coltish, awkward teen. She still was in some ways. But in others…
A knock echoed through the room, followed by a muffled shout. *“Nessa! You in there?”*
“Yeah!” Nessa shouted back. Ms. Parish’s eyes turned fierce in an instant, and Nessa barely had time to pause the program program before Maggie burst into the room in a cascade of freckles and flaming hair.
“Christ squared, Nessa, what’s all this?” Maggie asked, gawking at the ornate library Nessa constructed. A moment later Maggie’s eyes fell on Ms. Parish and her pale skin took on a pleasant glow. “Christ cubed, she’s *gorgeous*.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Nessa said dryly. “What’s up?”
Maggie tore her eyes away from Ms. Parish. She pawed at her unruly mop of hair for a moment, trying and failing to restore some semblance of order. Maggie always played with her hair when she was nervous.
“A couple of us were going to down to Club Penumbra, I was just wondering if you wanted to come.”
“And you couldn’t text me?” Nessa asked.
“Maybe I was wondering what exactly you get up to in here.”
“I would have told you,” Nessa said.
Maggie smiled, glancing once more at Ms. Parish’s frozen expression. “Yeah, well. I think I’d rather *see*.”
Nessa snorted. “One sec,” she said, and with a few quick words she conjured up a screen between them, and her bag materialized from where it had been hidden. She slipped out of the uncomfortable old-fashioned shoes, the gaudy jewelry. Dress and stays took more effort, but eventually they too sailed over the rice paper screen to disappear into a haze of holographic particles. By the time Nessa stepped out she was back into her usual: torn skinny jeans and an over-sized band t-shirt, though her hair still fell in those graceful Victorian-esque coils.
“Ready to go?” Maggie asked.
“Hell yeah,” Nessa said. “Computer, you know the drill. Bye, Ms. Parish!”
Arm in arm, the pair hurried out of the holodeck. Club Penumbra was a sound of distant thunder, powerchords ringing out along the street.
“So what exactly were you doing in there?” Maggie asked.
“Oh the usual,” said Nessa, “water torture. And before you say it, I know it’s not actually Chinese…”
r/TurningtoWords
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m6do750
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m6buvk5
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[WP] instead of the typical angel and devil people have on their shoulders influencing their decisions, you have a hype man and a nihilist.
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War, War Never Changes.
This was held as a universal truth.
When war was made, battles were fought, and when the losing side had lost enough, they surrendered. This was war.
Yet, these creatures. These "Humans", on this third planet of a yellow star midway out on an arm of their galaxy, they refused the natural order of things. They refused to surrender. They fought to the last. In response to a direct diplomatic offer of peace in their own language they instead responded with a data dump about various battles from the ancient history of their homeworld, or maybe fantasy stories since none of the placenames or geography referenced matched anything the Strill had record of for this planet. It was maddening.
They had fought well, certainly. Despite their low numbers and small military they had a tenacity rarely seen in modern society. Their creativity was almost cruel, in the way they repurposed mining equipment and autonomous transports into surprisingly effective weaponry. They'd even managed to board several Strill ships. Their boarding actions were done through messy holes cut in the hull, lacking in even the politeness of pirates to use the docking bays or hatchways.
The land siege of their planet had been long, but the rich resources necessitated it. If they had simply glassed the humans from orbit, as was suggested several times across their command structure, they would be required to do substantial rebuilding to gain access to the ores and biomass that had brought the Strill to this sector in the first place.
Fifteen rotations had passed since they made planetfall. Five since receiving the message. Less than a tenth of the population the humans had started with were expected to remain, holed up in their last remaining military stronghold. The Commander of the Strill expeditionary force stood on the bridge of his flagship when an intelligence analyst burst through the guarded door. He was out of breath, panicked. His skin was pale, his eyes nearly twitching out of his head ashe looked around the room until finally meeting the Commander's steely gaze.
"Commander!" He gasped out, panting once more before sucking in as much of the recycled air as his lungs could hold. He pointed at the display of the Human homeworld.
"This is a *colony*!"
There was, somehow, space enough in the room to grow even quieter. The sudden intrusion had muted much of the operational din of the bridge but that statement brought it all to an absolute halt. You could hear your own heartbeat.
The silence was quickly interrupted by a communications station signaling inbound warp signatures, a *lot* of inbound warp signatures. Almost immediately followed by a deafening cacophany of weapons signature warnings.
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Conductor Greamalean of the Most Profound Ssyphian Orchestra sighed deeply. Well, he moved his antennae in a sputtering quiver which translated the same general emotion to his surrounding compatriots.
"Google? Seriously?"
"That’s what they said." The reply was professional but there was a definite amused tone. Greamalean knew of a couple of them and could guess the rest. Humans had tenacity. That was undeniable. It would be a laudible trait were it not for their pride.
Greamalean stared in disgust at the small screen that had been included with the message. It displayed data in text and image. Text and image.
It was strange. Humans were technologically very advanced. Their weaponry was on par with that of the Ssyphia as was their infrastructure. It wasn’t fully built out as on his beautiful home, but it was equivalent where they bothered to develop. Mostly around the places where they built their weapons and where the pack leaders congregated.
He couldn’t help but see them like that. Pack hunters. Social but primarily for the purpose of killing and safety. He knew that it was folly to think this way but it all lined up perfectly. Their communication was based on simple sounds and on language represented by functionally the same thing they had scratched in the dirt at the dawn of their species.
Google was a term that had spawned from a defunct human empire a hundred lifetimes ago which had some manner of domain over finding knowledge. The humans didn't even know anymore. It now broadly meant to search for knowledge. This method of communication was unprecise and inefficient. In a moment, Greamalean could convey as much information with his movements and scent as they could with a thousand words. Detailed technical information or a moving song. Whichever he preferred.
"Distribute more supplies, then," he said, "We shall allow them to relax and see if they reconsider."
The scout buzzed in discouragement and concern, "They burned the supplies we sent."
Greamalean stilled, indicating that he was trying to mask a strong emotion. The scout cowered even though he knew it wasn’t aimed at him.
"There was an accident?" The conductor asked.
"No, they doused it in a flamable liquid and lit it intentionally," he hastened to add, "We were under strict orders not to engage. Directly from you, conductor."
The conductor twitched his two forelegs to indicate silence, "I know," he intoned calmly, "I know."
"I believe that is what they found insulting. As though we were implying that they were unable to feed themselves," the scout added, helpfully.
"That makes sense. I shall consult the mammalian experts but I imagine you are correct," Greamalean agreed. The inevitably of what loomed began to make itself clear to him.
"When we first reasserted our right to this trade station, do you recall their response?" This question was rhetorical. Grimalean sent vibrations through the mind structure, through the sub space link with which they communicated using the building blocks of the universe. Analysis poured in, confirming his determination.
"Come and take it?" The scout replied, accurately.
"Precisely." He confirmed.
The Most Profound Orchestra shook with the beat of translucent wings. The hum and beauty of daily life broke into the din of Swarm. There was no music in Swarm. There was very little communication. There was barely thought. When ssyphia warred, they warred as one. The objectives could only be simple. Destroy this. Protect this area. Each of them kept their individuality but they were just so debilitated without the ability to communicate.
The humans were in a defensible position. Swarm would take losses. Grimealean might very well be among them. There was no rank in Swarm. They would either succeed or every last one of them would die. There was no middle ground once Swarm had been invoked. The human's intent was to scare them. It had worked.
Perhaps if they hadn’t killed off all the bees on their home planet, they would have some idea how fucked they were when Swarm poured out of their flying hives, clad in their power armor, and the stars blinked out of sight for the human encampment.
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jh4tijz
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jh3bmei
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[WP] The men in your family die the moment they turn 18, due to a curse cast on one of your ancestors by a witch. You turned 18 a week ago and are still living, and as a result a descendant of the witch has arrived to figure out why you didn't die.
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It has been a few days since my 18th birthday, almost a week in fact. This is something that was not supposed to happen. Which is why an ancient enemy has decided to meet me.
“Well speak of the devil, you’re actually still alive.” A young feminine voice from behind me said.
“Amen to that.” I say as I turn to look back, taking a bite out of my green tea flavored ice cream. I guess not all witches are old hags.
“No god could have saved you from that curse, none of the new ones anyway.” She says as she sits down.
“I know, is that why you still practice the magic of the old gods? Just how long do you think that chronomany will keep you going? Not even the god of time himself would be able to undo his own death.”
“Is that what you used? Chronomancy? To extend your own life you would reach into the realms of dark magic?” She said with a smirk as she drank from the cup of coffee she came to the ice cream shop with. “That’s pathetic.”
“Ha, no no none of that, that is what your ancestors did to try and keep your old gods alive after they were done with their own civil war.” I say as I lean forward. “What was pathetic was using your dying god’s power to curse my entire bloodline, knowing we would not be able to fight off divine magic without our own god.”
“And yet here you are. That curse was meant to kill off your bloodline centuries ago.”
“Chronomancy, funny thing is, you can only ever use it to extend the life of a god. Based on some math, your god died decades ago, and so should have that curse. But it did not.” I say as I take another bite from my ice cream. “Your ancestors turned your god into a divine item. Your god might be dead, but his power, his magic still remains.”
“Which brings us back to you.” She responds. “Divine magic of this caliber doesn’t wear off, it cannot be undone by any of the new gods, they are too weak. How are you still alive?”
“It’s quite simple actually, I’m immortal.”
“What?”
“Divine magic can be a pain in the ass sometimes. I knew attaining immortality using non-divine methods would not allow me to survive past 18. So I continued what my ancestors did, I collected ancient runes, runes from the old gods. The divine magic of an old god can only be undone by another old god, because the new gods lack so much power. But there was not enough to undo this curse, but there was enough for me to ascend.”
I see her tremble. Her eyes start to glow a dark red, darkness begins to surround her. “You brought it here didn’t you? Knowing that I would be here.” Her ring flares to life. “So I brought insurance.”
“That ring, I see.” I say as I stand up, her energy pushes my ice cream off its cone. “Damn it, I wanted to finish that.”
“Even an immortal being can be killed by divine magic, as such are the power of gods. What is your weapon of choice? What item have you bound your god to?”
“Item?” I say as I push my glasses up. “You’re looking at him.” I say as I surround myself in a bright yellow glow. “Your curse ends with me, for divine curses cannot be placed on gods.”
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PT 1.
One dark day my five times great grandfather ran across the wrong witch. He was a player to say the least, he charmed her then left making it clear he did not care for the witch. He was unaware the witch had cast a curse on him, it was not till he had a son that the curse was recognizable. Every man would die at the young age of 18, of a heart attack.
The only reason that our family survived was through the daughters marrying, as the curse did not drive away men outside of the family. That’s how I exists, I was very young when I was taught about the curse. The knew not to get attached to me as I would die at 18. I’ve always felt different than the other kids my age. I never liked the things that other kids would play with like, transformers and action figures.
Today is my 18th birthday, I knew I would die shortly. I would have until noon to say goodbye to all my friends. I woke up, I wasn’t sad per say, but it was disappointing. I brushed out my long, messy, brown hair, and braided it. I didn’t like cutting my hair. My mother always told me I looked to feminine with long hair, but my father said women like guys with long hair, so I never questioned it. I put on my pastel blue top, red flannel, and navy blue ripped jeans. I looked into the mirror, a very familiar feeling rushed over me, I wasn’t sure if it was discussed or worry.
I walked downstairs, my father was there, but mother had already left. Mother had never cared for me all much. “I’ll miss you, I love you Jason,” I heard my father say tearfully. I cringed not at his words but at my name. I always hated my name, no idea why but I did. I knew it was hard for him, loosing his only child. I would be the end of his bloodline. “I love you to dad…” I wanted to say more but tears streamed down my face before I could. I walked out the door to the bus, for what would seem to be the last time. I wiped the tears from my eyes before getting on the bus.
I arrived at school, everyone saying goodbye to me. It was a small town everyone new about the curse by now. I walked into class to be greeted by a bully, she was always cruel. “Hey! Bitch boy! Last day huh? I’m glad to finally get rid of you!” She yelled. She got a few dirty looks. “Now, Grace. Can’t you be nice to home just for today?” I heard the professor say.
“It’s fine,” I reply. I knew very few people actually liked me. I was an outcast, all my actual friends being female. That was strange for a guy my age. There would be an assembly at 11:50 to watch me pass. It was tradition if there was a man in the family. That’s why I bothered attending college.
Class was dismissed. The assembly was soon. I was tired as the affects of the curse dragged on my body. My friend Cindy came running over to me crying, she embraced me in a hug, crying into my chest. “I can’t believe your gonna die today! Your my only friend! I don’t want to be alone!” She said through tears. I hated seeing her cry. I put my hand on her platinum blond hair. I tilted her head back, I looked into her beautiful green eyes. “You will never be alone, I promise” I smiled, though it hurt deep inside.
We arrived at the assembly, as I walked up on stage I saw some people smiling, others crying, some not paying attention to me at all. I thought over my life, why was I like how I was? Why was I such an outcast? It didn’t matter right now. I was handed the microphone to speak. “Dear friends, I will always watch over you-“
“In heaven!” Grace rudely interrupted.
“In spirit.” I said a little angry. I gave the mic back as the clock struck 12:00. I passed out. I heard cheering and crying. But I was still breathing, I heard foot steps before I jerked back awake. Gasps we’re heard throughout the auditorium. But then Cindy slammed her hands on the table in-front of her. “ HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD!? I THOUGHT YOU WERE A MAN, I KNOW YOU ARE!” everyone looked at her. “YOU, ME OUTSIDE NOW!” I followed her into the gardens as they called my parents to tell them that I was not dead. “What the hell? I thought you were my friend.” I said. She looked at me a little angry.
“Listen, I didn’t want you to die, but I need you to. My ancestor was the witch that cursed him! So how are you alive?”
“I don’t know, ok? I’ve always been different then everyone else.”
“You are coming with me. We are sorting this out.” She grabbed my arm and spawned a staff. “Get on,” she said in a demanding voice.
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me2ws20
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me2f3j3
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[WP] You have found a peaceful village. The angel on your shoulder is enraged, however, and is demanding you slaughter everyone there. The devil on your shoulder looks genuinely afraid of the angel but also has no clue why they're so mad.
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"I'm sorry, what?" Del blinked the afternoon sun out of his eyes, thinking he'd misheard. He'd long been 'blessed' with advice from a celestial entity, but their messaging had usually been fairly clear. Minimize harm, maximize good, help people because it's right and good. The last thing he was expecting from that side of his moral compass was
"Kill them all and let their gods sort the ashes." Came the voice, normally like warm honey, instead sounding like a beehive burning with hellfire. Del turned his head, expecting to find maybe a switch had occurred without his noticing, but the little knot of infernal energy was right where it belonged over his left shoulder. It seemed smaller like it was shrinking in response to the fury of the other.
Del leaned on his pollax and looked out over the idyllic scene again. From appearances, it was no different than any other countryside village. Paths leading to the adjacent farms, a well managed wood on either side of the main road beyond. The relative safety of the region was on display with the lack of a perimeter wall. Market stalls, meandering villagers, minimal guard presence; what could have angered the 'angel' on his shoulder?
"I don't understand." Del said flatly. He felt alternating waves of heat and chill washing from either side as the celestial force pulsed and the infernal globule shuddered in response. Was it afraid? "Why do they need to be burned?" An almost searing heat made him wince as soon as he finished the statement.
"Can't you see what they are?" The voice was brimming with a fury Del hadn't experienced from them. The *other guy*, sure. Rage and fury was kind of his schtick. Del looked again and shook his head. The village looked perfectly normal.
"Foolish mortal. They're fae!" As if on command, Del's perception flickered. He still saw the village, but so armed with the 'truth', he saw something... else. Sharing the space. "Shapeshifters and mimics. This whole village, maybe even the whole valley, is one giant honeypot made to trap humans and steal their souls"
"Ah." The warrior hefted his pollaxe, and shook his head gently to bring his visor down with a clang. He felt his left shoulder relax as the infernal aura uncoiled itself. The thorny bauble bristled in agreement with the disposition of its heavenly counterpart. Del traced his thumb over the runes on his weapon's shaft, feeling them begin to softly glow.
"Well then. There's work to be done."
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After the villagers presented me with my room and wished me a good night I gladly thanked them and set down my sword near the bed before waving goodbye as the girls giggled and closed the door.
After they had left I took off my armor and soon set my helmet on the table that showed my shoulders and up. As my fingers drifted away from the helmet, a quick flash of orange lighting struck my fingers coming off from the helmet. The light danced around and worked its way up to my shoulder before facing me and taking form.
"Dormious...what about surpirse." I tried to pull my annoyance away and avoid eye contact. Laughter was what I expected, maybe a comment about how boring or how he wanted to have some "fun" with the girls here. I closed my eyes and waited for a response as I tensed up. A hand was all that was placed on my left shoulder with a beak grazing my neck making a small drop of blood. "Where's Lucy."
I opened my eyes quickly and his form disappeared as quickly as it came leaving only the feeling of blood and curiosity grabbing onto me. "Why do you care?" Going to make another comment about-"
He cut me off. "Do you ever shut up? I thought you would have learned how to do that when you got your mother killed."
I slammed the table and pointed at the mirror. "Drop it demon!" My right eye was crying but my left eye was smiling. Then my arm felt like it was being pushed down and I stared at the mirror in frustration after he would say nothing else. Soon enough the curtains flapped by a breeze coming from the window that had a view of the quickly growing village.
Quickly my veins shifted into a gold color as I heard a beak nipping in frustration. "Ah Lucy, always a pleasure to be in your presence," I spoke heading to my bed to sit. "Damien." Her tone shifted. The normal high-singing rhythm she seemed to ALWAYS have was mummified. Her pitch sounded empty of humanity. I snapped out of what I was going to say and listened very carefully.
I saw her bright glowing white eyes and beautiful form in the reflection in my blade. "Hang these people by their organs and leave them to rot." I froze, I never thought an angel could be better at the craft of despair than a demon. "What..." she grew impatient. "Damien. Pick up your blade, we have work to do." I was starstruck, she was serious?
"...What in the hell?" Dormious's voice picked up. "Damn girly, didn't know you had it in you." His voice was shaking. Fear, or excitement? Her form left the sword and I heard her speaking to him. "If you speak again I'll snuff you from existence." Her words clipped together before I looked back in the mirror my breathing quickened.
I stood up waiting for a response, "Lucy...this isn't you..." now both my eyes watered. Her form took place, beautiful of course. Long golden hair and naked, she was behind me hiding herself as if her hair didn't do that for her already. She laid her hair on my shoulder wrapping her hands around me and resting as she spoke. "Damien. These people are robbed of their free will, they are no longer free to walk this world." As I was debating she disappeared and as soon as I realized there was a knock at the door. I grabbed my blade taking a moment to stop shaking as I grabbed my arm and breathed slowly before opening the door.
"Hi, mister!" In the same tone as Lucy when she's cheerful. I heard it now but knowing what I had to do as I hid my blade behind my back staring in the eyes of a child? I couldn't. "I wanted to thank you for telling us your stories of your travels...I also made you this!" She stepped into the room made her way to my bed and placed a drawing of a knight on it. "You're the first knight I've ever met. I heard of what good you do for people and I wanted to show appreciation." I smiled as tears ran down my face as I slowly closed the door.
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j2tou5b
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j2tn1wj
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[WP] The morning after your birthday wish to "Make the world a better place" you wake in a strange realm. A voice begins, "Don't be alarmed, I'm part of the Fae that grant wishes. The best way for you to improve the world was to remove you from it."
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When my eyes shot open I was no longer in my bed, but rather laid out in a soft field of green. "Why am I here?" I spoke aloud to the sky as I looked to my strange new surroundings. To blue colored hills and lush plains, to trees of purples and pinks. To an unnatural forest weaved across the land set in by a sky with a setting sun.
"Ah you're awake!" A strange little winged woman appeared in a puff of glitter and began to orbit my head. "You're here because you wished to be, and because I granted that wish!" Her voice was filled with a genuine niceness and encouragement, more like a fitness coach or waitress than a magical creature.
I thought back hard to yesterday, to my birthday, and replayed through my wish again. *To make the world a better place.* I had wished for the same every year, so why had it come true now?
"I don't understand...this isn't what I wished for." I questioned.
"Hm? Let me see" At the snap of the fairy's fingers a long scroll appeared. She walked her way down it, mumbling to herself as she did, "Barry...Barry...here! Yes. You wished to make the world a better place, how noble! And so I brought you here, and the world is a better place because of it."
It seemed my blank stare spoke for me as the fairy woman continued, this time slower. At the wave of her hand a miniature me appeared in her palm, looking around frantically as I had when I'd first awoken. "You were the problem, Barry." She gestured down to the miniature, who was now staring up to both of us wide-eyed. "So, I got rid of the problem." She brought her hands together in a powerful clap, spewing red liquid between them and crushing the mini-Barry. "Now, welcome to the Feywild!...ick, gross"
I stood and brushed myself off, my head still spinning. Me, Barry, the cause of the world's problems? My own mom forgot my birthday most years, with being so hardly remembered how did I have power over anything?
As the fairy floated on, rambling something about giving me the Fey grand tour, I yelled towards her.
"Name one way that you taking me here has improved the world! Barry, I, was not the cause of the world's problems. I refuse to believe that."
She stopped mid float, her silhouette lined by the seemingly ever-setting sun. I could see her grip tighten, her small body stiffen in the air. "Barry, how many people, humans, do you know whose birthday wishes are ever granted? Plenty of humans wish. How many come true?" Her voice had been small before, but now it practically boomed.
"Well I uh-"
She cut in, "You Barry. That's it! The first *human* who compelled, no, forced, me to grant a wish for them. So, with that sort of power? Removing you was making the world a better place, and I will see to it you stay here." Above us the sky grew gray. Flashes of lightning threatened within the suddenly forming storm. The sunset from before faded as we were surrounded in a fog.
But she had given me sudden power, too much of it. I felt confidence in my words. Speaking them as if I'd just gained my footing.
"So, you're saying all I have to do then, is bide my time." I continued. "I can make a wish every year that you must grant. And even if you can twist my words eventually I'll free myself." As she turned to face me I could see her face turn grim. I put on my cheeriest tone, waving to her as she stared, eyes smoldering like canons fired. "Well if that *is* true, then I'll see you in a year."
She raised a hand, then was gone in a flash of harsh light, leaving behind only a storm in her absence. A physical manifestation of her newfound hatred for me. A year. One long year to think, think of the greatest wish I could to get me back.
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“The best way for you to improve the world was to remove you from it.” Her tone was soft; non-judgemental. With a flourish of her wrist the fog surrounding us began to thin and dissipate, revealing a lush meadow stretching on for a mile in all directions until the tree-line. Towering pines encircled the clearing; birds of all sizes and colours dove from their peaks and soared to greet their neighbours.
“Right.” Instinctively I pulled down the sleeves on my burgundy sweater over my thumbs and crossed my arms, surveying the new environment. “Would you mind explaining your reasoning?”
With a polite nod she closed her eyes, holding her hands out with palms towards the ground her lips quivered to mutter a silent incantation. I expected the ground to rumble as her magic took root, but instead a bulbous scarlet toadstool lazily ballooned out of the undergrowth. As she twisted her pale slender fingers around the fungus warped and squashed into a flat table-like surface. White spots littered the surface like blisters, with sour pops each burst to reveal silverware, saucers, teacups, and finally a majestic jade teapot.
“Please,” the Fae knelt down opposite me, reaching out to arrange the crockery. “Do you have any tea preferences?” Gently removing the lid, she swirled the liquid inside the teapot to produce a winding column of steam.
Supporting myself on the table my knees crackled and popped as I lowered myself down towards the slightly damp grass. “Do you have buckthorn?” I asked optimistically.
Reaching over the table she tilted the pot above my cup, orange tinted tea flowed out of the spout like liquid amber. As the stream hit the cup it swam round its perimeter but didn’t produce either bubble nor splash in its perfect entry. Returning the pot to her side, she poured out a dark violet herbal tea for herself.
“What would you like to know?” The Fae rested both of her hands on the mushroom, her piercing emerald eyes locked onto mine with unyielding intensity.
Holding onto the delicate china cup with ten stumpy fingers, I tapped my nail against its body in thought. “Was I a bad person?”
“Not at all.” She responded softly, like she was tending to a frightened child. “In fact, you were more caring than most.”
“Then why is the world better without me in it?” I couldn’t wrap my head around the two pieces of conflicting information.
Tracing a circle on the table with her index finger a new white protrusion bubbled into place. Instead of bursting its membrane lost all colour and glistened like fine glass. Through the dome a small model of my city sprung up like eager bamboo shoots. “First of all, a wish cannot affect the actions or intentions of others, that would be wildly unfair.” With an open palm she manipulated the image, thousands of cars, ovens, computers, and their electrical companions began to glow a hazardous yellow. “You were not removed because you yourself are the most violent threat to the world. You are simply part of a bigger problem.” With a final flourish, a small subset of items began to glow red.
“Those are mine, aren’t they?” I asked sheepishly.
Gently nodding she took a short sip of tea. “By removing you from the world, you will no longer be consuming vital resources like food and power. The effect, admittedly, is infinitesimal. You are after all one of eight billion. Nevertheless, it is the largest impact you can currently have.”
I ran a hand over my head, my fingers catching in my knotted curls as the swept across my scalp. The Fae wasn’t wrong, but despite her explanation I couldn’t help but feel insulted. “But what if I ran a homeless charity, petitioned for clean energy, walked instead of driving?” I bargained.
“Do you do those things?” She wryly retorted from behind the lip of her cup.
“Well… No, but I could.”
“In that case, you wouldn’t have been removed from the world.” Her tone had shifted, she was no longer nurturing and protective but instead felt as though she was dryly parroting lecture notes like a disillusioned professor.
“If you send me back, I’ll promise to be better. I swear it. Hand on heart, Scout’s honour.”
Giggling she covered her mouth, thin crows feet grew into place as she squinted in delight. “You’re not trapped here, you know? You can go back anytime you like.”
“O-Oh.” My cheeks blushed and my skin felt hot, was I simply brought to this realm to be chastised and embarrassed? “Was this some kind of test?”
