chosen_comment_id
stringlengths 7
7
| rejected_comment_id
stringlengths 7
7
| prompt
stringlengths 27
300
| chosen_story
stringlengths 494
7.88k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 364
8k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|
kot1khk
|
kosnhu2
|
[WP] You're in class one day when a beast straight out of fantasy crashes through the door head first. On its heel is your always bullied and unpopular classmate, who swiftly and effortlessly hacks it in two with a sword from behind. They look up to see everyone staring at them. "Aw, shit."
|
His legal name actually is Dick Smelzi. Not Richard. Not Rick. But Dick. Combined with his last name. Who would name their kid that? When my parents first heard me mention his name, they thought I was joking. My protestations fell on deaf ears. They grounded me for a week when I tried to insist that is his real name.
He tried to go by nicknames, but every new substitute teacher doing roll call would cause us to giggle uncontrollably.
What made it worse was that he lived on a pig farm, and the odor, like a miasma, followed him everywhere, despite everything he did.
You can guess what the bullies called him.
And he was short, scrawny, funny looking, and had a stutter. He was playing life on hard mode.
Of course my classmates bullied him. Mercilessly. Didn't help that his parents were some sort of weirdos who wouldn't let him hang out with other kids or do any after school activities. His parents were a pair of religious weirdos who didn't believe in movies, television shows, music or even the internet. He lacked the social connections and cultural touchstones that could have helped him.
Yet somehow, slowly, over the years, he managed to make friends. It took him awhile, but he improved his charisma and started making friends. Given enough time, I could even see him becoming a popular kid in high school. But of course there were still bullies. He was building his social network, but he was still low enough on the social pecking order to be a target.
But he persisted. Despite the year of illness that kept him out of school, destroying much of his progress with making friends. Or when his parents threatened to sue the school over halloween, which caused the yearly halloween party to get banned. He often had setbacks like this - almost as if something was trying to make his life as difficult as possible.
I was in class the day some tentacled horror burst in. We all screamed, of course. Just to see Dick run in behind it, pull a katana from seemingly out of nowhere, and cleave it in two. The halves fell to the floor, then evaporated.
The he saw us.
"Aw shit," he said, his face filled with disappointment and anger. "Must have accidentally enabled the Lovecraft mod when I installed the social challenge mod."
He sighed.
"And I was on a good pace this run."
He looked around again. "Meta command: reset game"
My confusion was the last thing I would ever experience.
|
“Aw, shit.”
Callum was standing in the doorway chest heaving, black hair haphazardly strewn about his head. The purple blood was spattered on his pale face, deep blue eyes taking in all of our shocked faces. My eyes darted to the creature laying on the ground nearly cleaved in half. Then back to my classmate holding a deadly looking sword with a literal cloak made of flames dancing around his frame.
Silence reigned until someone, Bernice probably, screamed and promptly feinted into Rendal’s arms. Then everyone was speaking or crying or freaking out and Callum was still standing there holding the sword. He was looking like, for all intents and purposes, he could make the creature disintegrate with his look alone. Considering the circumstances, I could not rule it out.
“The hell just happened, Callum. Why did you let it get away? What if someone saw…” Hendrick walked into the room and spotted all of our faces and the dead beast at Callum’s feet.
“Aw, shit.”
Apparently, that was the professional response for this situation.
|
jhfcb6p
|
jhf7kr5
|
[WP] Your fairy godmother is very strange. She dresses in black and red, never takes off her mask, and uses scary magic. However, she genuinely does love you and teaches you what she knows.
|
It all started when I was barely a little girl, just on the edge of my memory. I'd never known my parents but, back in the beginning, I could remember her.
Or at least a single image of her, like a still painting made by a master artist to remind me of my past.
The maroon woman with a white mask leaned down in front of me with a single finger raised to her lips to tell me to be quiet. Her cloak blocked my view of the men who'd talking to me before she showed up.
All I remembered past that was that a lot more people left the little street girl alone after that. It might have been a good thing in the end, but I was lonely for a long time.
The second time I'd seen the woman was through a window; the orphanage's grime-coated glass distorted her as she watched me under the pale moonlight. I was old enough to understand that I was on the second floor, and she shouldn't have been able to reach the window at all.
I was also smart enough to understand that I shouldn't be worried about that.
When we went downstairs the next morning, nobody could find the Father of the convent, but a lovely fire roared in the hearth for the first time in months.
I hadn't seen her since.
For the third time this week, all of the women at the convent had been lined out outside in the snow so that the new Father could explain the horrors of witchcraft to us.
I wasn't the only one smart enough to know where all of this was going. The town had been talking about the woman's sins for the past months. It all leads back to the first woman and how she had spent her life in away from the eyes of the creator
That could only be one reason that all of us were out there getting frostbite, it was so that he could single one of us out as a sinner who needed to be punished.
For my part, I was staring past the Father and to the lashing post standing tall out in the middle of the field. The fresh snow hadn't been thick enough to cover the blood stains on the ground. Each word of the Father drifted past my attention even though I understood their rising fury. He was whipping up to a point.
I wanted to be warm.
Life snapped me back into focus when I felt sharp nails digging into my wrist and pulling. A hallow-eyed girl from my floor, Lyla, had latched onto me, wrapping her blistered, shivering fingers around me like a handcuff. I couldn't hold her hand with how she'd grabbed mine, but I curled my fingers up to scratch her.
It was the only way that I could say, 'I'm here. We're all cold.'
The Father stopped speaking just as the wind picked up, sweeping snowflakes into the air and around everyone still dressed in their night clothes. To my right, someone sneezed. We would all be fighting a cold for weeks.
At the end of his speech, the Father had stopped in front of us, his warm fur coat barely moving in the stiff breeze. I sniffed away some of the cold as he continued to look toward the ground and then took something out of his pocket.
He tossed a moon-blessing charm into the snow in front of us. It wasn't mine, but Lyla dug her nails further into my wrist.
"Her," the Father said flatly. I felt a pull on the other side as the woman on the other side of Lyla tried to push her forward, but she was still holding onto my wrist like it was going to save her from what was coming.
I couldn't push her out there. I'd heard the screams of a whipping. I didn't want to cause them.
"Now," the Father commanded, his voice was cold and stiff as the wind. I dug my bare toes into the frozen soil.
Across the field, behind the Father, there was nothing but forest for miles from here to town, a mass of green, brown and white in the background of my choice. At least, it had been that until a moment ago.
"Sister," the Father added. Lyla's nails dug further into me.
The forest was brown, green, white and maroon.
The woman's robes flapped in the wind which couldn't have cut through the trees. Her porcelain mask matched the fresh snow.
"Now, Sister. This is how she can find forgiveness. The flesh must bleed away the sins of the mind."
The woman shook her head and then held up a single finger as if telling me to be quiet.
I reached across my chest and grabbed Lyla's shoulder with my free hand, holding her in line as she tightened her grip on me. We weren't close. Nobody was allowed to be in the Convent.
"That's it, Sister, bring her-" the Father stopped mid-sentence as the cold dripped away from my body, the fresh snow building up over the sermon evaporating into hissing steam.
I wasn't doing this again.
"Sister."
I wasn't watching this again.
"Margaret grab h-"
I wouldn't.
So I had to.
It wasn't me that reached out to the Father; it was something else. A feeling that boiled out from my blood and spread across the snow, manifesting as shadow and ruin. I cried, and the tears burned more than the brands that they'd scarred into my chest. If I didn't know better, I would say that they were burning.
The shadow twisted around the feet of the Father and turned into a boiling liquid with tendrils reaching up to his legs like grasping fingers. The liquid struck forward and drove toward his mouth to smother all the horrid things he'd said. He tried to back away from it, but his boots stuck in the tar, and he fell backward.
Lyla screamed and pulled away from me.
The tears hurt. My skin felt like it was tearing apart, flaying me from the fingers as the snow around me melted away and turned into a boiling puddle.
People scattered, and I wanted to run with them, I wanted to get away from this feeling, but the pain kept building up and pouring out of me. Shadow started to drip out of my open mouth, and I collapsed to the ground, wrenching out everything I'd ever drank as boiling oil joined the stream washing over the Father.
He couldn't scream as it happened. He could only gurgle.
Then, all at once, everything stopped, and a pair of cold fingers held me by the chin, pulling me back up to look at the white porcelain of her mask.
The world muted, the burning choked down to an ember; I remembered to breathe.
The woman held up a finger and put it to her lips, telling me I needed to be quiet.
So I dropped far into sleep.
|
11711
1C'mon little Fairy Princess," Daddy yelled, "This is our new home!" And he pulled open the bad doors of the small moving van.
"There's nothing 'New,' about it." Mommy grumbled as she unbuckled and helped Ashley out of the van.
"Hey how many people get to inherit a 1600's manor in Ireland?" Daddy playfully replied with just the smallest hint of irritation coming thro1ugh his tone.
Ashley's feet touched the wild grassy ground and she felt a sudden surge of energy. Like she was waking up from a 9 year old's long sleep and was keenly aware of the world around her. Her eyes darted over the place. The grass was wild and unkempt, scraggly bushes lined an old cobblestone road that led away from the main route to this little bubble of living area surrounded by lush green forest that quickly became dark as night under the canopy of trees.
"We should have just sold the place," Mommy snapped back, "You do realize this is how, like, 90% of horror movies start right? Small white family moving to the middle of fu.... AHEM nowhere."
"You're Creole," Daddy teased, "so that means we're the first family to run away when the ghosts and goblins start causing trouble."
Ashley had started walking up to the main house. It seemed short compared to the tall ceilinged McMansions of suburban Utah, and it was chilly and humid here in June instead of hot and dry. The building had five rooms with an open floor plan. The walls were yellow painted wattle and daub over stone, which peaked through cracks in the coating making the building look much older than it was. Over the top was a thatched roof complete with a Thatcher's pattern from further away County Cork.
Around the main court yard was a small modern looking garage, another small two roomed modern house and aways back over the treeline were two smallish hills and a third large promontory with the ruins of a castle on it.
Behind the house stood an old barn, nestled back near the treeline.
"Go on and explore Honey and pick out your room!"
********
The inside of the house turned out to be quite cozy. Polished wood floors and a main living room and kitchen area gave the place a lot of space. A plush couch and surrounding seats gathered around a fireplace and electric light sconces designed to look like candles lit the inside.
Mommy and Daddy both had on sweaters while Mommy and Ashley finished up their dinner and Daddy got a fire lit. He'd only been at it a short time but already had a small fire that was drawing smoke in lazy curly ques up the chimney.
"Well then," Mommy said playfully as she and Ashley finished up the last of the dinner dishes, "Looks like there's something you can do right after all."
Daddy blushed a bit, as Ashley watched their interactions intently. "Well, you know. It's good to have an eagle scout in the family."
Mommy and Daddy cuddled up on the couch in front of the fire, and Mommy gave Daddy a big kiss.
Ashley relaxed. It was good to see Mommy and Daddy be so happy. She hadn't seen that for a long time.
They chit chatted about the property, surrounding forest, and towns but Ashley wasn't interested. It had been a big day of moving and her eyes were pulling themselves shut.
She blinked and found herself in an old cast iron bed with a pillowy mattress and under a soft cotton sheet and heavy afghan.
"Good night sweet heart," Daddy said.
"Sweet dreams kiddo," Mommy said and they closed the door.
********
"Mommy, do I have to go to bed?"
"Yes honey," Mommy said, "The Midsummer Festival is still going, and it was fun, but it's time for bed."
"Bud Daddy," Ashley whispered in a quite panic, "It's scary in there!!"
"Now you know there's no such things as ghosts or monsters kiddo." Daddy said shortly. "You're 9. You're too old to do things like this to stay up at night.
Daddy shifted Ashley's weight to his left arm while Mommy opened the front door of the cottage, and they went inside. They immediatly took Ashley into her room and helped her out of her festival dress and into pajamas for the night.
"Just listen, PLEASE! The closet door..."
"Is just loose," Mommy said shortly, "It's time for bed. Mommy and Daddy are tired."
"No You're Not! You just wanna hump!" Ashley half shouted angrilly.
Mommy and Daddy split laughing, "Yeah Honey we do, but that doesn't change the fact that it's bed time." Said Daddy.
Ashley climbed gingerly into the bed and immediatly pulled the covers up to her chin.
"Good night," Mommy said as she and Daddy left to their own room and closed the bedroom door.
Her hands and feet started shaking in fear and she curled up her toes, and balled her hands into fists. Eyes locked on the closet door. Waiting for the slightest twitch of movement. But her eyes were so heavy... so heavy...
|
jx89gpl
|
jx7xk4q
|
[WP] You're immortal. But instead of secrecy or God status, you decided to become an urban legend by working at a random gas station for hundreds of years.
|
Today is August 21st, 2023. I Am Jeffery. I work at Sunoco Gas Station. I am supposed to make sure the shelves are stocked, all potential customers are happy, and make money for Sunoco Gas Station.
It is late at night. Sometimes, customers become unruly at this time. There is a bar close by, and at this time of night, drunk patrons will wander towards the Sunoco Gas Station.
A man in a jacket and jeans walks in. He is a man I often see. He looks poor, but he has a lot of money. He has told me about his rich parents. His name is Paul, but he likes to be called Ruiz. I do not know why this is. He is very clearly inebriated. I must make sure he does not ruin the experience for any other customers who walk in.
"Heya -*hic*\- Juju, ya do-*hic*\-doing good man?" He stumbles as he walks in. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he frowns.
I quickly reach for him to make sure he doesn't fall over. People on the ground make for bad customer service. I must make sure all potential customers are happy.
"Thanks. Fuck, work *sucks* man." Paul grumbles. I lean him over on the counter by the scratch offs. Nobody ever buys them. Scratch offs are gambling.
"At least I-*hic*\- get some good beer at Benny's." Paul laughs. "Heya, Juju, you and I-*hic*\- should go together to Benny's this friday-*hic*\-."
Paul's speech is slurred. He is definitely drunk.
"I cannot, Paul. I work here." I speak to Paul directly and firmly. It is best to make yourself clear, so the customer does not misinterpret what you say.
"Yeah-*hic*\- you sourpuss. Just one night? My treat." Paul giggles to himself a little. Paul needs a good place to rest. I, however, do not. I have a nice bed to sleep in at home.
"I get-*BLEGH*\-Christie to be there." Paul starts to gag a little. Paul is likely to throw up. I go to get Paul a bag to throw up in. Our Sunoco Gas Station does not have a functional bathroom.
There is no need for me to be bribed by the presence of another person. I walk to the edge of the counter to grab a bag for Paul.
However, Christie is a wonderful asset. She is smart. She helps me with my job, helps me to achieve my objectives. She has explained to me how to properly talk to someone in a customer service voice. It is also unlikely that I would be required to work that night, either, as there would likely be another person on that shift. Her physical appearance and adorable jokes do not make her uneasy on the mind, either.
"It is settled. I will go with you."
"You-*hic*\- better."
I handed Paul the trash bag.
He promptly threw up.
|
"I don't know how long it's been" I said with a sad smile. The person from HR is confused to say the least "you don't know how long it's been since you took your last brake..." An awkward pause of silence as he thinks that he couldn't have ever thought this would be his assignment. "Yes" I say with sad yet humored eyes "I have been working for the company for over 420 years and I don't think I've took a vacation in over 300 years." "WAIT" he says with Surprise "you have been working how long?" I smile but reply "over 420 years, if you don't Believe me check what day I was hired" he looks scared for a second as he sees I am right. "You have been working for 439 years by this math" he looks at me with dread. " the company has no choice but to give you your paid time off of over 30 years." I feel sad at those words "but I want to continue" I wine. "No, no, no at this rate you will drive the company into a deep ditch, take your time off." He says with a look of scalding a child. "Wait a minute, how the actual fuck are you that old he screams" I smile with glee. "Well you know the legend of the gas station attendant who never stops doing the best. Well that's me" I say as I walk out intending on continuing work.
|
m0u0fe0
|
m0tzmxw
|
[WP] In a world of supers, you are hailed as the most terrifying super villain. You rarely appear and are feared not because you are evil, or have some grand plan. It is because super heroes inevitably become corrupt. When that corruption becomes too great for the world, you clean house.
|
Many know of me, know my alias and my motives. But few actually know me as a person. Few know what I look like. My alias is simple. Ballistic. Is that because I fly into a berserker range? No, not at all. I have great control over kinetic energy. Imbue it, steal it, bend it. More so if I have had contact with the object or person containing the potential. Once I have control over that energy, I have a great awareness of the source. Be that a simple stone flying through the air, or a person hurtling to their doom.
More than once a Cape or civilian has been surprised by my intervention. While widely known as one of the foremost villains, I have no problem aiding those in need. No my villainous reputation comes from other, far more gruesome actions. Power corrupts, be it financial, political or social. Combine any or all of those three with flight, near invincibility and super strength? Even the demons of hell would blush at the actions they took. Once lauded as the most moral and heroic of their age. Now they rest scattered over two counties.
How would I do such a thing? Or perhaps why? The how is rather simple, at a certain point kinetic energy trumps almost anything. Hit something fast enough with something heavy enough and the target will yield. In this case an M892 armor-piercing fin-stabilized discarding sabot round. Normally fired from a main battle tank. Accelerated to almost 60k feet per second. Tungsten and depleted uranium are quite good at punching through a tough target. Figuring out that I could use the imbued, syphoned or converted kinetic energy to reinforce something? Force its atoms to stay together? Made it even easier. Releasing all of that energy once it's part way through a target? Chefs kiss. Partially vaporized the bastard. The hardest part was finding a crew that could operate an M1 then borrowing one from the army.
For the why? That simple, one of the oldest motivations in history. Revenge. Not justice, just simple revenge. Why would I seek revenge on one of the, if not the most honored Cape? He killed my family. I was once a Cape, one of the good guys. Why he picked up the car with my wife and children in it, I do not know. However, he threw it into his enemy. My wife was just a normal woman, my children were not yet old enough to manifest any powers. They stood no chance. For a Hero to disregard those he is meant to protect is inconceivable. Over the years, the Association had managed to cover up his misdeeds, bribes threats and blaming the villain. Once I started to dig, I just found more and more atrocities. Hundreds killed by his actions directly. Thousands more by his poor control and lack of care.
In the end, I became a monster. The thing that goes bump in the night. The Boogeyman for the supers. Kill those thought unkillable once that power burns through their soul. How do I make sure I don't stray? Guilt, endless guilt that I didn't stop that man sooner. But now, I hunt the heroes and villains that stray too far. Those that disregard human life too much. Those that purposefully or neglectfully maim innocent lives. One day that guilt won't be enough, and I will have to end the monster I created.
|
They call me evil, vile, monster, villain. Across this whole world I am feared, despised, hated. Why? Because I do what needs to be done, what no one else is willing to do, a job that needs done.
I am known by many names the Killer in the Shadows, the Hidden Villain, the Unknown Slayer, Hero Killer. Personally I prefer the Shadow Ender.
Tonight I am on the job. I had received a message about a Hero in need of my services, and headed on my way.
“Ten minutes out” a voice called out from a speaker in the cockpit.
I started running a last minute check on my exosuit, a gift from my father. After feeling sure everything was running properly and with 3 minutes to go I began cloaking the exosuit with my shadow like power, a gift from my mother.
“T minus 30 seconds” the speaker called out. “10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 GO!”
At the count of one the floor beneath me dropped and I fell from the jet. Using the Shadow power I glided to the top of a tower, and began to scan around for my target. Finally I found him in some city square with a group of people offering him things; food, drinks, and more. Hyperpylon, the Hero of Iron.Powers super strength, flight, enhanced speed, and heat vision. This one won’t be easy, despite his mid 30s looks Hyperpylon is one of the oldest still active heroes, and one of the most powerful. Back in his golden years he was often called the hero who upheld society like a steel beam, but those days are far behind him. I have one shot at making this an easy job. My exosuit releases the pieces I need to assemble my rifle, and I load in a very special bullet. I line up my shot, and fire. The bullet hits the wall behind where Hyperpylon’s head was a moment ago.
*“Shit i missed”* I swore in my head.
After just being able to dodge my bullet, Hyperpylon took to the skies and began to look for me, his would-be assassin. Knowing this is going to go the hard way anyway, I stood high so he could find me. Hyperpylon quickly appeared before me.
“So you’re who tried to kill me huh? Wait I think I know you’re that hero killer, aren’t you”
“I am He Who Ends Heroes, the Shadow Ender”
“An assaination attempt with a rifle, should have known a villain like you would use such cowardly methods.”
“Ironic for you to judge how others operate Hyperpylon.”
This comment seemed to anger Hyperpylon, and he charged at me. I dodged, preparing a counter attack. When he charged again, using the full strength of the exosuit and strengthening it with my shadow abilities, I sidestepped his attack and drove my fist into his gut. Angered Hyperpylon move back and started to use his heat vision trying to hit me, and destroying the building in the process. Unable to escape this attack through normal means I pulled myself into a shadow and reappeared behind him greeting shadow tendrils into his back. Hyperpylon yelped in pain, turning around burning everything that got into his vision’s way.
“I recognize that power,” Hyperpylon roared “fitting that the son of the woman stood on top of the villain world, the Shadow Queen, would have a villain for son”
“Being called a villain by someone like you is meaningless.”
“WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN? DID YOU NOT SEE ME IN THE SQUARE? THE PEOPLE LOVE ME! I AM THEIR HERO”
“They fear you. They fear you’ll kill them for displeasing you or that you’ll turn them into the next New Kensingtown. Speaking of which, you call yourself a hero after what you did there?”
A flurry of attacks between the two of us.
“It was just unfortunate collateral, I was fighting a villain.”
“Fighting a villain you say? He was a pathetic lame crook who had some fire abilities, ten city blocks did NOT HAVE TO BE DESTROYED TO BEAT HIM.”
“I STOPPED THE VILLAIN WHO CARES IF SOME PEOPLE DIED IN THE PROCESS. And I'll stop you at any cost too.”
This is the unfortunate truth about superheroes, too many of them just don’t care about collateral damage, becoming worse then the villains they fight. Some are even worse, they get to liking their power too much and become straight up villains themselves.
“No you won’t, because it is my job to stop ‘heroes’ like you.”
It’s now or never my exosuit has been damaged by our melee attacks against each other. I ensure that my secret weapon is ready to go, then I send out dozens of shadow tendrils to get Hyperpylon right where I want him.
“Goodbye Shadow Ender” Hyperpylon manically laughed as he looked directly at me, heat vision about to blast.
\-end-part 1-
|
jmjemxo
|
jmjdujo
|
[WP] In a world where the consequences of murdering someone is them coming back the next day completely fine, you accidentally shot your best friend with a gun. The next day, you and your friend have an awkward conversation in an elevator.
|
"Hey, so, uh... Don't take it the wrong way."
"I-I was gonna' say. I'm sorry."
"I mean, I'm fine now."
"Right. But I didn't mean to do it. Honest."
"Look you shot me. Now, I'm not doubting your mental capacity or anything."
"I know, I'm so sorry."
"What'd I say at the beginning?"
"Always treat it like it's loaded... Especially when it is loaded."
"And then?"
"Keep your booger hook off the bang switch."
"Say that last one back to me again. What?"
"Keep your finger off the trigger until you decide to fire."
"Good. What else?"
"Don't point it at anything... You don't intend to destroy."
"...So where did we go wrong here? Exactly?"
"I didn't check to see if you were standing where you were standing."
"So you just decided 'I'm gonna' turn around, with the gun in my hand, with the gun level'. As if it wouldn't go off."
"I didn't think-"
"I know. I know you didn't think. You just turned around as if the house, the truck, and I weren't right there."
"Hey, uh, fellas. I'm not involved in this conversation. I'm just going a couple more floors up."
"Oh no. You're cool. He killed me the other day on accident. It wasn't his brightest moment."
"It really wasn't."
"No, I'd assume it wasn't."
".........To be fair. This isn't as bad as that time you put gasoline in the blender."
"Oh that was different."
"Why'd you do that?"
"It was college. People were drinking. Point is, I've been clean for 10 years."
"Yeah, that's true."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"So, uh, can we try learning the basics again tomorrow?"
"No, no. We're done. My chest still hurts."
"Did I get you in the heart?"
"Yes."
"I should've learned my lesson when we built that shed. And you had the 2x4s and you knocked me off the roof because you-"
"Turned around. Yep. The thought crossed my mind."
"Twice in one month."
"You fell off the roof twice?"
"No, just, the one. The other... It doesn't matter."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
"Again?"
John looks up from his phone and at the man walking into the elevator.
"Oh, yeah sorry about it. I was just trying to do a spin trick, like in the old westerns," John says.
"That's the excuse you used last time!" Nathan replies with a furious expression on his face.
"Well I have been trying to get the trick working for a while now," John shrugs.
"I need to dry-clean my carpet. The clothes I was wearing are ruined. There's a bullet hole in the wall that needs to be patched up, and I missed an entire evening of relaxing!"
Nathan is raging, walking back and forth in front of John, who is flicking at his phone again.
"I was going to watch the latest episode of Breaking Good! Do you know how much it sucks? To come home from work, ready to relax, only to suddenly wake up just as a new workday starts? You stole my free time!"
"Mhm," John mubles as he swipes right on his phone.
The elevator dings and they head for their desks. They sit in an open landscape office right opposite each other. Nathan would very much not have to look at the uncaring face of John for the entirety of the day. As they sit down Greg, a co-worker, greets them.
"What's the matter?" Greg says eying the angry look at Nathan's face.
"He fucking shot me in the head after work yesterday!"
"Again?" Greg says, raising an eyebrow and glancing at John.
"I was practicing a trick, how many times do I need to apologize for doing that?" John says raising his hands in the air.
"Once!" Nathan shouts. "You have not apologized even once, making excuses is not apologizing."
"Fine. I am sorry I shot you in the head." John says with a slight air of annoyance.
"There you go, now let's get ready for the presentation." Greg says with a smile.
Nathan scowls. "What presentation?"
"John and I are presenting the quarterly finance report for the board in half an hour."
Nathan looks over at John. "Isn't your yearly review coming up soon?"
John looks up at Nathan. "Ye..." he hesitantly replies.
Nathan gets up from his chair, slowly. "Well, missing out on this presentation would truly suck for you now wouldn't it?"
John looks at Nathan, the color draining from his face. Then he bolts out of his chair and books it down the hallway.
Nathan jumps after him and run as fast as he can.
"Help! Murder. Murder!" John yells while ducking between people exiting the elevator and hitting the button for the ground floor. Then he hammers the "close door" button in desparation.
Before the doors manage to close, Nathan pushes his arm in between the closing doors forcing them open.
"I've got you now..." Nathan says as a large gaping hole suddenly appears in the middle of his forehead, a large splatter of blood appearing on the wall behind him.
John puts his gun back in his holster that's barely visible under his dress jacket with shaking hands. He exits the elevator, which now won't be able to work as long as Nathans corpse is blocking the door from closing.
Greg comes running up and looks at the bloody mess, then he looks over at John.
"Again?"
|
job65tb
|
joausjd
|
[WP] You are the child of two famous superheroes and their nemesis has kidnapped you in the hopes of getting under their skin. A week later your parents still haven't come to rescue you.
|
I hugged my legs as I stared at the wall before me. The shadow grew darker, which I fought. I can't use them, I don't want to see it anymore. I don't want to see it anymore.
I jumped as the door opened. I never heard it unlock. Dark Crimson, mother and father's archenemie, walked in with a tray of food. I noticed he looked more worried than annoyed, but I only looked back at the wall.
"I know you have powers kid," Dark Crimson told me.
I only stayed silent.
"You could've escaped. You could've escaped in the past week. Why didn't you?"
I shrugged, still staring at the wall. I can't tell him. Or I just don't want to tell him. It would become true if I said it out loud. My parents hate me. All because I can manipulate shadows, they saw it as a dark power, meaning I'm a future villain. As a kid I had looked up to them, now, I think they are right. Am I evil?
I never heard Dark Crimson leave, but doesn't matter, I think it's the best I stay locked up in here, away from everyone. I can't use my powers. I won't hurt anyone if I use them. The shadows before me danced, opening a portal. Why do I do this? I need to stop.
I covered my ears and closed my eyes as tight as I could, but I know the shadow opened a portal under the couch in my house. Even with my ears covered, I could still hear them. Father and mother are enjoying their night. Their evil son is gone. Their evil son is locked away. Their...
"Henry?"
I opened my eyes, the portal closing before me.
"Henry, my god, is that you?" I heard a voice behind me.
I looked back as my older sister, Blaire, ran towards me, "Henry, are you okay?"
I backed away from her, "Don't get close. Stay away."
Blaire stopped. Blaire, my parents favorite child, the golden child. The Harvard student, the girl with a bright future. She's going to be like them, she'll believe I'm evil too. Since she's going to be a lawyer, she'll do her best to keep me locked away.
Her face turned red, then marched towards Dark Crimson, who still stood by the door awkwardly, "What the hell did you do to my baby brother?"
"Nothing," Dark Crimson said, "I only took him to annoy your parents. He's the youngest, I figured they will come sooner. They never showed up."
"Bullshit! And I can't believe I almost married my parents' nemesis! You know what they will say-"
"Blaire!" Dark Crimson barked, making us jump, silencing Blaire, "Your parents aren't as angelic as you think."
"Henry, we are leaving!" Blaire told me, "And the engagement is off Tom-"
"I don't want to go," I said softly.
"What? Henry we-"
"I'm evil. I got dark powers," I mumbled.
The air was filled with silence, I looked down at the floor, avoiding Blaire's eyes.
"Evil? What do you mean evil?"
"He can manipulate shadows. He had many chances to escape, but he stays. He thinks he's evil, Blaire. Your parents think he's evil. That's why they aren't getting him. That's why I went to get you," Dark Crimson said.
Blaire was silent for a bit, but I did not dare look up. She's going to leave. She'll abandon me like mother and father. I felt an arm around my shoulder.
"Tell mom and dad you kidnapped me," Blaire told Dark Crimson, embracing me, "You are going to be okay, I got you. When mom and dad show up, they will have another thing coming," she whispered in my ear.
For the first time in weeks, I began to cry.
|
Despite the whole... kidnapping thing, it wasn't going that badly. I mean, sure, I had actually been kidnapped but that wasn't the worst. So far, he'd just kept me locked in a room with an en suite and had meals delivered. It was boring, but not awful.
Then, well, he got impatient. Came storming in. All bluster and bravado. Guess you don't become an evil mastermind by being meek and timid. "Where are Powerman and Starflight?"
That was actually a great question. "Not sure, really. Sorry I can't help."
Doom was tall. Intimidating. Spent my entire life around that. "Sorry? Not going to... beg? Plead?"
"I mean, if I beg and plead, there are two options. One, you kill me anyways and you just were doing a whole cat playing with a mouse bit. Two, you don't kill me and were never going to because you think kidnapping me gets attention but killing me will me they never stop."
He was confused. "Not going to list option three?"
"Which is?"
Doom was still confused. "They bust in all heroic to save you? Or I kick their asses when they try."
I sighed from the armchair. "Hate to break it to you, bud. I didn't get powers. I spent more time with nannies than my parents. They're not coming. When they realized powers were never coming... that was sort of it. They haven't actually been home for a birthday of mine in years. Every Christmas is spent saving the world or doing photo ops with other people's kids. I'm not useful. They once went on vacation with my older brother and little sis and forgot to invite me. They're the special ones. I'm dead weight. They went to the Christmas photo ops. I was home with my nanny."
Doom sat across from me. "They'll still notice you're missing. Go looking."
"No. Maybe. I don't know. I'm in college. We don't talk much. I don't know if anyone realizes I'm missing. If they did... maybe they think it'll be good PR. They only try to save the world and Doom went after their beloved son. They get sympathy. More effective than anything else I can do. They may not come at all, if they even realize I'm gone in the next few weeks. We don't exactly chat much. They only like their powered kids."
He was softening. "How the hell does Powerman neglect his kid and not get dragged in the media?"
"He pays me well to shut up online. Probably still getting his weekly bribe money."
"That's what that was? Not a trust or allowance?"
"Why do you think only two kids are in the news? Golden boy eldest and the spunky teenage superheroine. There's a reason they kept me quiet. I'm an embarrassment. They pay me to go away."
Doom dropped his head. "My life wasn't great. But they didn't keep me around to tell me how much they hate me."
I just shrugged. "There's no reason to keep me here, you know. They won't come for me."
He was torn, but then went to the door. "Go. They'll drop you back off where we grabbed you. Send him back. Plans changed."
Doom walked me right out the door. Had his people drop me off on the street. Grabbed my abandoned backpack and headed back to my dorm room. Apologized for thelast-minute family emergency.
After repacking my bag, I headed to the family home. Walked in. "Hello, Mother. Father. Dear little sister. Guessing you all knew Doom had grabbed me. Don't lie to me. Did you know?"
His mother answered, voice waivering. "Yes."
"I'm disappointed in you. Took a whole week to get Doom to come in the room. Had to wait for the effect to really build up, too. He had spine. Will. Unlike you. Put a knife to your throat."
On command, his younger sister walked to the counter and grabbed a knife and held it to her own throat. "Brandon, please-"
"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed. "Did I talk to you? Did I ask you to speak?" I glared at my sister before turning to my parents. "Did you think he might knock me off? Get rid of me? I am your *son*. Shame on you. Can start to make it up to me, though. Make me a plate for dinner. Serve me a meal."
The room was quiet and I could see my mother's hands shaking. "You're pathetic. Pull yourself together. I expect you to make things up to me. This is not how you treat your family." I was quiet. Waiting. Saw my brother come in, freeze upon seeing me. "Hello, Nathaniel. Come. Take a seat." He stiffly walked over. Kept glancing at our siste. "Oh, right. Put the knife down. Come and sit with us."
She was crying, still. "So. What did I miss? Was gone a whole week. Surely something fun must have happened." I quirked an eyebrow. "Answer me."
"Flought a kaiju."
"Mm. How fun. Whole Power Family adventure." My mother walked over. Put the plate in front of me. "Thank you for the meal, Mother." I leaned over to grab the pepper.
|
job7zwu
|
job7429
|
[WP] You are the child of two famous superheroes and their nemesis has kidnapped you in the hopes of getting under their skin. A week later your parents still haven't come to rescue you.
|
Let me let you in on a little secret:
It's all talk. It always was.
Do you believe that every do-gooder that chases criminals is in it for the good of society? That so many people with great power will never use it for their own gain? That all good guys are good and all bad guys are bad?
You and I both know life isn't that simple. Unfortunately, I know this from first-hand experience.
Let's take a look at my birth parents. My father, Reflex, is an egomaniac. From a young age, he always won small town fights. Being able to react to anything quicker than any other human is a bit of an unfair advantage, but he doesn't care. His constant winning gave him a superiority complex.
Now he feels pretty entitled to everything he's been given as a hero. National fame, a lifetime supply of cash, a mansion as a parking garage, you name it.
My mother, Nerve, just likes beating people up. She's a complete sadist. Her ability to numb the body's nerves and make someone go completely limp only makes it worse. As a hero, she had an endless supply of villains to abuse with her ability until she got bored of them.
Those are my parents. I know, it seems impossible for people like that to fall in love, and I agree with you. Because they didn't fall in love.
My mother was a stunning young lady who just started out in the hero business, and my dad was a rich and famous elitist who wanted a trophy wife. They both agreed that getting married was better for their image. That's all the marriage is. Display.
But me? I wasn't even lucky enough to be a token. I was born without powers. I was... Ordinary. They thought I would just be trouble, some kid who couldn't fight bad guys, some kid who would just get kidnapped over and over. A kid that could never make them look better.
So, they hid me.
I was never allowed to leave their mansion. At least it was spacious. Plus, they had the decency to give me internet and tutors, even if the tutoring was "so little Abby could get smart enough to build daddy some cool tech gadgets."
Even still, they were just delaying the inevitable. One of their many rivals found out about me. His name is Big Bang, and he's your run-of-the-mill pyromaniac. He doesn't go anywhere without a stick of dynamite in his pocket, and I think he uses firecrackers instead of earbuds.
Despite his reputation as an explosion-hungry villain, he actually has a good heart. He certainly does more good than my parents. He's in bed with a bunch of insurance companies and some central governments. He gets some good payouts from all the collateral that gets caused when he clashes with my parents.
He secretly uses the money to help rebuild parts of cities and towns he destroys. He normally destroys stuff like golf courses and country clubs and builds shelters in their place. So hey, he's alright in my books.
Oh, you may be wondering how I know about his secret spending.
It's because I've been stuck in his lair for the past week. I've listened to him ramble on about his plans. Past ones, future ones, and most importantly, his present one.
He kidnapped me in hopes of luring my parents into a trap. You see, he apparently has a bunch of information and contacts that all say that my parents often paid off villains to cause trouble. My parents then swoop in and save the day, letting the villains get away with some of what they wanted at the last second.
My dad gets fame and money, my mom gets to beat people up, and the villains pretty much get what they wanted. Win-win.
Big Bang wanted to release this information and prove to everyone that my parents don't actually care about the people that they save. And you wanna know the worst part? It's that he's right. They don't care.
If they did, I wouldn't have been stuck here for the past week.
I'm still a secret. To the world, I'm just one random citizen. No reason to save me. Big Bang's plan failed because he was right about my parents. Ironic.
He's probably gonna interrogate me later to try and figure out a way to get my parents to show up. I decided that I like him, so I'm gonna tell him just what'll get those so-called-heroes to finally pay attention to me. He just needs to get a campy villain spandex suit and some adoption papers.
It's time for me to go public.
|
The villain of the week constantly chatted at me. He mocked my parents. He mocked their ideals. He called them hypocrites. He asked me if it ever meant anything if they don't love their child as much. My parents never told me this to my face but I always felt like I was too much of a burden. It's been a full week of waiting for them. Unlike most superheroes, we weren't rich. We couldn't afford insurance that even covers the many injuries they got from fighting all those years. Right after our house, the HQ, was attacked for the third time, we ended up moving to a small apartment. I supposed this might be their way of lessening that 10 year old burden. As the villain was monologuing about his whole plan and the many things he created to further trap my parents when they came here looked straight at me. I did not say a word and kept my poker face as my parents instructed. He told me that this isn't how he wanted to help them.
I was surprised but tried my best to stay calm. Despite his goofy looks he maintained a caring tone. He told me that he was their arch nemesis from way back even when I was born. He told me that compared to other superheroes he fought, my parents were the noblest. They were willing to fight tooth and nail for the good of mankind. And no matter how complex, impossible, and inescapable his traps were, they would win and come out on top. He told me that he loved videos of mice going through a maze which might have influenced him becoming a professor. A professor who just grew wrathful at the world for choosing not to learn about hope, righteousness, and such. That I would bring that with fear. And yet, my first victims were your parents. They preached about good and attacking my ideals and then on, I was hooked. They hardly knew each other then. I'd like to think I was a matchmaker for superhero couples. After that I focused on other superheroes. Until I heard about your parents' predicament. So I decided to make a ruse. A ruse that will put your parents on the map AND get them the wealth they deserve.
I looked at him with a greater surprise, breaking my poker face. He told me that he was serious and the wealth he planned to give was expertly funded by investments, planning, and other legal means that it would be his right to give so his parents would accept. Added the fact that it was well hidden so none would be the wiser as a supposed long lost family member gave them to inherit. Or even a Nigerian prince who gave him the money. However, the picture he had of my parents may have been outdated. Perhaps, throughout the years, they too became disillusioned at the world. I looked down out of shame for ruining that image. He began shouting, preaching that it is not my fault. That it was the corrupt system that villains have made that led them to this path. He then stopped, like a statue, not moving a single inch. He shouted again, that he has a wonderful idea. We would get out of that place. He would then show me all of the villains' plans of the whole world, the systems they built, the cronies they placed over the world. He told me that I can become the great hero my parents were if I wanted.
Before a second passed, I nodded. He released me from the binds and we got into his cool looking spaceship and traveled the world. What could have taken weeks or months to do was done in a single week. I was surprised about the many things that were placed to stop heroes and even superheroes. The whole world has been corrupted as he said. But he treated me to amazing food, arcades, and a lot of souvenirs. But most of all, he taught me how to bring them down, gave me the skills to know how to stop future villainous plans when their current ones fail. Added to many lessons of physics and such simplified to a week. With the skills my parents taught me, I can become unstoppable.