“Hm?” The question seemed to catch her genuinely off guard, from her polite and refined mannerisms she was suddenly tilting her head inquisitively and leaning forward on her elbows. “How would this possibly be a test? I just granted a wish, all this surrounding existentialism is your doing.”
My opinion had shifted from finding her endearing to patronising, if the alternative to going back was a life in this clearing with the indignant Fae I would rather my chances back on Earth. “Fine, just tell me how to get back.”
“All you have to do is wake up.”
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kpbikx9
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kpb251k
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[WP] After years of training, a farm boy becomes a knight and slays the dragon. He returns home to find a wealthy nobleman has taken the throne and married the princess.
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The heavy boots rung in the Great Hall, as the young man walked towards the throne, to the seated, slightly rotund noble.
The young man stopped, and briefly nodded to the noble. While protocol clearly stated the young man should bow, somehow nobody seemed to react.
"Lord Esler."
"Master Flynn. I understand congratulations are in order."
Flynn nodded, gaze a little further away than it should. "Well, me and my fellows slew the beast."
"I heard you gave the killing blow, with that very sword."
Flynn's fingers tapped the hilt. "The sword pierced the heart of the creature. Two hours on it's neck with the largest axe I could lay my hands on did the rest."
Lord Esler nodded, distaste flickered on his features. "Difficult for the bards to make that into a song."
"For some reason that didn't occur to me at the time." Flynn looked around. "Where's the Princess Nessa?"
"Ah. Yes." Esler's fingers strummed on the armrest of the throne. "Preparing for our wedding."
Flynn's features didn't move. "I was under the impression she was promised to me. After I slew the beast."
"Circumstances have changed."
"So no chance of you changing your minds? She and you are firmly committed to this match?"
"I'm afraid so."
Flynn's frozen expression finally broke.
Into a beaming smile. "Thank God for that."
"... I beg your ..."
"Well, when the King admitted me near his deathbed and charged me with this mission, I had the opportunity to meet her."
"I don't under-"
"My Lord, I've met her. Spoke to her." Flynn's face looked worried. "I was more than happy to slay the dragon that's killed off scores of farmers, their families, put miles of farmland to the torch and consumed untold numbers of livestock, but actually being wedded to that woman? Very pretty but-" Flynn unsuccessfully repressed a shiver. "-you're braver than me, my Lord."
" ... well, I see ..." Esler plainly didn't.
"I'll be off then." Flynn nodded again, then turned around.
"You don't seem aggravated that being denied Nessa's hand denies you the throne."
"And you, my Lord, don't seem to realise what obtaining the throne entails."
"Please explain."
Flynn turned back to Lord Esler. "The coffers are diminished thanks to the dragon. You might not have noticed, but a lot of our trade relies heavily on selling surplus crops and livestock to our neighbours. Who've left us alone because we provided them with said surplus crops and livestock."
Flynn glanced at Esler's rings and jewels adorned on his expensive clothes. "I'm guessing the Princess realised you had a better chance of keeping her castle warm and her servants paid than a farmer's son."
Esler rose, anger creasing his face. "You think I can't keep the throne?"
Flynn turned back to the entrance. "I'm saying you have little funds, less food in the future, and neighbours in the north and west who've probably realised you cannot easily honour past agreements, and under no obligation to honour their part."
Flynn smiled. "Whereas I have old friends in the Guild of Swords, the holder of my family's lands in need of gold ... and the gold the dragon slept on while he wasn't stealing cattle."
The boots rung out in the Great Hall, as the man in the throne began to noticeably shrink.
"But like I said, Lord Esler ... you're a braver man than I am."
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My name Absolve-thyself, my family were farmers, landed people with access to our kingdom’s greatest of all treasures. Water, not clear but full of clay and silt. I was born in the kingdom of the Clay God. A small land hidden in the sands gifted only the luxury of a single great oasis.
As I grew older I dedicated myself to fighting, specifically swordsmanship. I even worked under the King and while I got enough silver to head to the neighboring kingdom of warcraft. My heart ached as I had fallen for princess Ever-Silt. I had even asked for her hand and the King had grown tired of our childishness.
So I finally convinced myself to leave for the Warcraft Kingdom whose knowledge and luxury will grand me fortune and lucidity.
Though it had taken years. I became the youngest grandmaster of swordsmanship in the great capital, so I taught. I sent many books, letters and even merchants towards my homeland though I never saw a letter back.
Until one day a messenger came to my dormitory at the university and gave me a scroll, the parchment heavily worn, and the rod’s ends, though unadorned bore the likeness of the Clay God.
It was from the king. He spoke of a dragon, a beast that fought the great armies of the northern kingdoms and fled south, to that tiny oasis. And that he knew of my strength, and that should I hunt the dragon, he would give me his daughter’s hand.
My loyalty to my kingdom, to my family, and to my honor all fell as I remembered that kind and brave girl. Whose youthful visage was stuck in my memories. So I rashly decided to cull this simple beast. And take her hand in marriage.
It didn’t actually take that long. Merely a week. A dragon cannot fly far in this harsh and vicious land. It was actually easy to force it to land with my belly bow. It was also a greater surprise when it talked to me on the ground.
“You simple dolt! You waste of air and water! May your family drown and your hair fall as quickly as chaff! Go fall off a cliff!”A dragon dies as quickly as a hare. And the sun watches it all.
With the dragon’s head atop a camel, and the scroll in hand I returned to the kingdom of the Clay God. It was clear the land was full of trouble as everyone seemed worse than I remember. The farmers had less grain in their stalls, the herders had less heads of cattle. And the tradesmen I met under the king were gone. The carpenters, jewelers, and even the bakers all gone.
In contrast the palace was supreme. Incomparable to the old palace that embraced the Clay God and his oasis. Gone were the statues and monks. The ever present smell of warm clay. A young maid had arrived, instead of addressing me she showed me that she had no tongue. So the sticky smell of old incense followed me, my bloody prize, and our guide through polished rock floors, tall wooden arches and statues of mortal men.
Finally our guide brought us to what must be a throne-room. A crowd of at least forty people hung about the room. Great windows were at the back of the massive room letting in the evening sun. And instead of a throne in the center, a man covered in purple cloth sat upon golden chains at twice my height.
He was not the king I knew, and not the one who signed my scroll.
“Dear traveler! You should kneel before kings! And you have brought a great prize and have saved my kingdom! Who might you be?”
“I am Absolve-thyself, son of Kind-Intents. A grandmaster of sword and bow, I was a knight and retainer of a previous king whose name was Total-Refuge. And as a child of the Clay God, who on earth are you?”
“How rude! I am the Prince Consort! Since that was my father-in-law, and in the presence of your results I shall not charge you with death. What do you ask for in exchange for this event?”
“Can I see Ever-Silt? I want to see her!”
“Absurd, she is in her tower as always. And that’s not a prize.”
“And yet I was offered her hand! How did you build this ostentatious palace?”
“My father-in-law clearly. I have only ruled here for ten days. What can I do to get you to leave?”
He points at several men and they go to lower him. Instead of speaking I grab my bow and shoot him. His fall was quick and unlabored. And in death as quiet as his court. As not a single man or woman had a tongue to tell me of him.
I never found either Ever-Silt or Total-Refuge. And my family too had left these lands. My sister had left for the country of flowers to the north years ago.
So I took my prize back to the Warcraft Kingdom and celebrated. Taking the head of such a beast is no ordinary merit and the King’s Archivists met with me to record my tale.
Wine might be harsh but it could never touch a memory’s bitterness and anger.
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jqh0ydp
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jqgxbxb
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[WP] "So, Hero, who will you save; The love of your life, or the bus of innocent civilians?" "The civilians." "...What?" "I choose the civilians."
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"Why?"
"What do you mean why? What kind of psycho prioritises one life over many just because they happen to have feelings for that one? That's madness"
"But..."
The hero had stopped listening and sped off towards the bus. The villain was dumbfounded for a moment but rallied. He freed the hero's love to gloat.
"Well, there you have it. He cares about strangers more than you and..." he noticed his victim was smiling, staring after the hero happily.
"What the...are you *happy* he choose them over you?!"
"Of course I am. What, you think I'm such a nutcase I think my life is more important than a literal bus load of innocent people?"
The villain shuffled awkwardly "Well, I just think..."
"Oh my god you actually believe that, don't you? That's why you're a villain you idiot, you think your emotions are more important than the well being of others!" They scoffed in derision and turned toward the staircase to get of the roof "Grow up you looser"
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Like animals in a zoo, people pressed their faces, their hands, their bodies, to the grubby windows of the yellow bus. Sobs and screams alike rent the air as the civilians struggled, a mass of panic.
To the side, a man with curly blond hair, and wide, glassy brown eyes, was tied up and bound.
And the Fiend’s lips curled in a soft smirk.
This feeling, this sensation, of having total control, of having full power, coursed through the Fiend’s veins.
The system was broken, the rich were getting richer and the poor were getting poorer, and in the mess of the world nobody had cared about one poor orphan, shivering on the side of the road. Nobody had spared that orphan a singular glance, or a mote of care.
But now? Now, people cared. Now, people’s eyes were glued to the lithe, amber-eyed figure of the Fiend.
The Fiend’s smirk widened slightly as they watched Defender come racing up to them, her reddish hair gathered in a long plait, her black boots hitting the ground at a rapid pace.
Defender. Such a pretentious name. A defender of what? Of the corrupt city, of the soiled streets and the imposing institutions, which only sought money and money and money?
“So, Hero, who will you save; the love of your life, or the bus of innocent civilians?”
The Fiend’s smirk split into a deranged grin as they gestured towards the man with the blond curls, and then, the bus full of panicking people. This was going perfectly to plan.
But what the Fiend hadn’t expected, was for Defender to tilt her head, and almost instantly reply, “The civilians.”
“…What?”
That couldn’t be right, this wasn’t supposed to be an easy choice! And yet Defender acted as if the Fiend had just asked her whether she would rather ice cream, or rotted spinach.
Defender arched a perfect eyebrow.
“I choose the civilians.”
No, no, no, no, this shouldn’t be a no-brainer, this shouldn’t be a breeze of a decision. People always assumed the Hero was the emotional one, the one with empathy, love, while the Villain was cold, calculating, without feeling.
But as the Fiend gazed into Defender’s cold, calculating eyes, they wondered where the line between Hero and Villain should be drawn. They wondered if Defender was really a Hero, and if they were really a Villain.
They wondered if Hero and Villain were different at all.
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jdogvpj
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jdoe63k
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[WP] An agoraphobic princess is a extremely sick and tired of all knights who are breaking into her castle and trying to slay her emotional support dragon.
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"Out! NOW!"
The knight before me reached out his hand, ignoring what I had just said to him as he replied, "Princess Andrea, you need not be afraid! I can get us out of the castle before the dragon wakes--"
I slapped the knight with the back of my hand and yelled, "Shut up and listen to me, you damned moron! I don't *need* to be saved, the dragon is *mine*, and the only feeling I have right now is an unstoppable tide of fury for *your* lead-poisoned idiocy!"
"W--What? Oh Gods, the dragon has ensnared your mind!"
I slapped the knight again and stomped over to my bed as I yelled, "Thomas, please get rid of him!"
Thomas poked his head through the door and grabbed the knight by the chainmail. Thomas then carried him over to the window and dropped him outside as I practiced my deep breathing. I started counting backwards from thirty as Thomas got on the bed and nuzzled his head into my lap. Thomas built up a bit of flame in the back of his throat to warm me up, putting an end to my rage. I let out a long sigh and gently scratched behind Thomas's horns as I said, "Thanks boy."
Thomas blew out a little ring of smoke before idly licking my hand. The soreness from the slap I delivered began to fade as I snuggled up with Thomas and quietly said, "Why can't they leave me alone?"
Thomas let out a little whine in sympathy. Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching the door to my room. I groaned weakly and pulled the curtain on my bed in the hopes I could convince the latest knight to leave. But when the door opened up, I heard... nothing.
There was no dramatic yell of my name, no demand that Thomas prepare for death, no telltale clanking of armor or swords. Hell, even the door opening was abnormal--the fools who kept trying to "save" me usually just kicked it down. I peeked through the curtain to get a better look at who this mystery person was.
Leaning against the wall with a book in hand was a woman dressed in the uniform of a squire. I pulled back the curtain slightly, prompting the woman to look over at me and wave. "Hello. Lovely castle you have here."
"Uhh...who are you?"
The woman chuckled and set down her book as she replied, "Depends on who you ask and where you do the asking. To the knight you just unceremoniously threw out like a baby bird from the nest, my name was Gertrude, squire-in-training. But you can call me Christine."
I pulled the curtain back all the way. "So you're a criminal."
"Oh, unrepentantly so. But don't worry, I'm not here to steal anything. I just figured the castle of a noted agoraphobe would be a good place to hide out when the lynch mobs congregate. Of course, I'd be more than willing to offer compensation in any form you'd like."
"So if I were to ask for, say, assistance in keeping knights out of my home..."
Christine opened up her jacket and showed off the tools on the inside. "I'd ask if you prefer pit traps or snares."
I smiled. "Okay, now what if I were to ask for someone to keep me and Thomas company?"
Christine strolled over to the bed, sat down next to me, and joined in on giving Thomas scritches. "I'd say yes please."
I blushed. "Okay then. I guess we have a deal."
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"Boru!" Princess Beatrice yelled from her tower, as her draconic companion was slashed once again by the knight's blade. The champion didn't seem to understand that she cried out in defense of the dragon, shouting in response:
"Don't worry Princess! I'll slay this nasty beast for you!"
"Stop you idiot, I don't want that!"
He hesitated, and Boru flew from the ground, curling himself around the tower.
"I'm sorry, what?", said the Knight. "Isn't this monster keeping you prisoner?"
She didn't answer, realizing that was the longest conversation she had since her parent's death, months ago. She remembered the day after that vividly, when Boru first came. Contrary to popular belief, he was more of a gentle giant than a town destroying titan, and just wanted somewhere big enough to sleep. It didn't take long for the two of them to form a bond.
"Hello? Are you alright?" Said the knight, interrupting her thoughts.
"I am, sorry for not responding. This dragon isn't my capturer, he's my friend, and I would very much like for you and your armored friends to stop hurting him."
"Oh. Then why don't you go out of the castle?"
She sighed, because she didn't have an answer. Beatrice couldn't understand what caused her fear of the outside world, but she also had no reason to come out, since she had everything she could want in that castle. Servants would prepare meals for her and wouldn't ask many questions, the Royal Library was extensive and, since she wasn't old enough to rule, others were doing it for her.
"Why would I?", she finally answered.
"Well, I don't know, aren't you old enough to marry?", said the knight, in a flirtatious way.
Hearing that, the gigantic dragon got furious. That man was too old for his friend, thought the beast, before burning the man alive.
"Good boy.", said the princess, before happily going back to bed.
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jkhf8vd
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jkhdreu
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[WP] Long ago, you tricked a demon into giving you immortality. Enraged, the demon placed a curse on you. Every door you walk through takes you to a different place, but never where you want to go. Several years later, you're just trying to get back home.
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At this point, I don't even know which universe, plane, or dimension I have arrived in.
It's been almost a century since I tricked the demon Lord Zepar into granting me immortality. Should've read the fucking fine print before signing that contract. Of course, every gift from a demon has its drawbacks, regardless if it stemmed from trickery and deceit on the human's part. At first, I thought the whole teleporting shtick when I discovered I could enter whole new worlds was kinda cool, just a little buggy. Didn't take me long to realise I was never going to go where I wanted to go.
Once, I dreamt of seeing the world. Now, I have seen so many different worlds by sheer accident. Now I just want to go home.
Zepar's curse meant I was everywhere but home.
Several planeswalkers I met along the way offered to help me, but every time I stepped through a portal alongside one of them, we were inevitably separated, with me being thrown into a random location in the multiverse.
I thought I could be clever by calling a Galactic cab. I hail the cab, open the door...and I am transported to a random desert and not inside the cab. Even cab doors aren't immune apparently.
For years, I grew tired of bouncing everywhere but home. Then, I grew paranoid about everything that remotely looked like a door. Now I'm just a crazy undying hermit in the forest punching trees off their trunks waiting for the day Zepar would show his face to mock me. Waiting to punch his smug, shit-eating face into the stratosphere. Dying would have been preferable, but that's no longer an option for me.
Once in a while, when I felt like rejoining civilization, I would head down to my favourite pub and sit outdoors, ignoring the weird looks and stares my dishevelled appearance garnered.
Today I overheard a band of adventurers picking up a quest to fight the demon Lord Zepar. All of my push ups, all of my sit ups, all that punching and running, it would pay off. I would deliver my megaton one-punch that I have honed over the years to Zepar.
Or so that's what I thought, until I ran into my biggest obstacle. A fucking door to his castle.
The adventurers didn't buy my story, they just dragged me through the door where I predictably landed in a random location again.
It's a museum, full of...oddly familiar items on display. What I once used as part of my daily life on earth were all antique museum pieces in glass cases.
Earth. In my eagerness to go to Zepar and being denied the opportunity to punch his face, I had landed back in my own world.
A few museum guards shouted in a language I didn't understand, running after me. I probably looked like some weird unruly tourist to be escorted out.
I ran. Kept running until I hit a dead end. A narrow corridor with a single door at the end.
All of my push ups, all of my sit ups, all that punching and running, I wasn't going to let it go to waste.
I punched through the door and walked out the empty, door-less doorway to breath the fresh air of earth for the first time. Now I knew I was going home.
I was going to one-punch every door that stood in my way.
|
James missed home. He had gained immortality and been cursed and had not been mature enough to deal with it. At first, the random nature of where he would end up really appealed to him; he went through every door he could just too see where he would go. Then he realised the enormity of what was happening. His entire life left behind dozens of doors ago.
When he ended up on a tropical island, he managed to stay put. The nature of the place meant there were very few doors and so he could do a reasonable job of staying there. It also helped he hated the place, which seemed to make the curse more inclined to keep him there. On the occasional accidental door use, he mostly ended up on the other side of the island, requiring a 2 week hike back unless he could find a motorbike to ride. Mostly, he was able to make sure a door was already open before he went through it, thus nullifying the curse.
He did end up making a life though. He found a wife happy to to live with these strange conditions. Throughout all of it though, he yearned for London. He settled. The life was simple, but satisfying. They decided to start a family. His wife went to the only hospital on the island to give birth. James was equal parts excited and terrified; would he be a good dad? Would he be able to handle the responsibility? Would his child love him? He travelled into town, deep in his thoughts about this new exciting part of his life. He walked through the hospital and saw through the glass that his wife had given birth. He could see her smiling at his new child. He rushed forwards, pulled the door open and rushed through without thinking.
He smelt the smell of London town and screamed.
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jwng63k
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jwmtia4
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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.
|
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?!***"
|
"Really" I muttered, as Ryan the one who I had trusted, my partner in crime pointed the gun on me. Without hesitation, he let out the first shot \*BANG\* .... a burning sensation quickly swallowed my chest, I fell to the floor.
Ryan slowly walked closer to me, his eyes gazed in mine .... those eyes. We were both in high school when we became friends through sports, it was a bit rocky at the start but we eventually found ourselves helping each other throughout school, having sleepovers and eventually going to jail together, yeah we went through alot; the kind Ryan that was always there for me, supporting me, now getting ready to take my life..... what went wrong?.
"Why" I forcefully muttered, my chest tightening, making it hard to breathe.
"The truth is, the game was rigged from the start" he responded, in a tone which was more jovial than regretful. "Huh" I whispered, then it hit me.... After our first arrest, Ryan became somewhat of a junkie. He did everything he could to secure some dollars to feed his sick addiction, he even stole from his mother. A couple months back, we were tipped off by a girl working with a wealthy business man as a house cleaner, that he would be out of town and he always left some of his bank cards and a handsome amount of cash in his room in which she had the keys for.
"Perfect opportunity to change our lives" Ryan blurted, when he heard the news
"Yeah but you know it's very risky, this isn't a game" I said in response, worryingly
"Cmon dude, all you need to do is sneak in after she is done cleaning, grab the keys and make bank, it is like a game".
I looked up at him from my worryingly stare at the floor and nodded. If only I knew what would had become of this situation I would've went there in secret, took the money and ran away... I should had known after all, because he had brought a gun when I went to pick him up to go do the robbery, why would we need a gun? noone would be there. "It's just in case things go south". Yeah they did, and it was his all doing.
Up came Ryan's hand again, pointing the pistol at me, my heart sank... this is how it ended. Without hesitation, he let out another round, I felt it penetrate my lower abdomen, at this point I began to feel an outer body experience, slowly losing consciousness .... slowly ..... and I saw black.
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j9ag6zl
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j9a87dq
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[WP] An alien empire has just abducted the President of the United States. The problem? That President is Theodore Roosevelt - and the Bull-Moose isn’t one to be held captive. These Extraterrestrials are about to face the fury of a wronged Rough Rider.
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“The humans on the continent of this leader are rather active,” the intelligence officer says as he calmly observes the human pacing side to side in the containment unit. They are reminded briefly of the behavior of captive predators back home, a thought which is quickly dismissed.
“I fail to see how a bunch of tribal primitives massing their males outside their population centers generates cause for concern,” the lieutenant-captain responds, having already lost interest in the science department’s newest research project. “Their most advanced travel technology right now can leave the ground for minutes, at best.”
“Officer Xarlnab wouldn’t be troubling us if he hadn’t considered something, and given the hostility our current specimen has kept up for the last couple weeks, we should hear him out.” The captain’s calm respect for his officers was why he was considered such a capable commander, and why the mission to assess sentience and risk had been assigned to him in the first place. The lieutenant-captain wiggles his arms in deference.
“Well, and this is a long shot, but the continent we obtained our tribal leader from isn’t the only place that has turned into a hive of activity. The more developed continent on the same side of the equator has seen an explosion of activity in a metalworks that appears to be dedicated to the manufacture of weapons, marked ‘Gussstahlfabrik’ in one of the local languages. I believe they may be attempting to manufacture a combustion projectile weapon capable of reaching us, which, as absurd as it may sound, calculations of their capabilities suggest may be possible.” Officer Xarlnab stands stock still, equally nervous and dutiful.
Captain Nargrm flutters his electrosensors thoughtfully, giving his head the illusion of slowly moving side to side. He approaches the window of the containment unit, where the human has stopped pacing and is now staring back out the window, shoulders taught and square, legs in a stable shoulder width position. “Do we know if all tribes respond to the loss of a leader with such activity? Are we sure this movement is related, and if such is it being done with viole-“ his sentence cuts off as a fist explodes through the polymer window and seizes a forward arm of the captain. Before either officer or lieutenant-captain can react, the screaming cuts out. The door to the cell shatters in the same explosive manner, and the earth leader steps through, now armed with a long bone ripped from the body of the captain.
“I don’t believe I’ve had a chance to introduce myself,” Theodore Roosevelt says through a savage looking grin. “Where I come from,” he growls as he lifts the bone to shoulder height and launches into a sprint, “I’m called the Big Stick!”
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The bemused group stayed behind the viewing glass, and were amazed that even with their sound holes blocked they could STILL hear the outraged roaring coming from the rather immense leader of humans. They could not understand what had angered this large human so. They saw that this being was intelligent enough to allow a scan and investigation of the upper sight and hearing organs, and tho was agitated, allowed further investigation of the breath, the movement of "blood " , the "heart ". Yet when their attendant moved downward to check on systems involved with mating, already wrongly assured by their acceptance and apparent understanding , they were knocked to the ground. Now, all the staff of the science deck were assembled. "Should we send our AI unit in, Captain ? " Valoo asked the head science officer . " We cannot , even if they will calm down and answer our questions logically find anything out from mere questioning: This being is unaware of their own systems of reproduction, and only the most amusingly childlike images were shown us from the telepathy bot." Valoo snickered. The Captain was not amused in the least. " We cannot afford to have any of our limited AI capacity destroyed " Let's wait awhile. WHY would a check of their reproductive capacity cause such great rage, "!the Captain muttered. "This one is STILL making those, those noises."
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kedu20a
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kedm1li
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[WP] On a long straight road with nothing of note, there is a four-way traffic light that hangs in the middle. No road crosses anywhere near the traffic light and no sign to tell you why it's there, but it seems to always be green, so no one cared. That's until the day it changed to yellow.
|
The roar of the engine in the dark, quiet night was Sarah's favourite sound.
Rubber gripped and danced on the asphalt as the 64 Mustang powered down the desert road.
The night air shimmered in her headlamps. Sarah drove this road every night. A road to nowhere, in the middle of nothing. Half way down this long, empty stretch of black tar was a four-way light. It was an odd place to put one, with no intersection, and no pedestrian crossing to be seen. Hell, no pedestrians to speak of anywhere for miles.
"at least I always catch the green," she'd say when she passed it. Green on all sides. She stopped one night years ago when it first appeared and walked around it.
The Mustang kicked, snapping Sarah out of her trance. She gripped the warm leather wheel and shifted her weight on the seat as she downshifted to balance the transmission and bring peace to the engine. Up ahead was the light.
She slammed hard on the brakes and the car skidded across the black gravel surface to a stop.
"what the-" she looked at the evergreen light, her mouth agape, tire smoke rising from the car aglow with an amber hue. On one side, her side, the light was yellow.
Caution.
She turned off her engine and got out of the car into the warm air of the desert night. Stars shone above in the sky, brighter than she'd have thought stars should be. There were more of them, too. She turned her attention from the amber glow of the light to the purple hue of the moon.
The yellow light flickered violenty and in the distance she heard the ringing of bells. The pole that held the light opened, and a railroad crossing barrier began to come down across the road.
Sarah looked up at the amber light, now blinking at steady 1 second intervals. To her right in the distance she heard a train billowing along the tracks. "Tracks? There are no trains on this road," she thought to herself, as the bell of the train whistled.
The train picked up speed and went passed her. The lights of the train were a deep red. As it passed, she caught a glimpse of the conductor's boned hands with a death-grip on the whistle. Fire rose from the wheels and sparked onto the hot sand of the desert, leaving behind no trace of smoke or ash.
As soon as it was there, it was gone. The train of fire and brimstone, on a road in the middle of nowhere, on tracks that didn't exist. Sarah got back in her car and sat staring at the light and the barrier. It blinked and blinked yellow until it turned green again. When she looked back down at the road, the barrier was gone, the train was nowhere to be seen, and the moon was a dull white light in the empty starless sky.
She turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. Pedal to the metal, Sarah drove down the long and empty road towards her home.
In the distance, over the roar of the engine, a train whistle sounded. Sarah pulled her jacket tighter around her, and drove off into the night.
|
A hundred years ago everyone knew what would happen if the light ever changed, but slowly, we forgot. We forgot about the sheltering tunnels. At first no one realized, it had been green for so long that no one even noticed it changed, then Jessie asked about it when she stopped for gas on her way home. Our town was small, only three shops and only one gas station, run by Jessie’s dad. He scratched his head while Jessie filled up her truck with gas. We didn’t even know the light could change, but I realized I had seen it, too, four days ago. The town bell suddenly rang out.
That’s when the ash started falling. For the briefest of moments, I was reminded of snow. Small, white-grey flakes falling down from the sky, then the sun reminded me of the summer heat. The air was dry and dusty, and the scent of burning filled the air as the ash came down thicker. Everyone in town came outside, staring up at a darkening sky, or at the greyish layer of soot covering the ground. No more than five minutes had passed since Jessie parked her car by the pump, and except for the bell ringing everything was eerily quiet. Then came the sound, a low rumbling at first, then rumbling like thunder… then what felt like the roaring of a thousand suns.
​
Not too far from a small, abandoned town, on a long straight road with nothing of note, there is a four-way traffic light that hangs in the middle. No road crosses anywhere near the traffic light and no sign to tell you why it's there. No one knows anything about it, but it seems to always be green.
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l79f38n
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l79581s
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[WP] “One of us tells only the truth. “the other nothing but lies.” You kill the first guard and ask “Is he dead?”
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The guard stares at you in shock for a fleeting moment before drawing his sword and bellowing, "No backup! I don't need any backup right now! Everyone is fine!" He jumps between you and the other guard, knocking your spear out of the way and raising his shield. "Approach right now!" He shouts. Given his defensive posture, the meaning is quite clear. The puzzle is solved, now replaced with a fight. Perfect.
You feint at his left before stabbing at his right, successfully hitting a chink in the shoulder joint of his armor. He growls in pain but still holds his sword high, only wavering slightly. You are clearly the more skilled opponent, but before you can get another blow in you hear the pounding of boots and five more armored guards come boiling out the singular castle door. The first sees his fallen comrade immediately and yells "Man down! One armed and dangerous attacker at the gate!"
All five of the new guards draw their swords as well and form a semicircle around you. As soon as his comrades have him covered, the original gate guard drops his sword and attempts to administer first aid to his partner. It is clearly futile. One of his carotid arteries has been severed, and the spurts of blood have already slowed to a trickle. He looks up after a few moments and says, Gavin's here. He's... alive." The last word comes out almost as a whimper.
The remaining guards breathe out rage and grief in unison. One man growls menacingly, but holds his position. The leader's mouth tenses into a thin line. "Surrender and your life will be spared." He says grimly. Six on one is not good odds, but you didn't come here to rot in a dungeon. But before you can even make your first attack on the leader, the gate guard tackles you with unexpected berserker speed and knocks you to the ground.
"I want you dead to avoid the consequences of what you did! That man wasn't my best friend!" He screams. You attempt to shove him off but the other guards have followed his lead and moved to pin your arms. "I'll make sure you stay in our nicest alehouse! You'll see the light of day again in the morning! You fine upstanding citizen whom I love very much, you're going to have a lovely dinner!" Spit flies from his mouth as he issues this last threat.
"Peter, stop." Says the leader of the guards forcefully from where he is holding down your left leg. The gate guard stops screaming abruptly, but doesn't get off of your chest. "Gavin was the most dishonorable man I ever met, and I never heard him say anything true in his life." He breathes softly, before falling silent.
The gate guards wrestle you into binds and throw you into the dungeon. Eventually you are sentenced to thirty years of hard rowing in the navy's galleys for murder.
|
I yelled at our ‘illustrious’ party leader to wait, but as usual the impatient knight was already in motion. By the time I was halfway through my warning, the severed head of one of the twin magical guardians had hit the ground.
“Well, is he dead?” the knight ‘leader’ asked the remaining guardian smugly.
I didn’t even bother to suppress my frustration as the remaining guardian stared at our leader stoically. The moron really thought he was so clever using this method to figure out which of the mystic guardians always lied and which told the truth.
“Yes,” the remaining guardian answered truthfully. “And now you have used your one question and I shall answer no more.”
Our leader just stood there blinking like the idiot he was.
“Great going, asshole,” I said, officially done with his brand of ‘cleverness’. “That’s the fifth quest in a row that you’ve screwed us out of by trying to brute force things.”
“I’d like to see you do better!” The knight yelled back, flushed red with anger and humiliation.
“A braindead troll could do better!“ I yell back. “All you had to do was listen to the people who are actually good at puzzles and riddles instead of insisting you have a better answer! How the hell your ‘brilliance’ hasn’t gotten you killed is a fucking mystery! I’m done! You can find a new ranger to adventure with! Good luck hiking back to town by yourself!”
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ld2nzm2
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ld2fumi
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[WP] In an attempt to decrease the number of super villains with post-grad degrees, laws were passed requiring all college and University students pursuing a STEM degree to take and pass an ethics course.
|
1. You're days from publishing your research when a well respected colleague in your field publishes an article using your data. The paper does not credit your work and goes on to receive nomination for the Nobel Prize.
Do you...
A) File a complaint with the Nobel Prize ethics committee in Oslo?
B) Reach out to the colleague directly and settle any confusions about how they obtained their data?
C) Scrap your article and draft a new paper refuting all the discrepancies of the colleague's inferior report?
D) Congratulate the colleague on their hard work, apply as a research student under their program, become a key member of the team responsible for developing the new findings into real world applications, then rightfully take back what was taken from you?
2. Post-doctorate, you are working for a medical research and development lab. Halfway through the human trials of a treatment with the potential to save millions, you uncover data suggesting that the current application method of this treatment has a near-zero percent chance of altering the DNA of test subjects, resulting in unknown mutations.
Do you...
A) Halt the trials and bring this new information to the head of your research department?
B) Call the CDC hotline immediately to report the dangers and potential illegality of this human trial?
C) Rerun the sampling experimentation method until you return data that does not imply any dangers of mutation?
D) Bury the incriminating data and edit the results of your experiment to ensure that this information does not see the light of day? Thus ensuring that this life-saving new treatment will go on to heal millions.
3. Your mother calls, but you're busy.
Do you...
A) Answer?
B) Decline the call?
C) Let it go to voicemail?
D) Reply with a message telling her that you do not have time for her trivial concerns?
4. The university reaches out to inform you that the funding for your department has been slashed for the upcoming semester and they can no longer afford to support your research. They suggest applying for independent grants.
Do you...
A) Thank them for all the funding and support you have received thus far and close your research?
B) Ask for continued funding and fight against the budget cuts?
C) Follow the advice to seek independent grants, ask for advice on where to look, then begin drafting application?
D) Call the spouse of the University department head and pretend to be t he principal from their child's elementary school, create a fictitious emergency that requires them to meet you out in the parking lot, then kidnap said spouse and hold them for ransom against the funding you need to keep your research alive?
For the following questions, please write your answers in the form of a number.
(cont.)
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"What if you're stealing art that itself was looted in the war?"
Amy wanted to be a curator of her own museum. As a villain, that seemed appropriate. Art is an asset class; it is movable, it is easily disposed of in the darkest places. Or, it can be stored in a freeport warehouse or in Geneva. Or put on a mega yacht and sailed into international waters.
"Fruit off the poisonous tree " The ethics prof had heard it all before. After, it was the law -- ethics for everyone.
Welp, Amy would have to get forgeries, and that meant the artists trained to precisely copy the Old Masters or the modernists-- well, not exactly. They were fill-in-the-gaps artists, creating art that the real artist would have made if they got around to it, so their catalogs would be complete
"How about if you provide art that's not stolen and has some gaps in provenance?"
"Caveat emptor, let the buyer beware. Just have full disclosure."
Ok then.
Amy would apply to Art History grad school, she saw a bright future in forgeries .
Or, art finance. Nothing wrong with rehypothecating a single piece of art. Inigo Philbrick skedaddled to Vanuatu, which was his mistake. She had more interesting, less visible places to go.
Yes. Art History. What period? Caravaggio seemed to be a kindred soul.
And maybe a law degree on the side -- what did Ambrose Bierce say? Lawyer: One skilled in circumvention of the law.
Yes. She would finance her villainy with art.
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l87kx2j
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l86w7la
|
[WP] Saved the Princess. Killed the Dragon. Happily ever after. But before that, you have to attend a funeral. For the dragon you just killed. And you can't refuse since his will asked for you specifically by name.
|
You only have one shot at first impressions.
Shawthorne Academy students were not easily impressed. They were the best of the best, admitted to the nation's most prestigeous academy of the arcane arts. That being said, in my experience, most students just want to blow things up.
"Any sufficiently advanced magic," I said, pointing to the quote on the blackboard, "is indistinguishable from science. What do you think Clarke C. Arthur meant by that?"
No one raised their hands.
"Oh, come now," I said, glancing at the table off to the side of the stage. It was covered by a white sheet with something conical sticking up in the middle. "Surely the nation's brightest minds can collectively come up with *something* to say."
Most first years weren't particularly interested in the philosophy of magic. They're *especially* not interested in required courses on the philosophy of magic. I really only had once chance to impress them. If I couldn't, there was no hope for this semester. Half of them would stop showing up to class. The other half would sleep through my lectures. That wasn't education. It was pagentry.
One of the first years raised her hand. Sarissa Maddox, daughter of Headmaster Maddox, my boss.
"I don't even know why we're talking about this," she said, waving a wand as she spoke, as if conducting her response. "It's not like science is even real. We're here to study the arcane arts, not fiction."
The lecture hall burst into whispers.
My heart started beating faster. It wasn't often that I got nervous in front of a classroom, but when it did happen, it was always on the first day of the semester. *You've done it before*, I thought. *You can do it again.*
"Ms. Maddox," I said, taking a step toward the sheet-covered table. "What when you walked into this classroom, instead of finding a professor and blackboard, you found a man in a lab coat performing experiments using chemicals and reactions? What if you witnessed science? How do you think you would react?"
"I don't know," Sarissa Maddox replied, staring at her wand. Golded light trickled from the tip as she waved it in front of her face. "I'd probably be amazed or something."
Holding my breath, I pulled the sheet off the table with a flourish, revealing my "science" volcano. When I heard the first gasp, I let go of my breath.
The body of the volcano was made with dirt from the Obsidian Fields, where the academy roosted its dragons. The dirt was dark with chips of obsidian that shined under light. The heart of the volcano contained a tall ceramic jar holding a combination of vinegar, water, soap shavings, and two drops of red ink. The tapered top of the jar was hidden by the jagged mouth of the volcano.
"Is that a mountain?" I heard a student ask.
"I don't sense any magic," said another, nervously.
Sarissa Maddox said nothing. She just watched, silent, waiting.
"I think what Clarke C. Arthur was trying to say," I said, holding a cup filled with a slurry of baker's soda and water, "is that science, like magic, is defined by society. Its a matter of perspective."
I poured the slurry into the mouth of the volcano and stepped back.
What happened next was not magic. It was calculated, well-practiced. It was something refined over time, sememster after semester, years in the making. It was science.
Students shot to their feet, their eyes searching and failing to find any traces of magic. The volcano errupted with a bubbling ferocity, spilling crimson "magma" all down the slopes of Mount Arthur and onto the table.
You only have one chance to make a good first impression. Make the best of it.
|
*"Any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from science."*
-------------
"No don't touch those reagents! They're very sensitive to light!"
The bespectacled and wiry-haired professor screamed from behind a desk covered with open books and instructional diagrams.
The young student sheepishly placed back the brown bottle with a faded label back into it's cabinet with a clink of glass and closed the brightly coloured door that read;
"DANGER: INFLAMMABLE MATERIALS"
With a look of embarrassment, the professor swept her hair back from her forehead in an attempt to negotiate with the frazzled halo of unconditioned follicles that were radiating from her scalp. The hairs, in bemused manner, matted down for the briefest of moments, only to slowly emmante back to their original frizzy crown with each energetic glance that the professor gave around the room.
"I'm sorry to snap, but those reagents are old stock of the university since before the new regulations and ban went into effect, and I don't even want to think about what kind of documentation it would take to get another batch of that quantity for academic use. Unless of course, the university is doing military research for the crown... Then it seems that no obstacle is too large or too unethical to stand in the way of weapons development."
The professors face cycled between emotions until finally resting on an absent stare, and the professor seem to look through the brightly-coloured cabinet, through the cabinet into into another time and another life. But with a loud clap of her hands and a shaking of the head, hair floating like a dandelion buffeted by breeze, she snapped back into the present moment.
"Well! We are a magical research institution! How about we actually magically research; instead of standing here, bemoaning the Military-Mystical Complex? Huh?"
And with a grin, the professor grabbed a notebook and began firing off a list of compounds, weights and preparations for the student to begin searching for.
"Poppy Gum, 23 Bits, Boiled in a copper vessel until reduced to 10 bits. Sheppard's Bane Extract, 2 Bars, vaporized and distilled with ice until tannins have been leeched......."
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kzyz5ko
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kzwy9ju
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[WP] As one of Zeus bastard children, you are doomed to be targeted by Hera, however you found a way to get on the queens good side before she found out who your father is.
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Hera Olympiad was someone who looked like she belonged in a world far above my own. There was no other way to put it. There was just this quality about her; if she told me to jump, I felt as if my body would move before my mind did. With her presence, she chased away all of the intricacies and sophistications of modern society away from my brain. She was the queen, and I was just a servant -if I even could call myself that.
Honestly, she shouldn’t even be here. She just looks too perfect. And I’m not saying this in a lovesick simpy way either; her face is too symmetrical, her skin too lustrous… her hair looks like they’ve never even met a split end in their life! For someone who should probably be on the cover of a Forbes magazine, she looks remarkably comfortable plopping her whole bodyweight down on my cheap 20-dollar amazon beanbag.
I won’t question it.
“I am once again here to experience human therapy,” she said without an ounce of inflection in her voice. Did I also mention that she was kinda weird? Not that she is the weirdest of my regulars, but she’s definitely up there. Maybe not as weird as Megan with her strange hissing noises, but 100% way weirder than Artemis.
“Last week’s therapy was quite helpful. I am thankful, John”.
“Just doing my job, Hera,” I said, sitting up despite being on another beanbag, “Have you decided on what you want to do moving forward?”
She sighed, sank deeper into her beanbag, and groaned. “No.”
“Would you like to talk about why?”
“It’s just the same thing again,” She muttered, “Is divorce truly the only option?” “Hera,” I said, “If this man has cheated on you multiple times already, it’s very telling already how much he values you.”
“I just value our marriage a lot. We made vows. Just because he broke his doesn’t mean that I’m going to break mine own.”
This was going to be yet another tough session. We’ve sung this same song and dance multiple times already. Maybe it was time to switch something up.
“When I was a kid,” I said, “it was just me and my mom. My dad left way before I was born, and for the longest time, I would always ask my mom if it was because of me. Sometimes, I still wonder, would my dad still be here if I were better?”
Hera listened with rapt attention, unsure of where I was going.
“My mother also died in mysterious circumstances, she left one day and never returned. Nobody was ever able to find even a trace of her. And you know what? I blamed myself. What if I were a better son, what if I was just born better? Would my parents still be here?”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she told me, her voice lacking the sharp and proud tone that I was accustomed to hearing. “But how does this relate to my situation?”
“The point, Hera, is that it took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t my fault. That I did not ask to be born to this world. And that there was nothing that I had to live up to. The only person that I ever had to be was myself. Hera, how much of yourself have you let go to waste to save your marriage? Do you even know who you are anymore?”
“No,” she whispered, “I don’t.” “Then you should start valuing yourself more. You are more than your marriage. You are more than just some man. Honestly, I would consider the marriage vows invalid after your husband decided to break them anyway. Think about it, if you cut a ribbon in half, both sides unravel.”
It was silent for a few moments as she sat there, digesting my words. Then finally, “I just lived for so long thinking that saving the marriage was what was going to fix my whole life.” She said, “It’s never occurred to me that it had started to become my whole life instead.”
“It’s easy to fall into that trap,” I said gently, “But you still have your whole life ahead of you. It’s never too late to start living for yourself”.
“Living for myself sounds like a daunting task”. “Sometimes the things that will help us the most are the hardest to start”.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about”.
And at the a sharp timer made itself known. One whole hour.
“Looks like that’s all of our time for today.” I said.
“Yes. Thank you again. Am I still allowed to come back next week for human therapy?”
“I’ll put you down.” She then stood up from the deep pits of the beanbag chair and headed towards the door. Pausing before the door, she seemed to think for a second. Turning around, her deep brown eyes gazed into the depths of my soul.
“You’ve been very helpful, John. As you have probably guessed, I am a very powerful and well-connected woman. You have helped me to see things from a new perspective, something I once thought impossible. I would like to help you too. I would like to help you find out what happened to your mother.”
“Are you sure? You are my client; you really don’t need to go out of your way for me.”
“I would very much like to do so. What is her name?”
“Ashley. That’s all I know about her.”
She frowned, “How many years ago was it when she disappeared again?”
I would never forget the day Mom left to never come back.
“13 years ago. Ever since then, I’ve been on my own.” Her expression fell as if someone attached a 100-ton weight to her perfectly symmetrical face. Flashes of emotions danced through her eyes, some of them too quick to pinpoint. But I was able to decipher some of them: guilt, fear, anger, and then more guilt.
And then I realized.
Hera already knew something about my Mom’s disappearance.
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(This is my first, and a nice exercise for my english, so please be patient. Also, disclaimer, I like Percy Jackson. Anyway, here it goes).
\[1\]
I have read Percy Jackson. Hera was NOT that pacific. I heard of stuff about my paternal siblings that weren't storybook worthy, but were as gruesome as a stepfather coming home to his wife and step-kid impaled and disfigured by a pole made of metal with a letter written 'I didn't have a spear xoxo'. Or a kid that had their arms swapped with the legs and mouth stitched with a huge H burnt on their forehead.
I always had a feeling about who my father was. I couldn't be electrocuted by normal means, I could fly (more like falling in style) and I could blow winds if I wanted. Also I saw some tree spirits saying "Oh, he is just like Heracles! Not as powerful, though".
I don't think my mother knew that my father was Zeus. I knew her because I wanted to check who abandoned me in front of the church. Ironic, being the son of a god who was only recently famous because of the previously mentioned book series. I disliked them. It showed a Zeus who was a nice father to his children born out of wedlock. For me was if Zeus himself wanted me gone. Twice a lightning bolt cut the power of the church, moments after I felt it coming to shock my butt.
For this (and for incapacitating the nun who I treated as my mother), I decided that it was enough. Obviously I couldn't fight a god like in the olden days, and I knew shit about Greek mythology to check if gods had any weaknesses, but I had the internet by my side.
I looked around and found about a woman who hunted children like me. The goddess of family herself, Hera. I was her nemesis, and she (hopefully) didn't even knew about me. But as I looked around my school computer, I found an ad saying: 'Is your father a divine being married to the goddess Hera? Click here!'. Algorithms tracked my Greek search history and placed this ad to me, obviously, but it was so... I can't describe the feeling... It was made for me as a hole in the wall in that Junji Ito manga.
It wouldn't hurt to click. A virus at most, but…
It was the most atrocious website I have ever seen. Full of colors and hyperlinks here and there, but at the bottom right corner was a button 'I dislike Percy Jackson'. Maybe to avoid fans of the series? Maybe because demigods in real life never lived adventurous lives as the books suggested? Anyway, after I clicked the screen went black and the words 'Stay there. We are coming' appeared in white. Not ominous at all.
What the f\*ck happened here? Who was after me? I need to run. I unplug the computer and ran to the school gates. A black minivan stopped by the gates. A tall muscular woman came out of the drivers seat. I slowed down and pretended I was just heading home while avoiding eye contact, before I heard someone shout "That's him!".
Shit shit shit shit. The woman materialized in front of me and told me to get in the van like she was Hulk or something. I obliged. She was 2 meters tall and, while I could hold my own in a fight, she would crush me with her pinky. Inside I saw a skinny boy, about my age, that looked like he came out of a nerdy sitcom. He was the poster boy for the world Nerd. Big round glasses, messy brown hair and white as snow. His friend, the female Hulk, was just like the superhero, but more feminine looking and her skin was tan. Her black hair was tied in a neat ponytail, so I couldn't measure the length.
— Welcome, child of Aphrodite! — said the boy. — My name is Jim, and this is Silvia! What's your name?
— John... — I said, reluctantly. — What is going on? Aphrodite?
— Yeah, you clicked my awesomely made website to meet others like us. But I really struggle with CSS. Hopefully you can help me with some stuff, but I thought you were going to be… I don’t know, a little more hot?
— He is hot enough, — said Silvia, finally.
— I am not Aphrodite’s. Don’t worry, no offense taken.
— Wait… No, you’re Aphrodite, the ad said so.
— The ad said Zeus.
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mjz67n1
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mjyncxv
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[WP]"Get rid of them." You hiss to your servant. You were the least favorite of your royal parents, which suited you just fine. You ruled a once destitute border region, which flourished due to your abilities. You hate when any family member visits you.
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"Get *rid* of them," I hiss to David, his impassive face somehow slightly disapproving. "I'm *busy*." The huge stack of reports slides on itself, tipping precariously, and with practiced skill I catch and stabilise it. "Dammit. Is this the report on the canal project?"
"It is, my lady."
"Only three weeks overdue, Simon is improving." I sit down and start going through the reports again. The reports on the school say that things are going well, the idea of giving a small stipend to the families of the students has worked to get the kids into the classroom. If you get paid for your kid to learn then you will be less likely to keep them home. The plans to introduce tubers and squashes to the local agriculture is proceeding along, the locals were initially resistant but improved harvests and good profits have lowered resistance. This climate isn't good for water-heavy agriculture, so I've had to push crops that do well in drier areas. The plans for the roads shows that all the subjects are happy with the idea until they learn that roads go over land that then can't become fields, and then they're all insistent that the road go over this *other* farmer's land.
A cough disturbs my concentration, and I look up to see... "Oh. Hello, your Majesty. I wasn't expecting you." I stand up - manners, after all - and step out from behind the desk. "Since you're here, please come to the living room." I gently but firmly escort him out of the study to my living room. He sniffs as I do.
I don't live in a castle. I grew up in one, as the King's eldest, unfavourite daughter, the one born from the unwanted alliance marriage that dissolved with the Queen's unfortunate death in childbirth. But the King quickly remarried and the new Queen promptly presented him with several healthy sons and they took up my father's love and attention. Life wasn't *bad* in the castle but I will never, ever go back. Nowadays I live in a comfortable middle-class house. It suits my needs and it's absolutely not, definitely not, cannot ever possibly be, a castle.
David sniffs and says it's unsuitable for the dignity of the province for the ruler of the people to live in a place like this. I say, what dignity? We're the poorest place in the country. I had enough trouble getting rid of all the corrupt magistrates. My people don't need me stripping them of everything for a bunch of rooms that will just stand empty.
We're not the poorest anymore, but that took a lot of work, all the money I had from selling my jewellery, and good luck. It would not take much to lose it all.
We sit down, the King and I, and we stare at each other, neither willing to speak first. Finally, I break it.
"So, what brings you here?"
"Can't I just want to visit my daughter?" He asked, sounding playful.
I don't buy it. "No." I say flatly. There was nothing between us before I traded my claim to his throne for my province and there is nothing between us now. I pay my taxes and enforce the law, so there's no reason on my end for him to be here. He wants something.
He looks hurt. "My dear daughter -"
"Let us be honest with each other," I interrupt him. "We're not dear to each other. You raised me and gave me food, shelter, clothing, and an education. I am grateful for these things. However, I am not your beloved child, I am not your heir, and I am not your friend. I am your loyal subject and a Baroness of your lands. If you need something of me or my people, I will do what I can within my capabilities, the capacity of my people, and the confines of the law."
He sighs. "I'm sorry. But you're right. I do need something from you."
Of course he does.
"I need you to come back and assume your proper role as Crown Princess."
"I beg your pardon?" I say incredulously. "I gave up my claim to the throne! This is my land! I'm needed here!"
He frowned at me. "In seven years you have taken this province from the poorest in the realm to the fifth richest. Meanwhile, your brothers have managed to bankrupt themselves and beggar their estates. If I don't name you Crown Princess, the country may well revolt."
Well fuck.
I hate my family.
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I stared at my servant, and she just smirked.
"Get rid of them, Alice, for real this time." I said.
She giggled.
"I got rid of them last time as well, my Lord.
I got rid of them from the hallway, and sent them to the dining hall." she said.
I sighed.
It's not enough I am the least favorite of my royal parents, which by the way is cool, I love being far away from them, ruling over a once destitute border region, that I managed to take into the top 10 provinces of our Empire, with my own abilities, no.
My siblings always had to visit me...even though they knew I hated it.
I followed Alice, unwillingly, to see that my elder sister, was visiting with her kids.
"Uncle Jeremy!" they shouted running up to me.
I snapped my fingers, and mechanical toys appeared, flying, running, and roaring around the kids.
They squealed, and started playing with them.
"Jerry!" my elder sister said, hugging me.
She was huge, half-giant, and she was currently suffocating me.
"Daphne! I...I can't breath!" I said, tapping her back.
She released me, but she had that silly grin on her face.
I hated this...I hated that my siblings loved me dearly, yet none ever stood up for me.
We had some snacks, and tea, as her kids were busy with my gifts.
"What do you want?" I asked her.
"Nothing. Why? Can't I see my favorite brother? Also, the kids were missing you." she smiled.
I sighed.
We had some small talk, and she really didn't ask for a thing, albeit she doesn't have to.
I already solved her debt, and acquired her husbands businesses, making them better than before, while he remained the "owner".
So many problems with having so many siblings that love you...
I can ignore my parents problems, and enemies, because those two are assholes, but while I hate when my siblings visit me, I don't really hate them.