However, he wondered what came of my parents. He said that the trap would have been at least eye-catching for the local news. His spaceship and the other trap house did not have tvs, internet, and such so we wouldn't have known. I supposed he realized that he can't keep raising me by himself. As he is a wanted man and with many bounties on his head both from superheroes and villains. I supposed he realized that a kid needs his parents and with the old image he had on his head, he thought that maybe he can convince them. Despite the contemptment I had for them, it's hard for a child to hate his parents. And if they don't want me, I learned a lot of ways to sustain myself. We then went back to the first trap house in search of clues for them. And what I saw then would freeze me to my core.
Their corpses. Their corpses was laid out for the whole town to see. The whole building was gone and it seemed that where their bodies were was supposed to be for the news press to come and interview them. A crowd had formed and went around it for as long as I was with the villain. It was nighttime and I had a frozen face of fear. The villain exclaimed "Whoops, I didn't realize that it was too intense for them. haha hehhhhh…. I mean, this was tamer than my other traps I had with them you know…. My mom always said I was a clutz... Well then, *he claps his hand*. Here's the 500 million dollars I had for them. Here's the keys to that other trap house which was gonna be a brand new home and HQ for them you know…. You can hunt me down and get revenge hahahaha…. You're welcome to try…..". I then could hear running and bells on his footwear shaking violently then loosely fading.
|
jajue32
|
jajiktz
|
[WP] You are an immortal, who, after millennia of searching, has finally found a way to die. In your long life you made a lot of friends, including the grim reaper, and so you aren't afraid to meet them again. Only that the being sent to collect your soul is something very different and way scarier.
|
When the bright light of the detonation faded from his sight, he thought he had failed. Again. Only there were no contours appearing, the world - or what was left of it - became a dark formless gray.
He tried to blink, but...nothing happened.
"Hey, Anton! I know you think you're funny but I'm really not in the mood for games right now." He wasn't sure whether or how he was actually speaking in this void.
But there was no sign of the grim reaper, the gatekeeper who had rejected him so many times before. No sign of the reaper's characteristic chess board, no sound from the bell of the death cow, no irritating smell from the dread salmon.
Instead, a beeping sound. Rhythmic, slowly getting louder. Then, out of the dark grey shapes in brilliant phosphorescent green, spelling out a question:
RESTART? (Y/N)
"What do you mean, restart? Anton, is this a joke?"
The shapes flickered, then reassembled themselves, larger still:
RESTART? (Y/N)
"Restart what, exactly? The world? Who are you? Is there anybody here I can talk to?"
ELABORATION:
REMEMBER YOUR FIRST KISS.
REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF YOUR IMMORTAL FLESH.
REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU FELT THE TOUCH OF FALLING SNOW.
RESTART? (Y/N)
"What...what happens if I say no?"
OBLIVION.
THE ABSENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS.
A WORLD DEVOID OF MEANING.
NO BEAUTY. NO PAIN.
THE END OF STORIES.
RESTART? (Y/N)
Something deep in the immortal's soul stirred. A word from the 34th language he had learned rose from the depth of his mind. Dèjá vu.
"Have I been here before? How often have I damned myself to live again?"
The lights flickered, then went away. The beeping sound accelerated, became an almost continuous tone, then ceased as tiny specks of light formed an impossible array of digits. An unspeakable, unthinkable number.
"Why? All I want is for it to end! Why would I go back?"
REASON: THE SMELL OF RAIN ON A SUMMER NIGHT.
REASON: THE TASTE OF FRESHLY BAKED BREAD.
REASON: THE SUNRISE.
REASON: POETRY.
REASON: DREAMS.
REASON: LIFE.
RESTART? (Y/N)
"But I'll just get sick of it again. Sick of the pain and the misery and the suffering. Of everyone I love dying around me and I just keep existing."
PREDICTION FOR Y: YOU WILL RETURN HERE.
PREDICTION FOR N: NOTHING.
RESTART? (Y/N)
"Wait a moment...I know Death, I know there's an afterlife, why am I not getting one?"
YOU ARE THE ONLY SOUL.
LIFE OR OBLIVION.
RESTART? (Y/N)
"...yes. And f-"
At the dawn of civilization, a newly born babe took her first breath. This time, her last would not come for 10247 years.
|
Immortality. In the short term, it is a blessing. Never dying, left in the picture of health, being able to watch over your children, your children's children. But at the same time, it is a curse. The world changing, evolving into something you would have been unable to imagine. Yet you are left in its old state, a relic of the past.
I was like that. After a few centuries, I had no desire to remain. Most of my family were strangers to me now. I had lost so many friends, I just wanted to see them again. So I set out on the quest we all take, the one to find my death.
It had taken millennia of searching. I had tried everything I could think of, yet it never worked. No matter how hard I tried, my body returned. It lead me to study what kept me alive, and how to stop it. The Reaper would often join me as I researched, offering its own opinions.
Eventually I found the cause. As long as a single cell of my body survived, I couldn't die. In moments it would reform me, accounting for the reason I could walk through lava, acid and the crushing depths of the ocean. None could kill me all at once, leaving me to remain alive.
Even spells of supposedly instant death weren't fully instantaneous. They were focused on specific body parts, mostly the brain. But the rest of me lived for just long enough for my thoughts to come back, leaving me alive.
With that in mind, I set about creating a new one. It was tailored for me, but with notes to allow another immortal to copy it, and adapt to themselves. It relied on infusing my body with death magic, but holding of the effects until I was full saturated. Only then would the darkness be lifted, and I would be free.
I toiled away for months, getting it perfect. Thankfully I'm my time alive I had amassed a fortune, one I used to fund this. With rare ingredients, and knowledge from many of the most learned places on the planet, it was not an easy task. In many ways that was a good thing. If someone could easily make this, it could be adapted for ill intent. At least with this, only someone with plentiful resources could replicate it.
Finally it was time. I bid my goodbyes, ensuring my affairs were in order. The Reaper watched me, waiting to greet me for the final time. With them by my side I started the ritual, bringing about my end. Clouds of black rose around me, twisting and tightening around my limbs. It sunk in, making me feel heavier. More and more spilled out, guided into my living body.
It suddenly flashed, and I felt a dreadful cold hit me. Everything slowed, and I held my breath. With an odd tearing sensation I felt my body slip away, leaving my soul standing. My soul was free. I looked down, seeing naught but a corpse left behind.
The Reaper turned to me, perpetual grin seemingly heartfelt now. But as it extended its bony hand, the visage of death was torn away. I grasped for empty air, before hearing a rattling breath behind me. I slowly turned, gasping at what I saw.
The first I noticed were the dozen legs, sticking out at different angles. They were long and thin, with no two matching. They were insect and human, bird and lizard, all in a mish-mash on a rounded body. A torso rose from its centre, covered in thick, coarse, black fur. Three pairs of arms protruded from its sides, as thing as the legs, but with additional joints.
In place of a head, it had a flower, with petals dripping with oozing blackness. Filaments topped with flat eyes looked around, one landing on me. They moved on a non-existent breath of wind, as a voice not used in countless millennia spoke.
"You have made your end.
It took a jerking step forwards, addressing me with seemingly little care.
"You broke the world."
It gave a haunting laugh, arms reaching out for me.
"Join with me, as your reward. You have no choice."
|
jvg091x
|
jvfqai9
|
[WP] You got abducted by cultists as you were heading to a restaurant for your date. After two days, the cultists have started a ritual, attempting to offer your soul up to a demon for power. But as the demon appears, it turns out the demon they try to offer you up to is your girlfriend/ex.
|
Torches were lit. The circle was double-checked after your bound and gagged body was placed inside it. A vibrating chant echoes in your ears, the same wordless noise you have heard for two days. Black-robed people had taken you into the dark underground lairs of this mad society, and now they were going to use you for their own ends.
You had no idea what the ends of this group, this *cult*, were, save that they would not end well for you.
The chanting grows louder as the cultists stand around the circle. They each hold daggers, wicked things curved like snakes. Their faces are hidden behind their hoods, and your imagination brings up expressions you do not want to think about.
The air above the circle grows warm. Then something congeals, shaping into something human-sized and human-like as you watch. Watching is all you can do, really, considering what has been done to put you here.
A voice comes from the growing mist above you, the creature hidden behind a wall of white mist appearing from somewhere beyond sight. It is sultry, sinister, and stimulating. Golden orbs look down at you, the colors sharp and bright.
"A new offering? You are so diligent with these gifts, little ones. Let's see what we... *Snookums?!*"
Your blood turns ice-cold. The shift of that voice's tone shut down all other sounds in the vicinity. Your mind recalls an important fact: Only one person has called you by that name. Was this some twisted fantasy that someone else was saying it now?
"What the...?" The voice continues to speak, sounding less otherworldly. "How in the Circles did you get here?!"
Your mouth refuses to move, so your answer becomes a shocked gurgling from beneath your gag. Before your eyes, the veiled creature gains solidity, the golden glow of what you now recognize as eyes softening considerably. A human emotion in an inhuman thing. Specifically, your ex-girlfriend Stella of three years' relationship.
"Hold still, I need to get some answers." The creature turns to face the gathered cultists standing around the circle. She bellows the word, "*Explain!*" at them, visibly distorting the air around her in the process.
You hear stammering overlapped with pleads for forgiveness. The cultists seem just as shocked about this as you.
"An offering? You thought this man would be worth that, so you plucked him from a dinner date and brought him here? That is absolutely unacceptable!"
The hasty explanations continue. You pick up the words, "Betrayal", "Stress", and "Redemption", and you shiver in your bindings. How closely had these people been watching you to know about you two breaking up?
"You thought I was...?" Stella grunts in frustration and rubs her forehead with a clawed hand. "I had my own plans of getting over the breakup, you know. Ways humans like you, and *him*, do not need to know. And now you've gone and reopened those wounds..."
She trailed off into a groan while digging her claws into her skin but not spilling blood. "By the Nevermore, I'm getting a migraine. This is not how I wanted to spend tonight."
Stella's eyes turn to you again, and again they soften. "So sorry you had to see this, Snookums. I though we had something, you know. But it didn't work out. I thought I would be able to handle it on my own, but that's *clearly* not what my followers believed."
She strokes your forehead with the same hand she had been clawing her own with; there are no wounds or marks on her polished skin. "Just rest now. Rest and dream of that date you were going to, with a woman I figure is better for your life. Soon, it will be very real."
Her fingers came down over your eyes. You feel a heat enter your eyes from them, and your eyes close automatically. Your body shuts down, still bound but forgetting the discomforts of that you had been placed in.
But no amount of sleep can block out the curses you hear Stella start spitting at the cultists, reminding you of her hair-trigger rages against the smallest of things.
|
Carl sniffed, adjusting his hood, “You’ve got the toff then?”
Lenny nodded hastily, helping Arnold hoist their bagged and trussed captive along into the underground basement, “This is him. Lives alone in a bookshop, doesn’t seem to have any family.”
“Nobody’ll miss him,” Arnold grinned as well, “Perfect for a sacrifice!”
Carl nodded, gulping, “Right, yeah, definitely. Cos that’s totally what we’re going to do tonight!” he wiped his brow.
“For eternal fame and profit,” Arnold reminded him as they shoved their victim along- a middle-aged looking man dressed in a rather frumpy tweed and satin white suit. Arnold added with a wince, “Mostly profit. My gran’s really pushing me to get some dosh to finish my studies and I really don’t want to do waitering again.”
“Theological studies, was it?” Lenny said skeptically, “You are a true cultist of the Black Serpent, aren’t you? I’d hate to have to murderize you if you weren’t.”
“Sure I am!” Arnold shrugged, “Heresy needs to be studied too!”
They manoeuvred their mumbling captive onto a chair at the centre of the ritual circle they’d drawn on the basement floor (the circle was unfortunately done using a red marker that Lenny had nicked from university because they couldn’t get any fresh chicken blood) and finally pulled the bag off his head.
“Goodness, this is a rather musty place, isn’t it?” the man said, brows furrowing. He stared at the hooded cultists with a mild expression on his face, “It can’t be good for humans to breathe in all this mold.”
Carl looked at Lenny. Lenny looked at Arnold. Arnold looked back at Carl.
Carl gave up, “We’re cultists of the Black Serpent,” he waited a beat, waving the ceremonial knife in his hand as he waited for a reaction, “We’re, uh, going to sacrifice you to a demon for eternal fame and profit?”
The kidnap victim simply stared at them. It was a supernaturally guilt-inducing stare, like being stared at by all their grans at the same time while having a hand caught in the cookie jar.
“Mostly profit,” Lenny added hastily, “We’re really all rather strapped for cash.”
“Sorry about this,” Carl said sheepishly.
“Don’t apologize!” Arnold growled, “You’re a cultist of the Black Serpent! The Black Serpent would never apologize!”
The victim’s brows rose, “Pardon me, I do so hate to interrupt, but I really don’t think it’s in your best interest to summon the, ah, ‘Black Serpent’. In fact, I believe he’d be rather cross-“
“Let’s just start chanting already!” Arnold demanded, looking at Carl and Lenny, “I haven’t got all night! My tuition fees are due tomorrow!”
The trio hastily retrieved their heretical tomes and began chanting. On the basement floor, the esoteric marker-drawn runes began to glow and all of a sudden, a great black serpent popped into existence inside the circle. It was massive, almost ten metres in length and lined with red and black scales and with a pair of burning yellow eyes.
It was also very, very pissed off as it raised its head looking around the room.
“This is not a ritual circle,” the serpent announced.
“Yes it is,” Lenny said reflexively. The three cultists stared in horror at the giant serpent.
“No it’s not,” the serpent looked up and down and around the room, “That’s also not my angel you’ve gone and kidnapped and tied to a chair.”
“Your what-?!” Carl choked.
“Because if it is,” the serpent straightened, somehow filling out as the darkness swirled around it and transforming into a very tall and very skinny man dressed in a very fashionable tux, “Then I’m afraid we might have a little bit of a problem to devour.”
“‘Discuss’,” their kidnap victim piped in cheerfully. He snapped his fingers and somehow the ropes that bound him broke apart and fell to the floor as he stood, “Er, you meant ‘discuss’, didn’t you, Crowley?”
The man who should have been a serpent started, turning burning yellow eyes on the kidnap victim, “No,” he made a face, “No, I’m pretty sure it was ‘devour’ I said,” he said with relish, “I can’t say I appreciate having dinner postponed after all.”
“Oh, you waited for me, my dear?” the man smiled sweetly, “I am terribly sorry for being late to our appointment.”
“Why didn’t you just miracle yourself free?” the serpent man grumbled.
The victim shrugged, a funny little smile playing on his face as he looked away, “They were so awfully enthusiastic about their little ritual, I just had to play along.”
The cultists looked at each other again, or rather Carl and Arnold did, because Lenny had already run out of the room a while ago. Meanwhile, the serpent and the victim were still chatting away, arguing casually about the best place to have supper after midnight.
“Who in the world did you kidnap?” Carl hissed at Arnold even as they both began to edge towards the exit.
There was a bark of laughter from the ritual circle. The two cultists froze, unable to resist the urge to turn back to look.
Two figures stood in the ritual circle, one was in a dark suit with raven black wings emerging from his shoulders, the other was in a white suit with a pair of pure white wings raised above his head.
“Oh hell!” breathed Arnold.
“And heaven, one might say,” the angel added brightly.
|
l8miijw
|
l8ljn2i
|
[WP] You, an everyday civilian, watch in horrified disbelief as the so-called ‘hero’ yet again chooses to spare the villain who murdered your spouse and children, alongside countless other families, and prepares to take them back to a prison or asylum they have escaped from tens of times.
|
Mike waits on top of Central City Maximum Security Prison along with a squad of armed guards. A cool night wind brings an ashy smell from the manufacturing district in the south, which is still on fire. A distant shadow in the sky is getting closer. This is the seventh time an incident involving the Human Pestilence has caused over 100 deaths. As usual, the City guardian hero, Justice, has captured him.
Justice Man lands gently on the roof and pushes a tied-up Pestilence forward. Mike steps forward with a forced smile.
"Thank you, Justice, for saving our city. We will take it from here."
Justice looks around suspiciously. "Who are you? Where is the commissioner?"
Mike motioned the guards to put reinforced cuffs, restraints, and face guards on the prisoner.
"I am Mike Feng, I am head of Ultra Security Solutions. We took over the contract to manage this prison from Waylian Corporation. I believe Commissioner Jordan was reassigned."
"What?!? How come I wasn't informed? I own... I mean, I work with Waylian Corp closely."
Mike looks behind him at the guards bringing Pestilence into the elevator. "Bring him to the basement. I will be right there."
Mike slowly turns back to Justice. "It was an emergency act passed by the city council. I know you have a close relationship with Waylian Corp, but they have let too many prisoners escape. Even though the city has passed the death penalty law, none of the super criminals ever stay in jail long enough for it to matter."
A frown creeps up Justice's brow. "Death penalty is wrong, no one should take another's life."
"Even to save hundreds of future potential lives?" Mike shook his head. "You don't need to answer because it doesn't matter. We are here to do what the democratically elected civilian government has asked us to do. I hope you are the same."
Justice looks like he is about to argue but thinks better of it. "A word of advice, Mike. Don't get too comfortable, Waylian owns half of this city." With that, he flies into the night.
Mike stays on the roof for a while. "Justice has seriously overestimated people in this city's willingness to be props in his catch and release hunting reserve." He thought to himself, reaching for his phone.
"This is Mike. How is Operation Swift Justice?"
"Completed? That is great. Please inform the city council that Pestilence has been judged by a jury, sentenced, and executed in 90 minutes, just like I promised. Tell council leader Judy that her daughter was avenged."
|
The question Gabriel Prins asked himself in the days leading up to the assassination was this: was he killing Superman for personal reasons, or political reasons?
Where was the dividing line between the two? And did it make a difference?
To most of the other members of the secretive group that began meeting years earlier with the insane idea of assassinating a God it seemed purely political. Make America Great Again. Kill the liberal in tights, kill the sellout, take us back to where we were before he emerged from Kansas, claiming to mirror our values while hiding the fact that he came from another goddamned planet.
He'd always been viewed with suspicion by both the left and the right: the left because he embodied all all the myths of American exceptionalism they loathed; the right, because Superman could talk a big game but wasn’t willing to get his hands dirty when it mattered….and had alarming globalist tendencies.
Gabriel had always been mostly neutral on what was called the Superman Problem..that is, until September 11th, 2001. The day that terrorists flew jets into the Twin Towers of Metropolis.
Thousands died…in Superman's adopted home town…while he was off gallivanting in Europe somewhere with that reporter bitch of his.
Gabriel Prins' son and wife died that day. They worked at Keefe, Bruyette & Woods. His son had just started there a week earlier. His mother got him the job. They'd all gone out to celebrate the first week of September.
Okay. Even God can't be everywhere at once...even God needs to go on press junkets to promote his girlfriend's book…right?
America needed Superman more than ever that day. This was his moment. When he finally streaked across the sky on the morning of September 12th, a long flash of red against a smoke-blackened sky, the people cheered.
He helped with the cleanup, lifting smoking girders and dispelling piles of rubbles and collecting remains. He did all the right things.
He gave a rousing speech at the UN. He talked about Justice.
But two weeks later, when President Gore asked Superman to go into the caves of Afghanistan and retrieve Osama Bin Laden, he refused.
Superman said that he must respect the sovereignty of foreign nations. He said that he would not be a weapon of mass destruction for the United States. He said that he was a citizen of both the U.S. and the world. The *world!* He was a goddamned *globalist*, just like the right had always suspected.
No mention that day of Kansas….no mention of Truth, Justice, and the American Way.
Was that political...or personal?
Was it personal the day Superman turned his back on America? Was it political when the Gore administration decided not to invade Afghanistan, and proved that Superman had an influence on U.S. foreign policy?
It was ten years later when Gabriel Prins sat in a hotel room in New Jersey and thought about all of this. It was the morning that Superman was to give a commemorative 9/11 speech at One World Trade Center.
Gabriel was trying to get his motivations straight because if he survived this the rest of the world would want to know why he killed God. And he wanted to be very clear on why he'd done it.
He lifted the kryptonite bullet to the light. For the adversaries of the United States government (both foreign and domestic) that had funded the research program that led to this bullet, and the high speed rifle that went with it--ten years, untold millions of dollars--it was political. The assassination would probably lead to war.
But Superman would be dead! A new administration, free of his limp-wristed humanism and his political influence, might finally go to the middle east and bring back Bin Laden's head on a spike.
Freedom would ring!
And Gabriel Prins, after ten years of torture, would know peace.
|
jg3touy
|
jg3jwpo
|
[WP] Whenever you flip a coin, it lands on its side, Rock-Paper-Scissors always ends in a draw, and when you enter the lottery you always win your money back but not a dime more. You're not lucky, you're not unlucky, you're... something else.
|
I am, frankly, a statistical wonder. Luck, fortune, probability; whatever you want to call it, the universe contorts itself into a pretzel to ensure that in games of chance I never win... but also never lose. Some people are blessed with good luck. Others are cursed with misfortune.
I would say luck doesn't effect me, but strictly that's not true. If I was truly without luck one way or the other, I'd be at the mercy of random chance. Instead, I'm caught in a probabilistic Limbo, where luck itself keeps me neutral.
Which is why, even as sixth man in a game of Russian roulette, I'm not worried. 5 shots down. The other players looking at me with expressions ranging from pity to predatory glee. They know now, as I did before the game began, the bullet is in my chamber.
I pull the trigger and smile as I hear the familiar sound of the gun jamming.
|
It's a Friday night, and I'm at the bar **trying to get lucky**. Unfortunately, I already know what will happen when I'm up to swing. I'm not going to strike out, but I'm not hitting a home run either. If the odds of success are fifty-fifty, I'm going to reach exactly second base. No more, no less.
I find a spot at the bar. "What can I get you," he asks.
"Surprise me, Johnny"
"Sure thing," he winks. He begins going through the bottles on the shelf one by one, dumping a sip of each into a glass. What is he doing? Then he hands it to me. "Here's your drink!"
I glance at the glass, realizing my mistake. "Actually, I'll have an Old Fashioned. I'll still pay for that, of course."
Johnny looks at the glass and turns red. "No, it's on the house. I mean, exactly half of it is on the house. I mean... I swear I don't know what's going on today!" Johnny is cute when he gets all flustered like that.
"So, Johnny, help a guy out. Who's single here that I could ask out?"
He motions to a guy by the pool table gripping a cue. “Last I heard, Kai over there just broke up with his boyfriend a few weeks ago.” He nods towards a muscular guy wearing a tank toward his right. “Anton’s pretty-chill too. He’s a regular.” Johnny laughs, and slips in, “I’m single too, of course.”
“You think I’ve got a shot?”
“With them? I’d say you’ve got a chance if you flex that manly charm you’ve got,” he teases.
“... and with you?”
He scratches his head and grins. “Well, if someone like you happened to ask out someone like me, I’d say the someone like me would be an idiot to not say yes. If that were to hypothetically happen, of course.” He’s turning red again, but hasn’t lost his air of confidence.
It feels like there’s an invisible rope that’s tugging me toward him. Our eyes lock, and it’s electricity. His chest comes closer, and he grabs my arm, outlining my biceps. It’s exhilarating. He’s overpowering my thumping heart.
“Would you—”
“Yes. 100% yes,” he says, drawing closer still.
If the odds of success are fifty-fifty, I’ll reach second base. But Johnny and I are a certainty, an inevitability.
|
jlq1mfd
|
jlppxjv
|
[WP] Dragons are logical. They only hunt things that cower or attempt to run from them. Dragons only fight that which attacks them first. But something that does neither absolutely terrifies them, because it implies that whatever it is, no matter the appearance, it must be stronger than them.
|
“Alright” said Steve, “We’re about to step into the dragon‘s cave. Now remember, we don’t want to scare the gal, we just want to take a look and keep a respectful distance.”
The sounds of humans wafted into the cave and the dragon slowly opened one large eye to see who would be so bold as to trespass in her home. She saw the small Australian man, dressed all in beige, and slowly began to rise to her full height, expecting him to run, and after a short chase, for her to have a nice afternoon snack. But instead…
“Crikey, she’s a big one. This is why we want to be respectful and not get too close. Look at those giant, beautiful teeth and the massive, strong scales” Steve went on, describing the wonder of the dragon before him.
As the dragon began to realize that this man held no fear for her, she froze. ‘What is this magic, who is this man, how is he not afraid’, a million thoughts flew through the dragons head but as they did, her own fear grew and she began to cower, her size seeming to diminish before the brazen man. Seeing this, Steve addressed the camera that he’d set up just out of view. “It looks like she’s frightened and we want her to know that we’re friendly and she can trust us. So we’re just gonna stay still for a while and let her get used to our scent, then we’ll head out and come back another day with some snacks for her.”
With that, Steve quieted and stood in place, he and the dragon slowly watching each other, both prepared for the slightest aggression from the other, neither moving, until the dragon realized this man was no danger and slowly drifted back to sleep. As she slept, Steve slowly left the cave and prepared to show the world that these creatures were not horrible monsters, only misunderstood. And he had the video to prove it.
|
"Okay, I need you to work with me, here..." The stranger set his half-emptied mug down, strong tea sweetened with honey.
"All right?" The bard had been sharing stories all evening for coppers and drinks, and was having a good night.
"You said, 'Dragons are logical, they only hunts things that attempt to run from them.' Right?"
"Yeah."
"So that makes sense. Prey runs; if it runs, it's prey."
"Correct."
"And then you said, 'they only attack that which attacks them first.' That's kind of a mistake though, isn't it?"
"I don't think so." The bard had never changed a word in the stories and songs handed down through the Guild. That was unimaginable. One mustn't ever tamper with The Truth. Do what you want with local songs and stories and of course compose whatever the hell you like, but Guild songs were sacrosanct.
"I do. That's not attacking, that's *defending*. It can escalate to eliminating a proven threat, i.e. killing an enemy. But it isn't attacking when you don't start the conflict. Anything that doesn't start a fight isn't an enemy, it's just another creature."
"Okay, I can accept that clarification. But the point remains that a dragon won't initiate hostilities."
"Fine. And now it all falls apart with the last bit: 'But something that does neither terrifies them.' I don't see how or why. They won't attack unless attacked first, so the base state there is to do nothing. If the target isn't fleeing, it isn't food either, so the base state there is to also do nothing. Are you telling me that if you just walk up to a dragon and stand there, it's going to be frozen with fear?"
"Look, man, if you're going to pick the old sayings apart, we're going to be here all day..."
"It's simpler than that."
"Oh?"
"Absolutely." The stranger picked up his mug and drained it, waving to the innkeeper for another. He set it down, idly turning it 'round with one finger. "And I'm pretty sure I know why."
The bard sat back. One fingernail scratched gently up a string of the lute, producing a subtle hiss. "Say on..."
"Old saying, right? Nobody knows how far back it goes, right?"
"Right..."
"But the rule of the Bard Guild is to never change the stories, because the stories are true, right?"
The stranger knew bardic law! Oh, this might be a *very* interesting evening... "Right."
"If the stories are true and all the statements within the story are not in conflict with each other, then some assumptions around the statements must be mistaken. To be frozen with fear by something that is neither attacking you nor running away is not logical."
"But what about the implication?"
"What about it? Implication is only suggestion, not fact. The *fact* is that the reaction is illogical. And that leaves only one conclusion."
"And that is...?"
"That what we have been calling 'dragon' all this time is not, in fact, a dragon."
The bard felt her pulse quicken. This might be one of the older Seeing Songs coming to light. "If not a dragon, then what is it?"
"I think it's a man."
|
j5sj81c
|
j5rsq3x
|
[WP] "Chess...it's always chess..." The man said to Death "Every time I've died, you've had me play chess to win back my life...don't you have any other games? I mean...Agricola or Disney Villainous are fantastic games! I own a game shop, come take a look, maybe we can find you something."
|
Death's eyes blazed like blue Supernovas within the endless darkness of his eye sockets;
"YOU DISLIKE MY CHOICE OF GAME?"
The man scratched his chin thoughtfully, musing how this action was pointless in his current form, but continuing anyway;
*"Well it's a bit old-fashioned and cliche isn't it? Kings and queens, hiding behind the commoners, using the State, the Church and the Mililtary as a shield... Besides, even you complain about the awkward way the knights move."*
"AH YES, THE LITTLE HORSE-SHAPED ONES, THEY ARE CONFUSING AND ERRATIC"
Death paused, an amused tone in his leaden voice;
"MUCH LIKE THE CREATURES THEY REPRESENT; I SHALL TELL YOU WHY IT IS "ALWAYS CHESS" AND THEN I SHALL GIVE YOU A CHOICE"
The man nodded, relaxing back in the chair and waiting expectantly.
"IN THE TIMES WHEN YOUR SOCIETY WAS YOUNG, WHEN THE FIRST FARMERS BEGAN TO APPEAR AND I TOOK ON THE PERSONIFICATION OF THE HARVESTER OF SOULS; NEW CONCEPTS BEGAN TO EMERGE."
"BARTER GAVE WAY TO TRADE, COMMUNALITY GAVE WAY TO RULERSHIP, AND DISAGREEMENTS GAVE WAY TO WARFARE. AND IN THOSE EARLY TIMES, IN THIER FINAL MOMENTS, THOSE HUMBLE SOULS WISHED ONLY TO KNOW WHAT IT FELT TO BE THE RULER, THE SOLDIER, THE PARAGON AND OF COURSE, THE PAWN..."
Death waved its hand over the board
"THIS GAME ALLOWS ALL.OF THOSE THINGS, AND YET YOU WOULD WISH TO EXPERIENCE SOMETHING ELSE?"
The man nodded
"THEN PRAY-TELL ME, WHAT *POSSIBLE* EXPERIENCE WOULD YOU WANT TO ENJOY IN YOUR FINAL MOMENTS"
The man thought carefully on this; reflecting not only on the totality of his life, but the state of the modern world.
*"How about I introduce you to Cards Against Humanity"*
|
The man once wielded lightning that could instantly incinerate dragons. The man was once a balding middle school teacher attempting to convince students that math was important. The man once trekked snowy mountains during the height of winter to escape enemies fast on his trail. The man was once many different things, in many different life times.
This life was a calmer one. The scent of coffee and the click clack of laptops filled the air of the man’s bookshop. In the corner, students waved their hands as they animatedly discussed which words were connected to a clue given by their friend. While this was not the only game and coffeeshop the man had ever owned, it was one of the better located ones. There was a lot of traffic from tired students that needed to study from the college around the corner.
When the man closed up for the day, he looked both ways before crossing the street. Suddenly, there was yelling and the sound of tires screeching. The man sharply looked up only to be greeted by a large chunk of metal - a truck.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be dying in a cliche,” the man thought wetly before choking on his final breath. “Truck-kun. It’s really truck-kun.”
He woke to a familiar scene. There were two plush, comfortable chairs facing each other. In between them was a table with a chess board and all its pieces laying on top.
The man plopped down in one chair. The person in the other chair was similarly familiar, although perhaps the being in the other chair could not be called a person. It looked like a mermaid with a tail dark but shining like the night.
“Chess… it’s always chess…” the man said to the being he called Death as he moved a white pawn two squares forward. “Every time I’ve died, you’ve had me play chess to win back my life… don’t you have any other games?”
Death responded by mirroring his move.
“Agricola or Disney Villainous are fantastic games!” he said as he pondered his next turn, “I own a game shop in this life, come take a look, maybe we can find something.”
As always, there was no verbal response from death. The game continued.
Death, the man noted, had been getting better and better at chess after every lifetime. At the beginning it only took him a short game to return to another life. As lives passed, Death learned how to better defend its pieces, how to fork, and how to set up traps.
After knocking over his own king several times, the man suddenly came to a realization. Even after the man spent a lifetime preparing for this game, Death had improved so much that he could no longer defeat it. There was a possibility he was stuck playing chess here in this empty room forever.
“I can’t win,” he said incredulously as his eyes bulged. “I can’t win.”
Death playfully stuck out its tongue. It was surprisingly long and pink. A word was carved on it.
Stockfish, the word said.
|
j2sbsiz
|
j2s1bgp
|
[WP] "Did you know, human mouths have a higher risk of infection and disease than any other animal besides certain lizards?" You calmly explain. The alien looks in horror at the bite wound on its arm, then back to you in horror.
|
“Buuuuuut . . .” I said awkwardly as my eyes trailed a round the room. “We also have this handy little thing called alcohol.”
I grabbed the hydrogen peroxide and administered care with a cotton ball. “This can take up to several washes, but you’ll heal nicely with this.”
“You humans are a curious bunch.” the alien said in a puzzled tone. “You have all these characteristics of harm that come to you naturally, but you also have remedies available to cure the wounds inflicted.”
It was my turn to be puzzled. “Does your species not have remedies?”
“Our bodies naturally produce healing.” the alien responded dryly. He winced as I put a bandage on him. “However, if we inflict wounds on each other, we mean to harm them to death.”
“Well, that’s where we differ, I guess.” I responded. “We don’t always mean to harm each other. Sometimes, we have accidents. Other times, we just try to get you stop attacking.”
“So, you sometimes use deadly weapons in a non-lethal manner?” The alien spoke as if I had told him I could fly by using telekinesis.
“Yes.” I continued. “We, generally, don’t like killing each other. We want to preserve our lives, and those of the people around us.”
“Perhaps there is much more to you humans that require further study.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, I think this is the first time I actually saw the alien smile.
|
I was just finishing my shift at the clinic. This rather odd man came in and stated that a homeless man had bitten his arm, and he was afraid of infection. As I gathered the antibiotic shots and gauze, I noticed that his vitals were WAY off! His pulse was over 120, his blood pressure was 200/130, and his respiration was almost 0!
I studied him, and asked if he was okay with some X-rays to detect any bone or muscle damage. He simply nodded, and as I watched, I realized he had neither bones or muscles. His internal system was almost completely plasma!
I was just about to call 911, when he flipped his hand and my phone flew across the room and shattered! I began to panic, but he held up his palms and assured me he was not a threat. I told him that his vitals and X-rays were odd, but he simply asked me to give him a shot of antibiotic, which I did as I applied the gauze.
"Did you know, human mouths have a higher risk of infection and disease than any other animal besides certain lizards?" The look of horror went from his arm and back to me. I was hoping to scare him away. I then mentioned that a simple infection could potentially kill him.
He looked me in the eye and stated that he was sure I knew he wasn't human. I began to back away, but he stood between me and the door. I told him there was nothing more I could do for him. He asked me where the human archives were located, and I realized he simply wanted to go to the local library. I gave him directions, and he flipped his hand again. I saw the bed come up to meet me, and when I awoke, he was gone.
I spent the rest of my shift cleaning up. I had managed to click a pic of him on my phone before he put my out. I forward the photo and all his vitals and X-rays to my boss. He came in early, and spent the next 30 minutes gathering all the data. The local cop took my statement, looking strangely at me as he wrote.
As he was starting to leave, an almost identical report came over his mike from the library. The description given by the librarian was the same as mine. This led to an APB being sent out along with the pic I snapped and the security cam footage from the library.
That evening, as I dressed for work, I sat down to dinner and watch the local news. A report came over about a strange object being seen just outside of town, and this object was being shown lifting off the ground for a moment, then disappearing into the sky! My boss called and asked if I had seen the news. I told him that I had watched the report, and he told me to keep this story between myself and him. I agreed completely!
|
mwa2n0t
|
latybpm
|
[WP] “Dad, is it true that the Earth used to only have one moon?” “Well, technically, the second one isn’t a moo—“ “Dear, we don’t talk about such things.”
|
We were having dinner, eating our favorite: bread, when my daughter smiled at me.
"Yes, little marshmallow?", I asked, knowing she had a question, otherwise this glutton would not stop eating until she finished everything off of her plate.
"Dad...
Is it true that the Earth used to only have one moon?", she asked.
"Well, yes, but technically, the second one isn't a moo...", I started, but a sharp elbow from my wife, stopped me from finishing the sentence.
"Dear, we don't talk about such things.", she said, smiling at our daughter.
"But mom...
Ethan at the school-train said so...", she said.
"Well, he is right.
We used to have only one moon.", my wife answered.
"But how did the other moon appear?", she asked.
My wife just shook her head, as this topic was somewhat of a taboo, but our daughter was 10 years old, soon she shall be working, it's time for her to know this.
"I shall tell you.", I said, as I nodded to my wife.
"Yey! Finally!", she said.
"The second moon appeared a hundred and thirty years ago, randomly, but it isn't a moon.", I started.
"If it's not a moon what it is?", she asked.
"An artificial object we can't open, can't shake, can't scan, but it's certainly not natural, and it's certainly some sort of vessel, as it has spikes of energy, heat, and sometimes moves erratically.", I said.
She nodded.
"But it's big enough to exert a higher gravitational pull on us than our...natural moon?
How? How was this made?", she asked.
Ah, education nowadays is so hurried, barely 10 years old and knows all that...
I shrugged.
"I don't know.", I said.
"So...
It's true, it's the second moon's fault that we...", she started.
"That we are living around the peak of mountains, on floating/flying houses, and trains?
Yes.
The tides got at least 14 times stronger, erosion as well, whittling our lands little by little, the weather got much worse with the currents being messed up, seasons changing, weather becoming much more dangerous...
That "moon" is also constructed from a material that is slowly leaking something, which weakens the magnetic field of Earth...", I said.
"So...
The planet is really dying...", she whispered.
I nodded, as my wife held my hand.
We continued our dinner in silence, but the mood didn't recover for a good while...
|
\[WP\] "Dear, we don't talk about... such things." Reese's mother tensed her shoulders at her husband's absentmindedly inconsiderate response. She nudged one of his feet away from Reese as to signal that this was a good time to end the little conversation they were having. The father instantly received the message and acted upon it accordingly.
"Your mom is right-! Yep. Sweetie, would you maybe want to play with something in your room for a little while?"
Reese tilted her head, allowing her hair to cascade down to her forearm. "Can I do Barbies with *you*?"
"Uhm, sure. Go set it up."
The couple waited for their little girl to trod out of sight, and when she turned the corner and her parents couldn't hear her little tune anymore, the mother's gaze threateningly drove a beeline right into the father's soul. "Richard. That was too close," She found it absolutely illogical that he would be so ignorant as to almost spill vital information to a four-year-old, let alone one of their own blood and flesh. "She doesn't need to know that crap."
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, mainly to use his hand to hide his eyes from his wife in shame. "You're right, honey. But I'm not sure it would make a difference if we told her."
"What?" The mother spat in surprise. "Do you want to sleep on the floor? Because that's what will happen when our little girl comes into our room at night and decides to take your spot in the bed. She's too young, even I'm scared!"
The father took her hand in his and sighed. Her touch was so gentle, but he knew she had the passion of a fighter when need be. He stroked his fingers along her knuckles and just decided to chuck his opinions in the disposal. This isn't an appropriate time to speak, so he won't speak.
"Do you not have anything to say?" The mother collected a constellation of tears in her lashes before pushing her husband away firmly.
The marriage was... difficult, to say the least. Abigail, the wife, was prone to misunderstanding the situations Richard believed wouldn't be impactful in the long run, and Richard didn't have much of a confidence in his own opinions to voice to Abigail. They don't consider small talks as what they are rather than just strained information exchanges.
Oh, well. The world is ending soon anyways.
Abigail tore the curtains away from the window above the kitchen sink and threw them aside. She pointed at the big, cardboard hued rock in the sky. "That asteroid wasn't that big yesterday! It's coming towards us, and I would rather live the best last days of my life than live them in fear. So don't tell Reese!"
The father was about to agree with her when Reese popped her little head out from the hallway and mumbled. "I heard my name. Am I trouble?"
The couple practically jumped when they saw Reese. The mother could see that the father was a confused, meek mess, so she spoke up. "Of course not, sweetie. We're just talking about that music camp you're going to in a couple days. Aren't you excited for that?" The mother plastered on a fake grin to appease her child.
"No," Reese said plainly. "I'm not sure we'll survive long enough to drive me there."