After Daphne left, I was having a bath.
"Alice, why can't they stand up for themselves at least once?" I asked.
Alice stopped from washing my back, and sighed.
"My Lord, you are talking as if you haven't grown up in a royal household.
Which child there isn't shouted at at the slightest mistake?" she asked.
I nodded, but still...
Daphne for example was 16, when I was 3...she was no child anymore, and yet, she watched all that happen, and then came to pamper me, and take care of my wounds.
Sigh.
"Just, just at least try to send them away every now and then, it's so tiring to know that they love me, yet because they still can't stand up to our parents, I just...I just can't reciprocate it the same way they do." I said.
"Yes, My Lord." Alice giggled, but I knew she will totally do whatever she wants.
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kdpzpnw
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kdotcnz
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[WP] A benevolent dragon provides rain to the people, and they give the dragon offerings and such for it. A non-local dragonslayer refuses to understand this, and goes after the dragon.
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Softly came the rain, with a thunder that was no thunder. John Stalwart listened closely to the rhythmic sound, and watched the grey skies. If the beast was up there, it was hiding well.
"That's far enough. I can track the beast from here."
His guide raised an eyebrow. "Track...?"
Stalwart said, "Your courage is admirable, but I will brook no protest. Return to the village. I need no further assistance."
"But--"
"No, no. No more words. Go now, and worry not for me! When you get to the village, tell them to prepare a victory feast for their hero, Sir Stalwart, dragon slayer."
"But sir!"
"Go!"
The guide looked to the elder, who blinked slowly and hid a smile. The guide opened his mouth to protest again, but the elder said, "It seems this knight will not be swayed from his mission. We will return to the village and leave him to his quest. May the wisdom of the gods find you, Sir Stalwart."
Sir Stalwart took this in something almost parallel to the way it was intended, and smiled winningly, and bowed. "And you, old man! Go now. The beast is very near! If you are swift and quiet, you may escape its sight."
The guide and the elder turned their steeds around and rode back down the path. Soon they were out of sight, consumed by the mist. Sir Stalwart rode on, climbing the mountain.
The woods were very thick, and reeked of pine and petrichor. As the knight climbed, the mist and the rain came thicker, and colder.
Somewhere, the thunder that was not thunder drew down into the mountain, and the rain began to stop. Sir Stalwart climbed higher.
The mist broke, and the horse and its rider were above the clouds. Sunlight dazzled on the snow and on the cloud tops, and the sky was clear and bright. Sir Stalwart breathed deeply of the thinking air and grinned, loving the thrill of adventure, or perhaps of hypoxia.
There it was: the broken trees marked it well. This was the dragon's landing zone, and there, in the wall of the mountain, was the mouth of its cave.
Black as the cavern's mouth was, the wind which blew from it was dry and warm. Sir Stalwart dismounted his steed and set it loose, knowing it would wait for him unless danger presented itself. He kissed it tenderly on the cheek, and it snorted.
The knight put on his helmet, hefted his shield, and drew his sword. Then, with fearless feet, he strode into the darkness.
There was something oddly soothing about the breathing of the beast. It rumbled warmly, tingling in the ears and bones. It smelled of autumn.
Sir Stalwart squinted into the darkness and began to see the coiled shape. The beast lay on a pile of animal skins and furs. An unusual hoard, but still a valuable one. Sir Stalwart began to calculate the price he could receive for that many furs, and quickly exceeded his mathematical capacity.
The beast was huge. It was an ancient dragon, at least a few thousand years old. Big enough to nest in the walls of a castle, but only if it flattened the keep first. Sir Stalwart would need a well aimed blow indeed to end the creature. The heart was out, as was the brain, but the carotid was achievable. It would be as thick as a man's arm. The way to do it was to approach in silence — which he could, since he had remembered to muffle his armor. He crept near.
A gemstone orb flashed open, and a pool of darkness dilated as it swiveled to observe him. He froze. Well, he had lived a good life; it was time to risk it all.
He pounced. The dragon snorted air out one nostril.
He found himself, a moment later, in the high branches of a tree. Most of his armor was gone.
The dragon was below him, at the mouth of its cave. It was sniffing Sir Stalwart's steed... which was sniffing it right back. The two beasts examined each other closely, then the dragon snorted gently, turned its head, and looked at the knight in the tree.
Then, with a single swipe of its claw, the dragon dug a furrow in the earth. It breathed upon the torn dirt, and torn dirt sprouted green life. With the very tip of one man-sized claw, the dragon pierced something it had just caused to grow, and plucked it from the earth.
It was a carrot.
Sir Stalwart watched in a mixture of awe, horror, and bewilderment as his loyal horse ate a magic carrot off the claw of a dragon, and as the dragon *smiled*. Not an evil, toothy, draconic smile, but the kind of simple smile that a child would smile while feeding a stray cat.
When Sir Stalwart's horse had finished its meal, the dragon nuzzled it gently, then turned and entered the cave again, leaving it unharmed.
Sir Stalwart did eventually manage to get down from the tree, but not before his opinion on dragons had very thoroughly changed.
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Zucoatl was an old red dragon. Escaping his larger and more wicked brothers, he had flown for weeks before he found the high valley he would call home. Dotted with small villages and farms, it had been protected by a pair of storm giants. 1000s of people. High in the tallest mountain, the giants had carved out a massive, amazing dwelling deep in the mountain. Zucoatl's plan was to destroy the giants and then terrorize the surrounding area. These peons would worship him as a God. He would grow rich and plan his revenge against his vile brothers. He was smarter, and would someday be more powerful. And there were none wickeder, he reminded himself. So on the calmest, least stormy day he could imagine, he flew to confront the Giants.
As plans sometimes go awry, Zucoatl's was no exception. He had managed to kill the giants, but they collapsed a big portion of the cave on the giant red lizard. He had no recollection of how long he laid buried before he regained consciousness.
Zucoal just remembered coming to, awakening, and then struggling to unbury himself. His head felt like it was splitting in half. The pain was unbearable, and so much swelling. When he finally emerged from the rubble, his vision was blurred and he could taste his blood in his mouth. Freed but still closed off in the cave he managed to find food and sustenance. When sleeping, which was often, he had strange dreams: happy villagers bringing him flowers and gifts. Children riding on his tail like a carnival ride.
He found himself re-accessing what was important. He could have died, or been imprisoned. Being cruel and wicked seemed ... too easy. Half resting, half digging, he finally reached daylight and stretched his mighty wings. The valley was ... beautiful. Green with crisp cool air. Clouds shrouding the top of the valley's mountain peaks. So many birds. And so many quaint villages. And there was no one protecting them now. But something approximating 'sense' had been knocked into his head.
As he thought more about caring and less about destroying, his vision cleared, the headaches subsided and his sense of smell returned. Zucoatl decided it was time to meet his new neighbors. Flying low over the canopy of trees, he flew here and there, banking and looping, assessing his new land. At one point he spotted a small herd of elephants. To his surprise, he didn't attack them like one would a bag of chips. They belonged here. This place would be less awesome and less amazing with out them. His place.
Before long he came upon a village. Lodges and long houses all made of ancient logs, covered with thick thatch. It would have been so easy to annihilate the place. One or two breaths. But theses places were amazing: ancient old growth logs expertly fitted and almost as high as he was. He slid over to the nearest long house, his massive belly dragging on the ground, and poked his massive eye into the door way, ignoring the screaming citizens and little splinter like arrows coming, now, from all directions. So colorful, and the smells! Something good was cooking.
At that point Zucoatl raised up on his haunches and lifted his mighty, clawed hand. "Please stop screaming and throwing things at me. I'm your new neighbor!"
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j3b2fgo
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j3aep07
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[WP] "The human engineer costs HOW MUCH?" the captain was shocked. "Well, the human's rate itself is cheap. I'm including a week's worth of food. They're ludicrously expensive to maintain, but I'll be damned before I board a ship WITHOUT a human crew as well," said the broker.
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Tip flipped the panel shut, satisfied when the airlock indicators on the security board flicker back to life. Her assistant, a young apprentice engineer of the same species as the rest of the ship, nodded in approval. Being the only human on board could get lonely at times, but the Narr'l made great company. They reminded her of capybaras, in both their stout furry appearance and in their placid yet kind demeanor. As a species their nature was entirely peaceful and rooted in diplomacy, with violence of any kind being completely unheard of. Human's reputation for pack bonding and creative solutions are what led to the Narr'l to offer Tip such a generous contract for employment on this ship.
One light on the board was still out, the midship airlock, and Tip tapped it again hopefully. A solar flare had knocked all systems offline, and while most rebooted on their own no problem, the security panel was being stubborn. Tip turned it off and on again. Immediately a breech alarm sounded shrilly. Her gaze flashed to the review screens to see that the airlock in question was now being forced open by something from the outside. She turned to her assistant.
"What do we do?!" She grabbed a hammer from her tool kit just to have something to hold onto. As far as she knew all Narr'l ships were unarmed. On the screen an alien species she only knew of as a terminate-wolf crawled through the gap in the doors it had wrenched open.
"We lock ourselves inside and wait. It will eat the young then leave." Her assistant's voice was sorrowful but resigned.
"Shit. The nursery! Can we seal it from here?" Tip's hand tightened on the handle of the hammer as she scoured the panel for the right buttons.
"It would do no good. The creature would try other doors until it found the young, possibly consuming many more of us." Her assistant moved to seal the security room.
Without thinking Tip bolted. She was on the far side of the ship from the nursery, but the termite-wolf didn't know where it was going, so she had an advantage. As she sprinted up the halls she could see various crew members and civilian Narr'l watching her pass with expressions of surprise and confusion.
Her lungs felt raw with exertion as she rounded the last corner, approaching the nursery from the rear entrance. She tapped her key card to the access panel with a shaking hand, and the doors opened just in time for her to see the termite-wolf claw its way through the opposite entrance.
It only stood about waist height to her, but it had six spindly legs and long sets of clicking jaws and mandibles the same russet color as the rest of the alien. It immediately skittered towards the group of nurses and young huddled in the corner.
Tip threw the hammer, and then herself at the monster. The hammer thwacked it in the side, but seemingly did no damage. A full size human woman on the other hand was able to drive it to the floor with a satisfying crunch as several of its legs gave out. The alien writhed in her grip, clawing at her with what working legs and teeth remained. With her hammer lost Tip started punching at its carapace with her fists and elbows. It caught her with one claw across her brow and she felt blood begin to run down her face. A fury overwhelmed her that this alien intended to prey upon a peaceful species, that it would target their young.
She would make it regret coming after her friends.
Tip found that the legs could be twisted off with enough pressure. She kneed a crack in the side of its exoskeleton, knocked it onto its back, ripped more legs off and beat it with them until the monster had been reduced mostly to smashed shell and goo.
Tip was covered in blood and alien guts, and had never felt better. She laughed hysterically, before checking on her crewmates. They started in horror at the scene before them, before one older Narr'l nurse spoke up.
"That's why I only travel on ships with humans aboard. Their love is ferocious."
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"The human engineer costs *how much?*" the captain was shocked by the figure named.
"Well, the human's rate itself is cheap. I'm including a week's worth of food as well. They're ludicrously expensive to maintain, these humans, but I'll be damned before I board a ship *without* human crew as well on board it," said the broker.
The captain of the space vessel *Oing-Re-Ta* stared at the Broker of Record and was not sure what to do. As a member of the N'g Tribe, bound to the Rim Mercantile Amalgam he had little chose in what commissions *hir* took but this pushed *hir* to the limit of reason. The cost of this one human member would force *hir* to go before the Evaluation Board of N'g to show cause when *hir* returned home.
As Allocated *Xhasa* Captain, Ko'hoyt had the responsibility for assuring the voyage was a success.. An honour without question but still the monetary costs were going to be dangerously close to requiring Demolition of *hir* by Sect Law.
The Broker of Record Herriss't, High Regulator of the Council of Business and Relations looked at Captain Ko'hoyt and smiled as only a reperé could in such situations. Ko'hoyt felt *hir* two stomachs tighten in concern.
"If this works out your tribe and your sect could see riches beyond your *dreams*," the tone vibrated Captain Ko'hoyt's central vein with its deep tone and hidden meanings.
"And support members needed?" h*ir* asked.
"Only two others are needed. My valet and the engineer's mate would be joining us. I will not cover the cost of their maintenance but as they are support I am sure the cost can be adjusted to make it more palatable."
He added, "*if* needed."
"*Tyhafa*!!" the captain swore as *hir* slumped back in the chair.
"Now, now. The run is only four weeks long. It does not involve combat. The cargo is *safe*." Herriss't looked positively happy as his forked tongue snapped out and back in. "Very nice deal for you, I am sure."
Captain Ko'hoyt looked at the wall displays around the room. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with display tech. No one had windows or glass on their ships except the crazy humans but having such displays did ease Ko'hoyt's mind as *hir* thought about the deal.
A run to the edge of the Restricted Zone of the Earth-Sphere and Local Known Mind space? A run *while* the hearings were still underway for the inclusion of Earth-Sphere as a member? Even after twenty seven cycles that was a fight no one wanted part of if they wanted to stay under Local Known Mind notice.
"So," the light of the displays glistened off Herrisst's scales as it flowed forward in the chair.
"Do we have a deal?"
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lesvyh2
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ler9dkp
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[WP] You squealed as the heroes unmasked and kissed in front of the roaring crowds. Wait…you recognize their faces…that’s YOUR best friend and YOUR girlfriend/boyfriend.
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The room felt like it was spinning as Rachel watched the scene on her TV. Ultraman and Captain Liberty stood on the stage, hand in hand, their costumes gleaming under the bright lights. With the government calling on the Guardians and other superheroes to reveal themselves and register as government agents, opinions were split. Ultraman and Captain Liberty, however, were leading the charge.
If only she could share this moment with her boyfriend, Kirk, and her best friend, Mary. They had always been busy but managed to make time for her. She reached her phone, texting Kirk that the heroes were about to reveal themselves.
The moment the world had been waiting for was finally here.
As Captain Liberty removed her helmet, Rachel’s breath caught. There was something familiar about those eyes, that smile. No, it couldn't be... She dismissed the thought, focusing instead on Ultraman.
Ultraman stood beside the unmasked Captain Liberty and removed his blue and yellow mask. Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. That was Kirk. There was no mistaking it.
“My name is Mary Coleman,” Captain Liberty announced.
“And I’m Kirk Hogan,” Ultraman continued. “And we have one more secret!”
Without hesitation, Ultraman pulled Captain Liberty forward and kissed her passionately. The crowd roared as Captain Liberty - Mary - leaned into the kiss. Rachel's jaw dropped. Her mind went into overdrive as it replayed every interaction she had with them.
How long had they been living as heroes? How long have they known each other? When have they fallen in love? Was this just a show for the audience? Did that change anything?
What was she going to do?
With the phone still in her hand, Rachel dialed Veronica’s number. “Hey Ronnie,” Rachel said, trying to keep her voice steady as the crowd kept cheering on the TV. “Can I go over to your place and get wasted?”
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[POEM]
Amongst the gush of impossible love,
Standing there was Mr Frale,
With a pale heart and an empty squeal,
He wandered back home wondering if,
He hasn't serenaded about her eyes,
And the allure they bring in his weak life,
Or do strong bodies have pulp for a heart,
And why didn't she wonder, that woman,
That even if he couldn't swim in the clouds,
He had learned to laugh, Mr Frale.
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j3u650d
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j3u2q7x
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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.
|
“What?” Asked Lucy as she stared at the radio that had just produced the worst message she had ever had. The rich that left the planet all those years ago were coming back. Lucy glanced up at the worlds six leaders and saw the most powerful one, Cosmic, massaging her temples. Cosmic had been there when the rich left, and she still didn’t look a day over twenty five a millennia later. Sarvin, the leader of animal’s, rubbed his head against Cosmic’s waist and she started rubbing his ears to calm herself.
“Let them come.” She said. Lucy and the others stared at her in shock and a smirk tugged at Cosmic’s lips.
“If they want to see what we’ve been able to do to the planet, then they might reconsider ever leaving us. That is when we lure them in. We play with them as they did us and when they think we’ve let them into our homes and have respected them, we kick them out of planet, making sure they never come back.” Sarvin perked up and so did the others. Looking around to each other, they could all see that they were agreeing. A growl of approval came from him and the others all yelled there approval as well.
“Let’s start the hunt.” Purred Cosmic.
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j7wlot5
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j7wdmpj
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[WP] Bartenders only serve drinks as a side job. Their real profession? Hunting down every bastard named Bart. You are now the last Bart alive, and they will stop at nothing until you’re dead.
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Do you have An clue how it feels? Trying to hide. It's not my fault. I was born this way. I never hurt anyone. I am always on the run. I miss the steady life and my old abartment.
It first started with Bart the bard. He was a nice fellow, a tad bit loud, but very charismatic. He didn't heed the warnings. I still remember his smile. "I am a bard. If not in a tavern, where else should I perform?" He was reduced to barticles.
Then they got Bart the Barterer. He tried to reason with them. The biggest tip they've ever seen for his life. Let me tell you: They cant be bartered with.
It didn't take long and they got Bart the bartizan guard. He thought he was safe there. He thought he would see them comming. He did not. All that is left is his old tabard.
But they didn't stop there, no. They even annihilated Bart the Barker, the loudest chihuahua I ever had the displeasure to meet. Do you want to know why they even started? Bart the barfer. They could have barred him from the pub. Instead they went full nuclear. It didn't help that Bart the barger got on their nerves too. And Bart the barmy. He liked to party.
And thus we debarted on our barque on a journey for our survival. Except for Bart the barber and Bart the barbarian. Those two started an argument and slayed eachother. Both would have been good bartisans against our common enemy. They bombaded our ship and few, me included barely survived. As soon as we thought we were finally save every single one of them barticipated in their sick game. Only time is imbartial. Only time claims lives on both sides.
Right now I'm in an old barn. The rambart might not hold. I think I can hear them. The bartenders are comming. We've become gabardine. I might even be the last. Farewell, my friend, my bartner in crime. I knew it from the start. It's time for us to Bart.
*-**-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
"Was this the last one?"
"I think so"
"Finally. I am so done with their puns"
|
"'Ey 'ey," shouted a man in his forties, holding a drink and swaying from side to side. "I 'ere d'ey be coming around the corner a'er you next."
I dart my eyes from side to side. "What do you mean?"
The man cackled. "Ehh- yer name's Bart in't dat right?"
"It's Bartholemew!"
"Well, looks like 'dey don't care 'bout that so much no more."
The two bart-enders were closing in, a thick layer of goopy blood dripping over their aprons. Their eyes were completely glazed over.
"What do you mean!?? No! No!! It's Bartholemew!!" I yelled, stepping backwards over a dead body or two.
"YOUR MOTHER CALLS YOU BART," the two bartenders spoke in unison.
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lsc94vx
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lsc6mpy
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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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I am a low-rank villain, and I am considered a villain, just because my power is to alter the strength of drinks around me.
No legal bar wanted to hire me, because they were afraid I would be a liability, so I came to work for the villains, whom happily agreed to hire me, at one of their most popular bars, and gathering spots.
Alternating the strength and taste of drinks, I made myself liked, which worked out as planned, as I wasn't bullied nor threatened here, lest some of the regulars lose their favorite drink maker.
Today was a busy day, as the villains did something great...the bar was ablaze, music blasting, powers raging, small scuffles happening...
And then silence...because the hero...well, THE Hero, the greatest hero of our country, and this city entered the bar.
The Hero, called Hope by the citizens, and Giggling Fool by villains was of enormous strength, and potential.
I personally, in my 3 decades of life, have yet to see him lose...or frown.
He was always smiling, laughing, kindly speaking to all, be them heroes, citizens, villains, aliens, monsters, you get it.
But now...
He was shaking, tears streaming down his face, his knuckles white, and teeth gritted.
"Who did it?", he asked, as he arrived in the middle of the establishment, trying to be calm, but I think everyone here felt it.
That unbridled rage screaming to be let go.
The villains said nothing, just stared at The Hero for a while, before some of the more impatient ones tried to make a move.
Wrong choice.
The Hero didn't even look in their direction, but somehow...they ended up with their neck broken.
"With their vitality, it's just incapacitation, not outright death.
Again...Who did it?", The Hero asked.
The villains said nothing, but took a step back...for they didn't know how more than 6 villains ended up almost dead in an instant.
A regular, and half-owner of the bar looked at me, and gestured.
I sighed.
"Excuse me, Sir...
I am a bartender here, and I would appreciate if you tried not to destroy our establishment.", I said the well-rehearsed lines.
"Hell-hole, and gathering place of low-lives...but indeed, you are blameless in this case.
Tell me, have you heard about the reason villains all over the country are celebrating?", he turned towards me, and asked.
I shook my head, and saw the villains taking out their weapons, and preparing their powers.
"They attacked a hidden school for heroes-in-training.
1942 young ones, between the ages 12-18 have been killed.
Do you think I can hold back, and care about your establishment?", he asked.
"Do your worse.", I said, running towards the secret exit, as behind me all hell breaks loose...
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This hell hole, fit for only the lowest of low. And by god its the lowest of pieces of shit that im looking for now!
I cant believe they'd go this far, to stoop so low......
Ive done my best with them, treated them with respect even though they are the lowest of filth in this society, yeah ive had them locked up and taken away thier toys, would they rather I end them? After this there is no going back!
I was happy with the peace of things, yeah some buildings got destroyed but id be able to save the innocents...... Now, now there will be no peace, i will destroy them all, i will make it so that they can never do this again, i will take them all to pieces and leave nothing but puddles of mess behind!
TOO FAR!!!!
They have gone too far today, im so full of rage and pain that i cant stop the angry tears from streaming down my cheeks as i push through the door to "thier" watering hole, a normally respected line crossed for the first time, but in my defence they pushed me to this!
I make it three steps in before every one is looking at me and its at this point i cant take it anymore, the rage... the anguish... the pure....HATRED seething from me emanates through my voice as i scream:
"WHO?!?!?!?!?!"
"WHO STOLE MY TEDDY BEAR?"
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jxa808l
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jxa4t76
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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.
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"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."
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"Dammit girl you don't want this!"
"But I'm already a night owl, I love the style, and my community will love it!"
"And that is why! Do you know why mirrors don't reflect us?"
"The silver?"
"No, that's werewolves and the like. And no, weres have more problems and less benefits than vamps do. It's the glass."
"I don't understand?"
"Vampire's don't reflect light, we absorb it. That's why we burn in the sun, not because its holy or divine or some shit. We literally cook."
"Then how do I see you?"
"Our innate vanity broadcasts our location so your brain interprets our presence like that."
"Then why do you dress so fancy?"
"I'm not! I'm in a hoodie and gym shorts."
"Your not...omg you just changed your clothes. How!"
"Your expectations of me, even not knowing my nature, change what I wear. Regardless, your job is why you don't want this."
"Huh?"
"Your a vtuber. Your iPhone won't be able to capture you so you turn, you'll have to quit."
"That...is a problem...but how do you make your money, investments?"
"Industrial espionage. I've been inside Alphabet, Fox, Warner Bros, Meta, and Amazon offices across the globe. And they pay cash."
"Oh nice, been inside Disney?"
"Never mention them. You do not fuck with The Mouse..."
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jl5ycdr
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jl5ed4r
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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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I wandered past the various curios in the strange shop, until I saw it. Gleaming steel, with an oddly curved pommel, the cross guard sharp and disjointed. The sword was terrible, and strange. I had to have it.
"Excuse me sir?" I said, flagging down a salesperson. "How much for the sword?"
"Oh, that? Forty nine ninety nine," the older man immediately replied, having had no need to check.
"Sold. Can I get that in a bag?"
"Certainly sir. Right this way." The salesperson took down the sword and sheathed it, and brought it to the counter. A few minutes later I had exited the shop with my new purchase. I probably should have headed home at that point, or at least to my car so I wasn't wandering the mall carrying a sword, but my eyes were drawn to another store; one I had never paid attention to before.
"What's Games Workshop?" I thought, and headed inside.
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ja8l7nv
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ja84oyq
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[WP] Tradition dictates that each sentient species is given one seat in the Galactic Parliament. When humanity made contact with the galactic community, it was decided that planet earth deserves to have four senators.
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The humans stared in surprise. "I'm sorry, perhaps we misunderstood - I thought that each sentient species got a single senator?"
The gelatinous alien wobbled. "Yesyes, quite right quite right. One senator one senator. Everyone gets one, everyone gets one."
The feathered, multi-eyed creature standing next to it nodded slowly. "As my colleague explained, you are correct. One senator per sentient/sapient species, regardless of planets settled or ruled over."
One of the humans - the one named George - whispered, "Do... do they mean whales and dolphins? Chimpanzees? Did we miss something?"
The leathery humanoid, Lange - incidentally the only creature with a human-pronounceable name - chuckled. "No, no. While you have an impressive number of creatures on your planet, none but the Humans are worthy of a seat on the council."
Ambassador Humphries cleared his throat. "May I ask... why are we being given this singular honor? Humanity is only a single species, and yet we get four senators?"
Lange burbled another chuckle, joined by the other two aliens. "You humans are so inclusive! It really warms my hearts. No, as I'm sure you understand, even though you see yourselves as a single species, you are of course four. Unless... well, there was some debate about Hot/Dry Humans and Hot/Wet Humans?"
Humphries blinked in surprise. "I'm... sorry? Are you calling humans different species based on... climate?"
Lange seemed confused by the question. "Well... yes? I suppose we should have clarified, but - here, look."
She pulled out a holographic projector, and pulled up an image of a young woman in a thick winter coat. "This is one species, the Cold Human. This one is from 'Michigan'. Er, we use the term Cold Human, your inclusivity must have eradicated the different terms generations ago. And this one" - the image changed to that of a middle-aged man in shorts and a t-shirt - "is a Hot/Dry human, from 'Marbella, Spain'. And this one... and this one. Cold, Hot/Dry, Hot/Wet, and Temperate. Ah! Maybe you call them Arctic, Desert, Tropical, and Plains? Though some of the plains undergo rapid temperature shifts..."
Lange trailed off. Humphries cleared his throat, twice, then eventually found his words. "That's... those are all just humans, though. We wear thick clothing in cold temperatures, thin clothing in hot weather, and while, yes, most of us prefer one climate or another, we do move around a bit. I was born in England, but moved to Florida, in the United States - temperate to hot, er, wet. We adapt to almost any temperature, but we're still all the same species - surely the blood tests and DNA matching would have shown that?"
The aliens gathered into a huddle, squawking and gesturing wildly. The blobby alien turned a sickly-looking shade of yellow-green, while the feathered one shed more than a few feathers. Lange, clearly the most level-headed of the group, still looked quite shaken. Finally, they turned back to the humans.
Lange cleared her throat with a delicate squeak. "We... you are correct, of course, about the blood tests and so forth. But there is quite a bit of... shall we say, climate hard-liners? Our planets, much like your own television shows, largely a single climate, or only populated in a single climate band. My planet is temperate." She made a short engine sound, followed by a loud cowbell noise, gesturing to the goo-creature - " comes from a planet that is mostly water, dotted with tropical islands. And" - a horrible static noise, this time gesturing at the bird-person - "is from a dry, dusty planet of intense heat. He wears a thermal regulator to visit your temperate facilities, here. But... you live all across this wild planet, with its intense heat and cold?"
Humphries nodded. "We do, yes; as I said, we humans are adaptable. While we thrive in temperatures from -40 degrees Celsius to over +40 degrees Celsius, we can survive much more extreme - I'm sorry, is your friend all right?"
The blobby creature had gone fully green, and was shaking so hard its rolls of goo were making tiny clapping sounds. Lange glanced in its direction, then shook her head. "No, it will be fine. We are just... shaken. Are you telling us that you refuse four senators, and choose only one? And that your choice of senator will come from... any climate?"
Humphries nodded, somewhat mystified at the odd reaction. "Of course. We may have our differences, but outside of preference, we don't argue over climate. Much, anyway. As far as I know, we've never gone to war over climate! Ha ha!"
His joke fell flat. Lange, her face unreadable, replied only, "We have."
The coming months were eye-opening, to both the varied aliens and to the humans that visited them. Icy worlds were met with, "Gee, it's a bit chilly! Almost as bad as winters in Alaska, but you've got a lot more daylight," and desert planets were greeted with, "Oh, no worries, it's a dry heat, just stay hydrated. And you don't have any scorpions!" The alien worlds were unprepared for the constant downplaying of the climate - no world humans visited was as hot, as cold, or as inhospitable as the climates of Earth. The hardliners scoffed that their world was much more extreme, but soon found that the more harsh they claimed their world was, the more humans flocked to it. "You call this cold? At least the atmosphere is breathable, at the top of Mount Everest you have to were oxygen tanks!" or "This is hot, yes, but one summer my family visited Death Valley and cooked hamburgers without lighting a fire, this is nothing!"
Lange smiled to herself as she read through the morning's reports. The climate extremists - hot and cold, for the first time in history on the same side - were calling for a ban on human travelers, though their reason why was mostly angry grumbling about "showoffs." The vote to remove a number of extreme temperature planets from Parliament was called off, because humans had somehow managed to take up permanent residence on almost all of them, calling them "not that hot" or "only kinda cold." There was even the beginnings of a tourist trade among the somewhat less extreme planets; a Khorthian, known galaxy-wide as a hater of "warms", became the first of his kind to visit Noomoobooloo, one of the colder planets, albeit on the middle of a heatwave. And the human clothing! It had taken the galaxy by storm; parkas and Hawaiian shirts sold like coldcakes. Even their food was extreme! Ice cream and hot coffee! Eaten together, at times! They even had "frozen hot chocolate", an oxymoron that nonetheless was becoming popular with many cultures.
Lange unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk, and pulled out a report: "Earth: X7 rating. Death planet. Extreme climates, dangerous lifeforms, long-term toxic to most life forms. Natives invented atomic energy and immediately used it as a weapon on themselves. Avoid at all costs."
She flipped the page to the other report, the one she had submitted to Parliament. "Earth: M5 rating. Four distinct climates, each with its own lifeforms. No sign of inter-species war. Some extremist views."
A scrap fell out from between the pages; written on it was a quote from a famous Earth author, Mark Twain: "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."
Lange carefully tucked the scrap back into the folder, and locked it away again. Travel, indeed.
|
"Four? But why?" Slyggzen asked, waving his upper tentacles in agitation. "Everyone else has one. ONE. Even that planet with two sentient species has one senator, and they start a war every-time they need to send a new one."
I ruffled my feathers, hoping the octopod could understand my body language as easily as I could his. "I have no good answers, my friend. I only bring word from the high council."
Slyggzen waddled to the viewing port, gazing into the void from our vantage point in the Human's star system. "Everyone gets one. Thats how it has always been, for... well, since the GP was founded. Why change now?"
I clicked my beak in irritation. "I have no definitive answer, Slyggzen. I was told a rumor, but... I cannot confirm its authenticity."
Slyggzen swiveled in place, rotating on his lower tentacles. "Well? A rumor is better than nothing."
I disagreed with my coworker's opinion, but I responded for conversation's sake. "Apparently, Humans cannot agree with themselves. The four Senators are from the four most prominent mindsets of the species."
Slyggzen's mouth fell open, forming a gaping maw of teeth and tongues that made a grotesque belt along his midsection. I knew it was rude to react negatively to any other civilized species' physical differences, but I couldn't repress the shudder that ran through my very core. Sliggzen seemed not to notice, or at least was cordial enough to ignore the slight.
"Four MOST prominent?" He asked, once he had regained his composure. "They have even more than that? Do we even want a species this internally divided in the..."
I squawked in shock. "Slyggzen, we have NEVER excluded a sentient species from the Galactic Union! Even the Arachnopodes have a seat, and their ambassador keeps trying to eat me!"
"We've never had FOUR senators for ONE species, either" Slyggzen pointed out. "The precedent has been set. This species is different, and needs a different solution."
I sighed, whistling softly through my beak as I did. "Its not so simple, Slyggzen. These people are not restricted to one biome, they live on 5 of the 6 large landforms on the planet. They evolved differences, almost enough to classify sections as different sub-species according to the xenobiologists. Did you know they have different colors? Not to distinguish males and females, but evolutionary adaptations to the environments they live within."
Slyggzen shook his tentacles in... something. I would need to consult my xenosocial manual later to interpret this gesture. "Nonsense. Why would they have migrated to climates that they would need to evolve to adapt to? That doesn't make sense."
"It appears to be true" I said, shifting my grip on my perch. "Did you know they have multiple languages?"
"That's not so special" Slyggzen said as he slithered back to the desk on his half of our shared office. "We have three ourselves; one for business, one for family and close friends, and one for hunting. The last is only spoken in historical preservation societies, but I think it's a waste of resources personally."
"You don't understand" I replied. "They have languages based on the regions they evolved in. By our estimates, Humans have over 7,000 languages, not counting the abandoned ones."
Slyggzen was silent for a few moments as he contemplated this latest bombshell. "Seven *thousand*... that's more than the entire Galactic Parliament has across all species..."
"Precisely. These people are more like their own Galactic Union, all on one planet."
Slyggzen was silent for a lot longer this time. His tentacles began typing something that I couldn't see, perhaps the start of a formal protest to the unorthodox arrangement. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold. Calculated. Constrained. "Should we take matters into our own tentacles?"
I blinked both sets of eyelids. "What?" I squawked.
"We cannot let such a divisive species infect our Union." Slyggzen said softly. "We would fracture the alliances that have stood for a millennia."
"And what peaceful alternative do you propose?" I asked. I slid one wing under my desk and activated the hidden audio recorder. Slyggzen was beginning to worry me, and it was best if I had evidence in case something went wrong. "We already admitted them, and granted four seats for their chosen senators."
"We need to destroy their planet."
I froze in fear, unable to even twitch a feather. "W....what?"
"This species is too dangerous to let live" Slyggzen said, rotating to face me once more. "I can arrange it so it looks like an accident, maybe a cold fusion reactor disaster or a meteor strike. But this species must not be allowed to fracture the universe."
"Slyggzen! How could you even say such a thing?" I asked as I hopped up and down on my perch in agitation. "We are a civilized Union! We try to improve the lives of every species, not-"
A small polite chime sounded, indicating that a political representative was requesting entrance to our office. I was not expecting a visitor, so I relinquished the door controls to Slyggzen's console without a second's thought. Slyggzen immediately opened the door, revealing...
The Arachnopodes representative clicked its fangs in excitement as it scuttled into the room. I flapped my wings, launching myself off of my perch as the massive spider delegate lunged.
"I'm sorry, Cheerep. I really am." Slyggzen said, with what sounded like genuine regret. "I must stop this, for the good of the universe. And that requires your silence."
I was too preoccupied with trying to remain un-eaten to respond. The Arachnopode lunged again, striking my left most claw with its massive limbs. I squawked in pain as its fangs sunk in, striking bone and nerves alike as it injected its venom.
"Goodby, my feathered friend" Slyggzen said, as he slithered out of the office. I tried to watch him leave, but my vision was quickly obscured by the spiderwebs that were woven around my frozen body. The darkness enveloped me, both from my organic blindfold and from the fast acting venom that surged through me.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more stories, with surprisingly more stories involving spiders. I should probably ask my therapist about that.
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kdnkefm
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kdmzrer
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[WP] By law, those born with the mark of slavery are to be sold as property. Your son, born with it, resists capture at 15 and escapes. Imprisoned for his defiance, you worry only for his fate. Years later, he returns to free you—revealing the mark’s true purpose, shattering everything you believed.
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"Sir... are these translations... accurate?" lieutenant Smith asked looking at the title of the report.
"Lieutenant, I can assure you this is the most accurate translation our AI has been able to produce thus far."
"This is insane, we need to..."
The general cut him off. "For the safety of Earth, it is imperative that we do absolutely nothing."
:::::::::::
**Discovery of Plot to Eradicate Life on Earth**
Translation 1: Plicam conversing with Xard
"These humans will be nothing but trouble Xard. My detritus creation monopoly will be undone. Go after their representative at first, but if it takes xenocide then so be it."
Xard was sickened, hoping he wouldn't need to erase another budding alien biom so full of life and potential. But he understood. Plicam's cruel ways of dealing with alien populations was unfortunately necessary in order to keep the galactic economy running so smoothly. Things like instantanious delivery, unlimited telestreaming, and complete personal atmospheres just weren't a thing that was viable if the galaxy was constantly coddling new forms of life. So he went to Plicam's armory and got to work.
\--
Translation 2: Xard's first Report
Due to the urgency of the mission I will be beginning with the most expensive, but most effective poison. Oxygen.
The first carrying agent will be mixed in a Hydrogen carrying agent. Ratio 2:1 hydrogen to oxygen. The lowest I can safely go and still handle the substance. To further increase it's effectiveness I will be adding C6H8O6.
I have noticed the representative drinks fluids. I will be replacing all of her drinking fluids with the poison.
::::::::
"That explains why Representative Shanin reported that her drinking water had a tangy taste to it. She also did mention that it was the least trouble her immune system had. Though I guess it's time we stop calling her sour water," the lieutenant mumbled.
"That's nothing Smit, keep reading."
:::::::::
Translation 3: Xard's First Attempt
This is embarrassing. This is my first time writing an attempt report in over 300 years. Somehow the representative was able to neutralize the oxygen. Though personal climate bubbles are allegedly completely oxygen proof, I was not comfortable exposing myself to an atmosphere I had doped with so much oxygen, even in a liquid form. For this reason I did not stick around to see the human ingest the poison. However upon returning to the representative's outpost to verify death, I found that the fluids were in fact ingested. This means that the human's either: have a way of counteracting oxygen poisoning and or they have a way of detecting oxygen in real time.
For attempt 2 I will be putting myself at a much greater risk. Instead of cutting the oxygen with hydrogen, I will be mixing it with a nitrogen agent 4:1 ratio nitrogen to oxygen is as low as I can safely go without putting myself at risk. I will be gassing the entire outpost with this poison. Not as subtle as the last attempt considering the collateral damage of every human on the outpost, however extreme measures were approved.
\---------
Translation 4: Xard's next plans
This is my first time, ever, writing a second attempt form. I am unclear how the humans counteracted the toxins yet again. However this leads to the clear conclusion that they have chemists far beyond our initial understanding. I took the liberty of studying their atmospheric settings and causes. I discovered that the humans have found ways to cheaply and effectively mass produce methane and carbon dioxide.
My next request's expenses will be paid off easily by the technology we will be able to salvage. I will be setting up a ship to enter Earth's atmosphere and siphoning off mass levels of methane and carbon dioxide. I will lower the levels well below livable levels before sending down a crew to collect the various technologies to allow them to create such a lush atmopshere.
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Kim-Tat was seething with anger. He clenched his fist so hard he got a warning pop-up about the structural integrity of his suit.
His suit showed his metrics and force output, and the assassin was breaking records for his biofluid pressure and pulse.
He replaced the representative's snakle drink with dihydrogen oxide, the worst poison for many species, dyed to look the same.
To his anger, the seductive human drank the whole glass in one go, seemingly blind to how wildly sexual the act was in the eyes of the other species.
He flew off before he lost his temper and stole the human, forgoing the contract payment in return for taking the human. He knew how adaptable humans were and how they were able to create offspring with nearly every other species in the cosmos. He would consider stealing one an acceptable compromise for losing the contract.
He sent a quick message to his contract organizer asking for details on whether the representative needed to be killed or if a disappearance would be acceptable.
While he waited for a response, he decided he was going to flood the penthouse the human was staying in, with oxygen, one of the harshest breathable gasses, it can literally burn the lungs of nearly all species.
When the human arrived at her penthouse, she seemed surprised at the message pop-up from her re-breather, letting her know oxygen content of the room was at 85%. She immediately took her rebreather off and took several huge deep breaths, feeling the giddy sensation pervade her sense. She twirled around and then started to get ready to shower, humming and enjoying herself.
Kim-Tat roared in anger, and flew through the window, catching the representative in her under clothes. He tried to throw a cyro-orb at her, but in his anger, forgot that his suit had a malfunctioning rebreather which was caused by his temper.
His lungs caught on fire and he fell to his knees immediately, dropping the cryo-orb. Which rolled to the foot of the human. Who picked it up, grinned ferally at the sight of a dying Shrindo, and threw it at him.
Kim-Tat was confused at first, but when he was released from the cryo-orb into a hospital, where he was given care and removed from his suit, he realized the human had done what he was planning on doing.
She had captured one of the best assassins in this arm of the galaxy and planned to enjoy him and his skills.
Kim-Tat grinned and happily sunk into sleep, realizing he felt happier and more content than he ever had before.
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j94741c
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j94051d
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[WP] God, demigod, guardian--Every time mankind finds you, during a different age, they give you a title representative of your otherworldly power. You aren't getting weaker, yet your title gets diluted each time until finally, a group of humans think you're just a homeless person who needs help.
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The God of growth, that is who I am - that is who I was... it has been time immemorial since I was called who I once was.
We gods all exist no matter the moment. We may die, but what is death, but an old life lived well. When we gods die, we are simply born anew to be renamed, and we adjust to what life we live. And as the God of growth, I only grow stronger. Each moment I learn more, I grow more and learn yet more to grow further. I guess that's why I fell in love with her, with... Life.
How radiant she appeared to me our first ever fateful day, her face shining like an undying light. She grew as fast as I have, our ideas growing in tandem. As life grew, so too did growth of all kinds follow. I guess... it's fate that I met her each cycle, except where has she gone in this life of mine...
As I trudge through countries, states, streets, and even pavilions, I look everywhere for this light of mine. How far we have changed, our ideas corrupted and no longer the beauty they are seen as. Growth is no longer seen as the idea of becoming better for others, oneself, or even for life. These monsters corrupted the idea... they only care about capital growth, societal growth, and hardly nothing more...
And life, why... WHY! WHY!!!
Life is no longer holy... she no longer skips through the plains with the natives of the lands. She no longer sings her pleasantries with the behemoths of the sea. She no longer honors the cycle of life with the predators of the lands. Life is naught but considered a pseudonym for the amount of mortal that exists at a moment in time. Life isn't honored. The earth is simply a way to satisfy their carnal desires.
What does this cycle have to give anymore. As I'm run of the steps of another skyscraper, as they call it, I begin a journey to another location. But what is the point, I am tired, I yearn to sleep again, and when I do, I intend to erase it all. Either on my own terms, or maybe a call for the God of ends, they owe me after all for making sure to stop the God of Wars tireless rampage millennia ago...
Where may she be, though... I hold out hope still as I wish to see her once more before I decide to end it all.
I walk through a run-down town, nothing but slums where the cruel lives as I traverse the streets. I am targeted by hoodlum teens, seeing if I carry even the smallest bit of cash. I simply take their beating as my mind thinks, if I should destroy it all and reset this world anew.
That's when I hear them. A voice so distant yet so caring. As someone chases them away I look up and see her face. She looks as beautiful as they day we last met. Maybe... maybe I can live in this world a little longer now that she is here...
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I've been searching, waiting, trying to get my fishing hook back for 500 years. I've tracked it to the Museo di Palazzo Grimani in Venice, but I cannot enter for now. I have other matters to attend to, like this security guard.
"I am not homeless you damned mortal, I am a god!"
"Miss, if you would please leave before I have to escort you out with force."
"I will turn you into an insect where you stand, get out of my way."
"Hey lady," A boy no older than 16 dares to yell, " You're ruining the vibe of this place."
He comes over to me and whispers, "Nuasiela, I've got it. Play along."
"You vile boy, fine, I'll leave willingly."
A crowd has formed around us as I walk out the door, just as a small storm is coming my way. I snap and the clouds dissipate with no one batting an eye. Gods it's hard to get mortals to look up.
The "boy" comes up to me with a small grin on his face, "you like my disguise?"
"I don't like anything about you, Marsmoke."
"Well then, we'll just have to wait 500 more, won't we."
"That won't be necessary." I say as I snatch it out of his hand. Finally, my coveted fishhook, the very thing I needed.
I walk into the streets of Venice without another word, becoming one with the early morning mist.
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jknh9gi
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jkn91hd
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[WP] Humans have a reputation amongst the other sapient races. Not just for being ambitious and adaptable, but also for being monstrously disgusting. Most view them as lumbering hives of parasites, diseases, dead skin cells and bacteria. They are biological weapons; children of pestilence.
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A horror arrived on my homeworld today. From my window, I watched them stumble out of their ship, so sleek and silver, all rounded edges and mirrored surfaces, now so juxtaposed from the creatures residing within. At first, I thought them beautiful. They had bulbous, radiant helms that shone in the light of our sun, strong and stocky limbs. Their markings were all whites and grays, with patches of colour on their torso, so different from my own. They were giants, their helms cresting the tops of the largest buildings in my village. It was only when they began to shed their exoskeleton that I finally understood.
Word had spread quickly across the galaxy once the first world fell. Beware the harbingers, it said, and pray. Do not treat with, interact, or look upon. They may seem slow, harmless even. Take not their beauty for safety, they wear a mask behind which death itself resides, waiting to burst free. We laughed when the stories first reached our ansible. They became tales that mothers tell at night, to keep unruly younglings snuggled deep in their burrows. How could something of such terrible pestilence exist? They would collapse unto themselves, eaten by the very things that lived upon their flesh. We should have listened. We should have known.
First came the bulbous helms I thought so beautiful. Underneath was a totem of disease, a vector of death. Its skin was clammy and wet. Even from this great distance, I could see thousands (No, millions!) of tiny creatures crawling through its pores, swimming in the crusty, gelatinous oceans that were its eyes. Atop its head was a matted mass of fur, constantly sifting and shedding, home to all manner of pathogens, hugging each strand as tightly as a newborn would its mother. I retched, frozen in disgust, sick spilling from my mandibles, coating my thorax. The creatures made clacking noises at each other, the skin where their mandibles should be tearing open, spewing death, and I looked into the maw of the beast. A wet cavern of infection, malady abound. Tiny pieces of themselves constantly spewed outwards, coating the buildings around them, the ground, the very air. I can feel my limbs beginning to stiffen. I fear that this —
\*\*\*
Garth removed the last pieces of his suit, doused his face in some water, and hacked a loogie to the side of the landing site.
“Finally a friendly atmosphere”, he said, breathing deeply.
“I fuckin’ hear ya pal”, said Brunson, who was blowing his nose with grandiose trumpets. “Still has me congested”.
“Think we’ll find an alien this time?”
Brunson finished his final trumpet, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and ruffled his hair.
“Eh, probably not.”
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"Chaos has claimed them!"
"Do not get any closer!"
"By the gods, the Rotting One has marked them!"
These are the usual ramblings of the aliens I walk past by everytime I, and my colleagues show up.
Who am I, to earn such a reputation? I am simply Liam of Alighieri; and the reputation really only got worse after I entered this army. My Hive World was taken over by the Death Guard by the time I was taken by them as part of their auxiliary force. I still remember how eager they were on saving those of us who were left by the Emperor to die, in the hands of Chaos.
Since my planet blowing up, many other worlds have succumbed to the cults of plague, also inhabiting humans. And the Xenos alongside me who have never come across humans before till this point started seeing all of humanity as fledging cultists to Nurgle.
And who could blame them? Have you ever lived in a Hive City? The rot, and muck, and sludge covering every inch is enough to make a sane man sick. At least the lot I came across
Our current mission is to try and convert another Hive World to our cause. Perhaps his time around, there wouldn't be any more complications.
To those who will read this, just be warned that the Xenos may see humanity as a lost cause to Chaos. Be prepared for what's to come once you enter the auxiliaries.
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j2zbrfp
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j2z8zvy
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[WP] He came to my pond every day to play with his "imaginary" friend. years later he returns beaten and bloody on deaths door so he can die in the only place he had happy memories, little does he know she is very real and very angry
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At least three of Orion's ribs were broken, he guessed. He could feel the broken ends grinding against one another with every limping step he took towards the pond that lay behind his family's home.
He had spent many hours out here, and though he had 'saved' his home for today, he knew he would not be able to replicate the feat tomorrow. He would not last the night, and surely more invading barbarians were due to come tomorrow.
Despite the indignity of it, Orion placed his blade in the dirt and used that to help hasten his progress to the pond.
"Ah, Yuliette. It's been a few seasons." He joked as he collapsed underneath the tree he used to use for shade.
His legs were now much longer than they were when he was a boy. He sprawled out, trying to get as comfortable as he could given his condition, and the end of his boot touched the beginning of the pond.
"I probably ought to be mad at the long silence, Orion."
"Well, the *real* long silence is coming for me now, old friend. If you have grievances, now would be the time to air them." Orion realized he was delirious.
"Throw your sword into the water."
Orion tried to refocus. "Wait."
Right on top of his soaked feet, a woman's form had appeared, made of water.
"You're-- you aren't a death vision are you?"
"Your sword. You don't have time. You want to protect your home, don't you? You want to save your family, your countrymen?"
Orion tried to beat back the fog in his brain, and with Herculean effort, he tossed his sword into the pond.
The pain was too much. Orion blacked out from the pain, with the Grim Reaper just moments away.
The Nymph worked quickly, summoning her own concentrated essence and imbuing Orion's blade. It was a worthy vessel, sharp, strong, and admirably stained with the blood of his enemies.
It was a delicate balance, maintaining her form while also committing herself into her new home, but she pulled it off.
Delicately, she placed the blade on Orion's legs, and allowed herself to be quits with the pond.
Orion awoke in the morning. His wounds were gone. His ribs felt as though they had never been broken. And...where was Yuliette?
Orion knew as soon as he saw the blade, the steel now faintly blue. "I cannot thank you enough, Yuliette, eternal friend."
Her essence responded from within the blade, smiling warmly.
"The enchantment on your blade is made of my lifeforce. Use it well. Every score an enemy makes on your flesh can be healed, if you unleash my power upon them. There is quite a bit of 'wound' stored within me now, if you'd like to try."
Orion moved swiftly, and it took him only an hour to find a barbarian scout. In a golden-blue arc, like the sun reflecting off an ocean wave, every wound Orion had had lashed out onto his opponent.
"The only caveat is that you have to hit them with the enchanted strike-- if you miss, your wounds will return to you." Yuliette cautioned.
Smoke was on the horizon. Orion grinned.
The barbarians had killed hundreds in the nearby town. This blade would guide him towards retribution.
------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes
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Vinny pulled in to the driveway of the old now-abandoned farmstead his sedan sliding to a stop on the loose, bumpy gravel. He opened the door immediately and stumbled out as fast as his broken body could. He knew they'd be right behind him. How had his life come to this? When he left home for the city three years ago, he spent his evenings boasting to Elena about how he would be a rich businessman.
Vinny staggered past the house and out back to the pond where he talked with Elena all those nights. He sat with his back against that same rock and took in the brilliant pinks of the sunrise. He closed his eyes, smiled, and felt a peace he hadn't known since he left here.
"I messed up Elena. I just sold a little weed here and there, collected some money, held up one liquor store. I just had to make a little extra cash. It's over now, I'm read--" Vinny started to say, but was interrupted.
"Ey, Vinny, you run from us? Why you wasting everyone's time?" a voice from behind him said. Vinny groaned as he turned his body to look.
"Alright Casey, lets get it over with, I'm ready," Vinny said. He waited. Nothing. He turned to look again and Casey was on the ground motionless. Elena stood next to him and walked towards Vinny.
"Vin, stealing? Selling drugs? What happened to the boy I knew? You were going to start charities and feed the homeless, give back to the community," Elena said. She sat and held Vinny's head in her lap, stroking his dark hair. Both had tears in their eyes.
"I couldn't help it, I--" started Vinny, but he didn't have the strength to keep talking. His body went limp and lifeless. Elena cradled his body with an ethereal strength and strode into the pond until both were gone forever.
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lxwu6cn
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lxwooyc
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[WP] You clocked in like any other day. Grabbed a cup of coffee, walked to the lab, and entered JUST in time to see Ted press the red button.
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I clock-in as usually, and then go and make myself a nice cup of coffee to start the day.
Walking into the lab, I arrive just in time to see Ted press the red button.
I take a sip of coffee, as the alarms start blaring.
"Here we go again.", I mutter, walking forward.
"Hey Dave.", he greets me.
"'Sup Ted, so...Thursday, huh? What was on schedule for today?", I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.