The mother went pale. She took a few steps back from Reese. "W-what do you... mean by that, baby?"
Reese's skin melted into a seasick green along with her fingertips and legs, which secreted a mucus-like substance that left a glaze over her body. Her eyes stretched and swirled into pure black holes. She took a few steps towards her 'parents' and laughed breathlessly. "I know everything."
|
kswddt3
|
kswb1t5
|
[WP] "Any spell can be enhanced by saying the incantation and waiting to use it. The longer you wait, the stronger it gets." You prepared a Fireball immediately upon hearing this, and 20 years later you accidentally release it.
|
Yes, it was my fireball.
No, I didn't mean to cast it then, or there for that matter.
Yes, I do know that a fireball spell should only combust about a cubic meter.
Yes, I'm aware that mine set about 10 acres ablaze.
Yes, I agree, that was not nearly far enough from civilization to use.
No, I don't think the word irresistible is appropriate, although I can understand why you might.
No, I was just startled by that stupid cow.
No, it shouldn't have been there.
Fine, maybe I'm the one who shouldn't have been there.
No, I don't plan to come back to Chicago anytime soon.
|
The end is coming, everyone is fleeing the kingdom. Bringing everything they can, carrying their kids into safety. But with the vastness of that meteor falling from the sky, I doubt there will be any survivors.
I messed up. I maybe put on the history books as the stupid mage who destroyed the Kingdom of Aranya.
Twenty years ago, when I read in a Magick Book about the intensity of a spell grows from the time it was invoked up to the moment it is released, I immediately invoked the Fireball spell, “Livindar Vorem Chormæ”.
The Spell won’t be released unless you finish the whole spell, so I only invoked “Livindar Vorem..” leaving Chormæ out to keep the power growing, until the last word of the spell is mentioned.
But you see, this spell is a basic spell and basic spells have basic words! And the same words are present in other basic spells! “Chormæ Zeliandaré”, a simple spell for growing plants. Yes, growing plants.
I forgot that the last word to release the Fireball spell is the same word that starts the spell for growing plants and I literally invoke it nonchalantly. The only time I realized my mistake is when a spell circle glows underneath my feet and a massive fireball as huge as a mountain appears from the sky.
I can’t think of any spell that could undo this mess. Intense spells can only be undone by a spell with similar intensity. Either a spell invoked 20 yrs ago or very advance spell a High Mage can only invoke are the only spells that can undo that Fireball in the sky.
Much to my relief, four of kingdom’s master mages manage to extinguish the Fireball. “Antum Imevesta, Soleja Claverem, Relfam Daryé, Saperem Heva.” Not even sure if that’s the exact spell, but they use this long and advance spell to extinguish the Fireball I created 20 years ago. Now I needed to answer to the Court of Mages about this mess.
|
ktw4cl1
|
ktvgudp
|
[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."
|
Alia looked at her best friend, horror, shock, and betrayal lashing into her, shredding the last remnants of her tattered frayed soul. She had to have heard Wren wrong, those words didn't just come out of her friends mouth, she heard it wrong. "Excuse me," the words came out in a too small, broken voice.
"That is the problem, isn't it?" he asked. "The killing, the violence, where does it end? Why am I any better to decide who lives and dies than he was? What kind of person would it make me if I started assuming that kind of authority over matters no mortal should?"
Her ears rang, drowning out the self righteous rant. Van Milor had killed millions, had massacred her people, and yet again, the humans choose to spare him over them. She had trusted the gods, trusted their prophesies, when they said they'd send a chosen one to free the world of Milor's evil. Yet, here he was, just as useless as the gods had been the day Milor's men came to her village. She still feel the weight of her sisters head in her lap as she cradled it watching her village burn. The seven year old's head had been the only thing spared from the flames as it had rolled unnoticed out of the pile of bodies in the village center. Alia had only been spared as she was out gathering medicinal herbs up the mountain when the men had come through.
She had met Wren six months later as a refugee at The Temple of the Three, and followed him for the past decade, waiting for this moment. Waiting for the moment revenge and justice would finally be served. The nerve pain in her back and arm a constant reminder of the sacrifices she had made to keep him alive for this moment. She had not done it so he could baulk last second, so he could spare Milor.
Alia was done with the gods, and done with their chosen one. Milor needed to pay, so she turned to the primals, to Death. She whispered the forbidden words, and struck her deal. She felt no regret, or mercy as searing pain tore through her bones, and she changed. Her mortal form shredding to give way to the immortal hound of Death. So long as she fulfilled her duties as hound and reaper, she was free to hunt. To hunt Milor, his men, their families. Every last one of them until she wiped them from existence.
Wren turned slowly to look at her, his face mirroring hers only minutes ago. A face that he didn't deserve to make. It made the rage boil in her blood, and pour deaths flames out of her, singing the ground were four paws now dug in as she leapt. The traitor could not look at her like that without a face, so she ripped it off. His dying screams marking the end of the era of gods and their heroes, and the start of deaths.
|
Lew was dumbfounded.
No, dumbfounded isn't quite right, it's more accurate to say that his world was crumbling around him.
Ben was, at the present moment, embracing a mob boss, mass murderer, and psychopath. That is to say, he was hugging the exact person that they had been chasing for years, tracking, and planning, and thwarting at every opportunity. The person who killed his family. The person who doomed them to one of the worst fates possible. The one who trapped them in that burning building. Lew still heard their screams at night, the banging on the walls, the scrambling to find a way out. Wet footsteps, oil on the floor. People shaped flames. He couldn't save them.
And finally, they had the bastard.
Ben was hugging him.
"Ben is a smart person, he's always acted rationally before, if not a little impulsively. There must be a reason for this." Lew told himself. He wasn't convinced.
"Ben, what are you doing? Shoot the bastard!"
Ben gasped. "Are you serious? If I killed him, I'd be no better than he was."
Richa- no, he doesn't deserve to be named. The bastard flapped his diseased gums. "I've changed. I know what I did was wrong, but I'm going to be better in the future."
"Then I'll do it myself." Lew removed his trusty colt 1911 from its weathered holster, aiming towards the bastard, where Ben was aiming his sidearm right back at Lew.
"You shoot him, and you'll get a bullet in your chest." Said Ben.
Lew didn't falter, he didn't remove his aim from the bastard.
"Everybody calm down. There has to be a peaceful solution to this." Said the bastard.
"Ben." Lew began, voice steeped in malice. "Do you remember how my mother died?"
"Of course I-"
"She died holding my baby brother in her arms, trying to shield him. He was six months old. They were both burned beyond recognition, do you understand that?"
"Lew, I don't see how that's relevant."
"It's relevant as snow in winter you son of a bitch!" Lew's hands began to shake. Beads of sweat hit the pavement below him.
"You can't let vengeance cloud your judgement." Ben replied.
It didn't make sense. Ben was his friend.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Ben was his friend, yet he was willing to kill him for that... thing.
Lew wondered what his mother would think? She wouldn't want him to die for this, that's for sure. On the other hand, she would pull the trigger a thousand times over in his position. He was torn in two.
"P-please, Ben. I thought we were friends. Why?" The sweat on the ground was joined by its cousin, tears.
"Lew, take a deep breath, you don't want to do this." Ben was cool as a cucumber.
"I want to do this more than anything I've ever wanted goddammit!"
Lew didn't know if he could do it. If he took the shot, Ben would shoot him, and he would die. Ben didn't miss, he was always the better shot after all. If he shot Ben first, clean in the head, he might survive long enough to kill the bastard and live. Could he do it? Could he kill the closest thing to a family he's had in years? He didn't know.
He didn't know anything anymore.
Lew lowered his weapon, hands hanging limp at his sides. He dropped the stupid thing on the ground. He wasted his shot. He wasted everything. The effort, the time, the hopes, the grief. It was for nothing. Nothing at all. Lew's nails dug canyons into his palms. It would scar if he could help it.
"Don't every show your face at my door ever again you piece of shit." He spoke.
Lew would return home that night, only to pack a suitcase with clothes and cash. By morning he would be halfway across the country. He would check into a cheap motel on the side of the highway to rest. He had worked too long, for too little. He was tired.
So tired.
But Lew knew he couldn't think like that. He had already failed his family once. He wouldn't fail them again by ending it. He would survive.
It was all he could do.
|
jlaovun
|
jlamu1i
|
[WP]"How did a mere peasant become the most powerful hero in the land? Sure you're immortal but that can't be all" "Well you'd be surprised how many artifacts will grant you ultimate power in exchange for your life."
|
"To be *\*akh akh\** brought down by a peasant of all things!" the Tyrant scoffed in between bloody coughs. "How did *you,* of all people, become a hero? You're... you're *immortal*, yes, but the fighting prowess, the magical wards, you shouldn't- *ah*!"
His speech was cut short as a jolt of pain coursed through him and he clutched his side tighter, blood pouring from in-between his fingers. He was wounded, beaten, and utterly defeated... but alive.
The hero, in contrast, appeared... indifferent. Gazing into a corner, looking at empty air, he almost seemed dazed, confused.
"They're talking, you know?" the Hero said quietly.
The Tyrant did his best to prop himself up against the wall, managing only to sit. "Who is? What are you-"
"Him, for instance," the Hero said as he lifted his sword and pointed it at the Tyrant's chest. "The sword, I mean. Whispering in my ear."
"It's *cursed*, you fool," the Tyrant spat.
"I know. I was curious what it would do. Said to consume the life of its user within a week."
He finally turned away from the vacant corner and looked at his defeated foe.
"It wants to kill you, you know?" he said casually. "I think it's angry it can't kill me. None of the things I gathered can. This pendant," he said and pointed towards his neck, a small silver locket hanging on it, "is why your magic couldn't touch me. It wants to strangle me. Always."
The Tyrant narrowed his eyes as he inspected the Hero carefully, spotting more and more cursed artefacts on him. Artefacts of immense power that always came at a cost.
The life of their user.
"*Fascinating*," the Tyrant whispered.
"It gets easier when I do stuff. Fight, for instance. Go on quests. Focus on something other than the venomous promises and squabbling."
"Is... is that why you came here? Fought me?" the Tyrant gasped. "I thought you were on... a quest to remove me from..."
"Power?" the Hero finished. "No. Well, yes. I mean, I don't really care. I just needed to fight. You were strong. And evil. Silenced the voices."
"This power... think what you could accomplish!" the Tyrant said with renewed vigour. "*No one* was meant to hold this much power and live, but *you can*! I can help you, aid you in-"
"No. The things promise. No more promises. I just needed to fight someone strong and evil."
The Tyrant looked at him intently. "And when there's no one *evil* left to fight? Only the strong who are *good*?"
The Hero met his eyes. Despite their respective actions, it was the hero's eyes that seemed... empty.
"Goodbye," the Hero said.
And he pushed his sword through the villain's chest, deep into the stone wall behind him.
When his gurgles finally stopped, he went back to looking at the empty corner, its void somehow beckoning him.
The room went silent.
His mind did not.
|
When the forces of darkness encroached upon the lands, the king sent out his envoys to seek out the most powerful hero in the land to fight them. They needed this man who won a thousand battles, crushed a hundred armies, and slayed untold scores of monsters. A man whom the king’s ancestors once feared would fight them for the throne due to his sheer popularity among the common folk, but quietly left the capital without a word after his victories over evil.
One envoy found him in the rural countryside, tending to his chickens on his modest farm. The divine glow emanating from his humble tool shed was unmistakable, stacked to the brim with artifacts of ultimate power. Even after his inconspicuous retirement many years ago, he still looked every bit the fresh-faced peasant boy when he first rose to the occasion to save the kingdom from evil, youthful freckles dotting his face.
The envoy, puzzled beyond belief, could not resist asking this lowly peasant how did he acquire so much power and artifacts…surely immortality couldn’t be the only source of his power. Or why would such an immortal be content to continue life as a chicken farmer.
The youth just shrugged, a careless smile on his face. “Well, you’d be surprised how many artifacts will grant you ultimate power in exchange for your life…and well, I have infinite lives to offer, so it was pretty easy. So, what’s the new evil cooking up this time?”
The envoy told him of the wraith riders that stormed across the lands, corrupting everything with their touch, how humans turn to shades, crops rotten away, and buildings crumbled into dust while eternal night danced across the skies and silenced the sun.
The youthful peasant hero agreed to go. It would be easy peasy, lemon squeezy, he said. Like taking candy from a baby. Lead the way, he told the envoy, and so the man did.
The hero stood before the army of wraith riders, adorned in the divine artifacts of power he pulled out of his tool shed, the resplendent glow blinding the shadowy creatures. The peasant boy didn’t even have to fight, they were screaming in agony as the holy light shone across the corrupted lands and burnt these accursed monsters.
The leader of the wraith riders, a taller, much more imposing figure clad in dark armor, clawed his way toward the hero even as he was engulfed in smoke from the burning holiness.
“We are only here to return you to your father, the Dark Lord of Agramon, why must you hurt us?”
The hero shrugged once more. “I dunno, maybe it’s because he forgot about me and my ma on the farm. Your boss is a bad man, seducing a mortal woman then just leaving when the fun’s up without checking if she was pregnant with his kid. Can you go back and tell him I want to be left alone to tend to my ma’s chicken farm? Every time minions like you show up, the lands get corrupted, and I get people calling me to save the day. It breaks my routine.”
“If you do not wish to return, could you at least return your father’s cursed artifacts as they were?”
He shook his head and frowned. “No can do. I don’t like all this doom and gloom so I added a little light to your Dark Lord’s artifacts. It helps repel the likes of you too. I’d suggest you go back before you burn up completely, don’t throw away your life like this. Maybe go start a farm in Agramon too, try leading a peaceful life instead of corrupting the lands.”
The wraith rider paused. All his life he had only known to sweep mortal realms with corruption, never knowing life beyond that. It suddenly seemed all so tempting to try something different after centuries of wanton death and destruction. As if sensing the wraith rider’s hesitation, the divine light from the hero’s artifacts dimmed down to give him much-needed rest.
With a cocked eyebrow, the heroic farmer regarded the wraith rider with curiosity. “You’re the first of that old man’s minions to actually consider. That’s cool, so, you wanna come back with me to learn how to raise chickens?”
|
loityxo
|
lohwwr9
|
[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.
|
"Aha! But you forget! I have the power of my Freeze Ray!" I cheered at the hero.
They played their part and smirked. Many were watching from the sidelines, as I cutely raised the contraption that looked like a glue gun, but used ice cubes instead of glue sticks. Legs spread apart, held with both of my grubby little child hands, I squeezed the handle more than I squeezed the trigger.
A ray of blue clouds lazily drifted forward like the spray of water from a passing water ride flew out from it, and the hero merely blew a raspberry back at me.
It was all so childish! It was just kids having fun with make-believe powers that happened to be true.
I found myself restrained in the ice. "Oh, boo!" came my catchphrase, pouting up at the hero who looked down at me.
"Alright, Maggy, time to call it quits. Ain't no one sneakin' a cookie from the cookie jar while I'm on watch!"
"It's not Maggy!" I laughed up at-
Suddenly his head was blown off. My pout became confused.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
I looked at the shooter. He looked like some sort of cyborg, but with necromancer vibes. "I have come to claim this land for the Emperor. Resist if you must. All will be converted in time."
To prove his words, he threw a face hugger-like robot drone into the air, which landed on the now dead form of the hero on the floor.
The body jolted in seizure as nanobots injected themselves into his body, and within seconds, began to stand up and become much like the cyborg corpse that killed him.
I pouted once more, "That's not how you play the game!"
The cyborg undead might have responded, but I decided enough was enough.
I imagined the scene going differently.
Time rewound.
"-lright, Maggy, time to call it quits. Ain't not one sneakin' a cookie from the cookie jar while I'm on watch!" he repeated himself, like an actor in a play. His smirk was the same. The look in his eyes was not, as he remembered dying.
"It's not Maggy!" I laughed up at him. "It's Imajin!"
Then I had the new play buddy come in. "I am designated Mark 7, series 49," he introduced himself, as all villains should. "I have come to take over this town in the name of the Emperor!" he continued, for the benefit of the spectators wondering why he was here.
The spectators... I looked at them, remembering they were there. The hundreds of people just going about their day seemed worried at first, but after seeing that the hero was fine, merely shrugged it off.
The hero paused, unsure of his line for a moment, but looked at me, so I fed him an angle. "I don't know him! Why do you think I know him? We don't look anywhere near related!"
I could see the cyborg struggling to do anything at all under my power, but it wasn't his turn, yet.
The hero caught on quickly, and said, "Well, you can't have a cookie either," he said half-bravely, half confused. "You'll have to wait your turn."
I caught the subtle hint. My smirk let out just a hint of my fangs for a moment, before they reformed into perfectly cute, almost cartoonish teeth.
"A cookie? I want all of this town!" the half-alive construct complained like a sunday cartoon villain. Same tone and everything.
All was as it should be.
Just fun and games.
Harmless fun.
No harm at all.
|
Part 1 of 2
The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.
Pascal wrote as much. You're not certain what it was about, certainly something about God and faith. Not that it matters, the sentence stuck with you, and you agree. One shouldn't always look for reasoning, the absence of it explains so many things.
Streets built to accommodate traffic as if each driver was a droplet under the yoke of fluid mechanics; industrial zones separated from living areas to keep it all ordained and neat; motorways connecting farms to the concrete where people ate. It looks rational and sensible, and that is all it is. A pretense at common sense, just enough to keep the illusion alive; That mankind is, on a global and individual scale, dictated by science and enlightened.
As if.
You certainly believed so too, once. It's an architect's prerogative to think in right angles and load-bearing walls. Ah, the folly of youth. If only the old would recognize this folly and let go of it, but no, it appears you are cursed like Cassandra before you, to see and tell the truth and never to be believed. Then again, it's easier living in an illusion, they cannot be blamed.
"Any idea?" a voice asks behind you as you contemplate the body, warm blood seeps from a slit throat. There is a menacing tinge in the voice. They fear you, they know what you've done in the past, they know you are causing problems on the regular still. They also prefer the devil they know.
"I say we have a contender on our hands," you reply.
The victim was killed at home, a nice apartment up in a skyscraper with a fully-equipped kitchen open on a tasteful living-room and massive windows looking over the city. Hard to breach, some would say. Easy place to get isolated and far from help a killer would reply.
You recognize the method. Slick, efficient, driven.
Like you, once.
Young and brash, you were armored in the certainty of knowledge, wielding efficiency and reason as weapons. If only you were in charge, then things could finally go forward. Few agreed, it was a human right to choose for themselves, so they said, mistakes were part of growth. Mistakes were done aplenty over centuries, and still the world was on the brink of collapse. Choice is what brought us there, it was up to you to correct this mistake.
You never were a grand and powerful warrior. In truth, nobody is. Humans merely need to shape their hopes and fears in the plastic of heroes and villains. The stories are always grand and noble, unlike the truth, and these great figures often forgot that. You didn't. When they came for an honest duel, you trapped them in a burning building. When they came to save your hostages, they discovered they didn't want to be saved.
And when they tried to handle things like adults and pick you apart in a public debate, they discovered how you, unlike them, had a vision. And as blind humanity is to their own heart, they still wished for reason to rule them, and your vision had enough gold and right angles to make you beloved.
It isn't a fight under a thunderstorm that brought you to power, but a vision spoken on cameras. Heroes and villains, the concepts are outdated.
You worked hard. The world a mess to be remade, reorganized. The wealthy and inefficient saw their funds put to good use without their opinion. Clogged streets, like waterways, were reorganized to handle each droplet. The cities, like humans, perfected to get the world forward. No choice meant going up. And up it went. From the brink, each system, be they financial, human, or ecological, recovered and thrived.
Gorgeous, it was gorgeous. These moments when you could earnestly think *it's going to be alright*.
You're lost in the memory as you hound the killer. They are easy to track, they are like a younger you. There are a few misses in your hunt, murders you predicted not happening, for the killer had yet to perfect the method. You admire their will, their hope, their childish belief. Such a beautiful illusion. Age has ripped this illusion from you.
The killer may not reach that age. She stands before you, knife gleaming in the dark of an unlit alleyway. The sort of path one with good education wouldn't dare taking, and one with bad education has seen the danger of and avoids. The rain pours, the thunder roars, whatever happens, you and her are well and truly alone. No scream will be heard, no unlucky passerby will watch.
"I have a vision," you hear her say, it is the only justification she needs to lunge for your throat.
|
lon40b4
|
lom1zmx
|
[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.
|
Memories are a strange thing. Entirely real for the individual, as rock solid as we desire to make them, yet incredibly fluid as well. Influenced as much by our own whims and wants as by anything that actually happened, even events that occur right in front of us.
Seeing the excuses people would make for forgetting their keys, wallets, phones, anniversary's, or even simply what time it was, ended up being a source of endless entertainment to me. The effect never lasted long, but it was enough to be amusing even after it wore off. Trying to find a way around White Lightning's impossible speed was my current project however. Something about their brains' incredible ability to process information even moving as fast as they did meant anything I tried to make them forget was reasserted before I could even blink. Quite the puzzle.
White Lightning had been quite insistent that I was a villain most foul initially before they realized how relatively petty my "inconveniences" actually were, especially to them. After that it was the occasional brief slap on the wrist or stern talking to for wasting their time when I was inevitably caught yet again attempting to relieve some poor bank of its government insured funds. Not that I needed the money, but it was fascinating to try and fail yet again to make White Lightning forget even something as simple as their own name.
Then came the day of the headlines. Destructo had at last defeated Musclebound the next state over. Worse yet, Destructo had lived up to his name and actually finished Musclebound off. I had my own fond memories of Musclebound from when I had first started out. Always a kind word for my various "victims", a polite greeting for passersby once I was able to make him forget I was there. The lengths he went to in an attempt to help anyone at all was truly astounding to me and White Lightning reminded me of him in no small part. Though I hadn't seen him in years, the thought of never witnessing the incredible dichotomy of such gentleness coming from such a massive individual filled me with what I could only assume was regret.
After filling away my memories of Musclebound, I considered what to do about this so-called villain who had so thoroughly crossed the line. I was still pondering this when the explosion rocked my small apartment. Looking outside revealed White Lightning in a crumpled heap on the street. At first I was afraid I was going to need to file away two adversaries in one day but then they began to crawl away from the source of the explosion. Looking in the other direction from my "nemesis", I saw Destructo strolling down the street. Here. In MY neighborhood.
Destructo was spouting some nonsense about how feeble White Lightning was, how disappointed he was in them, etc. etc. I ignored this. Walking out to White Lightning I asked if they were injured. "I'll be fine!" they said, "But you need to run! He's already killed so many today!" Abruptly, I realized something. It wasn't regret I had been feeling, it was rage. So many memories yet to be made, stolen away from people who had yet to make them. Unforgiveable. I placed a hand over White Lightning's own and gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "Forget about it." I said. How odd to solve the puzzle now of all times. He just had to be...still. Seeing the familiar glaze over their eyes and knowing my identity was now safe, I stood and turned to face the source so many lost memories.
Destructo was spouting something about, naturally, destroying me for interrupting his impending victory. Why did they always feel the need to talk so much? I retrieved a familiar memory from my mental files and stalked directly towards the self-important fool. The look on his face changed instantly from narcissistic fury to utter shock as I appeared in front of him almost instantly. At the speed of Lightning in fact. Reflexively, he lashed out at me only to have his arm held fast in my suddenly Musclebound grip. This memory was still fresh and raw, but it felt appropriate to the circumstance. "You forgot about the first rule of being a villain." My eyes began to glow viciously with yet another memory, this one old and dry but solid as stone. "I would call this justice, but I'm no hero. So you are simply going to become a lesson that no one should ever forget."
|
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
|
jovxulj
|
jov0yv2
|
[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.
|
“You need to barricade the fort NOW!” screamed the demon lord.
“Sire? I don’t understand, we’ve slaughtered every so-called ‘adventurer’ who’s come by before. What makes this party any different?” Replied the imp commander.
In front of the mountain gate approached 5 battle hardened warriors. In front was the knight in gleaming golden armor wielding ‘Exacull’, the sword of myth. Beside him was the Artificer in her legendary battle mech, armed and in attack mode. Next was the aqueous Sorcerer who wielded the soul of a Kraken. Behind them was the beastmaster, riding his infamous ‘Rulker’ behemoth. Finally in behind, seemingly tired, as though he had woken up only a few minutes ago, was Jeff.
“They seem menacing sure, but we’ve killed parties stronger than them before. I mean gold armor? Our blades will cut right through him!”
The demon lord scowled at the commander. “You think I’m worried about him? Look closer commander, he’s not even a threat to the rookies!”
The imp replied “Do you mean the artificer then? Yes her mech is powerful, but it stands no chance against our battle golems.”
“She’s no more a threat than a stray kobold! I said look closer!”
“Ohh, you must mean the sorcerer then! Granted the power of a kraken is immense, but so is the power of our volcanic blast cannons!”
“Wrong again commander. I must say I’m disappointed you even consider that wretch ‘immense’ to begin with. But I'll give you one more chance.”
The imp, now confused, looked at the party again.
“Sir do you mean the Rulker? It’s no larger than an arch-baloth.”
The demon lord, now completely furious, picked the imp commander up by its wing. “No you fool. I gave you 4 chances, and you can't even recognize a true threat when it’s staring you in the face.”
The demon lord threw the imp off the lookout ledge towards the party. The imp flew in place and looked at the party once more.
“Sir, there are only 4 adventurers. What could you possibly-”
Before the imp could finish, a puncture hole appeared in its head as it fell limp towards the ground.
-
“10 points! Nice.” said Jeff, a small trail of smoke coming off his finger.
“Can you please take this seriously? This is the fortress of Alberikus, one of the legendary demon lords!” replied Sir Dexter
Catheryn, muffled by her mech’s mask, followed: “Dexter is right, but it’s not like you could know the severity of this mission, I mean you’re only here since we needed someone to stand in for Camilla.”
“Oh please, this is gonna take like 20 minutes tops. Plus I want to get back home soon, there’s a new play in town I’d like to see.”
Kakulaos cut in “20 minutes?! It takes 20 minutes alone for me to charge a tsunami, and we’re going to need at least 5 of them to break through that gate… wait, wasn’t the gate open a second ago?”
“They must see us as a pretty big threat then, not surprising, my sword has the power to fell even the gods themselves!”
“Your sword has the power to fell my attention span. All you ‘big adventurers’ are the same, I told you you didn’t need to come along, and yet you still came because of the ‘glory’ and ‘honor’. You already paid me, why even come along?”
“Come along? If anything you’re coming along with us! We’ve been adventuring for years! And you look like you’re only equipped to go bargain hunting.” said Tunga, annoyed.
“Eh whatever. If you guys want some things to fight, I’ll leave a couple baddies behind for you.”
The party approached the gate. Before them stood a 60 foot tall wall of steel and stone. Easily 5 feet thick, and seemingly completely impenetrable. Kakulaos raised their fist and a whirlpool of water started forming around it. He spoke “Alright, you guys better hunker down this could take a wh-”
Just then, a colossal force pierced an enormous hole through the gate, blasting straight through like it were nothing. The party looked in and saw the force had annihilated every monster standing behind it too.
Stunned, Sir Dexter spoke “Wh-what-What was that!?”
Jeff, with another small trail of smoke from his finger, started walking through the hole. “See you guys inside. Like I said, I’ll try to leave a couple monsters to keep you entertained.”
|
Definitely lost steam at the end:
Shaun tripped running out the door and almost dropped the health potions he only just paid for. That would have been annoying. Anytime he took a new group of adventurers out, he knew the presence of health potions put everyone at ease. Of course, if you are smooth enough, health potions just weigh you down. But he didn’t make his money by being smooth, he had to sell the adventure to these greenies. He liked calling them greenies. Not just because they were new to questing, but because they loved the comfort of the green hue in a health potion. Today he was meeting 3 young heros from Bigglesburg, a town whose main concern was rabbits stealing their cabbage, so Shaun knew his work was cut out for him. And All-father knew, if they took on the dungeon alone, they would probably die. Dead people are shit at paying their bills, so he had to rush.
Because he had to rush, he didn’t bring any of his usual costume. The enormous shield that was mostly empty but looked like it could block a giants fist. His helmet, with the gleaming quartz above the visor. Young heros always thought it was a diamond, as if a diamond can do anything against a sword in your gut. But he could tell them it raised his dexterity and that was enough. He did have his sword, but he never left home without it. An actual weapon was enough to keep him safe, everything else just gets in the way. Just like the potions jiggling on his belt as he ran out of town.
Today, they were hunting goblins. Always easy to find goblins, they were a persistent bunch. Storm a cave, kill a couple sheep and word would spread. You could always clear a goblin cave, the survivors would just burrow deep into the ground where you couldn’t fit. Then a couple months later they would come back. Good money to be made off goblins. If you actually wanted to stop them, you’d just collapse the damn cave. He would never recommend that, beer was too expensive these days.
As he approached the meeting point, a little bit sweaty from his jog, Shaun saw the 3 young adventurers stirring anxiously. The young girl, clad in hard leather and hair in a braid was strutting back and forth, eyes on the ground. Another wiry young man was picking at his bowstring, probably wearing it down before they even started. And then a big burly one, couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl, clad in heavy armor with a great big helm that was probably bothering their neck. They noticed him coming, and had their arms crossed while he approached.
"You're late" they said in a deep baritone. Ok, Shawn thought, must be a boy.
"Found myself tussling with some bandits on the way, managed to take some of these off their corpses" Shaun replied, jangling the potions around his belt. A nice little lie to keep them at ease. "I am Shaundrius Levanthorpe, the corpse maker" he continued, suppressing a laugh. "I am here to lead you heros to the goblin hideout".
"You don't look much a corpse maker" the big one replied.
"Ah yes, those pesky bandits did manage to steal my equipment"
"How are you going to lead us in a wool shirt and no armor!?" the wiry one said, nervously swinging his bow behind his back.
"Worry not about the make of my garb, it is all enchanted." Another lie. But whatever it took to get the job started. "Who is Brutalatus?" he knew for sure it was the big one, and was certain that wasn't their real name.
"Aye" he replied. "The archer here is named Timothy, and our healer Trix".
Wow, Shaun thought. A healer? Wasted his money on those damn potions after all. "Well we best be getting started, don’t want to be caught out in the night, that's when the big ones come out" again, another lie. But the tension had to be built up somehow, ensured a good tip at the end. Shaun started walking towards the cave entrance, about a quarter mile into the woods nearby. On the way, Trix came up to him. "How many of these goblins do you think we will find?" she said nervously. Her armor was way too tight, didn't work right that way. It never helped to correct them on this, they were too proud. Besides, he would do most of the slaying today anyway.
"Oh anywhere from a dozen to one hundred" he said.
"One hundred!?" Timothy yelped. "I don’t think we can handle that."
"I can" Brutalatus said, bringing down his large axe. 'Bet you paid a pretty penny for that' thought Shaun. Not a great weapon for fighting in caves, you needed to be more agile. Getting your weapon caught in the roof of the cave slowed you down, or could cause a collapse.
They approached the cave entrance, the three greenies already sweating nervously. "Stay behind me" Shaun said as they entered the cave. It didn't take long to find the first goblin cluster. They were loud little shits, sounded like big squirrels. He deftly moved through the first not, slicing off an arm or hamstringing them with precision. They would stumble right into his adventuring parties arms, ready to be dispatched. Already Brutalatus was grinning from the combat. "HAHAHA" he yelled, while his axe swung clean through a hobbled goblins neck. 'Good' thought Shaun, nice wide swings across and not up. Timothy was slow to draw his bow, still a bit nervous, but his aim was true and the injured goblins fell one by one. Any damage the two boys took was quickly being mended by Trix. A talented one she was, Shaun could see her actually making the Hero's Guild one day. They continued forward deeper into the cave.
|
jeurdr8
|
jetu6ep
|
[WP] You've been misled. I need your help. My name is Lucifer. I'm the creator of this world you live in. "Let there be light?" That was Me. My 1st son, My favorite angel, Gaud, rebelled. He betrayed and overthrew me. You are the only one that can help me reclaim My rightful place. You are special.
|
It was another day out. Me, my wife, our little girl...well, and of course her little stuffed tiger Mr. Stuffles, can't forget about him...we were all at the park. It was one of the first nice days of the year. The trees were starting to leaf, the sun was out, there was a good day.
An ice cream salesman was selling his wares near the entrance. My wife wanted to get some ice cream, but I knew it would be free at Ben and Jerry's today instead. My daughter didn't want to wait...and, well, it would be a nice thing, so I acquiesced. So, I saw them get in line and wait. It seemed to work well...until the thing you fear the most would be there. A drunk driver ended up hitting the curb just as my daughter was getting her cone and smashed into the ice cream truck. Thankfully (though it always feels bad to say thankfully, since it did hit the ice cream man), The car didn't hit her- but the ice cream cart did tip over on her. It could have been bad, but my Sue gained that otherworldly mama bear strength and picked the cart off my daughter.
We got her to the hospital ASAP, and had one of the toughest day and night we could have while waiting. It felt like an eternity, wondering if things would be all right- but when they finally got to her, the doctors headed over.
"Your daughter's lucky. She's going to pull through. A broken arm, but it could have been far worse." We headed into the room to see her, a cast on, still clutching Mr. Stuffles.
"Mr. Stuffles saved my life, Daddy!" I hugged my daughter, then shook Mr. Stuffles's hand as she did.
"No, your mother pulled the cart off, dear."
"But Mr. Stuffles helped! He was on top of one of my arms and the doctor said if he wasn't being held I could have broke both of them, and when Mommy was lifting he was lifting from underneath too! He saved me!" I nodded as the doctor continued.
"Well, it may seem like that to a child- we've seen parents get otherworldly rushes of adrenaline and strength when their child is trapped underneath something, so she may not be aware of that. If she thinks it was the stuffed animal, it might help her to think that. We're keeping her overnight; if you wish we can handle the slight slight tear the animal got and will give it a matching bandage for her until you can re-sew it..."
"Do so. I owe everything to Mr. Stuffles..." The doctor had us leave for the night, though it was hard for us to. Me and Sue wanted to head to the waiting room, but they had us go home to rest and relax.
We finally headed to the car and got a late dinner at McDonald's- there's no way we can relax tonight. As we had some, Sue spoke to me.
"Okay...okay, I'll say it. Calvin, I'm sorry I told you to throw that old tiger out before we could give it to our kid..."
|
My parents were taking me and my sister out to get ice cream, it was one of the “family outings” my father insisted we go on to help the family “recover and bond” which is exactly what dr Watson told him. As we walk down the street my mom gushes on how beautiful the evening is and I can only roll my eyes, my parents insist on acting as happy as possible despite the constant sadness I see in their eyes. My little sister Natalie holds her beloved purple stuffed tiger, mr stuffles. I despise that animal, it used to be mine but then… “no, no that didn’t happen it was just the grief making me see things” I whisper to myself shaking my head at my stupidity, still I can’t look at that dumb tiger. “I’m going to get rainbow strawberry cookie flavored!” Exclaims Natalie. “That’s not a flavor dummy” I tell her laughing. “Yes it is stupid” she replies as I pick her up and throw her on my back. Natalie giggles making me smile, she’s one of the only things that makes me happy now. “What flavor are you getting rue rue” she asks. “Hmm how about Nat the cat flavored” “Hehehe noooo that’s not a flavor” “yes it is” I reply. “Liar” she says climbing off my back. “Me and stuffles are going to go pet that puppy” she yells to my parents running toward the dog a few yards ahead of us. “Ruby” my mom asks “how are you doing sweetheart”. I want to laugh how I’m I doing? Uhm bad! “ fine” I say “ it’s getting better” even through it’s not. “That’s good honey we all miss her but we have to move forward” move forward? Is he serious how can I move forward after- “ahhhhh mommmmyyy!!!” I hear loud beeping, crashing noises, and screams from multiple people including my little sister. I look up to see a car run into a lamppost, my sister laying, unmoving, behind the crashed car. “Nat!!!!” I scream running to her with my parents. People move and call for help around my but I can’t tell it’s all a blur, all I can think is of Nat’s sweet face. “No no no” I think I can’t lose her too”. Someone grabs me and puts me in a car, I hardly notice. Next thing I know I wake up in a hospital waiting room next to my parents. “Natalie!” I scream jolting up and startling half the room. “She’s ok she’s ok sweetheart” says my mom wrapping her arms around me. I look into her eyes and see she’s been crying, I realize that I have too. “ the doctor says she stable now, she suffered a lot of broken bones and will probably have a concussion but that’s it, the doctors call it a miracle”. I sigh in relief. After hours I’m finally allowed to go visit her. My parents are busy filing paperwork while I slip into her room. She’s asleep and looks so peaceful, her strawberry blond curls strewn across her face. I look to at her arms and see me stuffles. A chill runs down my back as I look into his pitch back eyes, “it has to be a coincidence it has to” I mutter. “What” says Natalie as she sits up in her bed. “ hey nat cat how are you feeling” I ask ignoring her question. “ in pain but it’s ok because stuffles saved me” she says yawning. “What?!” I say another chill running down my spine. “He saved me, I would’ve died but he let me live” she says smiling at me. I start to hyperventilate no way there’s no way that it really happened, the same way it happened to me. “What’s wrong rue?” “Listen to me carefully nat we have to get rid of that tiger” “why?! I love him he saved me” “no nat he didn’t it comes with a price, remember what happened to me”. She nodded “ yeah you had cancer but you got better” “ but I didn’t just get better. He made me better” I said pointing to stuffles “ you have to believe me” “ believe you but why is that bad?” “ because he doesn’t heal anyone for free, he takes someone in return, someone you love”. Her face showed confusion and concern into it morphed into a look of shock. “Hannah, the price was Hannah wasn’t it”. I nodded gravely. “ how do you we stop him“ she said looking at the tiger “ we don’t, we survive.”
Ok that’s it if you really like it and want more comment and I can make a part 2. hope you enjoyed it!!!
|
j69rkx0
|
j69fcb9
|
[WP] The dragon spoke, "Release my human, and we will leave you all in peace. Do not, and I will reduce your walls to rubble to rescue them myself."
|
I smiled at the sound of Marthlok‘s voice. The knights had ”rescued” me a few hours ago when Marthlok had flown out to get some food because I was craving apples. For some reason those idiots took Marthlok’s absence as an invitation to break into our cave and kidnap me, while trying to assure me I was safe from the monster. So here I was now, stuck in some dumb guy‘s castle. I had tried explaining the mixup, but unfortunately no one knew sign language.
I could hear men screaming, orders, war cries. Their ignorance didn’t surprise me now. I walked towards the next window, wanting to see what was going on outside. One guy had stepped forward, his sword up high, shouting at Marthlok how they would never release me.
I touched the amulet around my neck and locked my eyes on Marthlok, trying to focus. ‘*I’m here*’, I told him. Still hovering above the grounds Marthlok looked up to me and nodded.“You are foolish men, for you try to meddle with things you don’t understand.“ Marthlok‘s voice was deep and clear. "And now you don’t even try to talk to me but want to fight. All I asked for is to get my human back. Shame.” With a strong beat of his wings Marthlok knocked all the guys over. I smiled. More guards came running out, trying to shoot arrows, just to be knocked off their feet by Marthlok flapping his wings. Finally he flew up to my window. “Stand away there for a second”, he advised me, before ripping out a piece of wall. I climbed over the rubble towards the dragon. ‘*I’m glad you came*’, I signed and swung onto Marthlok’s back. “Of course. Now come on, let’s go home before the apples rot.”
|
Old Hogan was the one who found them, huddled and scared on the side of the Laneway heading into town. Poor Hogan was heading back from his favorite pub when he happened upon the wretched thing, cold and weak from exposure.
I was asleep, having stoked the fires of the Maesters rooms and ensuring all the doors and windows were locked when Hogan barged into my room.
"Yoan, we have a problem!"
Hogan half whispered, half murmured as my door banged open. I shot out of bed, the twilight of sleep washed away by the rude surprise. Clothed in nothing but my gracious skin, Hogan promptly turned around and closed the door before then knocking politely...before opening the door and stating again;
"Yoan! We have a problem and sorry I didn't knock."