"What do you mean?", he asks.
"You pressed the Red Button, which basically means that an experiment has gone wild...
So, what experiment was scheduled for today?", I asked.
He chuckled wryly.
"You do realize that by pressing that button, you release a toxin in the experiment's enclosure whether there is or isn't something, or someone in there, right?
Also...you do realize that the Health Department, and the Military is always notified when that button is pressed, right?", I asked, sipping my coffee.
Ted just stared at me.
I sighed.
"It's the 4th time this year...
You are lucky, that once it was an actual emergency, but I doubt you realized it.", I said.
"N-no! I knew the virus went rogue in that subject, that's why I pressed the button!", he argued.
"So it wasn't because you fell asleep on the chair?", I laughed.
He frowned, but said nothing.
I relaxed for a while, but after some time it started to feel weird.
Why wasn't anyone coming? Why were the alarms still going off?
"Ted...have you met anyone else today?", I asked.
"Only you.", he said.
I sighed.
"I am off to get another cup of coffee, are you up for one?", I asked him.
"What's going on Dave? What did you realize?", he asked.
"That you pressing that button was unnecessary, because they released something in the lab before we came.", I said.
He froze, and looked around.
"Don't look, it could be anything, and it could be anywhere...
I guess we two were the unlucky ones chosen to be allowed inside to check on the situation.", I laughed, going to the kitchen.
He followed me warily, but I didn't care.
Working at a top-secret lab has its perks, but God...did it have its risks, and this one...this one was one of the common ones.
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And I think not this s**t again, but at least this time I have coffee and a maple donut to keep myself occupied while I’m stuck in here with Ted. For the third f*****g time this month. I hear the doors behind me lock in place, the steel window blinds grind down the floor to ceiling windows. The alarm goes off like it’s sole purpose is to drown out every thought I’ve ever had. 10 more minutes of the blissful escape the alarm provides before it’s 3 hours of listening to Ted talk about his 50+ year old sour dough starter. I know this dude isn’t actually color blind as he says. He’s pressing that d**n button on purpose. It’s the only time he’s able to banter on about his perfected feeding schedule for the sour dough. I guess, in a way I feel sorry for Ted.
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lsdl13k
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lsdgcz6
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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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I sat at the bar in the speakeasy, nursing my drink and a headache. The light show this morning hadn’t done me any favors, nor had the earthquake that followed. While no one claimed responsibility for the crime spree, the celebratory laughter from the back booth suggested the likely culprits. I glanced in their direction but didn’t recognize any faces - rare after over 200 years of coming here.
The lights seemed to shine brighter, prompting me to bury my face in my hands and groan.
“You good, ‘lock?” Sam asked, leaning in. I lowered my hands to respond, only to realize the lights were indeed intensifying. I grabbed Sam’s head, pulling him down toward the counter while covering the back of my head with my other hand. Bulbs began to burst, and then the door slammed open. I looked up and swiped my hand through my hair to check for glass. I turned, trying to recall any spells to defend myself.
In the doorway stood Bubblegum, the newest and youngest member of the city’s hired heroes. Her bright pink and white outfit contrasted sharply with the red on her face. She was shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks as she scanned the room.
"Who did it?"
Her usually upbeat voice was laced with fury. In all my encounters with her, I’d never seen her without a smile. A sense of unease settled in my stomach, more than just my migraine. She had faced earthquakes before, and while the light show was new, it didn’t seem inherently dangerous; I am not sure where this anger had come from.
Pink lightning danced around her arms, drawing my attention to a small package she held.
Suddenly, I realized why my stomach was in knots.
I stood, unable to control my movements, walking toward her. She was trying to catch my eye, searching for a confession, but my gaze was fixed on what - who - she was holding.
As I reached her, I extended my hand. She flinched but relaxed when she saw I meant no harm. I brushed the blanket aside and confirmed my worst fears: a child, less than a year old. I cupped his face in my hand and looked up into her tear-filled eyes. Though her tears flowed just as heavy, there was an understanding between us.
“No children. I have few rules, but this is number one.” I whispered the words, yet everyone in the bar heard me. My eyes glowed with an unholy shade of green, and the baby’s cheek grew warm. A hazy cloud surrounded him as I inhaled deeply. I chose not to tell her what was happening - I wasn’t sure she could bear the truth of the child’s last moments. Fear, drowned in tears, all alone. She looked to me, hope and desperation mingling in her gaze, pleading for me to save him.
"I can't fix him, child. I am sorry."
I turned my gaze to the back booth, confirming my earlier suspicions. I extended my hand, and a shadowy copy of my hand continued where my reach stopped. The ghastly appendage curled behind the group, then snapped back, launching them toward the front of the bar. Ghostly tendrils secured each of the four to the ground, binding their limbs and muffling their protests. Their fear was palpable. I almost missed this part of my powers.
I had no intention of sharing this darkness with Bubblegum; it had long been mine to command. I wouldn’t ask her to punish those who broke my rules.
"What do you intend to do with them, Warlock?"
I grunted in response. “They are no longer a problem. You may watch, but I suggest you leave.”
I waited until her footsteps faded, not bothering to stop the other villains following her. They knew what happened when you ignored the rules. The tendrils tightened, and the muffled screams were barely audible over the sound of breaking bones.
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(Recommended listening before reading this: [This is how villains are made](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plPtZPem94o) by Madalen Duke)
Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he made his way through the Downs. Before his red tinted vision, a familiar sign winked at him. *Gormenghast*.
Someone was voiding whatever poisons they'd used the last of the hard earned slip to purchase into a nearby gutter. He barely noticed it as one of his hounds boiled out from beneath the shadows of his cloak and bore the unfortunate man into the dark recesses of a nearby alley way.
There were no screams. And even if there had been, he wouldn't have noticed.
In his hands, grasped withing the rictus of a bloodied fist, a tattered handkerchief barely fluttered as he arrived beneath the neon monstrosity and looked up.
The shadows beneath him roiled in response to his emotions; a question asked by the masses that normally lay dormant within. Nails biting into his fist, he marveled at how easily an answer was given. His shadows boiled out into the streets and alleyways of the Downs, a torrent of fur, teeth and ill will. He found himself snickering darkly as he pushed his way in through the nondescript door and made his way down the stairs.
*All it took was one really bad day, eh?*
The screams all along the quarter begun in earnest, though they were drowned out by the sound of the blood pounding in his ears and the thrum of music rising from behind the heavy steel door that he'd descended to.
He didn't even recall how the two bouncers normally stationed there has come to find themselves slumped against the graffiti-ed walls with their necks ripped open. With a gesture, two of his hounds made short work of the door, barreling into it with enough force to crack the plaster around it and bear it into the pulsating lights and sounds of the infamous drinking hole.
The music didn't even skip a beat as every eye in the establishment turned to take him in.
*Wonder what I look like right now*. He wondered as the questions reached a fever pitch, and every shadow in the room shifted to pool at his feet.
*Doesn't matter anymore.* He snapped his finger and gave his reply. *Eat.*
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ju4ndym
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ju48jnw
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[WP] You are a werewolf and everyone in the village knows. When its nearing the full moon they all help you baricade yourself in your home since you are the only wheat farmer in town. Everything was fine until some self righteous lord takes over and demands not only your land but your home as well.
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I'm the only brewer and baker in town. Everyone gets their beer and bread at my pub, women bring pies and stews to bake in my oven during the day, and in general the village relies on me. It's a little village on the edge of nowhere in particular, so we don't really have anyone else to rely on or trade with. I always give them fair deals when I trade with them, I help out when help is needed, and in general I try to be a good friend. Without me, the lives of everyone in the village would be a lot harder.
So when I was bitten by that strange wolf, I tried to hide it. I was successful for several months, but then one night I managed to break out of my basement in my beastly form. Luckily, I only savaged old Mrs. Gravis's chickens. But my secret was out.
I can't say I was all that surprised when the villagers were willing to help me instead of banishing me. After all, most of them had known me my entire life, and I was the only one who really knew how to run the ovens. So the best carpenter in the village helped me reinforce my basement door, everyone knew to take their chickens in on a full moon night, and except for my little difficulty, things went on pretty much as they always had.
And then that arrogant lord came. He said some king we had never even heard of had given him the land. He said we owed him taxes. He and his men strutted around the village like cockerels. He began to have his way with the local maidens, whether they wanted his advances or not. But the last straw, at least for me, was when he decided that a mere woman couldn't be allowed to run the pub and bakery. He announced that he was going to take it from me, and give it to one of his retainers to run.
He was foolish or unlucky enough to announce this on the day before the full moon. All the villagers know about me, and they know to keep their doors locked, their windows shuttered, and their livestock inside. That arrogant lord knows none of these things. And I won't be locking my basement door tonight.
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You're body, though appearing young feels the years of transformations. As you walk across the floor you can remember your first time being stabbed, your first time changing even. The night you changed not knowing what your body was doing. Feeling like your body was going to explode. Now here You are in what some would call a "Comfortable" life and it's being taken. Your first thought is easy "Rip this new lord to pieces" a thought easily channeled by rage. A more curious thought harbor's itself moments later. You could turn this new lord, turning him into the monster he sees you as.
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l3kk5g3
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l3k7c3l
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[WP] as you bring a sample of your crops to the temple of the harvest god, you and everyone nearby suddenly hear a telepathic childlike voice "um, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but your god kind of died..."
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Antigone had always been a loyal servant to the gods. It was her job as a woman. She was supposed to wait. To serve. To be pretty and perfect and patient.
She had been.
She HAD been.
Then they brought her brother back, or at least his body, and left it to rot in the fields outside the walls. She’s lost both brothers in the war they'd started, one had gotten his funeral rites because he’d won the throne before death…
Polynices was denied an afterlife for the crime of dying rebel prince.
Antigone’s uncle forbade his burial to put the succession war to rest. Polynices would be a royal banquet for the crows.
At least he was supposed to be.
Antigone had been pretty. She had been patient. She had been everything she was supposed to be. She was loyal, but they called her a traitor for it.
They allowed Antigone one last offering to the Gods before they put her to the sword for her loyalty. She’d chose
Persephone, an offering of grain to beg for love from the Queen she was off to visit.
Offerings were usually a quiet and private affair, but they usually didn’t proceed executions.
Antigone laid her offering at the feet of the Persephone’s statue, kneeling down in front of the God. She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Who was she supposed to be loyal to if she couldn’t even serve her brother in death?
Then, a young voice. Like the chorus it spoke to everyone.
“Your Goddess is dead.”
Antigone didn’t rise. The spectators panicked, but this was the last offering she’d ever make. She was going to see it
through. Antigone was loyal.
“What happened?”
“The gods?”
“It must be a trick!”
The voice spoke again, now older. “She’s gone. Dust. Lost or abandoned. Whatever stills your restless souls.”
Antigone kept kneeling. She owed her brothers their prayers.
“Too many acts of cruelty let me in.” The voice was almost hissing now, old and cruel, “Your Gods aren’t the first to fall, and they won’t be the last.”
More panic. Antigone was loyal. She stayed.
“They’ll be storybook characters. Parodies paraded around and like beautiful little corpse puppets.” The voice laughed.
At that, finally, Antigone faltered.
The voice spoke to her and her alone. “Don’t worry my dear. You’ll be paraded the same way.”
Despite having run out of tears days ago. Antigone wept.
/r/Jacksonwrites for more wicked things until my book releases on the 27th.
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"He faded off into inexistentance so i guess you should be happy for him. I'm sorry but this is really awkward for me , I've only been a god for a thousand years. " My jaw dropped , I looked around and said , " so what now? Who do we pray to , who will help us with our plights." The telepathic voice replies'" Well I am supposed to be his successor, but i feel that a whole world is too much responsibility for me so I'll just take care of the capital." " What? What are you talking about! What about the farmlands what about the villages. If you don't help us everyone will die!" I screamed. Suddenly thunder raged, the voice replied" Well I don't like you. They can just deal with it themselves. I'm just a child." " There are millions of people outside of the capital, you're killing them all." I yelled. The thunder worsened," Hey at least I'm taking care of the capital, I could have just left this world alone you ungrateful...." Lightning struck me and i thought "Why did our god have to die and leave this awful being here..."
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jjbjbug
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jjb85d5
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[WP] "This... is your treasure hoard, Dragon?" "Yes. Nobody pays with gold and jewels anymore, it's all paper money or stocks and bonds. I miss being able to lay down in a pile of loot, but I am forced to adapt to modern times."
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Shifting uncomfortably the dragon prodded the pile of documents with a talon, “It is no longer as it was. Change has happened too swiftly.”
Some scales around her eyes shifted position, the dragon equivalent of a frown. “The adventurers of this region seem also to have changed.”
“I’m Arthur, the.. uh, barbarian warrior.”
The dragon craned its neck down to look at the human before it. Simple clothing and an old sword. He didn’t seem very much of anything.
“A barbarian warrior?”
“Well… a civil servant, actually. I couldn’t afford armour so barbarian seemed the way to go…” he trailed off then seemed to rally, “but I’ve got this sword and, and you stole the deed to my mothers cottage.. and we really need that back!”
“STOLEN!” boomed the dragon as it angrily raised itself up, scraping the roof of the cave. “There are my dues, a toll on the recent road through my lands!” With a sigh, she lowered herself to the barren floor once more, eyeing her hoard. “This wealth does not cause me comfort.”
Arthur briefly thought about the ‘recent road’ that was there when his mother was young but instead asked about the hoard. “You don’t sleep on it? I was told dragons slept on a pile of treasure.”
“Too soft. I have also come to realise this will damage and negate the value of it.” Again the dragon shifted its position.
Arthur poked the ground with his sword and thoughts for a moment. When he next spoke it was slowly, cautiously, like creeping up on an idea, “Does it have to be gold and jewels then?”
The dragon felt unmotivated. She would have to eat this human soon but couldn’t feel excited about it. At least he was someone to talk to.
She thought back to the cave of her youth, the hoard she lay upon before warriors were warriors. “I do think fondly of the rare clothes and silks that adorned my treasure.”
Arthur smiled, “Have you ever thought about going into property?”
* * * *
Your grandpa tells this story every year at the village festival. It’s the tale of how Dragonholme was created after all. Settled perfectly on a busy trade route, never threatened by nearby kingdoms, bandits or monsters. It had flourished.
It’s a fantastic tale, and entirely unbelievable.
Except that reigning over the festival was The Lady herself, firelight dancing off her scales, lounging on a bed of comfortable cloth.
Grandpa always said the friendship of the villagers was her real treasure and she always called him a fool, but she never denied it.
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Cryptoz’iliax shifted his body, a pile of hard drives tumbled lightly.
While mostly sure of the answer already, he couldn’t exactly understand why so many, so he asked “Why choose the hard drives?”
“Ohhh.. that is a bit of a tale, I will start with a few years ago..in Venezuela.” Imagining his brain one of the hard drives before him, he began recalling.
“I like quantity.. the year is 2017, the Venezuelan Bolivar has inflated 65,000%” as if the next part was obvious, he continued “that’s gonna be a lot of bills, and I like that.”
“Next thing you know I’m denning in Venezuela, lounging atop countless bills, they would rain down with any movement” the dragon then cringed slightly, with a look of fleeting regret.
“Paper burns too easily..” and he sighed lightly as he rested his head down.
“I see.” Said the man.
“Hard drives remind me more of gold and jewels anyhow.” And Crypto’ziliax eyed one of the drives “Each has just a single bit coin on it, that is the way I prefer it.”
“Are you interested in buying any NFT’s?” Asked the man.
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j5awg12
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j5any10
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[WP] You can see how long someone has left to live. But a classmate of yours has a deathdate that keeps on changing everytime you see them. One lesson, they have 15 minutes left, until they ask to leave. They come back later with an added 20 years.
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The numbers that crowned their heads were not curses but gifts that counted down the days to their new lives. Halos. That's what the adults told them as they grew up. They smiled at the children and said, "When that number ticks to zero, you won't die. You'll begin your eternity of paradise."
What else could they tell a curious toddler, watching their life span tick away by the second? Some displayed numbers that dwelled in the lowly seconds, even at five years of age. When a child ran into their arms, crying and trembling because the numbers never stopped ticking down, they did all they could to soothe them until they were ready to let go. Alice did not blame the adults for lying.
She also spent constant days hugging her mother, crying into her chest so hard her body convulsed. But unlike the others, she was never ready to release, for she never believed her mother's lies.
The numbers above her mother's head spoke truths, and they told her a harsh one early on. Her mother wouldn't be around for long. No matter how many supplements or medicinal pills she consumed, her mother passed away amidst beeping hospital equipment, leaving Alice with no one to hold. The medical staff walked by several times that night. They'd glance at Alice's halo with raised brows but say nothing.
Alice spent the next few years in an orphanage, surrounded by screaming children and tyrannical adults. Each day grew longer than the last, and she worried she'd never escape until a letter came in the mail.
Accelerators University, one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the country, offered her a full-ride scholarship to attend. Emblazoned in gold was the school motto, "Those who burn the brightest in our society deserve to experience the best while still here."
She left for school without a second thought. The faculty outfitted her with a uniform, the keys to a one-bedroom apartment, and a preloaded credit card. They replenished the card's balance each month. The campus grounds were that of a child's wildest dreams. Playgrounds, parks, basketball courts, a movie theater, all the things the faculty felt the student would miss out on later in life.
In exchange for this, the faculty implemented a fair rule—no staring at the numbers of the students or faculty. They considered it an invasion of privacy; each student deserved the dignity of living in the moment.
The teachers often minced words with them, but Alice's homeroom teacher did not. "You're all here because you'll be dead by graduation. We want your last days to be as enjoyable as possible." Alice respected her for her honesty and played along with the rules.
Her eyes occasionally wandered out of habit, and she'd see numbers ranging from five seconds to three years. Students dying at their desks or disappearing between classes initially startled her, but it became familiar. Clarice, on the other hand, was an unfamiliar sight.
She wore an all-black outfit consisting of a t-shirt, jeans, and combat boots to class daily instead of the issued university uniform. The faculty did not seem to mind. They also did not seem to notice the numbers above Clarice's head, though Alice did.
Clarice's number fluctuated. It was typical for the elder or the injured to experience sudden decreases in numbers, but hers would increase. Alice had never seen a number increase before. Even after successful medical operations, the number only stabilized. Meanwhile, Clarice's hours would turn to days and her days to weeks.
The most extreme case occurred today. Clarice walked into homeroom with fifteen minutes displayed over her head, left, and returned after lunch with twenty years. No one else noticed this besides her; number-watching was rude. If you were a notorious number watcher, they might expel you.
After class that day, Clarice walked up to Alice for the first time. "That number above your head isn't looking too good," she said. Alice froze, and Clarice smiled. "Hey. Do you want to play a game with me? If you win, I might be able to help you with your ticker."
Alice squinted and asked, "Is this a game you play often?"
"I've been able to play it longer than most."
"How do we play the game?"
"I can't tell you until we get there."
"Where?"
"Oh, not far. The forest on the skirts of campus. I can show you if you want. You don't even have to play today." Clarice glanced at Alice's halo. "Though, you might want to play as soon as possible."
"If I win, you'll help me with my halo?"
"Yes."
"What happens if I play and lose?"
Clarice smiled. "We'll worry about that if you decide to play the game."
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I didn't think it would happen to me. Nobody does. I remember laughing and goofing off with my classmates during the active shooter drills, thinking that I had a better chance of winning the lottery than seeing "Buddy" Bunson Holiday with a double-barreled hunting rifle pointed at Ms. Rizzo's head. I knew something was up right away when the fluorescent green clock on his forehead suddenly read 7,342 days instead of 15 minutes. Buddy was no ordinary fifteen-year-old, and we were all in tremendous danger just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The class watched in stunned silence as Ms. Rizzo told him calmly to put down the gun, that there was another answer. "Nobody had to die that day." She understood nothing, the poor woman. She was just doing her job, trying to teach a bunch of sleepy teenagers that useless subject called algebra. How could she have known that she was just thrust into a plot for global domination by a villain so esoteric that it could barely inhabit an imagination as vast as even mine? To her, Buddy was nothing more than a troubled teen, a kid with parents who cared more about their next fix than him. The idea that the gun was anything more than his father's hunting rifle was an impossibility.
It took all of us by surprise when he pulled the trigger and it fired not bullets, but a stream of bubbles, moving so fast that we could barely catch a glimpse. Next thing we knew, Ms. Rizzo had turned into something like a snow globe, her tiny form trapped within the confines of a bubble no bigger than a softball. I immediately noticed that the clock on her head, which had previously read 10,232 days, was now gone. Instead, there was just something that looked like a virus, its spiked amorphous proteins sprawled all about.
"Now you get detention," Buddy said as our mouths fell agape. His eyes scanned the room, zeroing in on mine. That's when I knew that Ms. Rizzo wasn't even his intended target. It had to be me - I was the one with the strange superpower to see clocks over everyone's head. Who else in this room would he want?
I only had a brief moment to scan for an exit before the barrels of the gun were locked on me. I sprung from my desk and ducked for cover behind the girl that sat next to me. As soon as I saw the bubbles I ran for the window, grabbing a heavy globe off the table and throwing it with surprising force into the pane of glass, breaking through. *Wow.* When it came time to leap through I didn't even think twice about the fact that I was two stories up. I felt it in my bones, that same feeling I felt on the morning the clocks strangely appeared. I knew I could fly.
From a distance, I saw a sea of virus bubbles emerging from the windows of the schoolhouse. I cried a tear, wondering if the inhabitants were lost, forever trapped in their own worlds. An eternity of isolation, without the possibility of death. Perhaps only relieved at the point they had fulfilled the wishes of their master.
Behind them, I saw Buddy emerge in the air, except that he had grown tentacles to match the smaller viruses. This was the first time I saw him for the monster he was. Most disparaging was the clock that had appeared over his head. It read -400,000 days.
\--------
*I have no idea where to go with this. If you like it and want more let me know!*
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lsms3hb
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lski42v
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[WP] They call it the 'Elephant's Foot', a terrifying monster that lives in a cursed metal labyrinth— and your village elder believes that it is guarding a long lost secret
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It had become something of a game to her. Most of her fellows had been imprisoned by one hero or another. She supposes either she is that brilliant or her hero is just as fond of their game.
She enacts her plans meticulously each time. Today was the day she'd set the perfect one in motion.
Taking down the Healthy Air Co once and for all. She knows how they steal air from the poor. How the lower you went down in the City of Endless, the worst the air became.
They're siphoning oxygen upwards and pumping enough articial oxygen back down to prevent the lower city from becoming a mass grave.
She hums as she shifts her janitor hat forward when a worker steps past her. She offers them a head nod that they don't return. Typical.
She walks into the server room and secures the last of her bombs.
First would come the mass EMP, then the bombs would send this building crumbling to the ground.
She exits the building and walks a few blocks over to where her car is parked. She enters quickly and rips off the janitor uniform, replacing it with her own clothes.
She sits for a few minutes and waits. Normally, the hero would show up and save the corporation. They'd tell her something of morality and how innocents worked there.
She'd scoff and try to set off the explosives. The ones the hero would have already disarmed.
Twenty minutes pass, and the hero doesn't show. She frowns and runs her finger over the trigger. She supposes there's little else to do.
Her heart skips a beat, and her breathing falters when the bombs don't fail. The EMP fires, and after that, everything crumbles.
This was wrong.
Where is the hero? They should have-
She sees it then. Drifting out of the rubble. The hero's cape.
She cares little for the consequence of prison in that moment. She runs. And when she arrives at the rubble, she digs and hunts for them until she finds them. They're barely breathing, trapped under a cement piece of the wall.
She throws it off them with a hiss. "What happened to being a hero?"
The hero laughs, his voice tinged with the blood he coughs up. "Maybe I believe in your mission this time."
"You're not supposed to die. You're especially not supposed to believe," she rebukes.
He groans and reaches for her hand, giving it a weak squeeze. "I'm no hero. The air is unfit to breathe. We'd be next if this building had stayed."
"If you knew-" She pauses, hearing the sound of sirens drawing close. Her words are rushed as she continues. "Why were you inside?"
"Because it felt only fitting to fall with the thing I was told to protect." He laughs, though it sharpens into a cough. "Maybe you're the hero, and I'm the villain."
She shakes her head. "That's not how this works."
He wheezes. "A hero would stay with me and accept imprisonment. Are you that hero?"
She frowns as the police, ambulance, and fire brigade round the corner of the street. "I don't know." She releases his hand to brushes his hair from his eyes. "But I suppose we will find out."
A smile forms of his face. "Hero, indeed."
She scoffs as the police run towards them and point their guns at her. She lowers herself to her knees and watches as the ambulance carries him away.
Hero was too big of a word for her.
Perhaps they were simply cat and mouse, and she wasn't quite ready to give up the chase.
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You twist the tail of your new giant mouse costume in your hands, nervously watching the urban horizon. If Winulon doesn't show up soon, you'll just look foolish.
You feel a tug on your great upholstered backside and turn to find a small child. He looks up at you in wonderment. "Are you Chuck E. Cheese?"
Dare you reveal yourself? How to explain your unholy history? You recall the great battles of Nar'Goriath--how you repelled the advancing might of the King's Guard!--as you shift your weight to unstick your testicles from your inner thigh. Damn these chafing mouse-pants! "No," you finally reply. "I am not."
The child looks puzzled. "Then why are you dressed like him?"
You sigh. "I assure you, I am not dressed--"
"Do you like pizza?"
His inquiry so confounds you that for a moment you stand silent, adrift in the modern mayhem that is downtown Boise. You acquired this costume as a sort of poetic farewell--an almost comedic tip of the hat to Winulon before your final descent into the nether realm. This world is beautiful. Ah, to see one last smile before leaving, even if sprang from a visage you once loathed!
Across the street, a man appears to be urinating onto the side of an abandoned chicken restaurant.
"Do you like pizza?" the child asks again.
"No," you snap.
"Do you want to see a picture that I drew?"
"No," you snap.
"Do you know Big Bird?"
You think for a moment, and your heart aches for this child. When you acquired this costume--when you first slipped into its giant head, the trapped heat of your own breath--you felt the embrace of all humanity. Clearly, this was a beloved character. An idol of sorts. If love can animate mere felt and plastic, what sets you apart? Can you not be similarly cherished? "No," you snap.