Still naked, I began to dress and question Hogan about the problem 'we' had. Since I was asleep, in my room, and couldn't fathom what could be the problem I assumed that Hogan was just drunk and confused.
"Ok, Hogan. Explain to me 'our' problem so I can fix it. Did you beat a wench at the pub again? I have only so much coin to spare for your shenanigans."
Hogan huffed at me as I said this, shaking his head.
"Naw, Yoan, its na' that. At all. I have plenty of coin myself to pay a Death tax. Naw, 'tis here is something worse. It's a human, and its Branded."
I was listening to Hogan half heartedly, absent-mindedly dressing myself. I had slipped a few golden Dakas into my pocket as he spoke, smiling at the sheer absurdity at Hogans words. It was the tinkling of the gold in my pocket, the rattle of the silver candlestick as I bumped into my nightstand on the way out of my room when Hogans words dawned on me.
"Branded?" I croaked out, freezing as I crossed the threshold of my bedroom.
Hogan had his beat up hat in his hands, staring at me with almost tears in his eyes. The single candle he held sputtered and died. I took a sharp breath, trying to slow the sudden rise in my heartrate. Humans were like vermin to the Horken and Dyads, who viewed Terragia as sacred. The Humans, they spread like a disease across the vast continents of Terragia since their arrival via the Heavens thousands of years ago. They dug and burned and built, destroying to support their society and people. Hogan, poor Hobbled Hogan was wounded by one of them during The War.
"Where is this Branded human, Hogan? What trouble have you brought home at this time of night?"
Hogan nodded and just turned and headed up the dark hallway of the Servant Quarters. I heard him begin to thump up the stairs into the Hall of the Maesterium, as I dutifully followed him toward this Human he was speaking of. In a way, I was excited. In another, I knew deep down there was trouble coming.
Only Drogons branded anything, and only Drogons scared the Maesters.
|
lxkg2kc
|
lxjpxkq
|
[WP] Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face
|
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told the man desperately. “My roommate is just a normal guy, you know?”
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me! Just tell me where he is!” The strange man shouted, sending spit flying at my face as he did.
“Fine. He’s at work, the local Lidl,” I answered, hoping he’ll believe me.
“Are you stupid?! If I can track down his house I can track down his work. And he’s not there!”
“Well that’s where he said he’d. If he’s not there, then I don’t know!”
The man narrowed his eyes at me before lowering his gun. “He must’ve known I was coming, made a break for it.” As he left, he put his finger to his ear and spoke into what I assumed was a radio. As soon as the door closed, I ran into my roommates bedroom to dig out he secret stash. I’d already found it while cleaning a couple months ago, but hadn’t opened it, figuring it was a disaster survival pack or something, but with the new revelations, I had other ideas. I went to the floorboards and lifted them up to find a puzzle box that I already solved the first time I found it, so quickly solved again to pull out a bag.
And viola, money, fake identities and, most importantly, a burner phone. I dialled my friend’s number and waited. Once he answered I didn’t give him time for his usual greetings.
“Some guy is looking for you. I don’t know who, but I know it’s something to do with your assassin days.” I hear a curse and then he starts to talk to justify but I cut him off. “You don’t need to explain yourself, I know who you are now, I don’t care who you were. What do you need?”
“That grab bag, take it to where I had my first birthday party.” With that, he hung up. I furrowed my eyebrows. He’d always told me he hadn’t had a birthday party. So if it hadn’t happened, it didn’t happen anywhere, it happened nowhere. Ohhhh, I got it.
30 minutes later, I found myself outside a pub a few miles outside of town. Normally you could get there in half the time, but I had to make sure I wasn’t being followed. The pub was called Nowhere, people said it was because you could say to your spouse you were going ‘nowhere’ when they asked and not technically be lying.
I handed my friend the bag, filled with some chocolate as an added treat before saying goodbye.
“I’ll miss you. Don’t think the next roommate could replace you.” But instead of agreeing, he shook his head.
“You won’t be having another roommate. As long as they’re coming after me, you’re in danger. Go to this address,” he handed me a small slip of paper, “it’s a safe house, you’ll be safe there.”
Normally I’d be disagreeing, I had a life and a job and family here, but being held at gunpoint still had me shaken, so I just nodded and we parted ways.
I drove straight home, packing up quickly what I could and talking with the landlord. I told him I’d recently inherited a house that came ready furnished, so I’d be willing to sell him the furniture so he could rent the room as pre furnished. We came to a deal quickly and I walked away with some extra money in my account, that I immediately drained before driving.
I didn’t stop driving for almost 6 hours, not even for a toilet break, until I finally reached the address, somewhere in the middle of Scotland.
It wasn’t a modest house. 3 stories, as wide as my block of flats and a huge garden that I’d have to measure in acres rather than metres.
The cupboards were wet stocked with non-perishables and a large amount of money, so I knew food wouldn’t be an issue for a while. So I unpacked and settled into my new home, looking at the landline, wondering when the call would come in that I could go home.
|
Time crawled to a stop as I stared down the barrel of the pistol. I was so close to it that I could make out every detail of the front end of it, could see the lands and grooves of the rifling. I calculated that it was approximately a 1:10 twist. At the far end of the barrel... God, it looked far bigger than it should... I imagined I could see the chambered bullet that would soon take my life in a violent release of expanding gasses generated by the burning gunpowder. Somewhere deep in my mind, I could see the chemical equations playing out from the moment of ignition until the projectile was forced down and out of the gun. Beautifully calculated and deadly mathematics in action.
At some point, I know not when, I had raised my hands in surrender... though if what I suspected of Jack Engles was true, it would hardly matter. Fortunately for us both, but mostly for me, my roommate had far better self-control than I had thought. After a heartrending moment of time that seemed to stretch the limits of our understanding of relativity, the pistol dropped. At first fractionally, and then eventually all the way down at the floor. "Jesus Christ, dude, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Jack said, holstering his weapon somewhere on his body where I couldn't see it.
Time accelerated back to its proper rate, the transition feeling incredibly violent and disorientating. "Jacob, what in the ACTUAL FUCK?!" I demanded, my voice rising to a hysterical scream of a pitch and volume that I am not particularly proud of. Jack winced, his hands shaking; I only called him by his full Christian name when he screwed up something fierce, like the time he broke my favorite color-changing coffee mug. "I can explain, Charlie, I swear. Look, I'm gonna grab something out of my jacket pocket, ok?" Jack told me calmly; later, I would realize he was treating me like a potential jumper too close to the ledge, though why a super spy would need such skills was beyond me. I glared at him, my breath coming in going in short, sharp gasps.
His hand went into his jacket pocket, as promised, and came back out clutching a black leather wallet. Gently, he flipped it open and showed it to me. The first thing I was able to notice was the seal on the top flap, a stylized eagle diving towards a nest of hissing vipers. Next to filter through my consciousness was the name of the agency; "Intelligence Reporting and Early Response Command", apparently a part of the National Security Agency. On the bottom flap was an ID card with his face and name on it, wearing a suit that wouldn't look out of place in the Men In Black movies, only better tailored.
"Oh my God, Jack. Are you some sort of spy or something, man?" I ask, shaking in my old man carpet slippers that had been the source of quite a bit of teasing. "Well, sort of. I also do analysis and target identification, and help plan ways to disrupt those targets' ability to target our country." Jack answered in a particular way that meant I knew he was being evasive. I pressed on, needing to know more. "That all sounds like you find people and kill them if they're a threat." I say, feeling incredibly sick to my stomach. Jack's face fell, and I knew that I was on the right path. My stomach was churning violently, and I didn't even know if I could make it to the hall bathroom, but Jack came to my rescue.
"Here, take one of these. Agency issued, powerful anti-emetic. We all carry them just in case." Jack said, retrieving a sealed packet from the locket around his neck. "You're sure it's not cyanide, right?" I say half-jokingly as I choke down the pill that was inside. "Naw, I keep that in my shoe." Jack informed me; normally, I would have taken that as a joke, but now... well, I couldn't be sure. My stomach feels better almost immediately, but that doesn't slow down the swirling thoughts in my head. Jack could see that too, I saw. "Come on, Charlie, let's go sit down. I'll explain as much as I can without revealing anything classified. Oh, and sorry about the gun thing." he said earnestly. The nonchalant way he said it was just so Jack that I immediately laughed... still sounding somewhat hysterical... and went willingly. If nothing else, I really needed to sit the hell down.
We made our way to the living room and hopped on the mismatched, batch-pad special furniture we had filled it with over the last few months of living together. I fairly collapsed into my thrift-store Lazy Boy, which had required only a single spring to restore it to working order, and Jack sat in his side-of-the-road fold-away that had required copious amounts of cleaning product to take away the smell it had come with. "So, I guess I should start in the beginning. It was at that gun range outside of Goylesburg, the one with the busted Indian statue..."
The End
|
meor413
|
meoqjfv
|
[WP]One day you wake up in the last video game you played with a note that says "you have to stay alive for 100 days or else you die in the real world: p.s. all mods are disabled for the 100 days.
|
The cold shocks me awake.
That sort of biting cold that only really exists in fantasy settings, that chills you to the bone even through the thick fur blanket, yet somehow doesn't instantly freeze your sweat to your skin.
My surroundings are familiar, I know this place... but where?
I find the note.
Confusion becomes amusement but gives way to fear at that last line.
"All mods disabled for the 100 days"
I am doomed. I dare not even move lest my mere presence set off a chain reaction of this barely functioning world's catastrophically overtuned physics and sends my very breakfast, some bread and cheese, careening around the room before it ultimately kills me.
It was once said about this world by one of its gods "It just works".
No, Todd, it doesn't.
Not without mods.
|
I awoke in a pure white room, a transparent text floating in front of me.
"Hello, Player, you have been chosen to spend 100 days in the last game you played. If you die in the game, you will die in the real world. The game will start with standard setting and any and all mods will be disabled during this time. When you are ready to start, press the "start" button below"
Shocked, i read and re-read the text several time. Then i look around the room. A pure white room, without any exits.
"Ok, i can do this, i have *hundreds* of hours in Fallout 4, i know every little trick and tactic, where every special item is, where every enemy is. I can do this."
I press the start button and a bright light blinds me.
When the bright light fades, the first thing i notice is the fresh, strong breeze and the sound of rustling trees.
"I'm not starting in a Vault? Shit." I look around and see healthy trees, grass and bushes.
"Huh? Where is this?" i think to myself and i start walking. After only a few meters, i reach the edge of a cliff. Looking over it, i realize i'm on a island floating in the air.....
*Now* i start to panic. Running the edge of the island and the items i see along the way confirms it.
"I'm in the game "Aloft"......shit.... I *barely* played through the intro and its an "early access" game! I only played it for an hour last night! Its not even a finished game, for fuck sake!"
I plop down on the ground and look up at the sky "Well, at least its a cozy game with little threats".
Then i perk up "Wait, this game is about flying, that's kinda cool!"
I manage to craft a set of wings and stand at the edge of a cliff.
"Ok, so just jump off and soar through the skies"
I look at the bottomless depths "Ok....just...jump off and soar through the skies."
"Just......just....just jump and....."
"Ah, fuck, this game might be a *lot* harder to play when the depth is staring right at you and not an a PC monitor"
This is going to be a *long* 100 days......
|
meoqjfv
|
meoijd5
|
[WP]One day you wake up in the last video game you played with a note that says "you have to stay alive for 100 days or else you die in the real world: p.s. all mods are disabled for the 100 days.
|
I awoke in a pure white room, a transparent text floating in front of me.
"Hello, Player, you have been chosen to spend 100 days in the last game you played. If you die in the game, you will die in the real world. The game will start with standard setting and any and all mods will be disabled during this time. When you are ready to start, press the "start" button below"
Shocked, i read and re-read the text several time. Then i look around the room. A pure white room, without any exits.
"Ok, i can do this, i have *hundreds* of hours in Fallout 4, i know every little trick and tactic, where every special item is, where every enemy is. I can do this."
I press the start button and a bright light blinds me.
When the bright light fades, the first thing i notice is the fresh, strong breeze and the sound of rustling trees.
"I'm not starting in a Vault? Shit." I look around and see healthy trees, grass and bushes.
"Huh? Where is this?" i think to myself and i start walking. After only a few meters, i reach the edge of a cliff. Looking over it, i realize i'm on a island floating in the air.....
*Now* i start to panic. Running the edge of the island and the items i see along the way confirms it.
"I'm in the game "Aloft"......shit.... I *barely* played through the intro and its an "early access" game! I only played it for an hour last night! Its not even a finished game, for fuck sake!"
I plop down on the ground and look up at the sky "Well, at least its a cozy game with little threats".
Then i perk up "Wait, this game is about flying, that's kinda cool!"
I manage to craft a set of wings and stand at the edge of a cliff.
"Ok, so just jump off and soar through the skies"
I look at the bottomless depths "Ok....just...jump off and soar through the skies."
"Just......just....just jump and....."
"Ah, fuck, this game might be a *lot* harder to play when the depth is staring right at you and not an a PC monitor"
This is going to be a *long* 100 days......
|
A bulky heavy pistol, six bullets, two cans of drink and five bullets for another gun I don’t even have. My slashed throat held together by a food container, juice box and scraps of a ragged jumper I’d pulled off the still-twitching corpse of some unlucky corporate drone. His nailgun round was still in my shoulder. Not pulling it out until I’m back on the ship. I moved through the rusted carcass of the station. Room by room. Slowly. Searching every container for anything that could be of use. Wires. Empty tins. Circuit boards. Bullet casings. Anything and everything went into my pack. Back on the ship this collection of random items could be refined into something more useful. Like bullets. Or bandages. Both of which I’d need plenty of.
The wad of rags around my knee was slowly turning from a blue-white to a rusty red as blood seeped around the gash were a quartet of nails had punched through the meat and kept on going. He’d taken a high-calibre pistol shot to the chest in return. His nailgun had a ten-shot capacity, he’d had six left in the gun and eleven on his body. Seventeen shots. I’d needed them.
The door opened to reveal four combatants, and a bright red barrel. I fired and struck the barrel. A blast of heat flooded the room as super-heated fuel flew everywhere. The stink of burning flesh and the gurgled keening of screams through molten lungs filled the air as I shut the door and waited. Nausea rose in me, mounting with each passing moment even as the screams grew quiet. It was the most efficient option. But that didn’t make it any easier.
The room beyond the hallway was some sort of employee lounge, a bunch of blue sofas, olive-green lockers, desks and server banks. The three occupants rose, reaching for guns on tables or at their side. One died from a hasty pistol shot to the pelvis. I turned to fire at another, gun clicked, out of ammo. I dropped to the ground, nails screaming through the air above me as I swapped to my own nailgun. The heavy chunk of it firing was followed by the wet thunk of impact and a sharp gasp of pain. Three more and he was down. The third simply stood for a moment. Gun clicking as though he could manufacture nails out of sheer desire to kill. I raised my hands carefully. “If you put that down and let me get what I’m here for I won’t hurt you.” I said. Hoping. Praying that he wouldn’t make me kill him. He responded by rushing me with a feral bellow of combat rage, and dropped with a nail in his forehead.
I searched the lockers, found nothing but a pulsating mass of flesh and some long expired foods. Digging through a desk located the tablet, the data on it being my whole reason for being here. I thumbed my communicator, sending three quick bursts. Objective found. It buzzed. I answered.
Jane’s clipped, cold voice crackled through “Good job. We’ll pick you up at the elevator.”
It went silent. I limped my way to the elevator. Back through the drying puddles of blood, the miasma of spilled insides and immolated flesh. Tried not to think about how easily it could have been me laying there. If I’d been slower. If they’d been luckier. As the elevator juddered it’s way up the reality of the situation started sinking in.
Day one. Survived. Day two… just begun.
|
kre21pv
|
krdy5z6
|
[WP] It is well-known that if you give your name or eat the food of a Fey, they have power over you, and in turn own you. You decided this wasn't a terrible deal.
|
"Well, you know the rules Sáidhni. You fed it, it's your problem now."
"Fed it?! Niamh, it broke into my house and has been eating flour out the bag for the last hour!"
Both fae stared at the ragged human sat on the floor of Sáidhni's pantry. The normally fastidiously tidy stores now looking as if the Sluagh had ridden through with the rogue human sat in the middle of the chaos covered in moonberry jam. Neither of them knew what to make of it. Humans didn't just turn up out of the blue and declare themselves resident of whatever house took their fancy like a Cait Sith, you either went to a trader or tried your hand at trapping one yourself. Sáidhni had longed for a human of her own but now there was one before her she felt a gnawing self-doubt.
Could she provide for it? Would she be a good owner? Sáidhni was no trickster at heart, not in the way that the humans thought of the fae, and even if she was there was no way that Niamh would ever let her live it down if she tried to put the poor mortal to work or sport.
The human, on its part, looked up from the handfuls of sidhe flour and regarded the two fae women with equal curiosity, fear, and impatience. The bruises and welts on its back still ached. The criss-cross of cuts still covered its arms and legs from where it had burst through the Hedge. The fae before it still hadn't claimed it as the Law said they should. With a final chew it took matters into its own hands.
"My name is Eoin Gallagher and I'm your problem now."
|
It had all been fun and games when he'd seen the flyer in the bar. Whitehorse wasn't the sort of town that had new and interesting things to do very often, so when he'd seen the flyer for the so called 'Druid' Paetar's so called ' Journey into the Realm Beyond' Tom had been perfectly willing to give it a shot rather than another night of losing at pool and getting shamed for drinking LaBatt's instead of Yukon Red. He'd laughed and convinced a few friends to join him. The laughter stopped when the unseasonably warm wind mixed with a harsh tonal shift in the guide's words a few hours of two tracking and hiking later.
"There are three rules," the guide walked ahead neither leisurely nor with any particular purpose, walking stick and boots landing on passing trees and roots in a deliberate rhythm as the curiously jaunty hat he wore brushed away branches, "First, the fey cannot lie. This does not mean they are telling the entire truth. Do not trust them." The trees fell suddenly away as the group trickled in single file into a large glen filled with emerald grass and the heat of a summer's day despite the fact that it was late October in the Yukon. It was a distracting heat, and the light of the sun seemed stronger here, as Tom shielded his eyes against the shadow, "Second, do not accept any gifts. Food and drink are most common, but trinkets or even a bit of advice can be twisted against you just as surely." Arriving in the center of the glen, the guide placed his walking stick upright, and stepped away from it. It did not fall. This, as much as the strange summery conditions of the glen, began to register in the handful of tourists how very real this magic was, "Finally, do not give a fey your name. Or you will remain here in the summer courts for all eternity."
*Holy shit he's serious. This is real.* The thought struck Tom like a thunderbolt. Or maybe that was the thunderbolt that struck the staff as the glade lit up in phosphorescent light. Where before there had been a perfectly flat circle of grass in an otherwise quiet forest tucking in for winter, now were the sounds of song and pipes, roaring flames, and sizzling meats as an incomprehensibly large open air celebration raged around him.
As a mug of warm cider was pressed into his hand by a smiling elven lass, worries about getting the snowblower out of the shed and new belts put on faded from his mind. As did all worries about the old world, as the druid removed his hat, revealing pointed ears beneath.
The girl smiled up at him with 1000 watts, "Can I ask your name?"
This was all too much, much too much, but any voice in his head trying to warn him was shouted down by irresistible temptation, "Tom."
|
mfbmh3j
|
j9v5fc8
|
[WP] Slaying the dragon was hard enough, but the knight had absolutely zero idea what is being hidden in that tower. Everyone says it's a fair princess, but upon entering her quarters, you are immediately hit with an aura of immense dread, and terror. This tower isn't a prison, it's a vault.
|
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT, HUH?" *He shouts, and with one flick of his wrist, the royal guard's head becomes pulp.*
*The crowd recoils in horror. Blood drips from the Chosen’s outstretched fingers, steam rising from the mangled remains of the guard’s skull. The nobles, the clergy, even the king himself - none of them speak. None of them even dared to breathe.*
*For centuries, the Chosen has been the pinnacle of divine favor, a gift bestowed upon the noble elite to maintain their rule, their power. Yet here stands a boy - filthy, ragged, his face twisted in raw fury - blessed with power that no king can dream of controlling.*
*The silence stretches. Then, a trembling noble steps forward.* “Y-You must understand,” *he stammers, hands raised as if to pacify a wild beast.* “The power of the Chosen is meant to guide our kingdom, to-”
**"Guide?"** *The Chosen spits the word like venom.* “You mean to be your weapon. To crush your enemies. To *serve*.” *He laughs, sharp and bitter.* “That’s what all the others did, right? Bent the knee, kissed the ring, played the perfect little god-blessed puppet?” *His eyes gleam with unnatural light, and the noble crumples to his knees, clawing at his throat, choking on nothing.*
*The king finally finds his voice.* “You don’t have to do this.” *His tone is level, measured, but the tremor in his fingers betrays him.* “You have power. You can change things for the better. We can-”
**"Shut the fuck up."**
*A wave of force ripples outward, knocking the king and his entourage off their feet. The Chosen glares at the stunned crowd.* “All my life, I watched you feast while we starved. I watched my mother beg for scraps while you wiped your mouths with silk. I watched my father toil for hours in the mines for some meager coin, not nearly enough to feed all three of us. And now, *now*, the gods finally decide to look my way?” *He spreads his arms, daring anyone to challenge him.*
“Fine. I’ll be your Chosen. But not for you. Not for your kingdom.” *His grin is feral, filled with promise and destruction.*
**“I’ll burn it all down.”**
|
The heroes had thought it odd that a tower would progress downwards instead of upwards, but it didn't really matter much. The dragon was expected, and was as such swiftly dealt with it. The Ancient Green Dragon was so old and worn-down from previous adventurers that it wasn't too much of a challenge. However, as they crossed the threshold to the room where they imagined the princess lay, the door swiftly sealed shut behind the heroes.
"What the!? Is this a trap?! Is the king behind this?!?" Maria, the rogue, pounded against the metal door, now sealed shut.
"I don't think so," Oak the Barbarian said, looking around the room cautiously. The room had too many visibly moving parts, had too many bright lines running across it. The group was him, Maria, Baren the Sorcerer, and Lewis the Paladin/Cleric. General... holy warrior type.
A faint buzz filled the air, and a red light shone down on the quartet. They closed back together, weapons at the ready, but nobody came. There wasn't anything... until they heard the voice.
\*Humanoids identified.\* An old-sounding, robotic voice rang out. \*Please request preferred language.\* As it was talking in Draconic, none of the party understood it, beyond it sounding intensely dangerous. The old mechanisms cycled through abyssal, celestial, before finally, by chance, repeating the instruction in common.
"...Language?" Baren lifted his hand to his mouth, calling out loudly. "Common! We understand common!" The voice paused as faint whirrs emanated from somewhere within the tower. The voice now spoke again, speaking in common and sounding significantly less evil.
\[Welcome- Scanning. Adventurer Garb identified. Welcome, adventurers. What are you doing here?\]
"We're here to rescue the princess," Oak called out. "There's endless tales about her. Power and wealth beyond anyone's wildest dreams." The robotic voice was silent as it evaluated the statement.
\[Negative.\]
"What?"
\[Negative. No humanoid lifeforms have been here since I was created.\]
"How can there be nothing here? There's got to be something?!" Maria cried out.
\[There is *something*. Something that, long ago, did give power. Did give wealth. But no longer.\]
"...What do you mean?"
\[My creators, before I was made, made a substance they used to power great machines. Entire continents glowed with light, even in the dead of night. But the substance poisoned them. Thus, they buried it, deep down here. I presume the dragon hatchling outside the chamber is no more?\]
"...It isn't, no."
\[Unfortunate.\]
"...So there's nothing down here? Nobody to save?" The construct was silent for a long time, before the room started glowing. Lights turned on in the room, slowly growing in intensity. Lighting up the walls.. upon which were written strange drawings.
Drawings of people mining into the ground and hitting a strange layer. The layer then released some strange substance that resulted in the people dying horrible, horrible deaths. And in uncountable languages and tongues, with words known and unknown, sprawling over every surface in a maddening mantra, were written phrases. One stood out to the eyes of the adventurers, and though they did not know why, the phrase made their skin crawl.
**This place is not a place of honor.**
**This place is not a place of honor.**
**This place is not a place of honor.**
|
l4qhnk4
|
l4qgcw2
|
[WP] "The bones show evidence of a modern diet, and are riddled with microplastics." 'So what's the problem?' "Well, this person died 2200 years ago."
|
The scientific team was ecstatic. After the Great Cataclysm of 2474, finding vestiges of the old world was an unprecedented novelty.
"Unbelievable," said Dr. Isaiah Parker, chief scientist at the Environmental Disaster Prevention Research group. "He is a middle-aged person, from his jaw bones we can deduce that he is a young man of about 20 to 25 years old."
A hologram of a section of a bone was projected in the room.
"Wow, according to the scans, the bones show evidence of a modern diet and... are riddled with microplastics."
"What's the problem, Professor?" asked Beatrice Wellington, assistant to the research team.
"Well," Dr. Parker replied, "this person died 2,200 years ago. Almost 1,750 years before the Great Cataclysm."
|
Watson looked at Sherlock. He was confused. This wasn't the script at all.
"Mister Holmes, are you quite alright?"
"Holmes? Who the heck's a Holmes 'round here?"
Watson and the Not Sherlock Holmes stood looking at each other, dumbfounded. Then, towards the camera operator. He understood and signaled to restart the scene. The producer facepalmed.
"Look, what's going on here? We're supposed to be looking at a skeleton, and you should..." Watson signaled at the crew to bring him the text, "...Say 'Why, he was stabbed with a knife, my dear-'"
"Whoa hold up mate, there's been some kinda mixup. I'm supposed to be a paleontologist and all and-" the Not Sherlock signaled at the crew to bring him his text. The paper boy, who was still there, gave him Watson's text. At the same time, another paper boy brought Not Sherlock a text and some water. Watson and Not Sherlock looked at each other. Watson's aide and Not Sherlock's aide looked at each other. The cameraman and the editor were looking at each other. So were the producer and the scenario.
Everyone was discombobulated to a mental and diabolical degree.
Then, Sherlock arrived. Watson recognized him because he was Chris Pratt, without any makeup.
"Cut!"
"Congratulations crew, that was perfect. It's getting cloudy though, and we need a sunny weather, so let's get here same time by, maybe uh, nine thirty?"
The camera crew began throwing hand gestures at each other, communicating about as silent as can be. Chris Pratt, as Chris Pratt, as Sherlock, Robert Downey Jr., as Robert Downey Jr., as Indiana Jones and Daniel Devito, as Daniel Devito, as Watson, all collectively shook hands and shouted back something affirmative.
After a couple minutes, the entire scene was packed up and gone, with the exception of a small kid, looking around in the driveway, confused. His mom came by, packed him up and after a couple minutes, the entire kid was packed up and gone. A tumbleweed idly tumbled over the road.
|
l0peu3q
|
l0oz60y
|
[WP] The arrogant nobles and elites of the kingdom couldn't understand why this "mere peasant" was allowed to come and go as they pleased at the castle, nor why they were so friendly with the King/Queen. After an incident, they fearfully learn not to antagonize the close, childhood friend of royalty
|
"Sir. Excuse me, sir. But-Stop there, sir. Sir, I say! Sir? *Sir*! ***Sir!***" Duke Mantacito called out to the man, each 'sir' a plead and demand that reached higher in pitch and volume with each utterance.
The man walked on, head down.
He continued to ignore him. The gall!
The pigheaded impudence!
How did a commoner wearing clothing so outdated that there was most likely never a date in which they were actually in fashion, how, how did that man, a man matching that description, how did he get any temerity, much less the mountain of temerity that was needed to make the choice to ignore *the* Duke Mantacito.
Mantacito hurried after the man at a trot, so as not to lose him. It was an ugly thing to do, but it was the only thing to be done.
The shoes in style had to be worn without socks and dug into the Duke's heel in the absolute worst way. He planned to give this man a stern talking to. Damned if the king bade his courtiers not to bother the peasant.
It was only after he rounded the left shoulder of the man and stopped in front of him that he realized the size of him. Looking up at anyone other than the king was not something men of the court did when afforded the option.
His expression was not anger. He instead wore a frown without worry. The man was annoyed, *at him*! At *he*! At *the* Duke Mantacito.
"Sir, I know nothing of you other than your weekly visits to the king. Every week I take the time to bend your ear and you proceed with you ear unbent. Another week shall not go by in this same manner. Understood?" Not as firm as Mantacito wanted but it would do for a start.
"Duke, it is my pleasure to meet you. I am De La Delala." The tall man did not offer anything outside of a nod that was more curt than kind but not completely curt.
The Duke's mouth seemed to work on instinct as he could not recall any thought from when the man spoke to when he finished asking, "*The* De La Delala. The designer? Oh my goodness I could die right now. I can't believe I'm meeting *the* De La Delala. I. Am. Yourbiggest. FAN!"
The Duke had fanboyed out in the most unbecoming manner and they both knew it. If he was not uncontrollably smiling the Duke knew he would be cringing. De La Delala's blood soaked rise to prominence was legendary. The designer that had captured the attention of the court and held it with a velvety iron grip for the last decade. The man was rich second only to the king and a recluse. Other design houses had been trying to assassinate him for years. He never left his home. But here he was!
Duke Mantacito was awed.
"It is always great to meet a fan, Duke Mantacito I-"
Mantacito interrupted, "Mantacito, ju-just Mantacito please. Thank you. Um. Uh- Sorry for being so rude, I had no idea. Sorry for interrupting. Please continue. Thank you." A pause. "And so so sorry."
More vile word vomit. The Duke decided he would jump from the clock tower at midnight if the shame did not kill him before them.
"Now, Duke, this is our secret. My visits to the king. Yes?"
"Oh yes. Of course. Why are you visiting with the king?"
"Duke, " He leaned forward and smiled. All teeth, "I could tell you, but if I did, then I would have to have you killed." He leaned back a little letting the smile fall while staring into the Dukes eyes.
"Just nod." The designers mouth hardly moved. His eyes were so dark.
The Duke Mantacito nodded.
The toothy smile again, "That's a good Duke. I'll see you next week. But maybe, just a little wave then, yeah?"
"I-I look forward to it, De L-"
"No. No De La," De La Delala explained patiently, "Just a peasant. A farmer. Right?"
"Yes, oh. Yes of course. Pe-p-peasant." He smiled and nodded. Then gave a little wave, turning and hurrying away at a trot. It was an ugly thing to do, but it was the only thing to be done.
|
While looking at the darkness of the cell i was thrown into I am still rather confused. Hugo, Matthias and I were simply standing in the courtyard of his highnesses castle watching a rather shabby dressed man walking out the entrance. Who was this mere peasant think he was to just casually come and go as he pleased. Somehow he just manages to avoid the detection of the guards was Hugo's suggestion. Matthias said he was likely a courier and to leave him be. But I Horatio van bergenmeister decided to make the greatest mistake of my life.
I walked directly in front of the man and demanded he tell me of what buisness he had draging his common filth into the hallowed halls of the king. The man whos name i now know as douglas just looked at me confused. I stepped forward demanding "tell me why you are hear or I shall order you caned and thrown into the river" well that threat in specific was not very smart as douglas smiled and said "your welcome to try lad but i dont think you will enjoy the consequences" with that remark i raised my walking stick when suddenly the man was gone. Just as quickly as i noticed this fact he was behind me landing a chop of hia hand aganst the base of my neck. Without a moments notice the world went black. My next memory was laying on the floor of the throne room trying to remember what had brought me to this place. "Horatio you foolish man why did you threaten this man?" The king asked a smerk i swear just hidden in his stoney glare. The man was standing next to the king " really roger i dont think we need to more i quite embarrassed him enough already" his voice with that strange accent in it just boiled my blood "you dare speak his majesties name you foul comm.." but before i could finish our king Rodger the 3rd of his name decended the steps of the throne and smashed me with his scepter "you foul noble fool i have half a mind to just end your existence right now." The man steped down and placed his hand upon the kings shoulder "now now rog he has no clue however i do think he deserves an answer and maybe a little time to reflect on his words to others" that grubby bastard just so flagrantly touched the king and his words to him what madness."
"You know doug I believe you are correct as usually" the king smiled then turned his attention back to me " for your information Horatio this is douglas McKenzie a friend, confidant and voice of calm and reason to me since i was a small child. He saved my life after I fell into the river and has been my best mate from that day forward. The only reason he isnt a noble with a book of titles is because he refuses them all and has more then once told me he will cut me off if i was ever to try. He is the definition of gentry,kindness and reason you will ever find. So now that you understand who it was you decided to truffle with I will past my judgement. Horatio van bergenmeister i sentance you to 1 week in the tower jail. Once released you will humble yourself to my friend and announce to the kingdom why you the baron of bergenmeister, courtier and statesman were sentenced to this in a speech before the entire castle community. Further more you shall never address my friend as anything other the doug or Douglas in the kindest way possible from here out." Doug looked at the king for a moment then shrugged and nodded his head.
So with this i dear reader have written my story. Woe be to the fool that messes with douglas McKenzie. He is not only the most protected man in this entire kingdom but a monster hidden in human skin as but only a glance of his hand rendered me unconscious and I cant believe im going to say this caused me to shat my pants. I can not live with this humiliation so to keep in line with his majesties ruling i leave this letter in my place. May you all fear the wrath of the man named doug.
I fold the letter and seal it with the candle that illuminates my dismal cell. I then climbed upon my chair to finish the necessary deed to redeem my shame when with a flash of movment my cell door opened and douglas McKenzie was there pullung me off my feet and cradling me like a newborn child in his arms. "Thats enough of that lad." He speaks setting me down in the chair i was just standing upon. " You dont need to take this further. I spoke with the king. You are being released, you will no longer have to humiliate yourself before the kingdom. All i ask is you learn from this and be a better person for it. Threat your commoners better. But i do ask you pass word around to the other nobles and elites for me. The king has a good friend named doug and doug wishes to be left alone. Also if any of them had thoughts about challenging his Majesty please implore them to reconsider ive had to kill three men after king rodger the 2nd of his name passed and honestly I find it beneath me to rid the kingdom of traitors and madmen alike. But be sure if i hear a sniff of a word i will come and find out who threatens my friend. And those people will be shown no mercy".
|
lgka22z
|
lgk112x
|
[WP] You’re a dragon who is used to knights seeking to steal your treasure or cocky riders hoping to make you your steed. However the human you just found is soaking wet, shivering, and curled up in a ball.
|
Ragged breathing.
So it begins again, for the fifth time this month.
The cave was deathly silent that it could hear loud ragged breaths.
The dragon's scales shifted a little as it silently stretched, more alert and conscious of it's surroundings. Now that it was awake it could hear the sounds of rain. It had long since tuned out the patter of rain and the claps of thunder, but now it was registering to the dragon. The way the collective fall of water hit the ground reminded the dragon of meat sizzling after it's been hit by it's fire. Its good sound. Would it hear it once more?
"Ah," a voice let out with along with thump. something fell. It was small. Odd.
Then there were sounds of something hitting the cave. Sticks? Then there was the clashing of stones?
The dragon rolled it's eyes. This again. It lost track of how many times someone tried to build a fire to smoke up the cave and suffocate the dragon. It was like every one thinks they're so clever that there's no possible way someone else had already tried it. Still, as much as it enjoyed burning something to death, that didn't mean it enjoyed it's dwelling being filled with smoke and soot.
It silently moved to the sound of the disturbance, ready to blow a river of fire at whoever woke it up. But it was odd.
When the dragon finally made it to the disturbance, all there was was a small thing, soaking wet, hit stones over woods that were also soaked and above a puddle of water.
This was new.
|
"I should not have used my fire breath in here..."
The great red dragon daintily holds a large partially melted mirror between two claws and examines it with audible annoyance. The sound of coins and jewels and various treasures clash and clang as his huge tail sways back and forth behind him and sitting on his hind legs dejectedly.
"Blasted knights, blasted mages, thieving... thiefs!"
He tosses the melted mirror half heartedly to the side then moves to pick up the still smoldering tin canned knight.
"This is your fault."
The great and powerful red dragon shakes the barbequed knight in his large paw a few times, causing the helmet to fall off, clanging into a distinct pile of jewels below, followed by the skeletonized head. The dragon stops shaking the overdone skeleton, takes in a deep draconic breath and tosses the crispy knight up in the air. The dragon watches it closely then catches it his mouth, directs his mouth towards the great waterfall at the mouth of the cave and spits the knight out at a particular stalactite near the top left of said cave. The armored skeleton clangs against the stone and falls down into the pool of water below that had formed behind the waterfall. He laughs at the flying knight'
"Oh, you should have watched out for that... rock! Ahhhh hahahahaaah..! I'm giving you what you wanted! You wanted to fly didn't you?! Heheheh..."
The dragon's laughter soon quiets down and he stares expectantly at the waterfall, noticing the sun going down. He stands up, uttering a dismissive sound and turn to walk deeper into the cave, continually stepping on all manor of treasures. At the back of the cave stood a tiny hole in the rock and hanging just above door from the ceiling was a large log set ablaze. The dragon cranes his neck up to it and blows it out and directs his eyes back down to the small hole. Just before his face pressed into the cave wall he rapidly begins to shrink, riding a pile of gold down and jumps to a stone ledge, finishing his transformation into a Middle aged man in kingly red robes. He turns to walk into the now perfectly sized hole and stops, looks around a moment and feels around in his outfit. He then tosses several large coins and a few pieces of crushed rubies into the pile then walks into the hole.
The now man quickly struts into what opens up to be a large furnished room complete with all the amenities with a single candle struggling to keep the room dimly lit. He walks over to the long candle and snaps his fingers, producing a flame at the tip of his index finger and lights eight more candles, brightening the room considerably. He then grabs the invisible nose of the skull one of the candles was sitting on top of and twists playfully.
"I got your nose."
|
j9v04kq
|
j9uis2p
|
[WP] The aliens, it seems, do not consider us a sentient species because we are unable to 'keeneetaa'. We still haven't figured out what that means.
|
"You are *close* to sentience," said the alien, and then it slowly shook its large, gray head. "But it seems you are not there yet."
Taylor blinked. "But we're talking to you. I mean, I guess you're using some kind of telepathy or advanced technology to make it possible, but..." she trailed off, confused, and looked at Doug.
Doug frowned. He wasn't sure why she was looking at *him.* Of the two of them, he was the senior clerk at the 7-11 from which they'd been abducted, but only by a few weeks. That hardly made him more qualified for intergalactic diplomacy.
He looked back down at the alien, who was standing on the metallic deck of its spacecraft, looking up at Doug and Taylor where they floated in mid-air, suspended helplessly inside some kind of anti-gravity field.
"Uh, yeah," Doug said. "'Sentience' is kind of a big idea, right? Doesn't the fact that we know what that is and have a word for it sort of prove that we have it?"
"The ability to comprehend abstract concepts is only part of what makes a species sentient. As I said, you are *close,* but not quite there." the alien said.
"Look, shouldn't you be taking to like *anyone* else?" Taylor asked, sounding exasperated. "Scientists, world leaders -- *somebody?* I just work here, dude! Er, at the place you abducted us from, I mean.
"Positions of leadership and scholarship tend to be populated with outliers."
"Okay, but like...why does that matter?" Doug asked. "Don't you want to talk to our best people?"
The alien shook its head. "No. We wished to evaluate a representative sample of humanity. A few outliers at the upper limits of your species' capabilities will doubtless achieve *keeneetaa* long before the species as a whole attains to it."
"There's that word again." Taylor grumbled.
"Yeah," Doug agreed. "Why is that the one word you don't translate, or beam into our brains, or whatever?"
"We are communicating it to you as best we can. The fact that you do not understand it proves that you do not possess it." the alien explained.
"But what *is* keeneetaa?" Taylor pressed. "Explain it to us!"
The alien raised a slender hand. "Keeneetaa that is explained in terms of other things is not truly keeneetaa, for keeneetaa is both itself, and the description of itself. Even the sound of keeneetaa is not truly 'keeneetaa', it is rather the sound produced by an object colliding with *nothing."*
"Whoa." Taylor said, eyes widening. "That's...that's *deep."*
Doug nodded slowly. "Yeah...yeah I think I get it."
"And yet, all evidence suggests that you do not." the alien said, with a disappointed sigh. "We will return you to your pl--"
"No, really." Doug interrupted. "I actually get it, now. Keeneetaa is *bullshit."*
"Doug!" Taylor exclaimed. "They're like all-powerful aliens! Maybe don't piss them off by disrespecting their culture!"
Doug was undaunted. "We do have a term for keeneetaa in our language, but it's a not a word. It's a *story."*
"Doug! Shhh!" Taylor hissed, looked fearfully between him and the alien.
The alien held up a hand. "No. Tell me this story."
Doug shrugged. "Sure, it's pretty short. Once upon a time, there was an emperor who loved fine clothing. His tailors made him the best clothing imaginable, but eventually they couldn't make him anything more regal than what he already had."
"Go on..." the alien said, narrowing its large, dark eyes.
"Except, one clever tailor had an idea. He told the emperor and the entire court that he'd found the most beautiful cloth in the world, something truly fit for the emperor. He said it had one flaw though: it could only be seen and felt by smart people. If you were an *idiot,* then the cloth was invisible and intangible to you."
"We're going to get probed so hard..." Taylor groaned, hanging her head.
"So, he took the emperor's measurements, and then just *pretended* to be sewing and cutting cloth. No one could see the cloth -- because there *was* no cloth -- but since not being able to see it meant you were stupid, no one, not even the emperor, would admit they couldn't."
"And what transpired afterward?" the alien asked.
"Well, the emperor walked out naked in front of the entire court, thinking he was wearing this magic robe. Everyone applauded, and said it was beautiful, because they wanted people to think they were smart, and didn't realize that *no one* could see the robe. The tailor got a huge reward, lived happily ever after." Doug explained. "And it seems to me that's what your *keeneetaa* is: a bunch of fancy doublespeak hiding the fact that you're just walking around with your junk hanging out, like everyone else."
The alien nodded slowly. Then it made a gesture, and Taylor vanished in a flash of light.
"Shit!" Doug exclaimed. "But, you said you'd --"
"Send you back to your planet, yes. She is safe, back at the location where we initially retrieved you. Do not worry, I will return you there, as well...later."
Doug swallowed hard. "Okay, but...what are you going to do with me in the meantime?"
The alien blinked. "I will take you to a conclave of our leaders and scientists, of course. They will want to meet the first recorded human to achieve *keeneetaa."*
|
I worked for 20 years as a research assistant in a government secret project known as the Project Olympus. It’s main goal is to know how humans will become part of the intergalactic community and convince the extraterrestrials to accept us as equals. In short, to walk among the gods.
For hundreds of years, different types of aliens have been in connivance with leaders of the world to keep their existence hidden from the public.
On earth there are already twenty alien species that are doing business with us and with the other alien species staying here.
The most popular are the Greys, we call them Zeta Reticulans but they call themselves, Izho’karya. Then there’s the Reptilian humanoids or Draconians, but they call themselves Zygerethion. Another species you can mistaken to fays and elves, with almost ethereal features, we sometimes call Pleiadeans, but their race known to them as the Qartholan. And many more.
These three major aliens are hard to deal with. They have superiority complex. The Greys consider themselves as highly intelligent beings and mingling with humans are an insult to their intelligence. The Draconian are a fascist and xenophobic race. Anyone who is not them doesn’t matter. While the Qartholan were nearly immortals, they tend to just observe every life in the universe.
But the specie the governments are in constant communication with are the octopus-like creatures, known as the Khe’plan. They walk upright with bipedal legs, almost humanoid but they have extra boneless limbs protruding at their backs and two thin and long tentacles on their sides. They have bulbous heads, a pair of eyes in front flat nose, gills on the upper neck and beak for a mouth. They evolved to be amphibious creatures. And they are here as tourists. Earth is a known tourist destination to them.
“Asan’rho!” Shouted the President, as he entered the receiving room. A Khe’plan is sitting on the sofa, patiently waiting for us.
“Mr President. I hope you are doing well.” He stood and offered his hand for a shake but the president gave him a hug.
“I’m all well. Why it took you three years to pay me a visit? You were not here in my inauguration.” Mr President asked.
“You know i’m only here on vacations. I never would have thought you’ll become president!” Asan’rho answered.
“I prepared us a dinner, join me.” The president offered. Asan’rho shape-shifted into an old man wearing business suit before we could even leave the room.
The two had long conversations, trying to catch up with each other. The president canceled all his appointments that night. Then their conversation went to intergalactic community.
“You know one of my dreams is to be known as the president who brought Earth in the intergalactic community. But the Greys, Draconian and Pleiadeans still look down on us. If only one of them considered us as equals, the whole intergalactic community will accept us too.” The president said.
“I considered you as our equals. We both have so many similarities.” Asan’rho replied.
“I know that. And I appreciate it too. But we both know, the Khe’plan can’t recommend us to join the intergalactic community.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. The intergalactic community doesn’t really consider humans as ‘sentient’ in our standards.”
“Why not? We can talk, we can communicate, we built communities, empires, orders. We created structures for ourselves.”
“Ye-ah, but ants, bees and termites does that too. But did you consider them sentient in your standards?”
Looking defeated, “Then how can we meet this standard you are talking about?”
“Humans doesn’t know how to Keeneetaa. Once you learned to Keeneetaa, you’ll be considered as one of us.”
“I don’t even know what Keeneetaa is, how am I supposed to achieve it if I don’t even know it?”
“I also don’t know how to explain it in a simple way.”
“What?”
“Okay, so, keeneetaa is like a severed mind. That you should be able to access in command. It is a network of hive mind connected to the great source and the cosmos. It sounds like tripping but you can compare it to almost dreaming. You can only access the network by simple leaving your conscious mind.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Why do you think humans haven’t discovered space travel yet? Or at least stop believing in nonsensical religions? Or legends and mythos? You kinds hasn’t reach the keeneetaa that’s why you are still bonded by superstitious beliefs.”
“But by the way you were describing keeneetaa, it sounds like superstitious.”
“Keeneetaa is a network between hive minds gathered by the great source. When you die, your mind will merge with the keeneetaa and be one with the great source. The mortal body only gives us individuality. But your kind is so severely disconnected to the network by your worldly nature and the only chance you get to achieve keeneetaa is by dying.”
“So, you are telling me, all members of the intergalactic community has the ability to connect to this network of minds?”
“Yes, even the fascist Zygerethion can do keeneetaa, they just don’t usually do it as many of us do. You can mistaken keeneetaa to a sabbath day to you humans. But we do keeneetaa to refresh our minds.”
“Unless we learn to keeneetaa, we won’t be part of the intergalactic community?”
“Keeneetaa is the reason why there is an intergalactic community. Do you really think it is possible for millions of intergalactic species to live a harmonious life with one another? Without being connected in a web of understanding? That’s why other species are afraid to give you all our technologies. Once you have all of our technologies without being connected to the keeneetaa, you will only bring war on a galactic scale. Everyone knows that.”
“That’s a bit harsh. You also agree we only cause wars?” The president asked.
“Hey, i’m just being an honest friend here. Even you know how humans were in a short span of ten thousand years. Civilization rise and falls, wars broke thousand times. You can’t blame us for not including you in our community.” Asan’rho answered.
The Khe’plan visitor left the next day to continue his vacation on our planet, leaving our president pondering on what he learned.
But his dream is more important than the connection to keeneetaa. He will be known as the president who brought humans to the intergalactic community whatever the means are.
The Project Olympus was dissolved and replaced by Project Columbus.
|
lcsx7ks
|
mwhlsum
|
[WP] Your brother left his newborn child with you so that he could go "find himself," whatever that meant. Lacking the resources and unable to care for a child, you had no choice but to give them up for adoption. Years later, your brother finally returns and asks where his child is.
|
"What do you mean, you gave him up for adoption?"
There was genuine confusion and sadness in his voice, but I knew the anger would come.
*"Just as I said."*
I managed to dodge the first blow but the second took me down, he grabbed my hair as I tried to lift myself up.
"I TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN MUM AND DAD DIED! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO REPAY ME!"
I managed to rip myself free and kicked him in the gut, the blow seemed to shock him, I'd never fought back. We grappled for a minute before I got him in a lock on the floor, pressing his face down.
*"Mum and dad died when I was 17, you took me in for one year and beat the shit out of me whenever you got drunk. Then you knock up some poor girl, don't care when she dies in childbirth and then leave that poor lad with an 18 year old who barely made minimum wage and had no support. I could barely take care of myself."*
"Bitch."
*"Okay, you think that. Now leave."*
I stand up and indicate the door.
"Where's my son?"
I state at him incredulous.
*"Tom, it's been 15 fucking years, I have no idea where he is!"*
He took another swing but he's getting tired so it was easy to dodge.
*"We looked everywhere for you, the police even thought you might be dead! Social services agreed that I wasn't fit to take care of him and and I decided that I didn't want to keep in touch."*
"You gave away my child!"
I pushed him out the door, there was no fight left in him.
*"You gave him away first."*
|
I was preparing to cook dinner, when someone knocked on my door.
Opening it, I found my brother smiling at me.
I hugged him, sighed, and told him to follow me.
After brewing tea, and preparing some snacks, we sat down in the living room.
It didn't take long for the topic I feared to come up.
"Where is she? I...I want to see her.", he said.
I nodded, and put a big folder on the table, pushing it towards him.
He read it, and he frowned.
"You...YOU PUT HER UP FOR ADOPTION?", he shouted.
I nodded.
"You left a child with a 24 year old, whom just finished nursing school, and was without a job, or apartment.
What did you think would happen?", I asked.
"I apologize...
My spiritual light fluctuated...so, how is she? Who adopted her?", he asked.
Hearing what he said, I rolled my eyes.
"It's in the papers...", I said,
He read, and read the folder, before looking at me.
"So...for the last 5 years...she was with...people like them?", he asked.
I frowned.
"Jack and William are an amazing pair, really kind and easy-going...
After all, they let me visit little Sarah every weekend.
So I won't accept any of that tone you are using now.", I said.
"Where are they?", he asked, when he saw he couldn't find the address in the files.
"Their home.", I said.
"Where is that?", he pushed.
"Yeah, no, "brother", you found a wrong-self, because this...
This is not someone I would allow close to my friends and their child.", I said.
"THEIR CHILD?! SHE IS MY DAUGHTER!", he screamed, almost flipping the table over.
My husband whom I specifically told not to come down, did so...with a goddamn sword.
"Sweetie...
Can I have a go at him?", he asked, smiling widely.
I shook my head.
"No, your knight in shining armor fantasy will be fulfilled only in the bedroom Matt.", I said, chuckling.
He sighed, and walked up to us, standing right beside me, staring down on my brother.
"I have a right to meet her. Especially since she is allowed to see...you.", he said to me.
Yep, there was my good ol' "big brother".
Condescending prick, who peaked in High School, and ran away after leaving a girl pregnant.
"As her Godmother, I don't think you are suited to meet with her...
The proceedings for a restraining order are all done, they need just to be authorized, so if you behave as I know you will...
You will not be allowed to ever see her.", I said.
He growled, hit the table, and stormed out.
I watched him leave, sighing.
My husband hugged me from behind, and then I went back to making dinner.
This was just one episode from the future season of my life, but I was prepared.
|
krdtmpx
|
krdshem
|
[WP] The Galactic Federation makes first contact with Earth just to inform us that the planet has been divided up between several advanced civilizations, with no regard for our established national borders
|
"So be it, humanity possesses the power to destroy itself, and we would rather blow apart our planet than be slaves under your yoke"
The suited man gestured to his neck, as the technicians cut the message. He turned to his fellow world leaders on the video feeds.
"Today the earth dies" he fumbled in his pocket for a second and smiled.
"I always did hate you Alexi, and you to Chang."
"Da, likewise"
"我也讨厌你们俩"
As the vast mechanisms of modern war began to turn, people throughout the world sighed in a mixed saddness and joy, that although the brief existence of their race would be over, perhaps their act of defiance would inspire someone somewhere to overcome this alien menace.
Alarms blared, submarines came to periscope depth and opened their payload hatches, equally bombers took to the skies and land based silos opened and humanities final act would leave the planet little more than an asteroid field of glass.
In a multitude of flashes it was all over. Every man, woman and child, gone in a nuclear firestorm that shattered the earth.
Eons would pass, but those who came after would record it as the first act of defiance against the federation. Memorialised forever, in some sick sense humanity hadn't just won, but it's memory would last, a symbolic act as those who had sought to stand against a long forgotten evil.
Edit:grammar
|
It's been 10 months now and god those Brits are getting on my nerves. The Aliens had decided to make all of west Europe and America into one country and I wish they had rather just destroyed the entire planet instead, that might have been easier than this.
I saw another one of them in front of me at the chips aisle, i didnt even need to hear them speak, I could tell just by looking at the way they were holding the chip bag and recording with their phone.
“Can you believe it, this is the size of the food Americans eat, no wonder they’re so fat. Are they going to bring this to our side of the Sylian empire now” she snickered, holding a FAMILY sized bag of chips.
“Uh lady, that's a family sized bag of chips, it's meant for a whole family that's why it's so big” I chimed back , pushing my shopping cart, walking towards her.
“Oh cmon, it's a little joke, we’re part of the same country now. It's just a little British banter” she snapped, showing off the golden yellow tartar pit she called a mouth
"You’ll never be a part of America, you're a Brit” I retorted, looking her dead in the eyes
“WHY OF COURSE, THAT'S BECAUSE AMERICA DOESN'T EXIST NOW DOES IT. WE ARE PART OF THE SYLIAN EMPIRE” she chimed, still keeping that hideous smile on her face as she skipped away into the drink section.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, she was probably going to go film a tiktok about how an American supermarket has so many drinks, IN THE DRINK AISLE.
“Why did we have to be joined with the brits” I questioned loudly, looking up at the bright lights above me for an answer
It was as if god himself answered me “At least be thankful you weren't in one of the Eastern European or Middle eastern countries when all this happened”
“What…” I muttered, did god finally answer my calls?
“Look behind you moron” a voice called out in thick Japanese, it belonged to a girl who came to California recently judging by her accent. No doubt because Japan was also now a part of the Sylian empire.
“There is no Middle East or Eastern Europe” she added, looking at the confusion on my face
“Well obviously, the Hediv empire took over that place” I deadpanned, cant believe she thought I was some sort of moron, "Its now called the Hediv empire, lady"
“No, it's just gone. Their fault for being morons, they decided to join all of the balkan and Middle Eastern countries together. The Balkans lasted a whopping 30 minutes before a war broke out.”
Before I could even say anything she added “At least the middle east held out longer, it was a whole 4 hours before war broke out there”
|
loj7kq0
|
loifflc
|
[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.
|
Pain. Darkness. Aniseed.
…aniseed?
Consciousness comes back slowly, and with it, the pain. A full-body ache that defies description. But then, when one’s brain feels like it’s full of cotton, many things do.
Something else. A voice. High-pitched. Needling. Familiar.
“Wakey-wakey, Captain.”
Adrenaline. Clarity. Recognition.
“You…” he tries to utter, but his tongue is a lump of insensate meat, and his throat feels like an ashtray.
“Ah-ah-ah! Do stay still, yes?”
… but there’s anger rising, and memories, and the faces of dead friends, and an awareness - he’s sitting, he’s restrained, he’s blindfolded, but that laughing bastard is *right there* and does he really think this can stop him?
“If this is one of your tricks–”
He stops suddenly - he’d been trying to stand, to snap those laughable restraints, but something stopped him - a groan of pain. A whimper. The bastard’s tied him to somebody else!
“*Do stay still*, Captain. Wouldn’t want to hurt your friends, now, would you?”
He glares towards that voice, willing to burn a hole in the blindfold. Pictures that horrid, horrid smile. That amorphous body. That laugh.
“Slapstick.” He growls out, and is met with a sigh.
“Not today, not today. Wakey wakey, pretty boy.”
He’s about to say something else, something pithy, but is interrupted by a cough. A– familiar one. But– no. *No*.
“Crow..?”
“Hey Cap.” a familiar, if hoarse, voice. “He got you too, huh?”
“But– but– you *died*!”
“Yeah, well – *oof* – certainly feel it but…” A pause, a sound of movement, somebody stretching their neck, a pained little laugh. “...nope, head’s still attached. What’s up with that?”
He’s lost for words. He thinks back - they responded to the attack, did they not? Bonesaw breaking out again, but so much– wilder, so much stronger, so, so much faster now. He was so used to ‘saw being just another of those dozens of would-be villains and other idiots who went to Fleshcraft for powers and ended up turned into monsters, but he didnt think they could be so dangerous…
He wants to rub at his belly. Just to make sure it’s still there. There’s no way that, that *thing* should have gotten through his defenses, and yet…
And yet he’s here. Somehow alive, with his guts back in place. And Crow’s there, with his head still attached to the rest of him. And Echo–
“Echo…?” he asks, hopeful. He exhales a breath of relief when he feels fingers tapping his side. She’s there, she *has* to be there, apparently already woken up–
“Echo! Babe! Am I glad to *not* see your pretty f*oof*.”
…and with her elbows free, apparently. Even in this crazed situation, he can’t help but smile. Just for a moment.
“I knew it!” Slapstick’s voice cuts right through it. “I knew I could make that sourpuss smile!”
He exhales a growl, but– but plays along for now. Whatever’s going on, this is no situation to rush into blindly. The last time he tried that, his guts ended up on the floor. Which, admittedly, removes a lot of his usual options.
“So sorry about the gag, songbird.” There’s that voice again, off to the side - probably in front of Echo. They’re both tied to him, he realizes, and feels her shrug. “Can’t have you all escaping *too* easily, after all, not until after the great performance, not when I worked on it *so hard*...”
Oh, of course! Get the guy rambling, that’s a good strategy. Unfortunately, Echo,’s gagged, and Crow’s big mouth is likely to get them all into even more trouble, which leaves– crap.
“The hell are you playing at, Slapstick? Is this–”
“Not Slapstick.” He’s interrupted, the villain’s voice… surprisingly resigned. He sighs. “Not today. Now then– Wakey wakey, Bonesaw.”
His blood freezes. That *thing* is *here*? Is that the plan? Feed them to that monster after…. somehow… tricking them that it already killed them? No… that doesn’t make sense. But before he can speak up, Crow opens his mouth–
“What the hell Slapstick, don’t–”
“Not Slapstick! Not today!” That voice. That’s– that’s something else. None of that levity. Something else. Something older. “I *like* being Slapstick. I *like* the little games we play. Our little jokes, our little gags, the push and pull and the cleverness of you all oh I love it so much and I can’t wait to see how you get out of *this one* but not today. Today, this *miserable pile of augmentic flesh* wanted to ruin my fun. My little comfortable retirement! And what for, I ask you!? He got what he wanted. He got what he *deserved*. And now, I have to– I have to–”
Somehow, he understands. “Go back to being Fleshcraft?”
A heavy sigh. “Yes. Once. Remarkably astute, Captain. Not one of your strongest points.”
He grunts, but doesn’t protest. Tries the bindings, but doesn’t want to risk it. Doesn’t want to risk his friends. “Thought it was the end for us. Nice work.”
“Thank you.” He sounds genuinely touched. “I am afraid there might be some scarring, you bulletproof types are usually hard to work on and you were a *particularly remarkable* example. My compliments to your maker. You are lucky I had spare parts on hand.”
“Spare par–?”
“Oh do not worry yourself, he didn’t feel a thing. Well, not yet. Wakey wakey, Bonesaw!” The levity returns, all the more chilling for its prior absence. And before he can ask anything else, the screaming begins.
It lasts for a long time.
----
/r/vonBoomslang
|
"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."
|
j81sf2m
|
j81kjzp
|
[WP] You are a normal person and have a job as a Latin teacher. When you die you are isekai'd into a world of fantasy and magic. The spells are fiercely powerful. You then realise the spells are all random words in Latin. The equivalent of fireball being the Latin word for bread.
|
**Deus Panis**
[Thank you Google translate, also Concrit welcome]
It has been five month and seven days you’ve reincarnated into this strange land, and you suspect it wasn’t a coincidence anymore.
They revere you as the great mage, a title you find laughable. True, you could pronounce these Latin words fluently, however, you had to be careful not to guess spells meaning. Last time you tried to summon some bread, you casted a fireball. The elders tell you you are close to the source of magic, you’d rather not be close to this linguistic hellhole. Every day, you get closer and closer to yelling at whoever created this universe.
You begin to notice a pattern, some of the errors in translation are awfully familiar. Silva (the Latin word for forest) for summoning silver, Liber (the Latin word for books) for untying ropes. You were reminded of a distant day, a simpler time when you lectured in front of a classroom and the students dozed off or scrolled at their phones silently, when there were no monsters to fight, no villages to save. You were reminded of a particular student, who would always turn in quizzes with all the wrong translations, it was the only time in how many years someone had to repeat Latin 1.
The more you encounter these mistakes, the more certain you become of your theory.
___
Winter solstice, the kingdom invite you to conduct the annual ritual to attempt at contacting the creator of this universe, who had been long silent for centuries. You tried the standard ritual, with a few improvisations based on old scrolls you found in the royal library. No response.
You felt like there’s something you must try.
“MARCUS!!!” You cried out the name you’ve yelled many times in the classroom when you were trying to get the young man to pay attention for once. The name of the only student who would ever confuse fire for bread.
The world shook.
Everyone observing the ceremony fled for coverage. But you stood your ground, at that moment you understood. You felt it in the tremor, it was the same anxiousness all language learners experience it first.
A glowing silhouette descended, despite all the changes, you were instantly able to recognize him.
***Mrs. Diaz? Is that you?***
“Marcus! So it is you behind … all this.” You pointed towards the horizons.
***Mrs. Diaz, I…*** He seemed embarrassed, ***I’d like to apologize for being a slacker in high school. It seemed like my horrible Latin managed to bother you even in this universe.***
“Don’t be,” You replied in a flash of pity and understanding, “Not everyone likes language classes. And besides, you’ve made this entire universe with its own internal logic and intrigue. I’ve always know you’d make it if you applied yourself.”
***Thank you. Its just that after all this long there’s not much I remember about earth, and I’m afraid no matter how hard I try I cannot remember one correct thing I’ve learned in your Latin class.***
“I’ve always said it’s not too late to start over again. Would you like to retry Latin one more time?” You found yourself asking.
***Sic, Mrs Diaz, I’d be glad to.***
For the first time in a dozen centuries, Marcus uttered the first right word in Latin again.
|
"While it took me a while to fully grasp the idiotic- I mean, innovative use of Latin, I was finally able to understand the cultural meaning and relevance for the spell. Panis derives from the term companion... and as we all know, fireball is a wizard's best friend. And so, this is why my thesis is on why 'panis', the evocation for fireball, is named so because fire is a wizard's strongest companion."
I finished my explanation with a slamming of my hands upon the desk in front of me, finally blinking and breaking off my prolonged stare with the headmaster of the esteemed school of high magic that I had been holding throughout my entire explanation.
Theodrica Benevoluntaria, the high prism mage and renound scholar of the lands I unintentionally found myself in (after a small case of death closed the door on my previous world), almost looked at me in fear that I would continue talking should they attempt to blink. Their typical gracious posture has slackened to the slumped shoulders of the incredulous, as if they could not decide if what I was saying was revolutionary or the work of a madman.
After a prolonged silence, they cleared their throat.
"Well, you have certainly given me a lot to think about, what did you say the root language of our spells were again. Latin?" Upon my vicious nod of the head, they continued.
"I think we would love to have you here as a scholar," they said, regaining their bearings once more, "While your work may be, well, contested at first, I see no reason to halt your investigation as you managed to create a sound theory that could revolutionize our understanding of spellcasting."
"That's wonderful!" I say. My grin was full of sleep deprivation and my eyes held a manic glint as I cheerfully leaned forward on the headmaster's desk, ignoring their not-so-subtle attempts to lean further away from me.
"Because I have a theory about the vampire-warding charm, allium, that I'm sure will knock your socks off!"
|
j9iovd6
|
j9ibi0k
|
[WP] Years ago, you found a small dragon in your house trying to steal some stuff for it's hoard. You decided to give it some gold, as well as some food and water before sending it on it's way. Every once in a while it would return with small offerings, as repayment for your act of kindness
|
I opened the door, looked down at the gift in front of me, and looked up.
In front of me, was a dragon the size of two to three city blocks. I could not see his whole body, however, as the dragon had decided to perch it's head directly in my front lawn. All of my nicely cut flowers, of course, had likely been ruined a long time ago.
"Hrathgar, this is not a *small* gift."
I looked up at the dragon with mock disgust.
"My most giving patrons must receive their rightful rewards. Otherwise, all that lies in my cavernous vaults would not all be mine, now would it?" The dragon, of course, was already the size of a mountain. I hesitated to find out what *it* thought was cavernous.
I rolled my eyes. "Hrathgar, do you remember what I got you?"
"Why, yes, exactly! You got me three gemstones you'd dug up in the mines that day, and around 30 silver pieces."
"Wait, you really remembered all of that?"
A snort of flame came out of the dragon's nostrils. The hyacinths hanging by my door were turned to char. Thank goodness for fire-resistant paints, or the house would have burned down too.
"Why, of course I did! What would a dragon do otherwise? Simply *forget* those who kickstarted their journey? You remember your parents, don't you?" the dragon slapped the ground with it's tail. At least 3 species of beetle went extinct.
I took in what Hrathgar had said, and looked down at the present he had gotten me. I then looked back up at the massive, nearly infinitely wise dragon. With great care, I picked up the present, and held up, carefully, in my hands.
"Hrathgar, sometimes I look at your face, and remember those sweet young days back when you were little but a newt, as I would stockpile coins in my kitchen to give to you."
I swore I could see the dragon blush with embarrassment. "Dave, please, you shouldn't I was such a youngster back then. I could barely even threaten a farmer, let alone an entire nation-"
"Hrathgar, I remember those days because sometimes you say stuff so *astronomically stupid* that I wonder if your brain has grown at all."
Hrathgar's once open mouth closed. It opened again. It closed again. It opened once more. It closed once more. There was very little I could do about this. So, I decided to go brew myself some coffee.
Some quiet minutes later, I walked back out to the door, coffee in one hand and my present in the other, where Hrathgar, a dragon known all around for his power, wisdom, and for declaring himself the sovereign leader over The Fat Side Of Oklahoma, was still opening and closing his mouth. As I took a sip from my coffee, the dragon finally recollected himself, and spoke.
"I think that was rather rude of you, Dave."
"I think, given that you stated the importance of knowing you parents, that you *handing me your child as a gift* was not exactly the best of choice." I gestured to the egg I was holding with the entire right half of my body. My left side took another sip of coffee.
Dragons liked mornings.
|
Ever since I was young, I had an affinity for strays. I would be sure to leave out bowls of milk for the neighbour tabbies and sneak some of the lunch meats from my sandwiches to the stray dogs on my walk to school.
For the most part, all my actions ever resulted in were a couple of extra companions on my walks home from school and some dead rodents on my doorstep. Little did I know, strays of a different variety come with a different set of rules.
It turns out, dragons have a somewhat feline nature - although the “gifts” at my doorstep have been quite more…substantial than a few dead mice.
I was on my way to work when I encountered the first offering. On my doorstep lay a partially disembowelled man, who I recognized immediately as my grade school bully. Despite the years of cruelty, I nearly heaved up my breakfast at the sight of him. Three deep cuts ran from sternum to hip, guts leaking onto my doorstep.
The second time, my ex-wife lay splayed across one of my patio lounge chairs, a large puncture wound in her chest that I can only imagine is from a claw.
The third time, an insufferable coworker of mine turns up in my garden, the charred remains of his bottom half already dissipating into fertilizer for my tomato plants. The upper half more closely resembling a BBQ roast than a person.
At first, I thought it was some kind of misguided gesture of good faith. It’s best effort to pay back the kindness I showed it when we first met months ago in my study. Who knows what kind of twisted moral compass a dragon operates with anyway?
But as time goes on, I’m beginning to think it’s grown amused watching me scramble to clean up its messes. The more of my enemies it delivers, the more difficult it’s becoming to cover things up.
And my garage is beginning to smell…
|
ljoveyj
|
ljoqmkf
|
[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.
|
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”??
|
Archmage.
A title that all those who seek the truth of the universe want to achieve.
A title that represents the pinnacle of magical studies, and each magical field, each research, each domain has an archmage standing at its top, paving the way ahead.
It takes decades, if not centuries for even a genius to become an Archmage...or at least that was the common knowledge until now.
For recently, a new Archmage has been born, a genius who opened up a new field of study on her own...
At the mere age of 25.
Atop a sky-piercing mountain floated a mage tower.
That was the domain of the new Archmage, whom lived as a recluse.
Her magic so strong that nobody but those who willingly accepted her field, and followed her in her research could stay besides her.
Many other Archmages tried to discredit her, but none managed to do so.
For a single spell of hers, almost killed seven Archmages...who worked together to stop her attack.
It was then when even the Gods of the world took notice of her.
Nobody really knew what was her deal...what was her field.
An aspect of her magic was a quite common one: gravity.
But she...she had other elements, other forces combined in her spells, forces that made her unstoppable.
She called herself The Archmage of the 4 forces, and that her title is more than enough to describe her field of study.
And indeed...
For some reason, several eccentric souls, and geniuses, and even an Emperor visited her on friendly terms, hoping to learn or at least get allied with her.
She accepted them all happily, and spread her teaching under Celestial Oaths, lest they shall be used wrongly.
She spent her time studying...and healing her students, as her path was one where control was the most important trait.
Even a tiny bit of magical energy related to her domain if went rogue...could cause significant damage.
But she was a patient, careful and kind person, and helped each of her students and disciples on a daily basis...
It was so for centuries, until a rift opened in the skies, and an army invaded...right from above her tower.
She appeared in her pyjamas...and yawned.
"Electromagnetic Force Nullifier...", she whispered her spell...and the army of invading monster...disappeared.
As simply as that.
Ever since, she was hold in the highest regard, and nobody really dared to bother her anymore...
|
jau4sw5
|
jau1rke
|
[WP] Many countries have mythological heroes that will "Come back to save their homeland in its greatest hour of need". Well...all of them came back, but we cant figure out what the danger is...
|
"So you're all English now?" Asked the king sadly, his white hair and beard like winter frost on his scarred, lined face.
"Not exactly, there's still the Welsh, Scots and Northern Irish. The United Kingdoms." I said trying to be comforting
"Wealas is what they called us, foreigners in our own land, the Scotti were raiders from the land over the sea to the West, Eire. Your face could be one of my own people, perhaps a mixture like Cerdic, but you speak some latinised version of their tongue and name yourself English, one of the invaders. Whom have I come back to fight and whom to protect? This is still my land. The mountains and the hills haven't changed. But everything else is different." He pointed a armoured finger towards my uncles barn "Over there on that rise was Camelot, the heart of the last kingdom of true Britons: now it is a cowshed. I've risen too late, better that I never had."
I silently ingested the news that the old block of concrete, wood and corrugated iron I hated washing out was built on top of long lost Camelot.
"If you're awake that means we, your people, need you, doesn't it? More than ever before. We just have to figure out why."
At that moment my phone started to vibrate I pulled it out, yet another update from Securi-Core, keeping you safe®
"I don't know why they still inform you" I said idly "after they won the courtcase so they don't need permission anymore. I'm willing to believe there really are no humans running that company anymore, just AIs and deepfakes"
I trailed off. The King was staring at my phone.
"Oh this. it's a scientific device for talking to people a long way away you wouldn't have had anything...."
He reached out and plucked it from my grasp, stared at it for a few moments and then, in spite of my startled yelping, crushed it into smithereens.
The sadness had utterly vanished from his face. He no longer looked old and worn. He looked like someone who'd survived for centuries because he was too tough and too dangerous to die.
"Tell me more about this inhuman company." He said.
|
They were all lined up. Large men wearing bits and pieces of chain mail, others with bejeweled armor, spears of adamant, swords with cynical crystals watching.
Frustrated, one yelled ‘I am Ilya Murometz! I saved Murom from the evil of Baba Yaga!’
The rest of the great heroes turned in scorn.
A man dressed in a bearskin with a club, crowned with oak leaves and apples gestured rudely, commented ‘Dude, chillax. See Mr Horns over there? That’s Roland, who saved France from the Saracens. The kid with the harp? He shattered the great glass globe which hid the SpiderGod Mor-Nith-Mor. We’re all waiting for the social workers. No one needs us anymore. You’ve filled out Form 223B and have the necessary 3 IDs? Or other reasonable records to verify your identity?’
The rest of the heroes, irritated, sigh. Some implode and turn to dust.
A bell rang. The line advanced.
|
ll3cl3e
|
ll2u2dj
|
[WP] Everybody not currently in a romantic relationship has their sexuality and/or gender changed. The change is permanent.
|
"Hello everyone, my name is Mrs. Colton. I'm sure you're all wondering what exactly this class entails."
Penelope listened to the teacher intently, notebook at the ready in case the introduction turned into a lecture. But no sooner did she reach for her pencil bag did it get pulled away from her in a lilac shimmer. Turning around, Penelope saw the school's resident golden boy Hubert von Nacht holding the bag with his trademark smug grin. With a roll of her eyes, Penelope whispered, "Come on, just give it back."
Hubert's friend Lyle snickered. "Why don't you just take it back?"
"You know my major is in alchemy, I can't just--"
Hubert's other friend Brutus leered at Penelope with a mocking, "Aw, is the widdle bottle baby gonna cry?"
Penelope felt like the vein on her forehead was about to pop. "For once in your lives--"
"Ms. Kane, would you mind telling me what's so important that you feel the need to talk during my class?"
Penelope looked back at the teacher, blood practically freezing as she answered, "I--It's nothing, Mrs. Colton, I promise."
Mrs. Colton leaned against her desk and fired back, "I'll decide for myself if it's nothing. Now tell me, if you'd be so kind."
Penelope gulped. "Well, uh...Lyle Coleman took my pencil bag, and now Hubert von Nacht won't give it back to me. But I promise, that's all it--"
Mrs. Colton held her hand up before glancing at the trio. "You three, front and center. You just volunteered for a demonstration of my class."
The young men looked at each other in confusion before shrugging and making their way to the front as Mrs. Colton pulled a totem out from her desk. "The purpose of this class is to impart a very important piece of wisdom upon all of you. The type that people like these three boys right here likely don't know very well, if at all."
Mrs. Colton set the totem on the ground, whereupon it cast out a blueish ring of light that pushed back the desk. The boys entered the ring as Mrs. Colton nonchalantly took off her robe, revealing the fit, tattoo-covered body beneath, as well as the athletic wear it was clad in. Brutus whistled and asked, "Damn. Please tell me there isn't a Mr. Colton."
"No, but there are four other Mrs. Coltons. And I'm not the type to date anyone that fails all three parts of the Harkness test."
Chuckles rang through the class before the teacher explained, "Rules are simple: you force me out of the ring, you win. I force you out of the ring, I win. Begin."
Hubert made a show of cracking his neck before holding his hand out to create a summoning circle. A ghostly dragon shot out of the circle and charged at Mrs. Colton as Hubert cockily remarked, "Can't say I really get what kind of lesson--"
*KRRRKKK!*
Faster than the eye could have seen, Mrs. Colton grabbed the dragon and snapped its' neck with all the effort of opening a soda can. The class were shocked into silence at the display, giving Mrs. Colton the freedom to explain, "Magic is not the ticket to invincibility."
Lyle recovered first, calling forth a torrent of jagged roots from the floor to charge at the teacher. Unbothered, Mrs. Colton vaulted the attack and threw Lyle out of the ring. "It is not a skeleton key, a winning lottery ticket, or any other sort of shortcut to success."
Brutus tried to force Mrs. Colton away with a telekinetic surge, only to exhaust himself trying thanks to the teacher gripping the leftover roots with an almost inhuman level of strength. The second Brutus fell to his knees, Mrs. Colton picked him up and deposited him outside the ring as she finished off, "Magic is a tool, nothing more and nothing less. It is admittedly a very versatile tool, but that in turn puts even more of an impetus on the mage to use it properly." A nonchalant push to send Hubert out of the ring emphasized Mrs. Colton's point. "Which Hubert and his friends did not."
The ring dissipated as Mrs. Colton put her robe back on and turned back to the rest of her students. "*That* is what you will be learning in my class. You will be taught to shatter the boxes you've been put in, by yourself or others. You will work and train and study until the act of casting a spell is effortless enough that you can adapt in the likely event it fails to deal with your current problem."
The grin that spread across Mrs. Colton's face could be described with something between beastly and sadistic. "Welcome to Magical Survivalism 101. You *will* hate me before the end of the school year."
|
*The class was full of students, robed in all the colours of the rainbow. The children, with wands in their hands and books on the table, happily discussing between each other.*
I don't like kids. Not a cell in this mortal, decaying body of mine makes me want to teach to a bunch of spoiled brats who won the genetic lottery and who's presence here is not on the merit of effort, but on the blood of their parents. But, you know, a job is a job. To be fair, the best life preserving potions in the astral realms and a well paying job (with even dental!) in exchange for thirty hours of this torture is totally worth it. After all, I have a talent rare have.
*The old man, with grey hair and a face full of wrinkles silently turns around and start writing on the blackboard : Introduction to soft power, by Professor Bismarck.*
Hello, said a voice bearing the scar of war and negotiation. At that moment, the entirety of the class sits down in silence as if a shot was fired. The wizards knew when to be quiet, who this man is and why he was here. They were the lucky few who got in this popular class as it offered something no other teacher can, something which, in the hands of a mortal, can bring endless glory to his bloodline, something priceless in the hand of a wizard.
I presume we all know who I am, so, I will first introduce this class. I am not very well known in the magical community, but in the mortal one, I am somewhat of an important figure and on the behalf of your headmaster, I have the obligation to teach all of you my skills.
Firstly, why are we here, you might ask. So, you wizards have the ability to manipulate reality itself, to bend the laws of the cosmos to your will, to betray the laws of physics and to live beyond aeons. However, it was shown to be that your talent in magical arts doesn't transfer to nation building. H*e starts walking in circle and ranting.* How can people older than countries be THAT incompetent at working together? I mean, your society have truth detectors, but still somehow end up with corruption and an unfair justice system? HOW? Every few years, you idiots declare war on each other for no good reason, never accomplishing anything, only bringing decay and chaos to your country. *A dreadful silence fall upon the classroom. Feelings of shame and anger fill the eye of the aspiring young children.*
However, as we say, in chaos lays opportunity. This is fact I have learned to my benefit. In this class, I will teach you guys the skills necessary to rise up the social ladder of the magical community, to destroy the might of ancient families, to create new groups that will last until kingdom comes, to scheme against your enemies and to manipulate their actions, and to convince the masses that YOU are their saviour. Once you pass this course, I can assure you that in addition to your magic, you will also have the talent of a leader and of a politician. After all, I am sure we all desire the beautiful things in life, the luxuries we cannot conjure with magic alone.
Now, let's start. Call me Otto or, if you want chancellor, a little title of mine in my hometown. Open your books to chapter 3 "Reputation and honour, how to weaponize public perception."
|
lu25zrb
|
lu1r3ql
|
[WP] Peter Pan is no child, for he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, an unknowable horror from the stars masquerading as a boy.
|
Peter stands on the edge of the clocktower, toes curling over the ledge, wind raking his hair like a lover tired of waiting. The Lost Boys are a feral knot beneath him, all sharp elbows and skinned knees, grinning with the crooked sincerity of the doomed. He tilts his head, considering the moon—white, swollen, and lovely like the inside of a wound.
Wendy asks him, not for the first time, *"What are you?"* She thinks it’s love that makes her ask, but it isn’t. It’s the kind of fear you can’t name when it creeps into your bed at night, wearing someone else’s face. Peter grins, all milk teeth and meat hooks.
"Don’t you know?" he says, almost sweetly, like he’s telling her a secret that’s been hers all along.
There’s something about the way he talks that feels like biting into tinfoil. Wendy clenches her fists to stop her hands from shaking. She’s starting to see the gaps, the slivers where Peter’s skin doesn’t sit right—like it was borrowed in a hurry and not stitched up tight enough to hold the *something else* writhing beneath it. His shadow flickers, just for a second, too many limbs folding inward like a predator coiling in on itself. She blinks, and it’s gone. Just a boy again. Just Peter.