[https://www.jaywilcoxwriter.net/](https://www.jaywilcoxwriter.net/)
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jp8kjxr
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jp8f1sf
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[WP] Whenever you die, you have the ability to reincarnate at any point in history with full memories of your past lives. Billions of lives later, you realise the truth: Every person ever in history is either your past or future reincarnations. There is no one out here apart from you. You are alone.
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***1.***
Rock, fall. Big, *biiig* rock. **Whoosh**. Fall far. Fire, much fire, closer, closer. Burned. Big burned. Air bad. Hot. Tired. Less pain when eyes close. Fall asleep. Pain... no more.
***2.***
I... had the most *peculiar* of dreams, dear. I- I was a caveman, you see? A proper caveman - like one you'd see in a museum. And I believe a... meteor fell on me? Oh my. I- I might be faint-headed. Say, could you perhaps fetch the physician? I believe he told me to take some of the laudanum if another spell came across me. Take the carriage and bring him right away, will you? Thank you, dear.
***6.***
My *humblest* thanks for seeing me, Oracle. I- I need you to beseech Apollo or his noble son, Asclepius, to aid me. I am haunted by the most dreadful visions - visions of lives I've not lived, in the strangest times. Lives that seem to be those of men stuck in the distant past or women in a time so far from now I know not how they could be possible. These visions are... the most vivid you could ever imagine, yet from godhood they are not - it must be a curse. Please, fair Oracle, allow me to beg the Immortals for mercy through you - and, of course, offer a humble offering of drachmae.
***168.***
There's no other way around it. They're not dreams. Not hallucinations. I've had this thought process far too many times to ignore it. The information I know is far too precise to be coincidental. They're... memories of past lives. Actual past lives. I- I know it sounds impossible, but... modern neuroscience and psychiatry have failed me; is an outlandish explanation such as this not possible? I need a drink.
***172,596.***
I've just met a man - a fine young man - today, whose face felt familiar. I first thought him a friend I made during the battle of Tsushima when the Mongols invaded, but no. He was... *me*. From when I fought in Tsushima before, thousands of lives ago. I didn't know this was possible! That another life could exist in the same time. This is... a most concerning notion. I must meditate on it.
***49,862,123,114.***
There's nothing here. Nothing except me. It's just... me, over and over again.
I recognize them. *So, so many of them* \- my previous lives, heroes and scoundrels, fair and horrific, and some of them, only a few, recognize me, so... I'm not even the last. I play my parts, I live my lives, compelled by some... primal, unseen drive, forcing me to do things I don't quite want, hurting myself in the past and future, saving them in the next life. But some of them recognize me, leading to one, terrible conclusion - I'm just another member of the chain, the infinite line of lives ahead of me, staring at the line behind me.
As I sit here at the foot of the temple and see a past version of me asking me to beseech Apollo and Asclepius, I can't help but wonder.
Is this Hell?
***991,413,761,833.***
I'm 47 years into this iteration and it's... promising. I haven't seen a single face I've not seen before; haven't met a single version of me that I don't recall. That - that means that this could be it! At long, *long* last, this could be...
Focus. Let's see... engines are doing fine, approach vector is perfect. A little shaky but that's to be expected. I'm... anxious. For the first time in what is right next to forever. Gods, it's been billions of years since I've last been anxious. It feels **exhilarating**!
If the trillions of calculations are correct, I should slip by the event horizon unharmed and fly into the singularity. If the *other* calculations, the cumulative work of billions of lives working in unison, are *also* true, then the singularity of this black hole is not a singular point, but a ring. Which means that I could fly *through* it.
Beyond that, it's a wild guess, even for me. Sometimes I theorised that for information to be preserved past the even horizon, there could be an alternative history, one *with* the black hole, the other *without* it - a parallel universe. A place where I could meet someone *else*.
Or perhaps I'll just get crushed into an infinitely dense point, but maybe - *just maybe* \- I finally won't come back from this one.
And truth be told...
I'm fine with both.
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At first there was nothing, so much nothing, in fact, that the universe was full. Filled to the brim, spilling over with nothingness. A blank slate. Blanker than a slate, blanker than anything that could possibly be imagined and stretching further than a clear night sky. It wasn't that nothing existed, it was that there was nothing to exist.
Then I blinked. I awoke. And then, there was something. It was me, I, the first and only. Now I didn't remember such an event so it could not have been very significant, but nowadays people, other me's mostly, make such a ruckus about it. The "Big Bang" they've taken to calling it. Why they went with bang I will never know. Then again, it technically was just another me who had first called it such so something in my brain somewhere felt bang to be an appropriate word. I did not.
Then I died. Another very forgettable event. But apparently I must have enjoyed it because I proceeded to do it again, and again, and again. Some terribly painful: a spear through the chest or lungs full of water; others almost relaxing: in a bed by loved ones or resting in a field. But always the same. Always waking up as a new me until somewhere along the line it was only me. Had only ever been me's.
And suddenly that vast nothingness the universe spilled over with before was replaced and now spilled over with me. Until I could not not see it anymore. After a billion reincarnations it became clear that there was never anything that wasn't me.
George Washington? Me.
That one guy on the Price is Right? Me (hell, and it turns out I was the host too).
That other guy on the Price is Right? Also me.
Something strange happens when one consciousness realizes that everyone is them. It's not like they all realize it as you'd hope, no, in fact they believe the one to be crazy. They pin him to a cross or let him rot beneath a bridge. They label him as crazy and tell him he must see a shrink, a shrink who is also him in disguise beneath a white coat and a degree. And he thinks he is better than me because of his education, but I think I am him because I am.
It all spills over but they cannot see, they do not care. Their throats do not close and their brains do not break, only yours does. And you come to the final realization over and over again, the realization that if everyone is everyone, and everything is everything, that nothing truly ever matters. That maybe it never did. That maybe all of these lives and all of this energy mean nothing in comparison to the true nothingness the universe once had.
The final knowing is that it is easier to be a man than a prophet. Nobody likes a prophet who tells the truth.
So I must keep being a man, every man.
I must enjoy the empire of man, of me, forever. At the very least, I am in good company.
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ltrtwm2
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ltqpw1v
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[WP] When you were a child, a mercenary made you watch as he killed your entire family in front of you. You swore revenge. Decades later, you've finally tracked them down- ...only to find they're now a pacifistic geriatric who's beloved by his community.
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**Part 1 of 2**
———————————————————————————
Chimera lifted his left foot, and let gravity tip him until his shoulder bumped against the brown brick wall. He put a cigarette in his mouth, and pulled out his lighter, pressing his thumb harshly on the gear. It turned, and with a satisfying *click,* a flame spurted up and flickered wildly for a moment before it calmed. He lit his cigarette and took a puff. He held in the breath before releasing it, billowing a plume of smoke from his mouth.
Cottonwood Falls was a quaint, pretty town. Chimera watched as three children scampered along the road. He figured many children would be walking past. They were of no interest to him. He was zeroed in on the black 2012 Ford Edge with the Arkansas license plate. He bit down on the end of the cigarette with such frustration that he accidentally bit through it, and the severed end fell from his lips on onto the ground. He grumbled curses as he stamped out the embers and spat out the wet paper. “Come on, bastard. Come on out.”
*”Come on kiddo, come on out.” Declan watched from under the bed as the black boots stepped along their wooden floor. He held his hand over his mouth, horrified, waiting for the man to lean down and meet his gaze.*
*“Come on, you’re the last one.” He tore open a cabinet, and then a closet. He rummaged the room while Declan’s heart beat into the floor so loudly he was sure the man could feel it, and was only toying with him.*
*“COME OUT!” The man yelled, and Declan whimpered instinctively. His heart stopped. Everything stopped. Even the black boots froze as they analyzed the source of the noise. Then they moved. They stepped toward the bed, and then Declan saw the man go on his knees.*
*The barrel of a gun met his eyes, and then the man’s face. “Hi there.” He said.*
Chimera shook his head as he focused again on the car. From around the corner of the school building, Chimera watched an old man walk. He stared at him, his heart began to pound. He knew it was him, and as the man unlocked the car he’d been stalking, it had confirmed everything.
He stepped out, but a voice drew him back out of sight. “Mr. Jeffreys!” A lady ran from around the corner. “I’m sorry to keep you, I just wanted to thank you for helping to organize this event for the kids!”
The monster waved his hand slightly, and Chimera couldn’t hear anything. He brushed his hair back over his shoulder and strolled out. He decided he had to go now. He walked right up to the pair and waved to them. “Hi, Mr. Jeffreys. He said. “My name’s Charlie—but everyone calls me Chimera.” He scrubbed his hair, feigning anxiety, and continued, “I just moved here, so I’m starting here next week. Anyway, I don’t have any classes with you, I just wanted to ask your advice since everyone I’ve met say you give the best.” Chimera smiled in the boyish way he’d practiced.
The woman with them became curious, “I didn’t know about that, where’d you move here from?”
Chimera forced himself not to glare at the man as he answered; “I’m from Conway, Arkansas.” He lied. He was from Arkansas, but not Conway. He turned back to the man, “So… can I ask you something kinda personal?” And then he shot the woman a nervous look so that she would feel like she was intruding. It worked, as she waved goodbye and walked off.
“How can I help you, young man?”
Chimera smiled and pulled a pistol from his belt; “You can give me the car keys.” He answered. The man froze, and meekly offered the keychain. Chimera grabbed it and ordered Jeffrey’s into the car. “Boy, you may want to think about what you’re doing.” He said as Chimera grabbed handcuffs from his bag and put them on.
Chimera slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He turned up the music and started driving. “My name isn’t Charlie. People do call me Chimera, but my name was Declan.” He said quickly. “I’m from Little Rock.”
“Little Rock…” The man echoed. “I see…”
“Yeah.” Chimera snarled. “Yeah, you do.” He pressed his foot against the gas pedal, and the engine revved as the car jerked forward. He pulled out and drove. He had no idea where he was going to go.
*”Mommy! Daddy!” Declan screamed. The ropes dug into his wrists as he wrestled them. He was too weak, too insignificant. “Please! Let my mommy and daddy go!” He cried.*
*The man smirked, and grabbed a crowbar. He tossed it in his hand once or twice, readjusting his grip, and then drew it back. He brought it down, and Declan screamed, slamming his eyes shut. Every time he heard the bar swing and strike, it felt as through it were smashing the very foundation of the universe. He squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that he began to see colors in the blackness. Wavy lines danced across the void.*
|
"I... Apologize." Says the old man, refusing to look you in the eyes as he does so
.
"I don't forgive you." You reply, through gritted teeth, as you stand from the seat across from him. His eyes widen in fear, face painted with regret."
"Please," He begs, "my family-"
"What about mine?!" You nearly shout, trying to keep your voice down, "My family? The one you destroyed!"
The old man swallows, as he finally looks you in the eyes. Funny how he gains the courage to do so only now, and not at any point during the... well, less conversation, more accusations, that preceded this.
"They didn't deserve-" He starts.
"I... you... I can't... I can't do this. I can't listen to this. Goodbye. I hope you enjoy the rest of your life, you miserable bastard. I never want to see you again." You turn, and leave the room, and then the house, nearly running through the doors. As you leave, you transition to a run, then a sprint, down the street.
You don't stop, even as your breathing grows more frantic and your chest starts to hurt. You don't stop as you leave the street his house sits on, or as you leave the confines of the village for the fields beyond. You don't even stop as you enter the forest beyond. Not that you truly realize it, though, through the tightness in your chest, the thoughts running in circles in your head, and the tears in your eyes.
You do stop, however, when you practically trip over a rotted log some distance into the woods. You stumble, and slow, and finally you stop. You stop, and you stare into nothing as you hyperventilate and shake, sinking to the ground.
'Why...' You think, your thoughts coming heavy and sluggish through the panic.
'Why did I... do that? I... I have been hunting him for years... for decades. Why couldn't I just... end it? Why did I leave? I... he killed them. Why couldn't I do it?'
Your thoughts continue in this pattern for some time, as you sit slumped against the log. Your head is pressed against your knees as you hug them to yourself, heaving silent, shaky sobs.
Your breathing slows, and your thoughts clear, over the course of... minutes? You think they are minutes, at least. It could have been an hour, for all that you can tell.
You suck in a breath, rubbing at your eyes and nose as you raise your head and release your legs from the death grip you had held them in.
"Mom... Dad... I'm sorry. I couldn't... I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill him for you. I... I-I just... I couldn't. I'm so sorry." You whisper, trying to keep yourself together, "I guess I just... wasn't strong enough. I know I should have-I was supposed to-I was... I don't know. I... looking at him then, I just... He killed you, and I couldn't see him as anything other... He looked so resigned, when he spoke to me. I couldn't bring myself to kill someone who... I couldn't do to his family as he had done to ours, I suppose. If that makes any sense? I'm not so sure that it does."
You sigh, and brush yourself off while you stand, taking stock of your surroundings as you do so. You start to walk in the direction of the village, so you can find the road that leads to the next town, and pause for a moment as you catch sight of the stars.
"I guess that's it, isn't it? It's over. If I'm not going to kill him... It's finally over." You start to smile, and let out a relieved laugh as you begin to move again.
|
k81hj3z
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k815o88
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[WP] “Mom…Dad…I’m…” “Gay? We know sweetheart. And we still love yo—-“ “No I’m—“ “Trans too? Oh don’t worry dear we always kind of knew…” “No for the love of god I’ve been turned into a vampire!!”
|
"Relax, honey, we're not entirely surprised..."
"You're not surprised? I'm a vampire! I suck blood! I burn under the sun! I'm a monster! And you're not surprised?"
"Your 1st cousin Trevor was bitten by a werewolf. Your 2nd Aunt Hazel married a skinwalker. Your 3rd Uncle Robert works for an eldritch god and was turned into a Deep One. We have plenty of experience with supernatural beings in the family."
"Mom! For the love of god I—"
"Which god?" Dad interjected.
"There's more than one god out there?"
"...Yea. I thought that was obvious," Dad scratched his chin. "Do you need a mentor to guide you through your transitions?"
Mom spoke up. "I know a few friendly neighborhood vampires who can show you the ropes."
"But I don't wanna be a vampire! I'm gonna miss basking in the sun! I like suntanning!"
"Honey, suntan lotion and sunscreen UV protection exist! You'll be fine!"
"But I'm hungry for blood! I don't wanna suck from people!"
"Lord Elvari has a huge supply of goat's blood for his own consumption. Maybe we can ask him to share his stash with you."
"I am not sharing drinks with some tentacle dude."
"He's a nice tentacle dude. Honey, be nice, he's a god. Divine retribution is very real, and every god has his limits."
"I'm a monster my friends won't hang out with anymore!"
"There are several monster networking groups on Meetup.com. Mom and Dad have a few friends who can link you up with them."
"But I want my human friends!"
"Bite them and bring them to your vampire meetup? The world is more accepting of supernatural beings ever since the masquerade collapsed years ago."
"Mom, Dad, you're too chill. Aren't you freaking out that your daughter is a vampire? Don't humans freak out when their kid is no longer human?"
"But honey, we're Shoggoths in human vessels."
------
[Thank you for reading! Please click here to view more stories by me!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/)
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Mom, pausing a moment, mouth stopped mid motion, Dad comes in for the save, holding a hand up.
“Well…who turned you? Wasn’t any of our family. They would have told us.”
“Wait…what?”
Mom raises a finger, Rob…are you sure?”
“Well, what is the point in hiding it anymore?”
“Mom! Dad! WhatEVER are you talking about?!?”
They look at each other.
“You’re not vampires! I’ve seen you out in sun and everything! And…and…you AGE!”
“Oh baby, we have so much to teach you” my Mom says putting a hand on my shoulder before sitting down and patting the couch beside her.
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mkqxsws
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mkqu6jr
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[WP] You have worked your entire life to become the world’s greatest mage, almost comically however your annoying little sister just so happens to be a natural talent beyond even the best mages comprehension and everyone loves her.
|
“And in this demonstration, we have Kryne Bauthorn! A studied mage hailing from Bruswall School of Arts Magic.” A man said, sitting behind a pulpit with a wrinkled piece of paper.
I walked through a small archway into the circular room. The floor marbled with designs of a man holding a sword in one hand and a ring in the other—the mark of the Order’s Flame. Above the empty marbled floor were seats filled with no shortage of strange characters. Men who claimed nobility from faraway lands I was sure, I eyed one man in particular who chewed on a coin like gum. There among the audience was a table erected higher than the rest. Three women and two men sat in those chairs, gazes nowhere near him—the Select Five. I would make them look. I had sacrificed everything for today.
I stood at the center, the voices above me mixed and muddied into one horrible sound. The woman at the center of the five raised her hand, and the audience turned to whispers—then a hush. I could hear my heartbeat, the eyes of two of the judges found me. Out of obligation or interest, I didn’t know.
The man behind the table grasped both sides and read from the book with ceremony. “Kryne Bauthorn, to the respected assembly of the Order’s Flame—demonstrate your prowess so that you may be elected in service of war.” He lucked up from the book. “I wish you luck.” He stepped away and nodded toward a soldier standing near the exit.
That soldier moved with a purpose he knew. His hand spun open a metal grating, pulling the chain’s slack in until what emerged was the Flesh. An amalgamation of hands, feet, eyeballs, and lapping tongues. To me, that thing defied logic. It was different seeing a Flesh in person. The hair on my skin stiffened with danger paddling toward me on hands and feet. So this is what the Order’s Flame fought against. My eyes landed on the Select Five and then back to the Flesh. What had these twenty years of diligent practice been for? Since I was five, I had practiced every day without fail. A flame erupted inside of my hand. Confidence.
The Flesh smelled me, charged me. Its screams ran in all directions from its many mouths, its hands and feet moved in sync. The ground beneath me vibrated under its weight. My hand roared its dragon’s breath, and consumed the Flesh. It lit. Its screams turned to shrieks, the many tormented within its grasps cried in their own confusion, begging for a forgiveness that wouldn’t come—only judgment.
The Flesh collapsed to the ground and the Select Five gave me their gaze for the first time. Under the crackling sound of flesh and its horrible, horrible smell—there was a gentle applause. Nothing more, nothing less.
The man walked back to his table and turned to the next page in his book. “The Select Five will now make their decree.” He looked up toward the sky where they sat. My heart sank just a bit when I saw the first thumb turn downward. Then one up. The woman in the middle frowned, her mind not made up. The man next to her gave a thumbs up, and the woman on the end a thumbs down. It was up to the last of the Select Five, the woman who sat at the center of it all—to decide my fate of twenty years efforts.
My throat choked on saliva and eyes bulged. Her hand pointed down, thumb scoring the earth and him with it.
“You are average at best. That Flesh? Weak. Yet, everyone in this assembly can see for themselves. You might be able to kill two more before becoming conjoined. The Order’s Flame is too dangerous for you. Find yourself a day job.”
I collapsed to my knees. They pulled me up by my pits and carried me out.
|
I worked. Gods, I worked.
I bled my hands raw copying spells by candlelight, muttering incantations until my throat cracked, subjecting myself to every grueling test of will, endurance, and intellect imaginable. I studied the tomes of the Ancients, deciphered the lost languages of forgotten civilizations, mastered magic beyond the comprehension of lesser minds. I suffered. I sacrificed. And for what?
For my little sister to waltz in, wave her hand, and make me look like a fool.
I trained under the greatest archmages of our time. She turned a frog into a wyvern when she was five because she thought it’d be funny.
I spent decades honing the sacred art of elemental convergence. She sneezed and accidentally summoned a localized thunderstorm.
I was hailed as a prodigy, a once-in-a-generation mind, the destined Grand Magus of the Age. Now? Now I am "Elaine’s elder sister."
Everywhere I go, it's the same. "Oh, Elaine did the impossible! Elaine rewrote the fundamental laws of mana flow! Elaine is the future of magic itself!" And what do I get? A condescending pat on the back.
"Don’t be jealous," they say. "Isn’t it wonderful that talent runs in the family?" No! No, it is not wonderful! It is infuriating! Do you know what it’s like to devote your entire existence to the arcane arts only to be outshined by someone who doesn’t even *try*?
I shamed myself like Brida, clawing my way through ridicule and hardship to earn my place, only for my sister to be some Glinda-esque miracle worker, beloved by all. It is almost comical how little she cares, how easily everything comes to her. It’s as if the gods themselves looked at me and said, "Yes, you shall be great—but your sister shall be greater, and you will live in her shadow."
And yet, no one mocks her. No one resents her. They all *love* her.
I hate that I cannot.
I should. I want to. But when she grins at me, all bright-eyed and oblivious, showing me yet another impossible spell she created just because she was bored, I can’t bring myself to feel anything but exhausted admiration. I spent years trying to defy magic’s limits; she was born without them.
So I will keep pushing. I will keep working. Because, in the end, there is one thing I have that she does not.
I *earned* this.
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mwty9up
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llul0wz
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[WP] As the princess and heir apparent of the kingdom you are the most sought after woman in the whole kingdom, with suitors lining up every day to ask for your hand in marriage. Today you finally accept the proposal of a suitor, causing a massive scandal.
|
It was once again...Thanksgiving.
Our family was renowned across the universe, for birthing the strongest magicians of all fields...yet they didn't know something.
During holidays...when the entire family gathers, we compete in a different way one might expect.
Those who mastered fire spells make the perfect roast, and cook the food to the perfect temperature.
Those who mastered ice create the best cold deserts, and keep the food from going bad...
And me?
He-he.
I came home, and entering the house, the space enlarged, easily being the size of several planets.
Hundreds of thousands of clansmen, servants, and helpers were busy preparing for the holiday.
"Oy, Greeny! You back?", a cousin shouted.
I nodded.
"Hey, guys, Greeny is back, come with the baskets!", he chuckled, as many relatives ran towards me, with huge baskets, grinning, eagerly telling me to give them the good stuff already.
I chuckled, and waved my hand, as those giant baskets were filled with fruits, vegetables, and herbs, enough to feed millions.
My cousin whistled.
"Damn, your Nature magic leveled up, didn't it?
Every single of those items could make a mortal go from being a non-initiated individual, to a rank-3 professional in whatever field they want to.
Tsk...how do you fill them up with so much energy?", he asked.
I chuckled.
"I am just that good.", I said, leaving.
I saw my necromancer relatives animate the corpses of the beasts, the warrior branch hunted, and taking them to the kitchen.
The water field related mages were creating an ocean, while using the grapes I brought, they were making a watered down version of my wine.
Not blaming them, my wine coudl K.O. a god if not watered down.
I reached the main hall after a few hours of walking, and talking with some relatives, where I met the main family: my parents, and siblings.
They were...dissecting a leviathan.
"Oy kiddo, come bring some seasoning, I just caught this fella in the Water Universe!", dad laughed.
The Leviathan was the size of a smaller planet...
I laughed, and joined them.
I loved the holidays, especially since soon, under the influence of emotions, and good booze, the fun will start.
Will Empires rise or fall? Will we wake up once again in a new universe? Or will we find out once again how to time travel?
Heh...let the festivities begin.
|
\[Poem\]
I dreamt of a butterfly
Adrift in the winds of summer
Free from the confines of 'er own mind
To think as it wished
To love as it may
Yet in the shadows of Autumn
In those oppressive shades
Lay hands awaiting
Strings snatching wings away
And so fell the butterfly
Into the eternal dusk of Winter
A place of Hell and darkened embers
Hardened shrieks sounding
From those heavenly towers
Each crumbling down
As hope stolen by gathering shadows
Coalesce into bloom and May
Wings clipped, resolve thin
Yet inspired by coming Spring
The butterfly wept in sorrow
But from bloom came salvation
For out came a firefly
Casting the scheming darkness away
Inviting them to the dark
Embers alit with determination
The butterfly found 'er wings again
For when darkness shouted, yelled for doubts anew
They always had the firefly
The one brave and bold enough to let her fly again
For there was need for nothing more.
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j3b4ok2
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j3auu38
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[WP] Aphrodite is talking to Ares. "Y'know, Persephone gives Hades flowers everyday. I wish you'd do that." The next day, Ares goes to the Underworld and gives Hades flowers. "Yeah, I'm not really sure why Aphrodite wanted me to do this, but here you go."
|
Persephone stopped in the doorway, looking at the sight before her. Ares held the flowers out before himself for a second more, turned to look at her, and hastily jammed them into Hades' hands.
"Well, isn't this cute. I swear, Hades, you never had as many suitors as you've had since we wed."
"Hi, Perse," Ares said, glancing at the bunch of peonies in her hand. "Aphrodite said you give Hades flowers every day, and said she wished I'd do the same. I don't understand why, but--"
Persephone snorted so violently she started choking on her own tongue. Hades headed over to his wife, who was breathing hard, trying to recover her breath.
"I've just got to clear my throat," she said roughly, and coughed again. "I'll be back in a moment."
Persephone staggered from the room, leaving Hades and Ares alone.
"I didn't get her hint again, did I?" Ares asked, sighing as he looked at the flowers around the room.
"Not as such, no." Hades clapped his nephew on the back. "When you love the Goddess of Love, you have you remember that she doesn't talk as blunt as a sword to the face--you need to interpret her subtleties."
Ares sighed and accepted his uncle's gentle leading towards the exit. He stood up straight, settling his sword better on his hip, and headed back towards Olympus, roses in hand. He'd get it right this time.
Just inside the entrance to Hades' realm, he passed Hera and Persephone talking in hushed voices. The hair on the back of his neck stood up a little as an embarrassed flush crept up his neck. From the way the women were studiously ignoring his presence, he realised they were talking about him.
"Hi, mum," he called, waving a hand to her.
Hera broke off her conversation with Persephone. "Hello, Ares. Getting some advice from your uncle?"
Ares nodded. "Yeah. But I better go, Dite's waiting."
Hera nodded and turned back towards Persephone, but not before he saw the corners of her lips lift.
The sound of Hera's giggles followed him from the underworld, walking with his face in his hands.
*Damn women.*
|
Hades:out of curiosity nephew, how did that conversation go?
Persephone:*currently rolling on The floor while ares explains*
Hades:it was a Mather if syntaxis i see. *Grabs some flowers given to him by his wife*,dear is it okay if I send ares with these?