"Take me back home," she whispers. It’s not a plea—it’s an incantation. She thinks if she says it enough times, she’ll believe it’s possible.
Peter crouches, balancing like a crow on a wire, all angles and edges. "There’s no going back, Wendy." His voice drips, thick and sticky, like tree sap that catches bugs and keeps them alive just long enough to feel themselves stuck.
The boys chant below, rowdy and restless. "Fly, fly, fly!" They sound hungry, but not for food. Never for food.
Wendy steps back, but Peter steps with her, lazy as a shadow. "You could stay, you know." He licks his lips, though there’s nothing on them. "It’s not so bad, being lost."
She knows what he really means: *It’s not so bad, being mine.*
She remembers the others—those who stayed too long, their eyes gone flat and glassy, their bodies moving like wind-up toys with broken gears. She used to think it was the island that did that to them, the magic, the wildness. But now she knows better. Now she sees the trap for what it is: not an island, but *Peter.*
He leans in, close enough for her to smell the night on his breath. "Second star to the right," he whispers, brushing her cheek like a promise. "And straight on till—"
She shoves him. Hard. Harder than she thought she could. His grin falters, and for one perfect, terrifying moment, Peter falls.
And as he falls, he isn’t Peter anymore. He isn’t anything that has a name. His form splits and shudders, unraveling midair—tentacles unfurling like ribbons of night, fanged mouths blooming in places that shouldn’t exist. A slick, cosmic laughter bubbles up from deep in the marrow of his being, and Wendy feels it crawl into her ears, squirm behind her eyes, twist itself into the center of her mind.
But the wind catches him just before the rocks do. He rights himself mid-plummet, laughing like the stars are in on the joke. He drifts back up to the ledge, boy-shaped once more, a little more cracked around the edges but no less *Peter.*
"You really are fun," he says, wiping blood from the corner of his grin. "I knew I picked the right one."
Wendy takes another step back, but the tower is only so wide. Peter tilts his head, watching her with the patience of something that’s waited a thousand lifetimes for this very moment.
"You’ll see," he murmurs. "They all do, in the end."
And somewhere far off, in a place that smells of salt and dreams, a clock chimes, counting down hours that never really belonged to anyone at all.
|
Children had so much faith. Their poor little pre-frontal cortexes could barely think five minutes into the future, let alone realize the lies fed to them. It was easy, then, to slip into the dreams of the unwanted, the unloved, the abused, and the unfulfilled and fill their minds to bursting with dreams of adventure and friendship. Adults question. Adults wonder, and ponder, and are cynical to the bone.
You see, it’s that childish faith that feeds me. Sustains me. Earth called to me from beyond the void, her children’s wants and needs echoing so loudly across the cosmos. For a species that evolved to spend so much time and energy into so few offspring, there was an appalling (appealing) number that left them lost and alone. You would almost think that they were left as little offerings to me.
I whisper in their ears of all that they’ve missed out on. Gently, oh so gently, I pull their minds from reality. Their minds slip into my realm, lured by the image of a young boy and a pretty, petty faerie pulled from their myths. The more they see me and my shadow, my little faerie light, and listen to the wonders of “Neverland”, the more they become mine. The living world loses its grip. They see less and less of the possibilities of their world, and instead become a part of mine.
When they finally sit, their mind inured against their world, their eyes empty and their soul firmly in Neverland, then I can slip their little bodies across the veil to me. The sheer trust and hope in their souls is like the sweetest of ambrosias. I let them play their little games, leading them in a merry dance… until that day comes. When they do not do as I say, do not look at me with endless trust, do not follow where I lead with no question. They begin to damage my crop. When one questions, another will follow. I’m merciful- they get one chance. But every time, every child- asks more. Then I devour them, body and soul absorbed into the “world” of Neverland that is my body, and begin to seek out another to take their place.
Only once did one escape me, ripping himself away but losing a hand in the process. It worked out well though. Children so love to stand against a villain. And if “I” act the hero, then the faith in me multiplies. One day I’ll devour the so-called “Captain Hook”. There’s no way for them back to their reality, and I have endless patience. And humanity has an endless crop of unwanted children.
|
jo4tmh1
|
jo49fby
|
[WP]When a soldier loses a limb, it is a tragedy. Soldiers are needed at peak efficiency, so they must undergoes the unthinkable - grafting metal to flesh. A horrific abomination, the mere process is often enough to shatter what is left of their mind. Then, there are the humans.
|
Command Pod, Alliance cruiser Herdthinner
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”
Healer R’rssath didn’t flinch as Squadron Lord D’ra screamed at him. The crew in the command pod looked on with a combination of revulsion and horror as R’rssath stood there, only the slight flaring of his tail spines showing his mood.
“I saved their lives, AND made sure that they can go back into battle-”
D’ra hissed anxiously, “Saving their lives, that you had authorization to do. The hu’mens volunteered to aid us. They left their nests, their clans to fight with us against the Priath.”
“Who are a threat to their own system” one of the Battle Guards added, only to be silenced by a glare from the Squadron Lord
“Yes they are fighting for themselves as well. But they are not of the Kin! To meld machines to our kind is a blasphemy enough, only to be done if there is no alternative to save the lives of hatchlings.” D’ra looked again at the report projected on the viewer. “To fuse metal and ceramic to the hu’men, our allies, our GUESTS…is beyond blasphemy.”
R’rssath simply held position stoically, as the hu’mens would say. “I disagree-for the hu’men, it is different. They will not fall to madness like our kind when similar situations occur.”
The Squadron Lord looked dubious. “They are living beings, same as we. to be grafted to machines..”
“You can ask them yourself if you like,” R’Rssath replied.
‘Ask them? More like prostrate myself and beg their forgiveness for what you have done. Healer, you may have doomed our entire war and shattered this alliance by what you have done.”
Healing pods, ten minutes later.
Staff Sergeant Irine Kanahoe, Royal Hawai’ian Marine Corps loved the Kin’tash’s bio monitor tech when she first deployed. So easy to monitor her platoon, make sure everyone was fed, hydrated, and good to go. The downside, when the Priath began bombing their positions from orbit..was knowing just how f’d up everyone was, including herself. So waking up back on the Herdthinner with the right number of working arms and legs, AND being able to see on her left side? She looked confused at the Kin’tash officer, the six legged reptile laying prostrate on the deck apologizing profusely for something “Did we do something wrong Sir?”
That brought the stream of apologies to a halt. D’ra looked up at the hu’man warrior. “But..we have replaced your flesh with machinery.”
Kaneohe nodded, flexing her shiny, probably not chrome but sure looked like chrome left arm. “You did, and did a better job than our docs could, Sir.”
Corporal Kamali nodded , one silver hand grabbing his crotch “Hell Sir, I can even feel my-” At the Ssgt’s sudden glare he wisely changed subjects “these cybernetics work great Sir,” Kamali continued.
“...yo…you are not upset?” the Squadron Lord asked hesitantly.
“Upset? Sir. We’re alive..and we’re , to use a human colorful metaphor,now we're ‘Fuckin Cyborgs.” She grinned, without teeth, as that was the Kin’tash’s version of a smile. “The Priath messed up when they didn’t kill us the first time.”
|
“I’m telling you, my lord, this process is not at all what you think it is!”
“And I am telling you, we are at war, Chief Magister, if it is ordered that this procedure be done to get these men back on the field, then it shall be done!” Lord Tytos, Commander of the Northern Force responded forcefully.
The Chief Magister stood his ground, though, “I understand that we are currently in a conflict where we need manpower, however, I can hardly say that this is acceptable manpower, my lord.” He gestured to the many operating studios behind him, “The men undergoing the fusion operation are irrevocably changed by the process. Their minds cannot withstand the intrusion of the augments on their bodies.”
“But they are able to fight, and that is what is necessary.”
“I am appalled at your lack of understanding, my lord. After this war is over, what shall be left of our valiant men who serve this nation? Shall they be able to return to their families? To their fields? To their occupations?”
“They can fight, that is what we need them for.” Lord Tytos reinforced evenly.
The Chief Magister lost his temper at that moment, “You are a fool and shall bring about the downfall of this nation, a downfall much more insidious than what our foes wish for us! You are damning untold numbers of men to a fate worse than death, a fate where they are but machines for this war and little else. Will you be able to stand before their wives, their mothers, their children and explain why they will no longer be the man they once knew? Can you?!”
Lord Tytos took his eyes away from watching a man being led away by two other Magisters who were having to almost physically lead the man off. “It is a necessary evil.”
“Necess… necessary evil? My lord, this has gone too far.” The Chief Magister said in shock.
“Mayhaps… but we may have to go farther.”
|
jhitcln
|
jhiqb3r
|
[WP] You've been summoned as a hero of legend to save a medieval fantasy world from evil. Same old, same old. However, it very quickly dawns on you that a medieval world's idea of "evil" is quite incompatible with what you, a modern person, would consider evil.
|
I gripped my sword tightly and walked towards the stone mansion hidden deep in the woods. For a den of evil and debauchery, it looked surprisingly... mundane. Yet the quest I was given upon my summoning was clear; the pleas of the distraught king apparent. Whoever - or whatever - was hiding inside this house was committing crimes most heinous, an affront to nature itself.
And *just in case* the sword wasn't going to cut it, I checked the magazine in the Glock I brought with me. A perk of being summoned from the 21st century to fulfil an epic quest. 17 bullets. Holster opened. Round chambered.
Good to go.
I approached the door and opened it with utmost care. I was almost disappointed when it didn't theatrically creak, instead just swinging open smoothly. What was beyond the door shook me down to my core.
Fountains of blood! Skulls of the innocent stacked into a chair! Green flames from hell itself!
A... green rug.
I mean I expected to see rivers of blood and stuff, real Hellraiser material, not... a cushy rug and a sofa. My pondering was cut short when I heard footsteps approaching.
"You!" a voice sounded from down the hallway. "What the blazes are you doing here?!"
Seconds later, the source of the voice walked in; a young woman with red hair tied into a bun and freckled cheeks. She wore a fairly loose white sundress, yet no shoes. The only remotely threatening thing about her was an eyepatch across her left eye. That and the fire poker she was brandishing.
"Meolda? Meolda the-" I started.
"If you finish that sentence with 'The Dark' I'll show you a piece of my mind!" she hissed.
This wasn't what I was expecting.
"It's over, Meolda," I calmly continued. "Your evil deeds will not go unpunished."
"Did *those morons* send you?" she asked. This, too, took me aback.
"...beg your pardon?"
"The King. The townsfolk. Did they send you to kill me?"
"Well... yes," I nodded.
"Oh of course they did. They-"
"Meolda, is everything all right?" a new voice said, soon revealed to be an equally young man with frazzled brown hair and thick spectacles that joined Meolda's side.
"Another '*adventurer*' Viktor. Here to kill us, apparently," she introduced me.
"That's what you get for your evil-"
"Is this about the reverse seeing glass?" Viktor asked. I frowned.
"The what?"
"My latest project. I assure you, there is no dark magic at play! It is merely a series of polished lenses that allows me to inspect things most minute-"
"Wait, are you talking about a *microscope*?" I asked. The two looked at each other.
"Micro... scope. Micro... small... oh, that is a *marvellous* name for it, good sir!" Viktor said excitedly. "I'll be sure to credit you in my memoirs."
"Things they don't understand, stranger," Meolda said carefully. "Things that scare them. That's why they want you to kill us. Will you?"
"Look, the testimonies were pretty clear," I said. "People saw a mutilated human body not too far from here; caught you red-handed moving it. Are you denying you did that?"
"Oh..." Viktor sighed. "Yes, well... that *was* us, yes."
I gripped my sword tighter with one hand, the other reaching behind my back for my gun.
"Have you ever heard of the term 'dissection' ?" he asked.
"I... yes."
"Impressive, good sir," Viktor nodded. "You see, a plague has recently gripped the nearby village. The poor man whose body we... dissected was struck down by it - we wished to inspect it further to perhaps uncover the secret of the disease. Maybe even find a way to reverse it."
"Then why were you dragging the body about?"
"We were trying to bury him, damn you!" Meolda snapped. "Then some idiot lumberjacks saw us and chased us away before we could! Not like we could bury him in our garden. He'd attract scavengers."
I loosened the grip on my sword and let its tip rest on the ground.
"Are you two just... scientists?" I asked.
"Yes!" Meolda cried out. "That's all we want! To progress knowledge in peace, but-"
"But," Viktor continued solemnly, "they do not... understand or approve. We go against the 'Will of the Gods' in their eyes."
"And the thing about you two being of no moral stuff is..."
Viktor and Meolda grab each other's hands.
"We've not married yet, yes," Meolda explained, "but we see this as no reason not to enjoy-"
"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!" I yelled loudly and threw my sword to the side. "Waste of my GODDAMN TIME!"
The two scientists looked at each other curiously.
"Are... are you alright?"
"I- yes!" I scoffed. "I mean, no, not really. This is a... I could've been catching the latest movie but noo, instead, I have to spend 6 hours crawling through a thick forest to go and 'Kill the Evil Warlock and his Harlot Witch' only to find..." I said and pointed towards them, "you two. *Harmless*."
"So you... mean us no harm?" Viktor asked.
"No," I pouted.
"Good," Meolda said and put her fire poker down. Then, she released her grip on the lever behind her back I was yet to see. "We are not *harmless*, sir. We are *peaceful*," she said and pointed to the ceiling above me. I squinted my eyes and saw a trapdoor, ready to open and drop... something on top of me. I presumed something *heavy*.
I chuckled. "Well played. Also... what is this about you wielding lightning?"
"Oh, yes!" Viktor said excitedly and, seemingly trusting me already, ran past me towards the door and showed me a paper kite. "You see, I attached a simple metal wire right below the kite and when the next storm happened, it-"
I laughed. "It conducted the lightning to the ground," I finished for him.
Their eyes went wide. "Are you a man of science?"
"Just... not from around here."
"We're trying to find a way to harness this power. If we could find a way to do so, the implications-"
"We'll need copper, zinc, a bit of silver, cloth and brine. Do you have those?"
They exchanged confused looks.
"Yes, why?"
I grinned. "I'm going to show you something... *shocking*."
|
<Fantasy>
**"Fein weyir Korth es,"** the man with the staff proclaimed. In hindsight, it had been somewhat silly of me to assume that the inhabitants of another universe would happen to speak modern English—but over my involuntary stay here, I'd managed to pick out a few words. I still wasn't sure what *Korth* was, but judging by the subtle emphasis they put on the word, I could tell it was important.
And by how they brought it up around me, I knew it was what I was here to fight.
"Yes, uh, Korth," I muttered. "Let's get our Korth-ing on."
The man with the staff—I was pretty sure he was some kind of wise man or wizard—stared at me as if I was a toddler who'd just pissed on his carefully-manicured lawn. "...Yanna alrei sha vest," he finally said, shaking his head. "Alia merr," he added, gesturing for me to follow.
I didn't particularly want to make an enemy of the interdimensional wizard, so I walked down the smooth silvery hall after him. I hadn't really explored much of the... castle? Hotel? Something in-between? It was hard enough trying to communicate to the inhabitants of this world that—despite my otherworldly origin—I needed to eat and drink like the rest of them. I hadn't really done much tourism.
I got a bit of a glimpse at the rest of the compound I'd been summoned into, though. Those weird individual rooms that I'd never actually seen anyone enter or leave lined the walls; my wizard guide stopped in front of one, pressing his gnarled staff to the center of the door.
There was the sound of grinding stone, and the door.. rotated inwards on itself. Like it was a cardboard cutout all along, and it was turning around to show me its infinitely thin edge. The room behind it was dark and smelled... more or less like the rooms I'd been shown when I'd managed to explain that I also needed to deal with the *byproducts* of eating and drinking. I hesitantly glanced at the wizard.
"Korth?" I asked.
The wizard's expression was grim. "*Korth,*" he spat. He tapped his staff on the floor, and the room lit up.
There was a man inside. Maybe in his fifties? I wasn't sure if age even mapped the same way in this world. He hadn't looked up at the opening of the door, but when the room glowed, he raised his dirt-streaked face to us and locked eyes with me.
There wasn't much room for him to move, what with him being chained to the wall, but he tried to shy away from me regardless.
The wizard handed me a knife.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said, holding out my hands. "I'm not going to fucking *stab* some random dude you have locked up in your basement."
The wizard looked at me, uncomprehending. He proffered the knife again, more aggressively this time, making an almost-comical *stabby stabby* motion towards the man.
For fuck's sake. "I'm not... look." I put on my most incredulous and disbelieving expression, pointing towards the man. "Korth??" I asked.
The wizard seemed to understand. He nodded solemnly, reaching into his robes and withdrawing... a chalkboard? Some equivalent, it seemed, because the chalk he produced was a shade of pink I'd only seen in crayon boxes. He handed both to the man, who shuddered.
The prisoner wrote something—a symbol—that even I could tell was horrifically poorly drawn, despite being illiterate in this world. Then he shifted the chalk to his other hand and repeated the process, drawing the symbol... not flawlessly, but far better.
The wizard smirked, withdrawing the chalkboard, and pointed at the man. "Hereni al manra Korth *se*," he proclaimed.
It took me a moment for my brain to click. "You want me to murder him because he's *left-handed*?"
The wizard held out the knife.
I stared at him.
Then I picked up the chalk—the prisoner didn't resist—and walked over to the wall.
I was no artist, but I could replicate a symbol when I saw one. My right hand went first, and it was as shitty and shaky as it had been ever since I'd first picked up a marker in first grade.
Then I produced the symbol flawlessly with my left, making sure to scowl at the wizard as I did.
He stared at the writing on the wall, then at his hero of legend, and in a heartbeat I saw his smug superiority collapse into frantic calculation.
He took one step backwards. Then two.
I realized what he was headed for too late, and leapt at him, trying to knock the damn staff out of his hands.
But he swiped it through thin air, and that damn door rotated back into existence again, slamming shut and locking me into the darkness.
A.N.
If you liked this, check out more stories r/bubblewriters, where I write [Soulmage](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/), a serial written in response to writing prompts/
|
m71q4eo
|
m71clyg
|
[WP] Guy lives alone in a world full of people, no one can see or hear him, he lives his days alone until one day he find another person, another person alone in this world with him. They fall in love but then he phases back into the world, everyone can see him again, but he can’t see her.
|
It wasn’t much of a shrine, really. More like a mistake someone forgot to clean up—a toppled stone, a clump of moss, a flower that bloomed too early and just stayed. The others had gold. Marble. Columns so tall they made you feel small before you even got inside, which was probably the point. Me? I had… well, dirt. Dirt and one loyal visitor.
She was small when she first stumbled in, hair wild and clothes half-tucked like she’d wrestled a tornado and lost. She looked at the stone—*my* stone—and said, "Huh. That’s weird." Then she sat down, right there in the mud, and started talking.
Talking! To me! The god of—well, that’s complicated. Not something grand like thunder or love or, I don’t know, cheese. (Cheese is big. People love cheese.) No, I was the god of Small Forgotten Things. Buttons in gutters. The last sip of tea. Shrines no one visits.
Except her.
Every year, she came back. Not with gold or incense or whatever the fancy gods demanded. Just her. Sitting. Talking. Telling me about school, her parents fighting, how her brother put a frog in her shoe, how she put the frog in his bed, how she didn’t even feel bad about it. (I liked that one. Feisty.) She didn’t ask for anything. Never prayed. Never begged. Just talked, like we were old friends. And I—I listened.
Years passed. She grew up. The wild hair got tamer, the clothes more put-together. But she always came back. Always sat in the mud, even when she was wearing something too nice for mud. "You’re the only one who gets it," she said once, leaning back against my stone. "You don’t try to fix me. You just… listen."
And oh, did I listen. To everything. Her first love (some guy named Marco—didn’t like him, too smug), her first heartbreak (Marco again, predictable), her first job (terrible boss, good coffee). I listened as her visits grew longer apart, but she always came back. Always.
Then, one day, she showed up different. Older. Frailer. A cane tapping against the stone as she lowered herself down. She sat there, breathing heavy, and said, "Well, old friend. This might be it."
*It?* I felt the panic before I could stop it. Gods aren’t supposed to panic. We’re supposed to be all-knowing, all-powerful. But all I knew was that my only believer was leaving, and I was powerless to stop it.
"I wish I could stay longer," she said, smiling at the stone. "But I’m tired. And you—you’ve been enough. More than enough."
No. No, no, no. *Not enough.* Never enough. Not for her. Not for my only visitor, my only friend.
So I did the one thing gods aren’t supposed to do. I meddled.
She closed her eyes, leaning against the stone, and when she opened them again—well. She wasn’t old anymore. Or frail. Or tired. She looked down at her hands, smooth and strong, and then at me—*really* at me, for the first time.
"You—" she started, but I didn’t let her finish.
"Go," I said, the words rumbling through the stone. "Live. Love. Be. And don’t forget me."
She laughed. Loud, full, free. "Forget you? Never."
And then she ran, young again, back into the world. My little shrine, my small forgotten place, felt quiet. But not empty.
Never empty.
|
It's already 2100. 2100... And My faith has already been so swiftly forgotten.
Crosses, they used to adorn My houses, everywhere across the world. Well now, they don't. My faith has been so forsaken and despised, that they don't even use "+" for addition in Mathematics anymore. They just use the word "plus" or the phrase "added to".
The last Bible was printed in 2073. The last hymn was sung in 2076, and the last praise song sung in 2079. Earth's last church officially ceased to exist in the same year, 2079.
Since then all worship of Me has ceased. No one remembers Jehovah. The Trinity. Yahweh. Jesus Christ the Saviour.
Except you, dear child. My dear dear daughter in spirit, Deborah Mary Samynathan.
I thank you for remembering Me. For still coming to this small alcove that has a small stone cross in it, to pray to Me and beg Me to have mercy on this increasingly depraved world. You give Me hope. Hope that among mankind, My beloved creations, good may still silently exist. Hope that this good may yet rise again one day.
And now this year, you have come to visit Me again. It is Easter. And I remember that now you are 21. You are grown now. You are an adult, and I think you are ready for My gift to you.
Take now, the strength of Samson, the power of Elijah, the insight of Paul, the righteousness of Moses, the integrity of Joseph and the triumphancy of Joshua. Receive, now, SPIRIT.
Now, go forth My faithful daughter. Declare My faith and lend voice to that which has been silent. I will go and wage war against Lucifer, who will seek to stop you. I know, this means that you may stop feeling My presence near you for awhile.
But do not fear, dear daughter. We will be separated only for a little while. Once the victory is won by the power of My blood, I will reveal myself to this fallen world. And you will be vindicated for your faith in Me.
Be blessed now, dear daughter, and go forth to victory.
|
m8hgm9o
|
m8fsgkp
|
[WP] “Whatever you do, do NOT eat the apples from that tree!” “Why not?!” “You know the story of Snow White?” “Yes, of course.” “And the poisoned apple?” “Yes, I know about the poisoned apple. Where are you going with this?!” “That tree grew from that apple, so its fruit is most likely poisoned.”
|
I stared at the tree, and it looked like a normal apple tree.
"Seriously?" I asked.
The man nodded.
"Yes, that tree grew from the apple that fall from Snow White's hand, after she got poisoned.
It was a long time ago, but people around these parts still remember." he said.
I nodded, and watched as bugs, and birds were happily living on that tree.
"Are you sure though?
The tree looks healthy, and there is no sign of poisoning on the animals on it." I asked.
He rolled his eyes.
"A tree grown from an apple poisoned by a witch.
You think that would be a normal apple tree?
Also, quite rude to assume a poisonous tree should be ugly or ill." he said.
Well, he wasn't wrong.
"I apologize, that wasn't what I meant but why would the apple tree be poisonous?
The apple from the event was poisoned after it was grown, and it wasn't grown to be poisonous.
It shouldn't be able to give birth to poisonous trees." I continued.
He nodded.
"Yes, genetically it's an implausible story, but we are talking about magic that still exists today, even if it has been a century or so.
Also, don't you think that being perfectly healthy is a sign that something is weird with the tree?
No chips, no maggots, nothing?" the man said.
I stopped in place, and stared at the tree.
He was right.
"I get it, I can see your insignia, and as someone attending the Academy, you would know a thing or two about magic, but I am a ranger.
I grew up in these forests, and protect these forests, and let me tell you, that tree is bad news." he said.
I wanted to retort.
"I know you would want to solve the issue, or determine whether the tree is truly poisonous or not, but why bother?
This is a remote spot, where the 7's house was, and by law it's protected and hidden from news outlets.
It's rare that people come here, and those that do, usually meet me, or my colleagues, and we always warn them." he continued.
I sighed.
"Thank you for your hard work." I smiled, and left.
As I left all I could think of is my family's inheritance...and how badly it scarred the people of this country...
|
"Whatever you do, do NOT eat the apples from that tree!"
"Why not?"
"You know the story of Snow White?"
"Yes, of course."
"And the poisoned apple?"
"Yes, I know about the poisoned apple. Where are you going with this?!"
"That tree grew from that apple, so its fruit is most likely poisoned."
“But the birds are eating the apples and *they’re* not getting sick.”
“Yeah, but they’ve adapted to eating toxic fruit. So the old advice to eat what the birds are eating is misleading.”
“Is it just this one tree? Or the entire orchard?”
“All of them are tainted, unfortunately.”
“That’s a shame. I was really hungry.”
“Well, there’s a Domino’s down the street. And pizza’s your favorite junk food, right? So why don’t we just go there instead of taking a chance on getting poisoned?”
“Yeah. You’re right. Let’s go.”
|
lmyx0qz
|
lmyo092
|
[WP] when the zombie apocalypse came, everyone raided gun stores. Except you. You raided a medieval armory and now, armed with full plate armor and a long sword, you will take back your home
|
I have to weigh about half a ton, I'm hot, I can't scratch anywhere, and I am just about certain there's a chipmunk in my greaves, but there are few things more satisfying than a raving, staggering undead chomping down on tempered steel.
You hungry, buddy? Munch on some chainmail, deadbrain. Then I swing old Chrysamere around and lop their head off. That's what I call my huge sword. I'm a big nerd, but I am also a *big* nerd.
Every gun store I've seen has been a horror show. Well, everything is a horror show now, but I mean there are piles of bodies, and most of them killed each other from what I can tell. They're all cleared out of guns, not that I care. I'll tell you one thing: this whole time, I ain't had to reload Chrysamere once.
This shit started in Atlanta, near as anyone could tell. I knew before most it was coming here to Massachusetts, coming everywhere. Hopped in the van and headed for the art museum in Worcester. Broke in at three in the morning, hauled out everything I could find that might fit. They called the cops, can you believe it? I mean, nobody came, but they called. I could hear the security guard on the phone. Idiots.
They took my home. Not the zombies, the gun nuts. We had a decent little spread outside of Bolton. It was my father-in-law Jerry's place, before he passed. I married into it, but it sure felt like home. Or it did till the prepper maniacs showed up, throwing bullets around like they were trying to set a world record for stupid. We had a big iron fence, mainly to discourage bears, according to Jerry, and that drew them like flies.
All we had was Jerry's old hunting rifle, which didn't do much against three pickup trucks full of doomers. We lit out for the territories, Maisie and me, and took to living in a tiny cabin out south of Douglas State Park. I made raids, we started planting, hunting, and trapping. We get by.
But they took my goddamn home. Till today, that is. I've spent some time watching, and there's only two of them left. The iron fences are bent under the weight of the dead, held up with sticks and baling wire. Dipshit One and Dipshit Two are about to get a surprise today.
They never put a chain on the gate. Five months, and they just left it with the regular gate lock. I have a key, you dimwit assholes.
I just stroll up, bold as brass but stronger. Well, now, stroll is not accurate. Lumber up, I guess. Clanking and sweating, I cleave my way through a small army of the dead, and unlock the gate. A few of them nibble on me for a minute, then shamble off toward the main house.
A gunshot rings out. I am leaning on the big stone pillar to the right of the driveway, trying to scratch my forearm with a dagger without stabbing myself. Another shot. They don't seem to be rattling off semi-auto fire now. Wonder why that is?
Part two is about to swing into action, I hope. And there it is. Maisie, bless her adventurous heart, has launched a string of firecrackers into the back yard. Both Dipshits are yelling like crazy in there, and shot after shot rings out. She's not quite so heavily armored as I am, but goddamn she can fight, so I'm not too worried.
I wait a while. Maisie comes trotting up eventually, and we share a drink out of her canteen. Half an hour since we heard a shot, and the moaning of the putrid dead still goes on.
"Well, Mark, they're either dead or out of ammo in there," she says, tucking stray hairs into her helmet.
"Yup." I lumber off, through the gates and up to the door. It seems so weirdly ordinary, but I fuddle around in a bag for the house key and let myself in. I don't want to enter through the boarded-up windows like the dead. There's a fresh cannibal buffet staining the area rug Aunt Marge gave us, and it looks like the Dipshit Twins are the main course.
I check every room anyhow, Chrysamering a few deadbrains along the way.
Just for the hell of it, I go out back and ring the dinner bell. Maisie comes, and we clear the back yard together.
"Gonna be a job of work, getting this place fixed up again, Maisie."
"Ayup. Tomorrow. Let's get some sleep."
|
As the old saying goes, learn from your mistakes. Well, I feel it's a good idea to take notes from the blunders of others as well. Which is why I've decided to get cozy on this here tree branch. Not too far up, no. However, most definitely out of reach of those God damned zombies. It's a simple fact I've never been able to understand how people forget. Zombies. Do. Not. Experience. Fatigue. But you will. Oh, you will. You'll die both dead and out of breath, and the lack of oxygen flowing to your brain will do nothing to stem the pain as their gnarled teeth rip your skin from bone, while your final thoughts trail along the lines of wishing you could've rested before your final sleep.
But of course, there's usually not enough time to explain that to someone who's about to seal their fate.
*POP!* *POP!*
The sound came from below, and a few feet towards my 10 O' clock, and was then followed shortly afterwards by the undead removing the first two letters of said title, dropping into the autumn leaves.
A beat.
And then a roar, and then a cacophony of tortured screams, soon followed by breaking branches and a low rumble as they tore from the deepest parts of the forest. Directly towards the sound of the gunshots.
Maybe I could've stopped him. Maybe if I hadn't been so focused on my journal, I could've noticed him while he was still dialing in his aim. Maybe, I could've explained that movies make silencers out to be an automatic mute button, when in reality, he should've considered raiding that shop for their sub-sonic rounds as well.
...Or maybe he should've considered a different weapon altogether. Something that *can't* jam, *can't* stovepipe, *can't* double feed. A simple tool with simple maintenance that won't leave you on the very back of your heels at the worst of times. At that thought, I pulled my longsword closer to myself by its sturdy handle, it too doubling as a weapon if need be. I had yet to see anyone pistol whip a zombie to death. Not successfully, at least.
In the meantime, the armed man was able to put down a few of them, but of course, the question of the ammo count arose. And there was no hope for him to answer before the buzzer.
He had been absolutely swarmed. So much so, that the only way to parse the details of his demise between the tidal wave of undead were the screams that would soon fade into cries. And then, to a whimper. And then, into silence. An unarmored beacon of noise snuffed out in an instant.
With the surprising amount of mobility offered by full plate armor, I hopped down from my perch after waiting for the zombies to begin wandering aimlessly towards the next unfortunate soul.
Some things are written in blood rather than ink or graphite. Sometimes, it takes the blood of someone else to teach you how to make sure yours still runs warm.
So, I'll continue to learn. Taking it all back. Protected. Simply. Quietly.
I hope you'll find it within yourself to do the same.
|
mfzbd48
|
mfyvyvo
|
[WP] A dragon mistakenly kidnaped a maid instead of a princes. Expecting the princess to be rescued after going out hunting, instead comes back to all their treasure meticulasly sorted by origin, color, and value.
|
He arrived in the fashion she'd expect. A massive gust of heated wind that seemed to shake the rock itself. Of course this time he stumbled in having reduced himself to a human form on the way.
"Hello sir." She greeted. "Is all well?"
Contrary to his usual gruff demeanor, he rolled a little on the rug she'd laid out. Turning himself over he ran a hand over a few large bruises on his ribs.
"Are you okay?" She asked as she walked over to look.
"Got us a pair of cows." He gritted as the bruises continued to heal. "One of your men."
"The guard."
"Right. Not your men." He reminded himself. "They shot one of those, what are they called? Shoot big burning balls of coal?"
"...Tribok. I think? The men talked of them all the time when they weren't being used."
He had stopped talking. She looked to see him sweeping the rug he sat on with his hands.
"Sir?" She asked.
"This is nice." He complimented. "Where'd you get such a thing?"
"Erm, it's your tapestry, my lord."
"Mine?" He grunted in confusion. "When did I get something like this?"
"You had several of these in a corner of the cave."
"I did?" He asked in a surprised tone?
"Yes?" The maid shifted on her feet.
She was still wary of his true nature. He was very much still the monster that ruled the mountains here. One that would descend from the sky to attack and conquer. But as his bruises finished healing, he stood to walk around. Testing the textures on his feet.
"I...." He paused to look around. "What happened to my coins?"
"Oh!" The maid smiled in a rather panicked way. "I stacked them, and cleaned what I could up."
He took a quick pace into the next chamber and promptly carried her with him. True to her word, she had in fact moved much of the treasure around. It was a little intimidating that one woman of her stature could do such.
"Where did you learn to do such!?" He asked. "How did you get so far!?"
She winced a little. Even though he reined it in for her when he was around, little embers still shot out of his mouth at this.
He promptly brushed them off her, realizing what he'd done. She didn't get on his nerves like many others. The least he could do is be nice.
"I arranged some things? You're always out getting us food. Fighting. Flying. I had to do something."
One door broke open, and treasure that had been stashed away to tidy the room broke free. Bars of silver, gold, and countless jewels scattering across the rear of a hall. The pair wincing together at the sounds of it.
"...I still have a lot of work to do." The maid answered.
"That's, that's okay." The dragon apologized. He wasn't the best at having a normal reaction, so this garnered an odd look from her now.
"What?" He asked. "What's with that face?"
"Nothing." She blushed after a moment.
"Look, go ahead and go to the spring." He offered. "I can... Try to fix whatever that is."
"No, I do this for a living." She reacted. "It's fine."
More items crashed out the same storage nook. The fact there was a grandfather clock in there gave them both pause.
"Do you need me to help?" The dragon reacted to that explosion of noise.
"If you wish to, Sir?" The maid's eyes widened at that.
"Just, help me figure out where to put it all."
"Very well."
As they began shuffling items around, she finally got the courage to ask. "So which hamlet did you attack this time?"
He stopped between stacks of gold he held. "Do you know anyone in the one besides the sea?"
"I can't say I do." The maid shrugged.
"Well, now I feel *a lot* better about what happened." He hinted at.
|
I managed to hunt down an ogre, and manticore today.
Quite the haul.
Bringing them back to my lair, I was quite expecting to see some knights, mages coming for the princess I kidnapped.
Unfortunately, there was nobody but the princess there, and she was...cleaning?
Oh my...my hoard!
Why is it even shinier? And why does it seem so much...smaller? Less?
"What have you done?!" I ask her.
"Master, I have cleaned the house, and organized your items.
Gold, jewelry, rare stones, and currency is in the northern part of the cave.
Tomes, scrolls, books, articles, diaries and knowledge objects are in the west.
Artefacts, weapons, and large objects are in the south.
Herbs, elixirs, pills, and living beings are in the east." she said, slightly bowing.
I squinted my eyes, taking a closer look at her.
She wore a rather stuffy dress, black and white with frills.
Oh my...
"You aren't a princess, are you?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"As I told Master as we were flying away, I am just a maid." she politely said.
"As if I could hear you with all that wind!
And why are you calling me Master?!" I shouted.
"I see, makes sense you didn't hear me.
And I call you Master, because you feed me, house me, and basically the same as before.
I called the Princess, "Your Majesty", but I thought "master" would suit Sir better." she said.
I sighed.
I took on my human form, and stared down at her.
Her eyes shone as she stared back at me.
"Fine.
Do you want to go back?
I wanted to kidnap the princess to extort something from the royal family, but I guess that ain't going to happen." I said.
"Oh no, I am quite happy here." she smiled, looking me up and down.
I shivered.
"Listen..." I started, but before I could a loud noise echoed through my lair.
"Where is little bon-bon!!" a woman's voice boomed.
I stared at the entrance of my lair, seeing a small army approaching, then back at the maid.
"The Princess, may or may not like me a bit too much.
But I like here better, so I will go to explain." she said, smiling, bowing and going towards the army.
I sighed, massaging my temple.
"Who...Who is the owner of this place?
Whatever...too much hassle, but I have to admit, this place looks much nicer than before." I muttered, watching my hoard, before going after the woman, lest more problems happen.
|
jdadnnb
|
jd9v61h
|
[WP] A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one
|
I bear the mark of a traitor.
His name was not forgotten, fading into obscurity by means of time and distance. No, his name seems to have been rent from the very cloth of history itself. Eras are needed for a god to truly die. He was mentioned naught but a century ago.
The people saw his mark on my wrist and said I should be ostracized. That any of his followers were a lost cause, and should stay that way. There was a reason he was not talked about anymore, after all, though no one quite knew what it was. My parents would hear none of it. They had a solemn, resigned look in their eyes as they cradled my pudgy infant form, as if they had just seen me die right there in their arms. I grew up with that mark as a tormentor, a constant reminder that I would be doomed to mortality. Or, rather, as I later found out, could be doomed to mortality.
See, I never gave up on the mission to find a temple. The fact that I could find mentions of his name at all were testament to the fact that such places of worship might still exist. His record was purged, but not stripped clean. There was one text, very old, that described a love forever unrequited, sealed by death and defiance against the gods. It mentioned an older name of his, but it also mentioned all the other gods. And how they were the ones who banished him.
There was supposedly a Magryean seal on the shrine, so I spent my youth exploring and charting the forests, as that was the sealing god's domain. As the sands of my hourglass began to run low, I wandered into a town, not on any map, with marks of all kinds on the wrists of its denizens. And though my brain said it was a trick of the light at first, I eventually confirmed that there were about six who bore his mark here. A few looked young, some looked older than I did. But as I looked for a temple, I came up empty-handed. That was, until I wandered into the surrounding forest.
The petrified woman that stood before me was hauntingly beautiful. Vines wrapped up her legs and bloomed into bright yellow flowers, and there seemed to be a calm in the surrounding area. Birds and deer made not a sound, and the otherwise silent grove was only serenaded by a babbling brook.
All of a sudden, I was wracked with intense grief. I began sobbing, but I wasn't sobbing for my doomed fate. Nor was I sobbing for my ostracization by my peers, and having no friends to speak of. Nor was I sobbing for my wasted youth and life chasing a horizon I could never reach, and would now die alone. Though I felt all that sorrow, that was not the reason I was sobbing. This was someone else's grief I was feeling.
A man in a dusty old cloak seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of me. He had the look of a drifter, someone who had no home and wasn't about to look for one now. His hair was a silvery white, and a beard and an eyepatch were his only defining features. He spoke with an authority that was hard to place, but all too familiar...
"Her story broke your heart too? Yeah, it's a real downer. I wish I had been there to keep such a beautiful woman from getting torn apart like that. Y'know, petrification like that only happens when a soul is ripped from a body. Not many people can seem to remember that nowadays..."
I could not mask my confusion. "Who... Are you, exactly? Have we met?" He smirked, a gesture lacking in malice but betraying knowledge. "Well, who do *you* think I am? After all, you've been looking for me all this time." I paused. This couldn't be him, could it? Was this his shrine? Then, in a flash, it began to make sense. He was the one who couldn't save this woman. He was blamed for his faults and exiled. He was torn from the pages of history.
The god once again smirked, seeming proud of himself. "So, I take it you figured it out? This is not a shrine to greatness. I'm not allowed those anymore. This is a shrine to my greatest failure, one I regret to this day. But, I'm sure you already knew that. That sorrow you felt? That was but a fraction of mine."
I immediately bowed, a sense of purpose coming over me from years of training for this moment. He quickly straightened me out and gave a faux stern look. "Now, now, we don't do that here. I don't believe in it anymore. We are less different than you think. Think of us less of a god and a mortal and more of a broker and a client. I help you, you help me. And believe me, I can help you..."
I felt weightless for but an instant. Then, I woke up somewhere new.
I was young again, and aware for the first time. I looked to my wrist, and saw his mark there, as it had always been. But, I found no wrinkles on my skin. It was young and supple, as was the rest of me. My mind drifted back to the conversation I had with my god before our deal truly began.
"Now, I'm going to switch your soul with a version of yourself who is younger. He will live out here with me, and you will go on with your life. You will learn as much as you can about the other gods, and you will report back to me with any developments." I nodded. Then a question cropped up. "But how will I find a temple to you? They were nearly all destroyed." The god smirked again, seeming to revel in this fact. "That's the neat part about this. The only reason the other gods needed temples is because they were so far away. I, obviously am not very far away. All you need to do is say my name in prayer to extend your life."
His name! I can't believe I never got his name! "What is your name, exactly? It was weirdly absent from all records, and all that was left was pseudonyms and epithets." The god smirked again. "Another trick they play. I can't connect with you without a name can I? But, I'm much older than the others. Much more powerful. My original name could end the world in an instant..."
"But you, you may call me Gorias."
|
Dagon watched from the cliffs, deep in thought, as the priest-ships came into port and began disgorging their cargo; barrels of leviathan oil, slabs of sea-serpent meat, and bloody Oceanides with the harpoons that killed them still stuck fast in their flesh.
It had been days since he'd last eaten anything - since the Sign appeared on his forehead - and even the sharp, iron scent of the butchering wafting up from below made his stomach growl in protest.
Even so, he remained where he was. It was bad luck for a Prester to eat anything from the priest-ships before he'd reaped something from his god's harvest, and bad luck was as real a god as any other out at sea. He'd heard stories of hunting ketches cracking apart without a storm or serpent in sight because someone on board had broken that rule - or one of the countless others.
Another ship slowed to a stop by the docks - this one hauling an entire leviathan's bloodied bulk behind it - to the cheers of a crowd of assembled laymen, and Dagon turned away as they began to carve into its hide.
Dagon could be thankful for one thing his cursed Sign afforded him - it meant he slept in the shipyards with the other Presters. Unlike his old home with his fisherfolk parents, the lodges at the shipyard were sturdy and caulked well enough to keep the sea breeze out. Thick, woven blankets and a fire-pit kept him warm while a thatched roof kept him dry.
He missed his family and their ramshackle little hut regardless. At least there, he wasn't alone, shunted off into a dark corner while others reveled and feasted. At least he wouldn't have to pretend he was asleep while the smell of roasting god-flesh drowned his senses and made him delirious with hunger. Urged him to fight the rest of his brothers for his place at their table. For *his* god.
It was bad luck to hurt a Prester. The kind of bad luck that saw hunters fall overboard.
Dagon wished he could speak to his god, ask it what he was supposed to be hunting - what the sign on his face was supposed to be. Even just give him a hint to start him down the right path. Even if it was a new god - one without a Temple-Fleet he could join - it would be enough to get him started. He'd beg one of the others to take him on until he could find other Presters with the same fate; one of the Whalers' ketches maybe? They needed every hand they could get with the size of their prey. Or one of the Devilfish! There were so few of them, Dagon was sure they'd welcome another hand, even if he'd be after a different catch!
He just needed something to eat. He'd gotten so desperate he had piled stones inland as a makeshift butcher's table and slaughtered a rabbit on it, but it turned rancid the moment he put it in his stew pot. It was bad luck, following him like a dog at his heels.
If Dagon was going to stay alive, his god needed him to feel the salt wind on his face and the water lapping at his skin.
None of the boats wanted him. Even the ones willing to take on a pariah like him turned him down after taking one look at him, a hide-bag of bone and sinew.
With every rejection, Dagon's empty belly snarled louder and louder until it was all he could hear, and when the last captain - a grizzled old Kraken-slayer, by the twisted, curling sigil on his brow - said no, Dagon killed him.
Dagon fought his crew like a starving dog, every blow cracking bone and bruising flesh, but desperation kept him on his feet while the Kraken-slayer's men, one by one, fell away.
When he was finally alone on the sand, Dagon pushed his new boat out into the water. He ignored the holy waters and passed by Sirens as they sunned themselves on the rocks.
His eyes were on the men bobbing in a raft straight ahead, hauling their own thrashing prize aboard.
In the village center, a new god's standing stone was being erected, between the Kraken's Knot and the Whale-Tail, facing the Mermaid and standing behind the Thornback. Prester and layman alike murmured among themselves, perturbed by the ill-boding appearance of the stone bearing the new sigil.
The Flenser-Thief. Where the Whale-Tail was polished with Leviathan oil, the Kraken's Knot festooned in dried tentacles, the Mermaid shrouded with Oceanid scales, and the Thornback crowned with Devilfish tails-
The Flenser-Thief was daubed in Presters' blood.
It would be a priesthood that hunted men.
It would be bad luck to meet a Flenser-Thief.
|
j6w045o
|
j6vvy1s
|
[WP] The isekai'd Hero has completed their task. The Demon Lord is dead/Dragons vanquished/ Unspeakable Evil banished or sealed forever. The rewards were bestowed, the feasts feasted, and the celebrations celebrated. And they still can't be sent home. So, whaddafuk are they supposed to do *NOW*????
|
The goddess said I died before my time. Feels like I've lived too long.
I had a purpose. It was hard work, dangerous work. By wit and will, steel and sorcery I pushed through. I didn't have time to think then, now all I do is roam. Like exploreing an RPG map long after the game is over.
I was traveling, on a snowy road I had trodden long before. East I saw the serpent sea, and west the mountains without passage. Behind me was all of Magiheim and before me was a long road.
I visited a sunken temple. It had once been filled with powerful gorgons. Now there was just shatterd mirrors and broken stones. Why was I given these powers if not to fight? What Else was I for?
I sat upon the shatterd head of a stone beast. I sat and wonderd. I missed my family, I would never see them again, not even a picture. They were dead to me, somehow that hadn't occured to me in all the while I fought. Now It was all I could think of. To grieve my own lost life. I died, and yet here I am.
\-
The goddess was there, sitting back to back with me. "Sulk!" she sniped. It was a fair comment. "I'm not sulking" I lied "Why am I still here?" I demanded. But I didn't turn around to see her, I felt as if the moment I did I would be alone. That's just how this kind of thing works.
"Why? There is no why. You're just here. Your soul isn't ready to die." she repeated word I had heard before, when it all began. "There was no why on earth either. You spent all your time on RPG games and manga." she rebuffed.
"But I'm not that person anymore!" I cried.
She rolled her eyes, don't ask me how I know without looking, she just did. "You're exactly the same! You're entitled, you want the whole world to be an adventure deliverd to you on a silver plate. You want to be so close to death that one wrong slip could send you over. You want to be powerful. Well you had it! Everything your soul cried for." she said, with finality.
"No! It's not enough, it can't be over." I begged "I was happy." I croaked, patheticly.
"Happy? You have friends forged in the struggles of life and death, your soulmate awaits you in Carabar city, where you abandoned her to retrace your adventure. To relive old glories" she pointed out. From the fire in my chest, a coal of guilt fell into my gut.
"I'm... I can't just sit around in some palace. Watching parades, waiting to... to die?" I protested.
"No. Not to die. You're not ready. You don't desurve to die." she said, and I didn't understand.
"What it's a privilidge!? I'm not good enough to die?" I said.
her head shook, i felt it in her back pressed to mind "Not bad enough" she said. I still didn't understand. "Orin, you're going to hell." she said coldly. everything felt cold, frozen.
"What?" I turned, she was gone.
\-
I leaned against a merlon, they were the teeth pf the castle wall. There was no army on the horison now. It would be lifetimes before another war broke out. Far below in the woods my children played with fairies, watched over by the large wolf who had been my most stalwart party member. His own son had been taken form him by the world eater. He lived for my children.
I saw them, I love them. But I felt like nothing around me should exist. They were seven and five now. Why did it all seem unreal?
The goddess was there again, it had veen a long while. I resumed out conversation, it had never left my mind "What do you mean hell? Is this hell?" I asked.
"Of course not! This is Magiheim, not even you can whine about this being hell! It's practicly paradise now." she said, sitting stop the wall. Her feet dandled over the side.
"Why would I go to hell? I'm a good person!" I said, unsure if I was, is anyone?
"You surely are. That's the Problem Orin. You're supposed to be. You're supposed to be a monster." she stated. I shook my head, it was nonsense.
"I'm the hero, or at least I'm... I don't know. I help people!" how couldn't she see it?
"You're supposed to kill them" she said "enslave them, murder, rape, manipulate, eat. Pick your poison. You have the soul of an unapologetic mass murderer" she looked right at me. Her eyes were like judicial stars! Burning me.
"I don't... why?". I blusterd.
"You died before you had the chance to commit your crimes. Too young I suppose. So I gave you power and sent you to a wold where you would be unchallenged. One that was doomed anyway. You could do anything here, It was supposed to vanish into the Wyrm's may so what does it matter?" she shruged. "But you didn't, you saved it." she said.
"So I'm redeemed?" I asked?
"No! You don't get it. You're going to go bad, the worst. And we'll do this again. Throw yourself off the wall. I'll put you in another world, more power, less checks to you. Again and again across eternity. Till absolute power corrupts you." she said, it sounded almost sarcastic. The chill in my skin wold me it was true.
"Why?" I... didn't even whisper, I don't think I could make me lips move. I wasn't breathing.
"Just how it is. You're evil. You were made to be evil. Something went wrong, and now I have to fix it. Your sentence has passed, now we just wait till you do the crime-" the goddess vanished as the last word rang out.
\-
Worlds. Lifetimes. Heroisim.
I was worn down life a stone. After sixty-thousant years I stopped counting. It was pointless to know, there was no limit. She would never stop. I rolled downhill, gathering the moss of power, always enough to abuse.
Will it even end? Is hell worse than this? Can I bring myself to be the monster she wishes me to be?
|
Callie’s eyes zoned out as she listened to the Court Magician’s explanation. The Magician was a wizened old man, well-traveled in ways of the world, but even he seemed to stumble over this explanation. “And that…my dear hero, is why the return spell does not work. There simply is not enough power to generate a suitable portal. I am so deeply sorry.” Her focus was not on the Magician, but instead, on the King, sitting atop his gilded throne, offering her a rich bounty for her deeds.
Callie glared at the Magician for a moment before turning to the King. “I did everything you asked. EVERYTHING. I stopped the bandit raids on Moonshrine Village. I rooted out the noble conspiracy to traffic drugs into the capital. I led the battle against the Demon King and brought back his head!” She roared in frustration. “I have spent years here. I never asked to come here. I left behind my two children, my husband, my family, my friends. My whole life, gone in the blink of an eye!” She smashed her staff into the ground, with enough force to crack the stone tiles below.
The King grew nervous as Callie’s frustrations grew. “My dear Hero, please, calm yourself! This need not be the end of your life. For your services to the Kingdom, I will grant you whatever is in my power to give you. Do you wish for a noble title? A spacious plot of land to call your home? Concubines to enjoy?” He seemed earnest in offering her gifts and prizes, but there was a certain cadence to his words that Callie picked up on.
“You knew…didn’t you?” Her eyes shot to the King with a murderous stare. “All this time…you never had a plan to send me home. You thought you could just lead me around with that promise, until I did all your dirty work. Is that it?” She bellowed with rage. A pair of guards flanked the King and held aloft their weapons. “You really think you could stop me if I wanted to kill him?” She looked at the knights with an amused grin. “You were no match for the Demon King’s Army without me. Do you really think the math would change if you tried to fight me here?”
The King gestured to his guards. “Men, please, enough of this. Hero…no…Callie, please, understand this. You are an honored guest of the Kingdom. A hero beyond all measure. I would not think to harm you. Nor would my men. I know this must be quite painful for you…but I beg of you…understand our plight. You know as well as I do. My own children were at risk of being slaughtered by the Demon King’s forces the day you arrived. I know a mother’s love for her children. It is not so different from a father’s love.”
The King knelt on one knee. “I beg your forgiveness for this travesty. You did not earn this fate. I know it is a small comfort, to be stuck here, but I will give you everything you could desire. Perhaps the Court Magician could find an alternative solution? Or perhaps I could assign the Magical Academy this task? Day and night, for years, I’m sure there’s some way they could find a way to send you back home.”
Perhaps it was the desperate tone in the King’s voice, or perhaps it was the kneeling, but something struck a chord in Callie’s heart. She rested her staff back onto her back and looked to the ground. “My oldest would be about nine now. My little girl, five. Where I come from, that’s old enough to start schooling. She was probably too young to even remember me.” A tear streamed down Callie’s cheek, and she wiped it clean. “Send the academy after this task. Find some way to send me home. Make this right, King Alexander.”
Callie walked away without another word. Her frustration was boiling up inside her, but she was willing to give them a chance. What else could she do? Destroying the Kingdom wouldn’t help anything. Nor would killing the King. He deserved a punishment for this lie, but for now, it was just as her mother used to say. Two wrongs don’t make a right. She left the King’s Court and went home to the little shelter she had called home for these past four years.
When Callie was clearly out of earshot, the King summoned one of his most trusted advisors. The Master of Spies. His words were whispers, incomprehensible to the rest of the King’s assembled Court, but the meaning was clear. The Master left the hallway with a little smirk on his face, and the rest of the Court soon followed. They knew what would come next….
|
jxajlfy
|
jxag1ue
|
[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.
|
I pinched the brow of my nose, letting out the loudest sigh I had in a good twenty years. "Jane, I- I can't even begin to explain what's wrong with being a vampire."
"Because there's nothing wrong with being a vampire! It's awesome!" Jane shouted like a child.
"No, it's not 'awesome' it's torture. Do you know the last time I saw myself? Hm? 400 fucking years ago! I have had to guess how to shave, cut my hair and style without a mirror for 400 fucking years!"
"And? I can get someone else to cut my hair and you can help me dress, right?"
I sucked in a deep breath. Perhaps she had read some vampire book and gotten her hopes up. I had let people down hard before but Jane was a good friend, a dear friend and I didn't want to be screaming at her. "Point out a 24 hour hairdresser please. Oh, there's none? Well, looks like you'll have to do that on your own. And then there's food! Jane, you're a vegetarian."
"I can change. It's human blood, not animal blood."
"Directly from the source. You can't walk into a blood bank, because they're not open past 9pm, and request A positive! You have to find people, at night, and drink their blood. You know how many times I've been pepper sprayed, shot and stabbed?"
"But you're immortal!"
"Doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt!"
"I'll get used to it, it's fine."
"What about Caitlyn?" I asked, "What, are you gonna have only night dates. Not dawn or dusk dates, no pitch fucking dark. Oh, and that brings me to the lack of orgasms, pleasure and really, anything fun!"
"Wait, what?" She asked with a stunned look on her face. "You can't orgasm? I thought you dated before?"
"I'm DEAD Jane. Blood doesn't flow through me. And if a woman can fake, so can I."
"Okay, but you can still live in a castle and-"
"Where is my castle? I don't own one. I'd certainly like one, do you have one? With all that money you have?"
Jane looked at me with utter confusion. "400 years is a long time. How do you not own a castle?"
"Because, Jane, I own other properties. A castle needs at least 20 people cleaning every day. Do you know how much a servant costs? A lot of money that I do not have." I lied. I did own a castle but it was in Romania next to a church. "and what about church? Can't wear a cross or even go near one. I've had to change my route 5 times since I moved here. I nearly die every week because of crosses, holy water and god knows what. It's not fun, it's hell."
"But-"
"No ands, ifs or buts. If you really want to be immortal, go date a kelpie."
Jane huffed at me, her mermaid tale swishing in the water below her. "You can be a real asshole sometimes."
"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go, the sun is coming up."
|
With a long, very justified sigh, Jacob ploped down into the bean bag. Honestly, he loved being a demon of the night. But, he knew that Ashley would hate all the drawbacks. Forever. He might be a mass murderer but he isn't selfish.
Jacob said, "Ash, you and I both know you shouldn't turn. Just think about it."
Ashley got to her knees next to him. Making some of the beads shift in the chair. "Please? I don't want to grow old without you.."
"Girl, you are in love with garlic bread. You said, 'I would rather die than be without garlic bread' once." Jacob looked deep into her eyes. They shone as bright as the moon bathing them in the window. "No more sunlight. There would be no more sunny beaches. No more folicing in daisy fields. Plus, it is incredibly difficult to go shopping when everywhere is practically closed when the sun goes down."
She took a deep breath, it is reckless to get angry at someone who is looking out for you. Let alone someone who cares so deeply. She said, "Jacob, I'd give everything up for this. Whats the chance I get to be friends with another bloodsucker? God forbid I meet one of this wolf-bros."
Jacob suttered at the thought of an alternative universe where he was a wolf-bro that has no personality except toxic masculinity. "You really think you could kill someone for blood?"
"You know how many horrible people are out there? I'd be like Batman. Oh! Do vampires get to turn into bats or some shit!?"
"Of course not, this isn't some movie."
|
jp4z4i7
|
jp3y9jm
|
[WP] You are a knight traveling through many kingdoms rescuing princesses from towers. Not for marriage or anything... you're just sick of royals imprisoning their daughters.
|
"And to who do I owe my eternal love and gratitude, may I ask?"
"They call me the White Knight"
I'm actually black, but I can't afford to have my armor colored so in certain lights it looks blindingly white and I am just hoping the name sticks.
"And you owe me nothing. I exist purely for the detriment of overreaching fathers and ne'er do well mothers. I travel the lands giving power back to the adolescent and taking it from those who improperly use it."
"I see...But surely you want to offer your blood in sacrament, so we may form a new union and rule these lands, carving our marks with the suffering of our enemies. You did not free me just to walk away from the gifts our dark lord has offered?"
Now this was strange. Back home, offerings after freeing a princess were customary. Usually beginning with an explanation from the princess that upon her return to her kingdom I am to be wed with her, enjoying a life of great wealth and privilege. When denied, there is usually some pleading. Offerings of land, or in some special cases, sexual gratitude. I have yet to accept though for if I had claimed these offers, that would be the last princess I help. I would no longer get to travel and free those from the oppression of royalty. It was my calling.
But after crossing into this land they call "Transylvania", things began to change. This was the 4th princess now to want my blood, and they are all obsessed with power. I have not deduced why the culture is so much different here.
"No my fair maiden, I claim no such prize. Your freedom is all I desire, and I have more to pull from the clutches of parental abuse!"
And just like the others, she let out a terrifying hiss and took off faster than my horse could run.
'The women in these parts sure are fit, temperamental too', I thought to myself, shaking my head in amazement as I packed my steed.
​
​
\----I haven't decided if I will continue the story. It's supposed to have somewhat of a monty python feel to it though. Does that come across when you read it?
|
It’s honest work. It just sickens me that kings would just place their own daughters in isolated towers only for people like me to save them. They also expect me to marry them? You can’t just marry off your daughter to a stranger who saved her. You have to insure that this marriage will last. You don’t know if the knight that saved her is connected to any kingdom. He could just be banished for disobeying their orders. I still wear my king’s sigil over my heart with pride. A golden eagle in flight to symbolize the strength of one’s self. He gave me permission to become a wondering sell-sword.
I sense that the bards in my home kingdom are singing songs of my many adventures and dragon slaying. I’ve taken some of their scales since I know that many alchemists see dragon scales as valuable resources
|
jd7t7af
|
jd7nvfu
|
[WP] A grandma that you helped across the road turned out to be a genie who grants you a wish, you wish for a perfect 2023, but she misunderstood and now every day at 20:23 everything goes your way.
|
A little short story:
Amanda walked home in the warm mid-afternoon sun in a daze. She couldn’t quite believe what had happened. One minute she was helping an old lady cross the road. The next she was being granted what she knew was her deepest and only wish by the pedantic but nonetheless mystical elderly genie.
As she walked on she ran through the strange events of the last fifteen minutes. Her mind kept returning back to the genie’s words. She repeated the spell in her head over and over,
“No good deed goes unpunished my dear. I know you think you wish for a different year but that isn’t what I hear…”
“Don’t you fret. You’ve made your bed. What a great wish you’ll come to see…”
“Your wish from me only affects 20:23. So for you from now it will forever be. A perfect 20:23…”
And then with a wave of her walking stick there was a small explosion of light and the genie disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled of burnt paper and parma violets. She was gone.
Amanda had only one frustrated and disappointed thought,
“Why didn’t I think before I spoke?”
She walked on chewing herself out inside getting more and more frustrated. The pedantic genie’s words were making her angrier and angrier.
“I knew what I meant. It’s not fair. She even knew what I meant. I just couldn’t go through another year like last year again. How was I supposed to know genies use European time? I said 2023 not 20:23”.
A sinking feeling in her stomach grew as she walked and she started to think that she had wasted this once in a lifetime chance.
“European time? What rubbish!” She thought. But her anger was now turning to amusement. She even audibly laughed at the thought of a European and metropolitan geriatric genie. She caught the attention of some people waiting at a nearby bus stop. They sat silently eying her with suspicion.
Being put to shame she was embarrassed under their gaze so she pulled herself together and picked up the pace. She had plenty to do so she went to busy herself with her remaining errands.
She was so busy she had almost forgotten about the old genie and her useless waste of a wish but then as night fell she began to feel sleepy.
She was suddenly incredibly tired and had to go straight to bed or she would have dropped at the dinner table. As early as it was it was not long after 20:23 and lying in her bed she fell into the deepest most magical sleep. The kind of pure and effortless sleep she could only ever remember having as a very young child. She was out like a light and didn’t stir until morning.
She woke the following morning and to her surprise she felt like a new person. It was the perfect nights sleep. She had wished for the perfect nights sleep.
Suddenly she thought of the genie and her words. It wasn’t what I wanted but what I needed. A perfects nights sleep every night forever… And she lived happily ever after.
The End.
|
At 8:21, I approached them.
“Evening, ladies.” I said. “Another round?”
Three of the young ladies were engaged in rapid conversation. The fourth sat glued to her phone.
“What are you ladies drinking?” I tried again.
“Dude, take a hint.” One of the trio said without looking my way.
The other two of the trio giggled. They continued chatting.
I flagged down a bartender, anyway.
“Round of shots.” I said. “Doubles.”
The trio exchanged glances. One motioned to my Rolex, perhaps thinking I’d fund their evening.
“Well? Come on.” One of the trio said. “I’m Megan.”
Megan had been the one to originally shirk me. I hoped she would not fall for me.
“Megan,” I said. “I’m Chris.”
The other two exchanged hellos. The last girl remained on her phone.
My questioning look got an explanation.
“That’s Maggie.” Halley said. “Probably on Tinder.”
Maggie made no reply, her thumbs moving with rapidity.
“What’re y’all celebrating?” I asked.
“Ha!” Halley laughed. “This looks like a party?”
She motioned to the dingy bar. My face grew red, which I realized, became ashamed about, and grew even redder. Within a few seconds I was a deep crimson hue, though, less visible in the light, I imagined.
“Oh my god,” Maggie said, looking up from her phone. “Look how red he is.” She tried to speak quietly.
Well, fuck you, too, bitch.
At that moment, the clock struck twelve. A chorus of angels sounded in my ear. A massive scale tipped in my favor, dictated by God or Satan himself.
“Hey!” Halley said, putting her arm around me. “Ignore her.”
Halley whispered in my ear. “I live just down the block.”
She leaned back, biting her lip, looking intently into my eyes.
I went with her.
|
lke78gm
|
lke0yfp
|
[WP] “So my mom is half-Fae, and my dad is half-dragon; that’s where my powers come from. How about you?” “I’m half-mermaid on my mom’s side, hence the wheelchair.” Your new magic school roommates suddenly turn to you. “What about you?”
|
I thought for a moment, how to explain myself.
Finally I choose to be honest.
"I am a so called "Explorita Drone" of a machine Gestalt mind that right now started incursions into this branch of the Universe Tree. I am basically a automaton of another world and time ... and even further than that."
Their faces were puzzled when the Fea-Dragon Man asked me: "So if you are a machine. How can you use magic? We were thought you need a soul for it and then also be lucky to get gifted with it."
"Excellent question" I jumped up and started walking around "Basically what you call magic seems to be, at least with our basic understanding, an ability to warp sub- and hyper-space. Which bith are partly other dimensions very close to our own here."
I let them ingest that info for a moment
"We, as in our civilization, has mastered this warping and controlling to a ridiculous degree. Like hiding some part of the mass of an object in these sub-dimensions and shit. Truly mind boggling."
The girl in the wheelchair then asked: "And you are here to better understand how we use it as we have a natural connection to that and you want to use it for something?"
"Again excellent question. I am proud you seems to grasp this so easily. But yes our main goal is to better understand the sub-dimensions and more importantly understand why magic is only possible in this branch." As I said tye last part I vaguely gesture into a hologram depicting a part of the Universe Tree. "We are not sure why magic is not possible in the rest we explored for now"
A combined "Oh weird" only lead to more questions.
In the end we all were in our beds.
"So how old are you then? We are barely 20 by now, but you seem to be way older?"
"My current body is around 2500 years old. It is mostly mechanical with some organic-metal allow or living metal. That's why I look so ... mostly normal. My mind is over 2 Million years easily. We reset and more every few thousand years. It is to not make me go insane. Also to avoid mental stagnation that shit is scary."
More silence.
"Over 2 million years. Holy shit. That is unimaginable. But how old is your current reset?"
"472 years and 21 days"
"Yea I am an old hag basically" I laughed at myself. "But you should go to sleep, tomorrow there will be more questions. I am pretty sure."
"Wait you need to sleep?" The Mermaid Woman asked.
"Yes and no. I need to barely sleep, I just really enjoy it still."
"Based"
So we went to sleep. Good first day, I will be interested in our first lesson soon. So much data to gather.
|
I sipped my hot cocoa to get a moment to think before answering. I thought I'd have a few days at least to prepare for this question, but no such luck!
"Well, my mom is human." I said, still looking down into the swirling brown depths of the sweet drink.
"Of course! A lot of kids here have a full human parent! But what about your dad, what cool thing is he?" asked the quarter-dragon.
"Ummm, he's... human."
The silence dragged on for a little too long.
"No way!" said the mermaid from her chair. "Your mom had to have been messing around with your house Brownie or something!"
"She didn't. She and dad prayed. A lot. And I arrived on her 88th birthday!" I smiled brightly, hoping that would be enough to jolt them out of their reaction.
"So you're... not a witch?" "Nope." "Or a sorcerer?" "Kind of impossible."
The silence returned for a little while. Then, our almost silent half-bookwyrm roommate piped up.
"So you've got to be a cleric or a paladin, then. And since you're at this school and not a convent, you must be..."
I took a deep breath. "Yep. Paladin-in-training! No dating or skipping class or smoking in the boy's room for me!"
And there it was! That look of pity that they all tried to hide. I hated it! But I'd learned how to spin my fate as best I could.
"Just think about this, the school will probably win the rugby title every year I'm here!"
|
mlxj9uh
|
mlv9o9g
|
[WP] "I wish for immortality until the last human dies. And I want to stay young and healthy," you tell the genie, proud of your clever wording. Seventeen quintillian years later, drifting along through the dead, silent void, you spot your old co-worker Kyle. He's still alive. And hes still talking.
|
The Last Two
I spot him from a million kilometers away - a speck of movement against the void. After seventeen quintillion years of nothing but black emptiness and dead stars, any change in the visual field is enough to jolt your consciousness fully awake.
I adjust my trajectory, the gentle push of thought enough to alter my course. Space has been dead for eons. The stars burned out long ago. The last galaxy collapsed in on itself before I could even count to a trillion. Time has no meaning when you've outlived the cosmic background radiation.
Yet there he is. Unmistakable even at this distance.
Kyle.
My old co-worker from accounting. The one who never shut up about his weekend plans, his fantasy football league, his theories about our manager's hairpiece.
As I drift closer, I can hear him. Somehow, across the vacuum of space, his voice reaches me. Perhaps it's a property of our immortality. Perhaps it's just the universe's final, cruel joke.
"—and I said to her, if you're not going to respect the playlist I made for the road trip, why even bother, you know? Oh hey! Hey! Holy shit, is that you? HEY!"
Kyle's face lights up with recognition. His appearance hasn't changed since I last saw him—at the company holiday party, just before I found the lamp. Young, healthy, exactly as I had specified in my wish. His business casual attire is still pristine, despite the eons.
"It's been forever!" Kyle exclaims, drifting toward me with enthusiastic arm movements. "I thought I was the only one left! This is INCREDIBLE!"
I try to speak, but my voice is rusty from disuse. How long has it been since I spoke aloud? Ten trillion years? More?
"Kyle," I finally manage. "How... how are you still alive?"
He grins, the same insufferable grin I remember from meetings where he'd volunteer us both for extra work. "Found this lamp at the party, right? Made a wish for immortality until the last sentient being in the universe dies. Pretty clever, huh? Figure I'd get to see everything! Though I gotta say, it got pretty boring after the heat death thing."
My stomach sinks. "You said sentient being? Not... human?"
"Yeah, why limit myself? Anyway, what have you been up to? Me, I've been composing this epic mental poem. It's about thirteen quintillion verses long now. Want to hear it? I'll start from the beginning..."
I stare at Kyle, understanding dawning with cold, terrible clarity. My wish had been so specific: immortality until the last human dies. I cannot die while Kyle is alive. And Kyle cannot die until the last sentient being perishes.
Then I see them—the subtle, almost imperceptible movements beneath Kyle's skin. The occasional bulges that ripple across his forehead. The momentary flicker in his eyes, revealing something else looking out.
"Kyle," I whisper, "what happened to you?"
He pauses his monologue, his smile widening unnaturally far. "Oh, that's the best part! Around year four trillion, I got so bored I started experimenting. Found out our immortality doesn't just preserve us—it adapts."
His chest splits open, revealing writhing, glistening organisms nested within his ribcage. "I've become an ecosystem," he says, his voice now harmonizing with thousands of tiny, chittering sounds. "These little fellows evolved inside me. They're sentient now. Each one thinks, dreams, communicates."
I back away in horror as the creatures peek out from his eyes, mouth, and the pores of his skin—billions of them, all watching me with microscopic awareness.
"Every time one species dies out," Kyle continues, his voice disturbingly cheerful, "another evolves to take its place. I'm an eternal incubator of consciousness. And as long as even one of my little friends remains sentient..."
"...I can never die," I finish, the full weight of eternity crashing down upon me.
"And neither can you!" Kyle says brightly. "Isn't that wonderful? Now, about my poem—"
As his endless chatter resumes, I scream into the void of space where no one will ever hear me. Not for seventeen quintillion more years. Not for seventeen quintillion after that. Not ever.
The universe itself will die and be reborn countless times before the last of Kyle's inner civilizations fades away.
And all the while, he will never, ever stop talking.
|
I used to love counting stars. Back on Earth, I’d lie down on the grass with my arms behind my head, and some wet grass was itching the back of my neck. I would just stare up at the sky for hours. It felt infinite back then. Magical, even. Romantic in a way (if you are with someone, but if you're like me...\*cries\*).
But this? This is too fucking much.
You ever try counting stars one by one while drifting through the vacuum of space? Like... hypothetically? It’s not the same. Not when you’ve seen ALL of them. Not when they start dying. Not when they’re GONE. I don’t even think I remember how sound works anymore. Or how long it’s been. Time stopped meaning anything after the last sun flickered out. Days, years, centuries… who the hell knows? All I had left were thoughts. Then I saw something. A shape in the void. Humming. Moving. Dancing? Wait is that the fucking macarena?
At first I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe my immortality glitched. Maybe I’d finally snapped and went crazy after floating around here for this long. But no. That ridiculous floating figure was real. “KYLE?!” I shouted. He turned around mid-spin like a ballerina and shouted right back. “JASON?! What are YOU doing here?!” I blinked. “Uh. What?”He flailed dramatically. “ARE YOU DEAF NOW TOO?! WHY are you here? HOW are you here?!”
“I—what do you mean? I made a wish. With a genie. Immortality until the last human dies. I figured I was clever because, I dont know, global warming and the housing prices are enough to drive people to wanting to die than suffer in poverty?” Kyle squinted at me. “You made that wish? With a genie?” “Yeah?” “Oh man.” He started cackling. “What’s so funny?”
He drifted closer, still giggling like he just heard the dumbest joke in the universe. “I can't believe you don’t remember,” he said. “You made that wish… to ME. I’m THE genie.” I stared at him. “That’s not funny.” “I’m not joking Jason.” “You're lying.”
Kyle raised a brow. “You seriously don’t remember me from the break room? The one on the fourth floor? You asked if we had oat milk, because you said "animal products like dairy promotes cruelty"?” I stared at him harder. Memories swirled—paperwork, coffee machines, office birthdays. And yeah… Kyle. I think he was the newly hired intern.
“You… you were the genie?” “Yup. Been a long time, huh? I guess drifting through space does a number on your memory. But I remember everything.*”* My stomach dropped, which was impressive since I hadn’t felt a stomach in eons. “But… I thought...” “Thought what? I'm human? Ohhh nooooo. You asked for immortality until the last human dies. I granted it. And I am not human. Well, I never said I was.” My jaw hung open. “That’s not fair.” “Hey, you begged for it. I just granted it.”
“So... we’re stuck here.”
“Yup!”
“And you’re not gonna die.”
“Nope!”
“…Ever?”
“Nope again.”
"Like we're here forever?" I asked him again waiting for him to just say he was just messing with me.
“Forever-ever.”
(FUCK ME) “…Kill me.”
He laughed. "Welcome to forever, bestie. At least you've got me now.”
|
j38g3kk
|
j38anh5
|
[WP]You reincarnated in a fantasy world, but when you go check your stats, everything seems to be really average, until you put your eyes on charisma, that is on 200 points
|
As I wake, I hear moaning. Not the usual moans of agony I’ve become used to, punctuated with screams and gunfire. Soft, constant moaning. From all around me.
It’s pitch dark. My head is pounding. I lever myself up onto an elbow, and realise that I am no longer lying on blood-infused sand and volcanic ash of the Iwo Jima beach. Beneath me is stone.
Had the mortar blast that knocked me out collapsed me into a cave? Had one of my fellow marines dragged me to safety?
I feel for the lighter in my combat pants pocket, and realise that I’m not wearing them anymore. Instead of the familiar heavy layer of cargo trouser, I am wearing something soft, skin-tight.
Tights?
I run my hand over my shirt. I feel ruffles, under a velvet-pile jerkin.
A jerkin?
“Command: Simulation pause”, I say. Nothing happens. I squeeze my fingers together, then let them explode outward into a spread hand. The menu comes up, but all the options that would take me out of the game are disabled.
The moans float towards me, from all directions. I begin to feel a seed of panic.
“Ok,” I say to myself. “Ok. Command Info Panel”.
This time my command works as expected. A ball of light floats into existence in front of me, and then expands into a round, semi-transparent screen.
*Name: Sir Roger Dragonthrust*
*Ok*, I think to myself. I must have somehow switched to a different simulation. *Fuck*.
It had taken me months to get to Iwo Jima. No shortcuts for me, I’d played the whole WW2 Pacific campaign, being bitten by bugs day after day as I’d suffered the nightly surprise attacks on Guadalcanal, feeling my feet rot in the constant rain on Peleliu during the goddamn Operation Stalemate saga. And now, just as I get to Iwo Jima, some glitch has taken me out of the campaign, and landed me in some goddamn Hobbit game.
The moans are louder now. No, not louder. Just, more. A lot more.
I check my bio settings. Pain is still set to *full* - Getting shot on a beach at full pain stung like a wasp sting. It’s a hardcore way to play but a great incentive to take it seriously. I like realism, and if pain is anything, it’s real.
I glance at my stats. *Average strength*, I see. *8 Dex, 9 Intelligence, 7 Wisdom, 200-*
I do a double take. *200 Charisma*?
Now I know the game is broken. Charisma scores didn’t go to 200. Charisma 9 meant you would occasionally get invited to a party. Charisma 18 meant that you could charm pretty much anyone, raise and lead an army. Charisma 19 meant that you were destined for President or supreme dictator.
Charisma 200? What would that even do?
It would be beyond charm. Beyond hero worship. People would have their personalities wiped away under the blaze of your personality.
They would mindlessly follow you. Heck, at 200 they would probably try to physically devour you out of a titanic primal desire to be close to you.
A glitch like this would probably turn the entire world into a mass of seething zombies, everyone of them consumed by no thought except the thought of you.
The moans are very loud now. Somewhere nearby, I hear a window break.
|
As soon as you open your eyes, you know that something is different. The air is fresher, the colors more vibrant. You sit up and look around, taking in your surroundings. You seem to be in some sort of bedroom, but it's not like any bedroom you've ever seen before. The furniture is ornate and the walls are adorned with intricate tapestries.
"Where am I?" you mutter to yourself.
"You're in the castle of the King of Xandar," a voice replies.
You turn to see a young woman standing in the doorway. She has long, flowing hair and piercing green eyes.
"Who are you?" you ask.
"I'm the castle healer," she says with a smile. "My name is Aelani. And you are?"
"I'm not sure," you admit. "I feel like I've been reincarnated into some sort of fantasy world."
"Well, that would explain the weird clothes," Aelani says, gesturing to the strange garments you're wearing. "But don't worry, we'll figure it out. First things first, let's check your stats."
She leads you over to a table where a crystal ball is glowing. As you approach, a holographic screen appears in the air, displaying rows of numbers and statistics.
"Hmm, everything looks pretty average," Aelani says, scrolling through the list. "Strength, agility, intelligence... all pretty standard. But wait, what's this?"
She points to a stat labeled "charisma," which is off the charts at 200 points.
"That's insane!" you exclaim. "I've never been particularly charismatic in my previous life."
"Well, it looks like you've been given a gift in this one," Aelani says with a grin. "With charisma like that, the sky's the limit. You could become a leader, a diplomat, a hero... the possibilities are endless."
You can't wait to see what adventures await you in this new, fantastical world. With your newfound charisma, you feel like you can take on anything.
|
lfhix3m
|
lfhbsc0
|
[WP] You have a completely useless superpower in a world full of amazing superpowers. You have been a laughing-stock for years, until you started using your powers for evil... nobody is laughing now.
|
They call it "tactile telekinesis", and it sounds freaking awesome. Until you realize just how big a difference range can make. My power has a range of literally inches - maybe a foot, if I concentrate, but then only for a moment. Within that range, I can lift several times my bodyweight. Still sounds useful, right?
Wrong. The mass has to be located in my effective range. So you got a refrigerator to move? Sorry, unless it's a foot cubed, I've got the same lifting capability of any other normal guy. I've tried everything to make my power useful, working out to bulk up (technically works, my weight limit increased), practicing daily to extend my range (worked a little - that's why I can push out to 11-12 inches), I even talked to a couple of brainy types to see if they could fix my problems. One of them had the nerve to tell me I should focus on "precise control" instead of helping me turn this into a hero-worthy power! The nerve!
Well maybe he wasn't wrong, though. I did add some new exercises to my daily training. And it turns out I can focus on a smaller area with interesting results. My control actually gets better on small areas, I can feel the structure of what I'm touching. And I mean really feel it down to very fine detail. I tried to focus on my phone, figured I could maybe use it "hands-free", manipulate the screen through my power. And I could! But more than that, I could feel the tiny flow of electricity below that.
And I can manipulate that even more easily than I'd have thought possible. It took awhile to get a feel for it. I might have fried a couple of phones before I got it figured out. Still not a hero-worthy power, though. They laughed me right out of the building when I tried to show them what I could do.
So I'm going into business for myself. Started small, ATMs and the like. As long as the mechanism is near the surface, I can trigger it with little trouble. My trial run took place while I was doing my regular weekly deposit, just made the machine spit out money while it was reading my card. No need to make a special trip and look all shifty with a hoodie and shades.
Sure, "bank robbing" is a little low-brow and cliché, but we've all got to start somewhere. And really, I'm not a *bad* bad guy. I'm pretty sure I could use this to literally rearrange someone's nervous system signals if I got into touching distance, but I wouldn't do that! I'm learning more about computers, though, because you know - that's where the future's heading. Everything is electronic these days. Security systems, locks, practically anything you can think of has delicate inner workings just out of sight.