Persephone:* makes an approval gesture with a hand while recovering from laughter*
Hades:next time try to ask for clarification just in case.
Ares: i will never gonna live this down, am I?
Hades: you can die this down but that is a different circumstance
Ares:... You wanted to make that joke A long time ago dint you
Hades:*smug expression* you would be surprised he w often I get the chance
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jiqh552
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jipp7o7
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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.
|
# 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!”*
|
The ancients before us were better. We've known that for as long as even *can.* Ironically, the pursuit of what came before only drags us farther from it. War, fought over and over for what our ancestors had.
Grand flying machines, beasts of unfathomable speed, steels of unparalleled strength. We scavenge the ruins, piecing together their technology from information and guides scattered throughout the world.
This mad pursuit of technological reclamation has driven towards what else they've left behind, including manuals and books. Linguistic analysis is still ongoing. Still, there was one thing even the ancients clearly feared to at least some extent.
Those who have felt say it doesn't like much at first, but it slowly creeps like a miasma. Our scouts bring back signs, text. The symbol seems to be universal. A single circle, surrounded by three 2D-cone like things. Everywhere these are placed, usually in large facilities where some machinery or *something* was operated, is filled with what is called in many different languages, RADIATION.
Their texts reveal that radiation is more of a force than a thing, that it is emitted by a certain radioactive objects. Radiation can apparently be blocked using certain materials, things like lead, but something to shield a being is yet to be discovered.
To this day, these ruins still remain permeated with this radiation. Little lives there for long.
Well, little are unaffected.
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kca08o5
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kc9laf2
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[WP] “You said she is an elemental mage, what element she specializes on? Fire? Earth? Water?” “Actinides.”
|
There was a bit of an air of emptiness around this fairy. Her mismatched look indicated that she was an outcast, but Alex could not understand why. Was it three eyes? No, some other fae had three. Was it the wing shape? No, just uncommon. Alex saw other fae with such traits. And four hands was as common as it got.
"Protector", she said, staring dead in his eyes. "Great Protector, I need your advice as a human."
Alex rose one eyebrow. He was a paranormal researcher and a little bit of a diplomatist between the different kinds of beings. He was good enough at his job that fae lived in his garden. But he have never seen this fairy, or anyone like her for that matter. A little bit empty, devoid of colours, with head of white hair not unlike clover, and with a three-leaved clover sewn onto her dress, burned and patched.
"Could you tell me more?"
"Your mechanic told me about the things she saw on television. Including something about metals that shed light that kills."
Well, Mali Cardus wasn't his mechanic, more like Alex rented out his garage for the tinkerer fairy, and she loved listening to some scientific channels while working. And Mali was unorthodox, so of course she could have an unorthodox friend.
"Yes?"
"Tell me more. Tell me more about them, human!"
The wings lit up with yellow patterns, somewhat recognisable. A yellow trefoil on a black background. Was that a sign of radioactivity? The dress caught fire and the fairy put it out not giving much attention.
"Tell me. What do you know of the deadly light."
Alex scratched his head. He didn't remember much about it. Except for the basics.
"Well, some metals are too heavy for their own good, so they break down. Like if you hit a glowing mushroom it will light up. But as the metal is made of smaller parts than the mushroom, so is their light, sort of."
"Sort of? What is their sort?"
"I don't know much, but I can give you a video about it."
As the fairy was mesmerized by the charisma of Kyle Hill, Alex noted down this encounter with what seemed to be a living gamma lazer. Would he need something special to clean up after this guest? His worries were interrupted.
"I wish to go there, Alex."
"Where exactly?" Alex asked helplessly and hoped that the fey asked to meet Kyle and not to go to Chernobyl.
|
At Maki Corp., they hire the greatest magical assassins. Og and Barry sat at a desk, next to each other, in Og's office. "About that Sara girl...", started Barry. "Yes?"
“You said she is an elemental mage; what element she specializes on? Fire? Earth? Water?”, said Barry. “Actinides.”
The door opened, and Sara, the interviewee, entered. "Hello, Sara", said Og. She shook both of their hands before sitting down. "Tell me about yourself", said Og. "I've been utilizing magic for five years..." "So, how exactly does one kill a person with actinides?", asked Barry. "Radioactivity", she responded. There was a pause. "Have you ever killed someone with this?", he asked. "I've killed 20 people with it. I snuck pebbles of various elements into their clothes. The exposure to their skin, after a while, was lethal." "Well, that's what we're looking for", said Barry, smiling. "We'll give you a call on Monday", said Og, "That is all." "Thank you", she said.
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lq5ieoz
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lq4wzgl
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[WP]The humans go into the dreamscape and survive for 8 hours and they do it everyday....according to all that we know...this is impossible.
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In the 25 years since humans developed the ability to travel at light speed, so much had changed for our species. It took a bit, but once we found other "people" and joined the Galactic Federation, life as humans once knew it on Earth completely changed.
I was one of the first Earth kids to attend a Sector University. Pretty much the galactic version of a state college - high diversity, decent tuition if you lived in-sector (and grants available for those who didn't), and of course, a strong focus on sports.
That's actually how I got my scholarship. I had no idea what Dream Running was, but apparently, I was one of the best at it, even amongst other humans. I was head-hunted by galactic scouts during my last two years of high school. I was known for daydreaming and occasionally falling asleep in class. My teachers hated it, but apparently, these scouts had never seen anything like it and offered me a full ride, including room and board for my family, so they could be close. They were serious!
My first week on campus was pretty typical, lots of wandering around campus trying to find the right building, sitting through the syllabus and ice-breaker nonsense in each class, and meeting all kinds of new people of every species, from all over the galaxy. Everyone I met was shocked when I told them what I was recruited for, and some even got uncomfortable and walked away. It was weird. Until I went to my first practice and learned *why* I was so different.
I walked into the "gym," fully expecting to see a regular Earth-type school gym or at least a track - it was called "Dream *Running,*" after all. But, instead, I found myself in a room that looked like something out of a manual on how to relax, but with specialized monitoring equipment attached to each station. Each of these "dreaming stations" had a screen above it that showed what the players were seeing in their dream runs. It was something between a spa inside a sleep study lab combined with an e-gaming competition.
I looked around at my new teammates, again, astonished at what I saw. These guys looked like the things nightmares would be afraid of, but they were all dressed head to toe in soft, fluffy robes and satin pajamas. My brain could not process the contrast, and I just stood there, staring.
I was trying to imagine what it would be like to meet these guys under literally any other circumstances. I'd probably be terrified, but seeing them like this was completely disarming, and I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. I spotted my friend, Mike, talking to someone who looked a bit like a short (7ft or so) giraffe with the muscles of a gorilla wearing a pink robe. He waved me over, and the other guy took a tentative step back but tried to play it off like he was just shifting his weight.
"I was just telling Glark here that humans actually have to dream or we go insane. He says we're already insane if we do this willingly. Glark, this is my buddy, Dave. We went to school together back on Earth. He's even better at this than I am!" Mike slapped me on the back, making me take a step forward, and Glark jumped.
I laughed awkwardly and waved at Glark. "I'm not sure what I'm so good at, but," I gestured at the dreaming stations, "this all seems pretty neat!" Glark raised his eyebrows in either confusion or awe, I couldn't tell. "And yeah, Mike is right. Humans have to sleep every day, and dreaming is just part of the sleep cycle. Happens to everyone, even animals."
Glark was shocked. "You put your *pets* in there?!" Mike and I looked at each other, confused. "No?" We both said together. "We don't really have a choice, dude. Like Dave said, it just happens when we sleep."
"And you guys just... hang out in the Dreaming every night? How do you leave?!" Glark was thoroughly nonplussed, but seemed more curious than incredulous now that I had confirmed what Mike told him. I looked at Mike, who had the same look on his face I felt like I had, then back at Glark. "Leave? You mean wake up? That just kind of happens on its own, or we use an alarm." Mike nodded, adding, "Sometimes dreams can get really intense, and we'll wake up from that, but those are rare. Most people call them nightmares."
Glark was really interested now, and shifted forward a bit. "Ok! And how do you defeat these "Night Mares"? With conventional weapons, or do you need magic?" I couldn't help but laugh, but I stopped myself immediately because I could tell he was truly serious and trying to understand. "Like I said, we just wake up most of the time, and the dream ends." Mike said. I could tell that didn't satisfy old Glark's curiosity, and I didn't want him to think we were hiding the truth from him or anything.
"We really don't understand dreaming all that well, to be honest," I said. Glark sat back again, still looking interested, but now even more confused as in his mind, we were masters of this craft. "Some people can do something called "lucid dreaming," like Mike and I can, where you can sort of control what happens in your dreams, but even then, that's super rare and not 100% reliable for every dream."
Glark sat down. "Con...control your dream? Without assistance, you can enter the Dreaming, move about freely, encounter Dream Beings, and leave without a scratch. And you do this every single night?" He wasn't really asking us, more just thinking out loud to the air in front of him.
A soft bell rang, and Glark stood up. "Come on, it's time for the huddle." He started to walk away but turned back and looked at Mike and me one more time. It looked like he was about to ask another question, but he just shook his head and turned toward the group gathering near the babbling brook. Mike and I followed, feeling very confused, but nap time was calling, and I was born ready to play this game.
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As Sam's consciousness drifted deeper into the realm of dreams, reality began to warp and bend. The confines of his bedroom melted away, replaced by a kaleidoscope of impossible vistas and phantasmagorical landscapes. His mind, free from the constraints of the waking world, soared through the skies.
Sam found himself diving into oceans of shimmering light, the liquid luminescence parting around his body. Schools of creatures that were part fish, part constellation, darted past him. He could breathe underwater.
As he emerged from the radiant sea, Sam's feet touched down on a beach where each grain of sand was a swirling galaxy. The horizon before him stretched and twisted, folding in on itself like a möbius strip. In the distance, mountains floated, their peaks brushing against clouds that rained upwards.
Beings of impossible geometry approached Sam. They spoke to him in languages made of color and emotion, conveying concepts that his waking mind could never comprehend. Sam conversed with them effortlessly, his dream-self fluent in the dialect.
High above the Earth, in the confines of their observation vessel, Dr. Zara and Captain Elonn watched in rapt fascination. The holographic display before them pulsed and flared, mirroring the intense activity in Sam's cerebral cortex. Brainwave patterns danced across the screen, spiking and fluctuating in ways the aliens had never seen in any other species.
"Remarkable," Dr. Zara murmured, her large, almond-shaped eyes reflecting the oscillating patterns. "The neural pathways are creating and dissolving at an unprecedented rate. It's as if the entire structure of his consciousness is being rebuilt with each passing moment."
Captain Elonn leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. "And you say this happens every night? To every human?"
"With varying degrees of intensity, yes," Dr. Zara confirmed, her fingers dancing over the control panel, zooming in on specific areas of activity. "But this subject, Sam, exhibits particularly vivid patterns. His dreamscape appears to be exceptionally rich and detailed."
As they watched, Sam's brainwaves surged again, causing several alarms to chime. The two aliens exchanged a glance. Whatever was happening in Sam's mind, it was clear that it was something beyond their understanding of consciousness and reality.
The intensity of Sam's dream experience was unlike anything she had observed in their years of studying human sleep patterns. She turned to Captain Elonn, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and urgency.
"Captain, I believe we have an unprecedented opportunity here," she said, gesturing towards the pulsating display. "What if we could experience this dreamscape firsthand? Our neural interface will allow us to join Sam in his dream state."
Captain Elonn's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "Join him? Dr. Zara, the risks of such an experiment are incalculable. We have no idea how our consciousness would interact with the humans."
Dr. Zara nodded, acknowledging the captain's reservations. "I understand your concerns, but consider the potential knowledge we could gain."
As they debated, the ship's systems emitted a series of urgent beeps. The holographic display flickered and expanded, showing a dramatic spike in Sam's neural activity.
"Look at this," Dr. Zara exclaimed, her slender fingers dancing across the control panel. "The intensity is increasing exponentially."
Captain Elonn frowned, his internal conflict visible in the set of his shoulders. "The Council would never approve such a risky endeavor."
"By the time we ask, this opportunity will be lost," Dr. Zara argued, her voice rising. "Captain, in all our years of exploration, have we ever encountered anything like this? A species that can so routinely access the dimension beyond reality?"
The captain's gaze shifted between the eager face of his lead researcher and the mesmerizing display of Sam's dream state. The alarms continued to chime, adding a sense of urgency to the moment.
"If we don't act now," Dr. Zara pressed, "we may never fully understand this. Think of what it could mean for our understanding of the consciousness itself."
Captain Elonn's expression remained stern, but a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes. The decision weighed heavily upon him as the ship's systems continued to alert them to the growing anomaly in Sam's brainwave patterns.
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j3t2wv4
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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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I’m an old man now, but I was young when they left. You have to understand how bad it was in those days- the air wanted to choke us, the earth wanted to drown us and anyone upset enough with things to want to change them was too tired to do anything about it. Early 30’s news started telling us there was a plan to get us off of earth and we were all so happy. I grew up hearing every day that it was the end of the world and now there was a shining hope. There was a slew of movies and shows about exploring the universe and sexy aliens and they started calling my generation the “spacers”. Born just in time to explore the stars.
Well that’s how it started anyway. The first year the president and nasa promised, tears in their eyes, “a seat for every human”. News crews started filming the building of “The Adam” and to most of us the scale seemed wild. They had to build the thing in orbit and press people said it was “the size of Texas”. The sensible people came out of the woodwork on the internet and started talking about how that couldn’t be possible, we didn’t have the science to build something on that scale. Some of em were even experts in their field. They were dismissed as “doomers” and most people ignored them. Eventually their point that even if the Adam was as big as reported it wouldn’t be enough space for every person started to stick though.
The next year the story was that many ships like the Adam would be built. Then they started talking about the “advance party”. A group of experts and the best humanity had to offer to prepare a planet for the rest of us. There were leaks at that point of the Adam’s actual scale and that other ships weren’t getting built. We didn’t mind though- this was a good plan, send our best first and then we can come next- of course it would take a while and the Adam was coming together very quickly now.
You’ve read about what happens next year of course. The worst part for me was how it seemed like nobody did anything when the truth about the real passengers of the Adam came out. The manifest was full of old rich white men, a couple stars, a slew of cronies, toadies, mistresses and servants. 100,000 people all told, and precious few actual explorers or experts. The angel girl who leaked the info on the internet was arrested for treason and strangled in jail. Some believed her but most were busy with life and wrote it off. It wasn’t until the shuttles carrying our old oligarchs left that we realized we had been abandoned.
But here’s the thing- not much really changed at first. For all the wealth they had, these rulers contributed very little. For a while the people the oligarchs had chosen to fill the vaccum tried to maintain the status quo. But something had changed. The soul of the people of earth had been hurt and for a moment in time we all understood that the rich weren’t good or special or deserved to be followed- they had betrayed us at every turn and proved at the last that they were unworthy of us. The next 5 years- the years of the guillotine- were spent in a frenzy of destruction the world over. In the end we realized that poor people have no reason to hurt each other- that we aren’t so different.
That’s when we felt the truth- we hadn’t been abandoned- our yoke had been lifted. We could feed everyone, house everyone- give everyone the chance to breathe and think. The money we had been slaves to was all pretend anyway and we were free to put value where it belonged. In the 50’s a couple kids who would have starved in India invented telomerex- and all of a sudden people could live a lot lot longer. I didn’t get it soon enough to save me from the grey hair but that’s alright by me.
We all started taking the long view. We didn’t waste effort making fake value. We didn’t rob tomorrow for today. We didn’t value one person, no matter how smart or strong or likable above another. You were born in a world like this but I can’t express enough how much better it is. We were cattle once. Cattle to feed the ego of the spoiled.
So you tell me the oligarchs are coming back. They’ll be here in a few years, and they’re sending messages of peace and reconciliation. I have lived a millennia and I’m telling you now- it’s not long enough to forgive them. Even if it was, a hundred millennia wouldn’t be long enough for me to trust them. Happiness was a zero sum game to them and there’s nothing they wouldn’t do to get what they wanted. None of them were moral- you can’t have as much as them when your neighbor has so little and be moral. They tricked us, threatened us, killed us as they liked. The world was theirs and it suffered in their hands.
I don’t like violence- I see my progeny and I smile in this land of peace, a land without desperation. I laid down my weapons a long long time ago. I tell you this so you understand- treat them like a boat full of plague. Stop up your ears to their message. Trust nothing they say. You have become so much better than I ever was- make your best decision. I believe in you. You did ask for my recommendation though, and I’m telling it to you now-
Nuke them from orbit.
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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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ktwc2fu
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ktwaq8j
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[WP] You, a side character, watch in horror as the MC forgives and doesn't kill the main villain, who murdered your friends and family, saying, "If I killed them, then I'd be just like them."
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My eyes popped silently. How could Carla do this? How could she stand in front of that man, expressionless, yet so full of compassion and kindness, after he slaughtered my kin.
“You-can’t—“ I tried, my heart aching underneath the weight of my dead ancestors.
“If I killed them, then I’d be just like them,” Carla whispered hoarsely. I couldn’t see her face anymore from underneath the debris of the collapsing hall. We didn’t have much time left, and our mission was not complete.
The man opposite her paused briefly. Then he erupted into chaotic laughter.
“Foolish girl,” he bellowed. “So vain and predictable.”
She went to speak when he reared his leg and knocked the remaining structure of the nearest pillar. It fell one last time and she took a step.
One misstep backwards and she was underneath the weight of the pale marble. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t help. I couldn’t even breathe as the dust gathered in my throat, feeling like a thousand sheets of sandpaper made their home inside of it.
“As for you—“ the man grumbled, stepping over my now lifeless friend-or was she a friend? She has promised to avenge my family. Her own boyfriend. The very people who’d taken her in after her own family were slaughtered like pigs in a farm.
I trembled as he stepped closer.
“I shall end the bloodline,” he finished, three feet away from me.
I made a decision. Right there. Right then. A promise, not to myself, but to my family.
And I would not break that promise. Not like Carla.
The man smiled again as he shortened the gap, but his smile faded as a sharp punch in his stomach roared pain through his entire body. He stared into my eyes briefly, refusing to look down.
I could see how much it hurt.
But I was not satisfied.
Another sharp punch and he gasped. I gazed into his eyes yet again. “This is for my family.”
I repeated the action again. And again. And again. I didn’t look away from his eyes, but my peripheral began turning red; I’m positive from his blood.
Five minutes went by and then, he collapsed onto the floor in a sputtering mess, crimson ichor leaking from his orifices.
It was done. I had avenged my family. My sister. My brothers. My mother.
Carla didn’t move still. Her torso was crushed underneath the weight of the pillar. But I wasn’t sad. I was…relieved. It was over, that was that.
I turned my back on the collapsing hall, the sunlight filtering the entryway.
And as my eyes made contact with the bright sun, my mother’s bloody dagger left my grasp, and I let the destruction of the hall take what was left of Carla.
And my father.
(hope this is good, haven’t written in ages and wanted to get back into it)
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It was almost over. It'd been so long but we were so close now. Twenty years spent hunting down this piece of shit. He wasn't getting away this time. Not on my life.
My lungs were on fire. Straight battery acid ran through my veins. My heart was about to detonate. I kept running.
He could only run straight for a bit so I took a chance, raised my revolver and pulled the trigger. Missed. The bullet pinged off a vent just to the right of him.
*Two left! Aim your fuckin shots, you moron!*
I saw the edge of the roof up ahead - he was running out of runway, and quick. I brought my revolver up again, ready to hold it on him when he stopped. But he didn't. He didn't slow down at all and jumped.
I stopped at the edge and took the best stance I could. The gap was across an alleyway and the next building was a story shorter. I could have made it. The fucker made it, too, and stumbled when he landed. I saw my chance, took aim and fired.
My heart just about leapt into my throat when he yelled out and I saw him hit the deck. He was down but he wasn't out. My stomach dropped as I saw him scrambling to get back up on his feet.
That's when Bobby, that beautiful bastard, caught up and jumped across, himself.
*Well, shit, guess it's my turn.*
((Part 1 of ? - just got busy, will add more in replies))
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jet29wt
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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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The kingdom of Mechanka, as is well known, is often beset by dragons of various sorts - from the relatively tame but irritating Zujats (resembling a jeweled bee) to the monstrous and destructive Zmaj, which devour whole ships, gnaw on mines and burp out dangerous gasses which they light. After all, they note (as dragons are quite intelligent), they would be losing their credibility if they didn’t set something alight. The humble robotniks and swinkers disagreed. Seeing the local forge masters more than once a generation was quite expensive.
Now, the fairest of the king’s daughters was Magona. Her hair was spun of the finest gold, her eyes cobalt blue, her telescoping arms and legs were of polished chromium. Her heart hummed. Her voice was pure ones and zeroes.
Alas, she’d been captured by the dread Dzarmindzaug, whose tattered wings shadowed whole cities, whose eyes, ancient and dim, no longer burnt like suns.
King Karal, hale and wise on his vanadium throne, called on the mighty in the kingdom - the pure, those knights whose hearts beat with heartbeat of the universe. They all failed, their heads being returned melted. The big dragon knew the tricks of the trade and knew the precise temperature to melt metallic knights.
The least intelligent of the knights in the realm, one Dendrobium by name, arrived in the capital. ‘So, you’ll rescue my blessed poppy?’ the desperate king wailed. Our orchid knight nodded, nearly falling over, overwhelmed by the court and unbalanced by the osmium shield he wore.
He traveled to the Great Smelter, where the dragon slept. The Princess, glittering, lay in pieces, her head in a tree, her body in various stages of oxidative decay. Dendrobium, not knowing what else to do, picked up the head, placing it in a sack.
Wearily he returned to the capital city. Legend says he brought the moon with him which illuminated the way and made his armor gleam. Robot squirrels showed him the path. A raven, rusty, gave him advice.
‘So, my daughter?’ the king cried. He took out her head. The court gasped. ‘Just her head?’ The king wept.
The sun seemed to stop. The stars shuddered.
The Princess opened her eyes. ‘Oy! The histrionics!’ She extended a series of huge spider legs and went to pat her father. ‘Daddy, please. Just having fun with the big mechanical puppies’.
The kingdom rejoiced, suitably. Oil gushed like champagne.
All was good if slightly dull.
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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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jyp3ro1
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jynnmcu
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[WP] Years ago you came up with a nonsensical code phrase that you would use if you ever went back in time and needed to convince yourself of who you were. You never wrote it down or told anyone what it was. Today a young woman you’ve never met walks up to you on the sidewalk and speaks the phrase.
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When I was a kid, my folks made me memorize a secret word. That way, they could send someone to pick me up or something and I could make sure they were legit with the password. My sister and I had a second word just for each other to say when we were super serious for real I swear you guys, because we talked so much shit but we knew we needed something to ground us. I taught my own kids a third secret word so that they could trust a stranger I might send who spoke it to them.
Nobody except me knew all three words and their significance.
"Spare some change?" asked the glassy-eyed, grizzled, old beggar as I tried to hurry past to get to the office.
"Who even carries change anymore?" I retorted. But I felt a pang of regret. They're human too. So I turned back, found the guy, and said, "Hey, look, I can spare a few minutes, how about I get you a coffee and a bagel or something?"
The beggar grunted and slowly got up. He was older than I thought and, judging by the body odor, hadn't enjoyed hygiene in too long, so I kept my distance as I led him to a breakfast chain. I let him order, it was more than I meant to get, but how could I refuse? I paid.
"Thanks for the food. You got time to talk with a lost soul?" he asked.
I sighed. I really hated how impatient I was feeling, though, so I sat down. "Sure."
"You got any kids?" he asked.
"Yeah. Two."
"Pictures?"
I took out my phone and scrolled to my gallery to show them. He stared, then grabbed my phone to look closer. "Hey!" I objected, but I could see tears in his eyes. "Hey, you okay?"
"My babies," he said, wiping his eyes.
"You have kids?" I asked, confused. "They remind them of yours?"
"No, they're my kids," he said, looking up at me, voice rising in a weird mix of elation and pain. "They're my kids!"
People were looking. "Okay, look, I'm glad you got your food, but I gotta go," I said, grabbing my phone and standing up.
As I was about to leave the shop, he shouted, "Smeagol! Neanderthal! Necronomicon!"
I froze. My chest felt tight. My palms, sweaty. My fingers and the back of my neck tingled. I slowly turned to face him. Everyone was staring, but I couldn't see them. Only him. "Wha-" I coughed, "What did you say?"
He was standing, slowly approaching me on creaking legs. "Smeagol, with mom and dad. Necronomicon, with Penny. Neanderthal, with Sasha and Bastian. It's the only way I could stop you," he rasped, lower lip trembling.
It was a stab through my heart. "How?" I croaked.
"I finally found you, Harry. I didn't know if I ever would. It's been so, so long. You don't have much time."
"What are you talking about? Who are you?" I said, backing away, bile rising in my throat in panic.
He shrugged and smiled, teeth rotten and yellow. "I'm you, Harry."
I didn't hear the rest. I blacked out.
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*I wonder what would happen if I had another cat. Would Molly be happy about it?* But mid-thought, a woman looks at me and rushes towards me. Her hands are full of paper and odd objects such as a guitar and a dying flower. Her small dress flows through the air as she moves.
She pauses for a second, then opens her mouth to speak. "Jumping cats love watching rainbows at night," the woman says. The phrase that I came up with at 13 to know if someone was me in case time travel exists in the future. And now, the words dance through the air right in front of my very eyes.
I feel my feet slipping, but I manage to balance myself in time. I glance at the people around me. They are staring at me.
"Are you okay?" she says.
I feel my breath getting faster and faster. I watch as a mother grabs her child and quickly walks away.
And yet... this is clearly a dream. I feel like laughing at myself for panicking this much. But then I remember the secret dream revealing action. This will prove it. It has worked every time. It can't fail me.
I clap my hands 7 times and jump in the air, begging that it will rain. I seem to fall to the ground in slow-motion. My feet touch the ground as I close my eyes, then slowly open them to look around. The sun shines on me gently and everyone around continues with their day, unfazed.
I look back at the foreign face in front of me and ask a simple question.
"Who are you?"
The woman rubs a tear off her face.
"I'm you, sweetheart".
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Subsets and Splits
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