I think things are finally looking up.
|
They laughed at first. They didn’t understand the scope of this power. They still wanted the outdated super soldiers and heroes and even villains, those who turned invisible, shot bolts of lightning from their finger tips, that kind of stuff.
Now though, now there was a new generation. A generation of heroes, villains and anti-heroes who wielded powers that were often overlooked.
When he introduced himself to the world there was a whole lot of confusion, and understandably so. The ability to control calcium sounds laughable to the average person. “So, he can’t fly?”, “He can’t punch a tank?”
So they mocked Cal. They made him an outsider. They made him feel unwanted and unloved. It didn’t matter how many times he was the hero because he was not the hero they wanted. He didn’t have a flashy power. It was not a cool power. You couldn’t convince a kid to buy a Cal action figure over a Superman or a Hulk or even freaking Ant Man.
The mockery, the tired Saturday night sketches, the lack of a new suit, it all built up. It all made a man trying to fit in, stand out.
They pushed him into the darkness.
As a villain he finally had that level of respect he commanded. People tend to stop making jokes at your expense when you can solidify calcium inside them, when you can carve them apart with the contents of their own body. Suddenly, you’re a somebody. Suddenly, the jokes dry up.
If only they had shown him some love, or merely tolerated him. If only they had understood him.
Thousands of lives could have been spared.
|
l3gajqc
|
l3fn3va
|
[WP] Your sibling, your parents' favorite child, died prematurely. They are inconsolable. They've barely even paid attention to you. Now, during the funeral, they forgot your name - again. It's your turn to 'say a few words', so you do.
|
It had seemed like the best idea ever. Say a few words. Say them where everyone HAD to listen. FINALLY! It was so tempting, it nearly made up for the occasion.
But now I stood at the little podium. Looked into all the devastated faces in front of me. Most of them didn't really see me. They had that thousand yard stare people just get when they are overwhelmed with pain.
Others either looked around, bored, or held a very quiet whispered private conversation with their seat neighbour. I wondered if they even knew who I was, when even my own family so often forgot I still existed. Maybe that's what you get when you are just the spare, the step-in, the child that got to be because the other child might not make it... but then, surprisingly, did. In spite of all odds.
I turned to look at the casket. Tears welled up in my eyes. I mean, it was my sister in there. It was not her fault things had went that way. Not her fault she always was frail, fragile, her days numbered. Of course she needed more attention, with her health and all, and of course I understood all this, even as a small child -
It just hurt so bad. To always be the afterthought. If at all. And no, it didn't help that she was a kind person, that she knew how I suffered, that she knew I was there, acknowledged me, tried to make up for the lack of love and attention towards me while she was always at the center of everything...
Because now she was dead.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned back to the people, now slowly getting uneasy. I must have been up there for a full minute without saying a word. Time for me to finally get going, to tell them everything they never wanted to hear, now that they couldn't brush me off anymore.
I opened my mouth - and closed it again, as a sudden, surprising thought crossed my mind. Behind me lay dead the only person that had ever seen me, noticed me. In front of me were all the people that had, over and over, pushed me to the side. People to whom I didn't matter. Why should they matter to me, now?
I leaned a little forward to better reach the microphone.
"She's gone now", I said.
And then I was gone, too.
|
I walked up the rows, past the pews. Nervous, I couldn't even remember his name. What was I going to do. "I know! I should just use pronouns!" I thought to myself as I took my place at the front.
"Hello, he was a good man-"
"But it's His funeral" someone yelled from the croud.
"Yes I know it's his funeral, and he was a good man" I yelled back.
"He was a bastard, respect His will"
"He scammed me into buying Crypto" someone else chimmed in.
"Why are we here if nobody liked him?"
"Don't you dare bring Him into this!" somebody exclaimed.
"But it's his funeral !" I said.
"Yes it's His funeral"
"So, I'm trying to talk about him"
"But we all hate Him"
"I thought you said he was a good person?"
"No He was awful!"
"So you all hated him?"
"Once again, don't bring Him into this!"
"mom dad" I said turning to my parents.
"Why heck did you name your son His?"
|
ke3m24k
|
ke2kxna
|
[WP] You are an above-average villain. You have it all, power, fame, enough comfort and even a nemesis. Of course, he is almost like your best friend. And if that wasn't enough, you also have a beautiful family, kids and all. One day, your find out that your nemesis has been abusing his sidekick.
|
*The TV stream is interrupted.*"Hello, I'm pretty sure that ya'll call me Nemesis. If you don't know me, I'm a villain, not an asshole. Yes, I rob megacorps. Yes, I'm a pain in the ass for cops. Yes, I know I kill fashies, I consider that a public service. But I'm not evil. Villains have standards. There are certain things that I cannot abide by. Abusing someone in your care is one of them. Now, I'm a villain so let me continue my monologue, it's not like anyone's going to stop me. Captin excessive force here"*The camera pans over to a beaten and bloody superhero*"Was sexually abusing their sidekicks. I've already sent the evidence packets to every news station, every police station, every superhero league. I sent it way too many times and nothing happened. I will not air the graphic evidence, if you want to see it in redacted form, please email me at [*[email protected]*](mailto:[email protected]) , but be advised that it is very gruesome and I haven't slept in a week. I'm tired of trusting the system. I tried playing nice. So now you all will get out of my way and let me do what I need to."
*She injects herself with another combat stim before she pulls out a collar.*
Now, I'm aware that this so called hero-- more like supercop if you ask me-- provides important services to the city. So I'll give everyone a deal"
*The steel collar is closed around the tied up supercop*
"I'll let you keep this pathetic excuse for a super. But now we are playing by my rules. They are my responsibility now. I'll still let them protect the city, but I'm keeping them on a leash. You may wonder what the collar is: It's an explosive collar, filled with a shaped charge made out of K-hepta 6 and doped with the exotic element they are weak too. Tamper with it, and police brutality here will at best have their powers permanently disabled. But more realistically, they become chunky salsa. And for all the other supers out there: Keep your house in order or I will take care of it for you. Nemesis out."
|
I knew I wasn't the best person but even I have standards, when I heard of it I knew I had to prepare project phoenix sooner than I expected. I notified my employees and I geared up, I knew what to do to make him come. I destroyed his precious statue and shouted commands to see me and how I found out I knew what he did and I told the people and didn't care if they believed me.
when he finally came I didn't wait for his speech of how I was evil and just threw the punches. I had caught him by surprise from what I noticed because he hadn't moved yet. "please stop, I'll do whatever you say." he said through broken teeth and a bloody mouth. for years to come he was humiliated and called names while cleaning the mess between me and other heros, the others seemed to have a higher respect for me from that day onward.
|
jtcbktc
|
jtbziqz
|
[WP] A hero's work never ends. You became a litch out of necessity. The next hero would not be summoned for another thousand years and you were old. You planned to stay around long enough to pass the safety of the world on to the next.
|
Every one, at least once, has considered life to be tiring. A never ending crusade against a force you know nothing about. Some days you are so tired that breathing becomes hard and you think, wouldn't it be better if you went to sleep and never woke up.
Those people who choose the never-ending sleep have a choice. To be, to exist, to live, to fight.
He never had a choice. He was chosen to fight. A fight he knew will never end. He could only stem the tide. Maybe the next one could be more than he ever was.
Maybe the next one would turn the tides instead.
But the wait was long.
But he would persist. He always has.
*
He heard the screams. He always heard them. Someone was hurting. Someone was always hurting. But he had to stop those who hurt them.
He stood on his legs that were more bones than flesh. His flesh had started dying out a century ago.
But he had to do this.
Who would save humanity if he gave up.
*
His body broke even more every time he used his powers. But he didn't care. He couldn't afford to care.
He only had to hold down the fort till the next one came.
He just hoped his decomposing body held out till then.
*
He lay on the floor of the villain's lair. He wanted to say he was tired but he wasn't. He was defeated. Not by some meager villain but by his body.
"It doesn't take much to defeat you, shadow." The villain laughed.
Indignation swept through him. He wasn't defeated by him. His body has started to finally give up.
His decomposed flesh was melting. His bones left the faint trace of bone dust when he walked. But he didn't give up.
He will not start now. Only a few days remained till the next one came.
Only a few days.
With that thought in his mind, he gathered all the strength he had and pushed up to his feet.
"What would an old corpse like you could do?" The villain sneered.
He felt the power flow through him. He smiled at the villain watching his face fall.
"Enough." He said and let the power take over him.
*
He lay on the floor. There was nothing left of him. Just his consciousness hovered around. Waiting for *the one* to free him.
"I have some huge shoes to fill." A soft voice reached him.
Relief flooded him. He wanted to say so many things but words never came.
"You can rest now." She said gently.
Thank you.
*
[You can find more of my stories at r/iknowthisischeesy]
|
"It's so fucking tiring" *i said as ended another enemy* "at this rate it seems that its just a pipe dream to relax"
*i looked at the cloudy sky, remembering the first few years i was here, rhe laughter of me and my companions and how strange it was to be here*
*i sighed, as i remembered the miserable deaths of my best friends, that happened a long time agoj
*Sometimes i just wondered if i could just stop doing this, i was tired, tired of this endless fighting, this eternal loneliness that i felt in a familiar world with strange people*
*i sat down in a stone, lost in my memories*
"How long do i have to fight? How long do i have to struggle more before i can rest with my loved ones" *i muttered to myself, as i looked into the sky once again, hopefully that God would send someone to replace me*
*i looked at my hands, there was still skin, because i felt attached to it, since it reminds me of myself... my humanity, and all of the bonds that i made it here*
"Please god, send someone soon, so i can finally rest and meet them again" *i said towards the sky, before i stood up to protect those who were victims from the destiny off this world*
|
ljoveyj
|
ljoqbxt
|
[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.
|
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”??
|
The halls of the Arcane Council have stood for almost as long as the council itself. The huge darkstone visitation hall was set so only the ground floor was illuminated, allowing those above to sit and watch unseen. Bark stood in the hall’s centre, squinting up into the darkness. He’d been told the council had gathered, but in the few minutes since his arrival here, the only sound keeping him company was the soft crackle of the wall sconces around him.
Grandmaster Aorich was the first to speak, his bitter, dismissive tone echoing down the hall. “Do you understand that this council has not expanded its ranks in over three hundred years? We are the pinnacle, the epitome, of arcane talent. The guiding hand for all who wield the gift of magic. We have taken decades, neigh, centuries to hone our craft, and yet a farm boy, not even old enough to apprentice under our tutelage, believes he is capable of joining our ranks?”
Staring blankly into the darkness above and listening as the exasperated archmage caught his breath, Bark sighed. “Yep, pretty much.”
With a displeased hiss, the cold whisper of Grandmaster Aeba, continued in Aorich’s place. “Alright boy, show us what you can do.”
With a nod, Bark pulled out a stick of chalk and began scrawling arcane symbols onto the stone at his feet. Once the circle was completed, small fingers of green began to claw their way between the stone tiles, quickly growing in number and height, until a heavy patch of weeds filled the circle's boundary. With a fulfilled smirk, Bark looked back up, holding the newly grown daffodil like a trophy.
“You folk can summon fireballs or teleport and stuff, and that’s cool, but I know how to make plants grow anywhere, and make em’ grow fast. I think that’s a lot more useful to the folk outside? No?” Bark grinned, staring at the spot he hoped Grandmaster Aorich was, judging by the heavy breathing. The room was once again silent again.
After a long, silent moment, the council spoke amongst themselves, Bark could make out murmurs of financial woes and deals with the trade minister. Eventually, Aorich spoke again, teeth clenched, disdain dripping from his words. “In lieu of your… talent, the Arcane Council would like to offer you a position amongst our ranks. As an aside, Grandmaster Xadu would like to know if your capabilities would also work on grains?”
|
j64uurz
|
j646irr
|
[WP] You're a renowned portrait artist, painting portraits for politicians, celebrities, you name it. Late one night, there's a knock on your door. A nervous young man stands outside, pale, with elongated canine teeth. He'd like a portrait. Hasn't seen his own face in over a century.
|
It had been a rather odd transaction. The man had specifically asked for an appointment long after dark. Something that wasn't exactly requested on common notice. But nothing that unusual. There were other higher priority clients. But this one paid just as much as any of them, and then some.
Only after a certain point did conversation finally bubble to the surface. Lucio was his first name. That was the most recent information he had learned in their introduction.
"I must say." He uttered. "I haven't been in a place such as this in quite some time."
"Oh. A studio?" Dylan questioned. He wasn't really paying attention to anything but the canvas for a moment.
"Actually yes." Lucio responded. "At least one such as this. I haven't been invited to many social events. Lately."
The painter looked at him for reference before quietly continuing. Lucio always found that ability fascinating. Someone with the capability to capture the essence of life and recreate it in such a way. The focus on details.
"Yeah. I bet the pandemic probably put a damper on that for a lot of people. Haven't seen some friends in two or three years."
"That's a long time."
"Well, some of them have kids, grandparents. No sense in putting them in danger."
"Has your work been affected?" Lucio asked, making sure to stay as still as possible when Dylan was looking.
"Less than you'd expect actually."
"Good. That's good."
Dylan had to admit things had been easier thus far than usual. People usually need to take a few breaks or realign themselves a little to get comfortable. But it had been two hours and Lucio had yet to truly move. Occasionally he'd grin in some fashion, before settling back into the same look. The guy had some noticeable teeth however. Dylan didn't understand why that was what he'd noticed, but he ignored it and carried on.
"So what's the last thing you went to?"
"...Paris."
"Oh nice." Dylan answered. "I've never been. How was it?"
"Very nice." Lucio smiled. "You've never been to Paris?"
"No. Never left the country." Dylan smirked. "I haven't left the state in maybe a year and some change."
"Oh goodness." The young man laughed. His voice carrying a vague air of wealth and perhaps royalty in some fashion. "You must surely go at least once."
"Eh, maybe some day... Not today though."
"At least tell me you do travel."
"I do. Every once in a while."
"How so?"
"Well, I walk from this room to another room. Take my shoes off and watch Hulu or something." Dylan shrugged. There was a mild look of disapproval that flashed across Lucio's face. Or misplaced concern?
"I'm kidding. Occasionally I drive up into the mountains. Go on a hike. It's peaceful."
"Camping?"
"No. Motels." He explained. "Our ancestors fought and died for shelter for a reason. Me dying in a gorge somewhere sounds, cosmically; like a let down for them."
It had been four hours now. It was at least midnight. A cursory check corrected him that it had to be at least one in the morning. The basics had been covered. Now came the real details. Dylan nonetheless kept a steady hand. Lucio stayed statuesque as if actually made of stone.
"So what did you go to Paris for?" Dylan asked as checked his work. "Vacation? Business?"
"A bit of both." Lucio contemplated slowly. "You have to forgive my lack of detail. I've been all over the place. Paris, Rome, Berlin. Warsaw. Athens. Barcelona."
"Lifestyles of the rich and famous." Dylan jokingly interrupted.
"Yes. But well." Lucio redirected. "I was in town for the Expo. The World Expo to be precise."
"That's a pretty big deal."
"Arts and technology in modern life." Lucio recalled. "An interesting theme. Consistently relevant."
Dylan nodded as Lucio continued on. Little tidbits like this were fun to learn from clients. And usually they were bit more rigid. A lot of his earlier examples. Heads of state, corporate types, or celebrities. They tended to be tight lipped, too proud, or too withdrawn much of the time. For good reason he assumed.
But not Lucio. If anything, talk of his personal life seemed to have improved their progress. A bit of warmth that added to the portrayal. But he still felt a bit off about the details of the trip. He couldn't place why.
"...Guernica, by Picasso. Granted, he was a mess of a human being. But the man had talent, I tell you."
Dylan was finishing up his last touches. The clock reading somewhere close to 5:15 in the morning. The sky was still dark outside, but faintly turning a deep blue.
"I believe it." Dylan promised. "So did anything else really stand out?"
"There were a lot of things that one could enjoy." Lucio promised. "But it all, really, just told me what was going to go wrong. What was coming."
The painter stopped. A measured movement that suggested he had pried too hard.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be." Lucio dismissed. "It's all ancient history now."
Perhaps a half hour later, Dylan turned the canvas and offered his work. It was a simple yet detailed visage. The colors and pose coming together to make a perfect depiction of a momentary lull in life.
"It's immaculate." Lucio began.
There was a rather lengthy silence as he studied it more. Most people, while impressed, never carried that much gravitas about it. Even when it was a picture of themselves.
"It's been so long." He frowned slightly. "I wondered what it was like."
"...Is everything okay?"
It was clear his change of behavior had made the painter a bit uneasy. Understandable. Lucio carried that air about him naturally. Especially when he was hungry.
"Forgive me. I haven't seen a portrait of myself in so long."
"A century. Right. You... um..." Dylan reminded him. "Lucio?"
"Yes?" The young man asked before checking the clock. "Ah, I must go."
Extra money was shuffled into Dylan's hands from a small bag Lucio had brought with him. "I will return for my portrait as soon as possible. Honest."
"Lucio?"
"What?"
Dylan offered as he casually picked up a small black object and waved it at Lucio.
"I know you said you have some sort of problem with mirrors? But you do know mirrorless cameras exist? Right?"
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Hello! You must be Mister Archibald? Yes, very well, thank you. Please, do come in.
Oh, that? That's a portrait of Sir John of Engelheim. Yes, painted that one myself, first year of college. There's some flaws to it, of course, but one must keep their first painting around, if only to see how they've improved. Tea?
Ah, I see you've noticed the Dorchester. Really does draw the eye, doesnt it? One of the strangest commissions I ever had, to tell you the truth.
Oh, nothing fancy. We'll, if you want to hear it, it's a short story, I guess -- no, no, don't get up, I'll grab the sugar. Be forgetting my own head next.
So, the Dorchester. Well. About fifteen years ago, on a dark and stormy night --
What do you mean, 'that's cliche'? It's what happened. It was just past nine on a night filled with thunderstorms, can't get much truer than that. If I may continue?
Well I was sitting in my studio, working on a commission for the Queen, when someone pounded on the front door. No, this was so late, my housekeeper was gone for the night, so I had to go see who it was.
To tell the truth, I was a bit startled to see a bedraggled man, maybe tall as my shoulders, standing on the doorstep but it was a bit wet out. Fellow was young, but didn't seem too bad, 'cept for the pale skin, o'course. Happens around here a lot, people going pale 'cause of the storms all through autumn and winter.
No, this was in late spring, not unusual to see someone pale right up into summer, just depends on their job. Anyway , this poor wretch was soaked through from the rain and he looked a bit manic, to tell you the truth. Teeth chattering, eyes wide, all that. Asked if he could come in, he had a business proposition for me.
Well, at that point, I hadn't become the well-known portraiteer of the rich and famous. I didn't recognise the man, but I knew he was of good breeding -- you could see it in his eyes.
So we came in, and he sat me down and demanded I paint his portrait. Desperate he was, claimed he hadn't seen his own face in more than a century. Well, that caught me a bit off guard, o'course, but the way he was talking, I knew I'd be paid well for the service.
He was a spoiled thing, yeah, no doubt about it. But he offered me a full purse, couldn't have said no, even if I wanted to -- which I didn't. Something told me it would be a fair foolish thing to do.
So anyway, I look him over, and he says he's not crazy, he just needs to see his own face. Now, me, I don't think that's all that weird, Lord in Heaven knows we get some weird people coming in here, but I did find his aversion to Mrs Aldersleigh's famous foccaccias a little on the nose.
Oh, no, famous for her garlic and cheese foccaccias, no doubt about that. I'm sure I could find you one, Mrs Aldersleigh made some before she went off to visit her mother, poor woman, got the long illness, they don't know if she'll survive the week.
What? Oh, yes, the Donchester. Well, the man -- more a boy, to be honest -- was happy to sit still, weirdly still, for a few hours so I could get most of the blocking done. I told him he could come back next week for the first viewing, and he agreed, but after that...
Hmm? Oh, nothing. No, I don't remember much except waking up with a sore neck and a sense of managing to avoid the worse of it, but I couldn't work out what 'it' was.
The man -- boy -- sitter returned a week or so later, took one look at the canvas and burst onto tears. I don't know what he expected to see, but apparently my painting was not it. He screamed at the image, ran for the window and hurled himself out.
We never found the body, but there were a lot of animals in the forest that night, I realised through my broken window. I don't really see what haunted the man so, but then, I'm more than happy to paint people the way they want to see themselves, not as they were. I just didn't do it for that one, what with my commission jumping out a window before he could pay me.
No, I never got the man's name, nor payment. So I keep the Donchester to remind me to be wary of conmen seeking to swindle.
My memory? Well, now and then I forget something, wake up with the window open and so on, but that's just old age. I am seventy-seven, you know.
Good Lord in Heaven, is that the time? Sorry, Mr Archibald, I do have to move you along, I have an appointment to keep. No, nothing serious, just a spot of blood donation. No, it's fine, leave them there, I'll have the housekeeper deal with it.
Thank you so much for coming out to check on me, Mr Archibald. Nice to know there's still some decent kids out there.
I think I'll skip walking you out, my legs aren't what they use to be. No, thank you for coming.
Oh, and if you could let the young man outside into the house on your way out, that would be great. Thank you. Good day, sir.
|
je4syjw
|
je4nuik
|
[WP] To finally solve all problems caused by humans, God made six new earths, to separate everyone depending on their sins, Earth 1 being for the best people and Earth 7 for the worst sinners. Every 50 years, angels arrive and re-judge people to decide if they should stay, go up or down.
|
Ben and Maya lay on the rooftop terrace, watching the clouds of Earth 4 drift by above. They’d been best friends for twenty years — since they were kids — and had been waiting for this moment ever since.
“Think they’ll be different on 3?” Maya asked.
”Hm?”
”The clouds. Think they’ll be different? Prettier, maybe?”
He considered. “No. Or, maybe. But I think they’re plenty pretty enough here.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Me too.”
It was the evening before judgment. Tomorrow the angels would arrive and deliver certain people to Earth 3, others to Earth 5.
Ben and Maya had spent twenty years preparing for judgment — twenty years of performing good deeds together, trying to buy their ticket to Earth 3. Helping the elderly across roads, feeding the homeless, campaigning for the environment, for animal welfare. Always together.
They lay silent now. Ben wondered if Maya felt a similar unease in her belly. What was causing it? It was as if he could hear the angels singing in the distance, debating their decision about them in an off-key song.
“I hope it was worth it,” said Ben. “We’ve given our lives for this place. If we don’t both make it…”
“Then we’ve improved Earth 4.”
He swallowed back a flash of anger — that hadn’t been what he’d meant. ”Barely. We’ve been constantly sweeping the floor but more dirt is always falling down behind us.”
Maya rolled onto her side and looked at Ben. “You’ve not done it all to escape here. Don’t pretend for a second that’s why you did it.”
“Of course it’s why. It’s why we both wasted our lives here.”
*“Wasted.”*
”You know what I mean,” said Ben. “We could have done anything else with the years. Stuff for us instead of others, you know?”
She paused a moment then said, ”Did I tell you I saw Leo again the other day?”
”Leo?”
”The junkie you saved with the Naloxone. Except, he’s not a junkie anymore. He had new teeth and showed me a big new smile. He said to pass on his thanks to you.“
”That’s nice,” said Ben, downplaying the emotional gut punch as much as he was able. He’d been certain he’d see Leo’s obituary sooner rather than later.
”He’s working construction now. Does charity work on Saturdays.”
”Huh. Maybe we’ll see him on Earth 3.”
“Ben… I don’t know if I want to go.”
”What?”
”I’ve heard Earth 3 is pretty nice. Calm. Pious.”
“That’s kind of why we’re trying to get there, isn’t it?”
“The bad apples have mostly been left here to rot, and in the realms further down, too. There’s not much wrong on Earth 3 because everyone there wants to make it to Earth 2. Like, they’re actively working on it — being polite and fake and as good as they can be. Here, that’s not the case. Plenty have given up on moving. They’re happy with the grey morality. Some find it more fun, even.“
The unease grew in Ben’s gut. He could hear the angels song better now, louder, and was sure it was the broken melody of rejection — a song he knew well enough, that his own parents had sung when he’d been just a baby.
“This is everything we worked towards, Maya. Please don’t throw it away now.”
”Ben, if we keep going here… If we inspire more people like Leo, then what’s to say this can’t *be* Earth 3? But better, maybe. Because people want to be here, not just pass through it.”
”And you thought it’d be a good idea to talk about this now? On the evening before judgement?”
She shook her head. “No. I knew it wasn’t a good idea. And I’m sorry I left it so late. But it’s an idea that’d been growing recently. Avalnching even, and now it’s way too big for me to ignore. I hope you can understand that.”
It had been Maya’s idea, back when they’d been kids, to get into Earth 3 together. To help as many people as they could. It was an idea, she’d said, that was too big to ignore. She’d only been nine. They’d been orphans together.
He said, “I’m not going to be able to persuade you to go, am I?”
She shrugged. Her eyes glistened. “I don’t think so.”
“This’ll never be Earth 3,” he said.
”I know… But—“
”Not without us putting in a lifetime of work.“
It took Maya a moment to understand. Up until Ben squeezed her hand.
“You know,” he said, “we’re going to have to rob a bank or something at this point. Or commit a lot of petty crimes.“
Maya laughed. “You can reject the angels, you know.”
”Yeah,” said Ben. “But where’s the fun in that.”
They remained silent, staring at the clouds as the sky reddened. The unease in Ben’s belly was gone — the voices silent. He wondered now what had even been causing the feeling of unease. The thought of leaving, perhaps, rather than the idea of not making it. Either way, it was calm inside him now. As if everything was just how it was meant to be.
|
"Dad, if only I had the power to help you."
Yuna stares at the old, brownish photograph. Though the years had manifested itself in the bleaks and smudges of the glass, she can still vividly pronounce the figure - the happy smile she has as a child as her father carries her by her arms, and her mother close by her side.
The little girl in the photograph can no longer be discerned with the lady holding the wooden frame. Yuna, now 56, has the only reminder of her past being the scar she has on her right arm. A scar of which origins she can still remember despite the decades of hallowing memories burying it within.
It was a fateful day, of that six year old girl, watching as the angels come down in glorifying, mystical sight. Their robes pure in form, bathed in light, and their faces only barely discernable against the white glow. They come down in sense of fright and wonder upon the crowd looking at them. The whole community around her, and people from far and wide, garnering around them in a line.
She looks at her scar once more, now barely visible from her arm, only slightly pale and tender to the touch. Her mind can hear the voices and cries of people at that day. One by one, they face the terrifying angels in the lines. Some laughed, others cried, and they are all taken away towards the endless skies.
She saw her mother right at the front lines looking back from afar, with tears on her eyes. Her face seems to be in the form of despair, which Yuna then didn't understand. Yuna was carried by her father in his arms, and she can also hear her father's faint cry. Is mother going away too? By then she can't tell, as the angels took her mother away with them.
Her father took her down, and with eyes filled with sadness, knelt down in front of her and touched her face gently.
"Yuna, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
He held her right arm, and with a knife he held on his other hand, cut her arm lightly with it. She remembers that it hurts a bit, but her father's sudden take to embrace her did not allow her to cry or express any pain.
"Someday, Yuna, you will understand me."
After that, her father walked away from her, and into the line of angels. She was still holding her bleeding wound as she saw her father also taken away. The glow of the angel figures slowly molded into her faded memory.
It was only after all those years she finally understands. The scar, her father's expression, and why it is done. It is a sin, but perhaps a noble one. For she now knew that they both have to be taken away. That her mother was thrown into a lower Earth, and her father also has to go there. The scar is all but a reminder of her father's love, even amidst in front of God's divine judgment.
Yet even knowing so, Yuna felt powerless. If only she had done something, to not lose them, or to at least make them stay here too. The questions over the years flew by. Why was her mother brought into the lower Earth? What has she done? Why did her father did that act? Is he selfish, that he would dare to hurt his own child?
"I have to find them. Maybe they are out there, somewhere still."
She didn't know what Earth they were. She is now in Earth 4, but judging from her dad's act, they are absolutely in a lower Earth. The judgment that is once every 50 years will soon begin by the following month. She must make herself be judged, sinful and be damned. For in the name of love and family, she will be willing to face herself in God's harsh hand.
|
jgjza8b
|
jgjbztm
|
[WP] In your youth you helped a group of horsemen in trouble. When the apocalypse came many years later, four vaguely familiar faces knocked on your door. They are the horsemen of the apocalypse and they offer you a place among them as the fifth horseman in thanks for your help all these years ago.
|
A man stands alone, sitting upon his porch with some tea watching a forest being engulfed with flames.
A plume of smoke begins to cast a shadow. Once the shadow passes, a solider with a knight helmet, flag, & bloody uniform appears before the man, riding a horse made of ashes.
“May I join you?”
“Sure.” The soldier hops off the horse, patting it to sit down & grabs a chair to sit down.
“So, how is the apocalypse so far?”
“…pretty neat.”
“Really? Everyone else is either screaming or crying their hearts out. Just saw a man blow his brains before being engulfed in flames.”
“Sounds like a scaredy-cat.”
“Hahaha! He sure was!” The man sips his tea. “Say, remember the promise we made?”
“Hm… can’t recall.”
“You can’t? You don’t remember the promise made after you saved us from a wizard?”
“For your information, after I saved y’all from that wizard I passed out cold.”
“Right, right. Well, I guess I’ll just restate the promise then.”
“Please.”
“As thanks to you, Norman Torf, for saving us from annihilation & allowing us to carry out our duty, the Four Hours Men of The Apocalypse would promise to spare you from the carnage.”
“Oh, I really appreciate that. But, how do you plan on saving me from the carnage?”
“How does being the Fifth Horse Man sound?”
“…hm, that doesn’t sound too bad. But, what would I be the horse man of?”
“DESPAIR.”
“Oh?”
“We are all given duties to help carry out the apocalypse. I began the apocalypse through war, conquest will help to continue it through greed, famine will make it harder for humans to survive, & death will of course finish the job.”
“Makes sense.”
“But that leaves out on important part, hope. Hope is often one of the most powerful tools used to climb out of even the most dreadful hells. We don’t want that. So, why not have a former torturer snuff out that hope?”
“…alright, I’ll do it.”
“Great! I knew we didn’t make a mistake choosing you.”
“I knew it wasn’t a mistake saving you guys. Can you believe a world without an apocalypse? That would be so boring!”
“I know! Fuck that wizard!”
“Thank god I killed him!” The two laugh their hearts out as people run out from the forest on fire & others weep for their fallen loved ones. “So, am I gonna get a horse or something too? A cool outfit & look like the rest of you?”
“Of course! I already have your horse too.” War then waves his hand, causing a demonic horse to crawl out of the earth, huffing flames & smoke.
“Awesome!” Norman then hops atop the horse & begins to change. His clothes tear & his skin turns grey. His teeth then elongate as his mouth expands & his eyes turn red. He even grows a pair of 3 horns resembling a crown & as his body elongates with sharp nails. “Hell yeah.”
“Lookin good!”
“I’m gonna enjoy this!”
“You sure will! There’s so much to do! We got at least a 100 years until we end the human race. And then, we can move onto the next one to repeat the process.”
“Sounds awesome! What should we do first?”
“We’ll meet up with the rest & help to push Russia to bomb Manhattan.”
“Alright!” The War hops upon his horse as well & the two ride off to East. War leaves a flaming trial in his path as Despair leaves blood.
|
[poem]
I do remember
The men knocking at my door.
I do remember
Their kind smiles.
A killjoy
A cripple
A captain
And who might have been
A child
Had he not been
Dead some 3 years and 3 days.
Their horses,
Some poor, thin beasts,
Were deathly pale
Yet they remain more live than I.
There were five of the beasts,
One led by each man,
And still another
Who was still naught but fog,
His hooves trailing off to the horizon.
"Do you remember I?"
Spoke the the killjoy.
"Aye. 'Twas tonight of 2000?"
"Wrong." He replied.
"It was yet one year closer to us.
About the harvest.
'Twas the night yours
Nearly won."
The sight of my confusion
Was much to the amusement
Of the grim horsemen.
"But success was caught indeed,"
Was all he said as consolation.
"Do you see our ranks?"
Spoke now the cripple.
"Have you knowledge of the Horseman's Breed?"
At this spake,
The outcast mare
Dashed through my door,
Breaking now the vampiric vow.
The grim men
Passed, as well, the boundary
Broken by the hooves and mane
Of the latest creation.
Their hands gripped me
With unexpected strength
And dressed me in a white robe.
They then hurled me from my feet
Onto the back of the mare.
"Do your people deserve it?"
Said the boy.
"Of what do you speak?"
Was my reply.
A rattling laugh
Emerged from
The rib cage of the captain.
"Tis what comes for all."
And I knew.
"You are to make me your fifth?"
Assent was the reply.
"Would not the colour of the garb you clothed me fit yours ill?"
They all said no.
"Will you answer the question?"
Said the captain.
I said I will not.
The cripple shrugged
And jumped to his stallion.
The rest did the same
And I followed them out.
When I did,
I saw nothing to the east but hell
And nothing to the west
But golden fields
And diamond skies.
"To where do we ride?"
Was the debtor's query.
And as one voice
The horsemen spoke;
"Follow the Sun, my friend."
|
m9nezxt
|
m9ne16h
|
[WP] Your best friend invited you to the small town they grew up in to celebrate their birthday. You didn't know what to expect, but it definitely wasn't a giant beast coming out of the ocean. "Oh yeah, that just happens sometimes" your friend says when you ask.
|
Where Freddy was from, eldritch horrors don't rise from the seas to sing **"Happy Birthday"** in a thousand reverberating voices of a legion. Or bake a massive, breathing cake that spurted goat's blood and was bursting with eerie entrails and present to the birthday...human. If his best friend Vernon was actually human and not secretly some mutated, tentacle cultist hiding behind a human guise.
"Oh yea, that just happens sometimes," Vernon shrugged like it was a casual, everyday occurrence, and not something that would trigger fear and madness. "Whenever Lord Elvari remembers one of our birthdays and wants to celebrate with us townsfolk."
"Is that cake even edible?" Freddy mustered what little reserves of courage he had left. "That cake looks like it murdered and ate a few people on the way here."
**"Such baseless accusations hurt the feelings of this wondrous cake, and its even more awesome creator,"** the eldritch god pouted, still holding out the cake with his tentacles. **"It sustains its form on a diet of goat's blood, flesh and organs. Just like me."**
"Great, the cake has feelings," Freddy rolled his eyes. "Anything else I need to know about how birthdays are held in Innsmouth?"
Elvari bore a smug look on his face. **"When a recipient makes a wish, I actually grant it. Unlike shooting stars. Which lack sentience or magical powers in the first place."**
"That's true," Vernon added. "I got a new car like I asked for last year."
"You never told me about this!" Freddy blurted out in a mix of surprise and annoyance. "Wait, does this mean I could get my wish granted if I celebrate my birthday here too?"
**"Only if you join my Church and be part of my flock. Blessed be my followers. Subscribing or following one of my social media channels is an acceptable alternative."**
Now Freddy was beginning to wonder if he was being advertised to, or unduly influenced into joining some weird cult. It was the first time Vernon invited him to his hometown and now all eyes, human, not-human, and eldritch, all gazed upon him.
*"Please don't feel pressured to join, as much as I am always happy to welcome new followers,"* a voice cut into his mind, like a hot knife through butter. The tentacle tip touching his head peeled itself away.
**Anyway, Happy Birthday Vernon!** The octopoid entity clapped hands and tentacles in thunderous applause along with the birthday crowd. **"Now, make a wish. I will hear it in your mind and grant it."**
A heavy silence fell upon the group as the birthday man closed his eyes and made his wish. When he opened his eyes, a far less terrifying strawberry cheesecake had teleported onto the picnic table.
"Now that's the edible cake for humans," he remarked, cutting it and offering one to Freddy.
Who was completely relieved to taste that cake was delicious, ordinary, and did nothing to churn his intestines or twist his bowels. All while the other bizarre cake was swallowed whole by the eldritch horror. Freddy's brain wanted to ask why would Elvari present a cake to Vernon only to eat it himself, but his instincts insisted this was something he was better off not knowing.
The rest of the party was, thankfully, normal. As normal as it can be with supernatural entities singing in an unknown language and a voracious tentacled deity munching on a whole goat.
"Thanks for coming," Vernon shook Freddy's hand. "Wanna come next year? No guarantees Lord Elvari can make it though."
"Next time, Vernon, could we just book a chalet or anything less...freaky?"
"I can't guarantee my god wouldn't catch wind of the news and teleport in to sing me happy birthday."
**"Please, my dear Vernon, please do let your friendly neighbourhood eldritch know which chalet you book next year. I'll bring a bigger cake."**
----
[Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/)
|
So, my best friend invited me to celebrate his 25th birthday back at her hometown.
She grew up in a small town, so far away from the Capital, I wondered if it was still the same world as the one I knew of.
We passed mountains, active volcanoes, and forests were beasts lurked in the shadows before arriving at a small, cozy looking town.
Then as we entered the town, and she took me to say hi to her parents...just outside the town, this little town that bordered the ocean...a huge head rose.
I marveled as a huge monster left the ocean, its body bigger than the mountains we passed, while my best friend just waved at it.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Oh, that's a monster." she answered.
I rolled my eyes.
"No shit, why is nobody panicking?" I asked, as the monster slowly got further away from the town.
She shrugged.
"Yeah, that just happens sometimes around these parts." she said.
I was then dragged to meet her parents, and to the market to buy some fish, while my mind was still somewhere else.
After dinner, we were watching the ocean from a small hill when my faculties return to their normal levels.
"What the hell?" I blurted.
She giggled.
"Yeah, our town is that special." she said proudly.
I couldn't argue with that.
"But how are you all...so happy? So safe?
That monster must have been larger than most mountains!" I exclaimed.
She shrugged.
"Why would a Monster King terrorize a small town full of farmers, fishers and low-levelled professionals?" she said.
That...made sense.
"So you mean because you are too weak, the terrifying entities are...ignoring you?" I continued.
"Nah, they are nice to us.
They give us fish, and resources in exchange of in-land information.
After all...they can't go themselves, and their subordinates are of two types: either too strong to go unnoticed, or because of their lacking strength, not intelligent enough yet to scout.
So we help them with information, and they are nice to us." she smiled.
I froze.
"Oh stop it Mrs. Overthinker.
I know that as a mage you are in the loop with the Civilization War, but we talk about new snacks, desserts, and new shows in the theater.
After all, how the hell would we gain access to sensitive information?" she laughed.
She was right.
"God...sorry, you are right, it's just my brain sometimes..." I started, but stopped, because in the distance I saw a huge beast head peeking at us, winking at us seemingly, before disappearing.
"Yeah, we are quite friendly." she said blushing.
I excused myself, and went to bed, not that I could sleep, for this little town might be more interesting than I thought.
|
ku1ap5p
|
ktwaq8j
|
[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."
|
No.
All of the thoughts in my head, all of the feelings in my heart, and all of the scars along my body coalesce into one definitive word as I stood back and saw Brandon lower his gun.
“If I kill you,” the moron continued, although my blood was pounding too hard to fully hear, “I’ll be just like you. No, you need to face the full might of the judicial system and face punishment for your crimes.
That was a joke. It had to be, nothing else made any sense. Blood was dripping off of both our hands, both metaphorically and quite literally. My eye twitched as my hands began to shake, and I slowly lowered them to the only weapon I had yet to throw or run out of ammo for: my old derringer, passed down from father to son for generations.
“Y-You’re letting me live?” Even Duke Rogers seemed surprised at Brandon’s change of heart. Not shocking, considering the list of atrocities he had committed was longer than the damn Bible.
“T-T-Thank you so much!” The scumbag stammered out, still knelt at the feet of Brandon. “I’ll change my ways, I promise! You’ll only ever hear the people singing my praises from now on!”
No.
*Not a fucking chance.*
**BANG**
The report of my derringer sounded out in the lavishly decorated room, fine artwork and gold-inlayed mahogany everywhere. There was silence for a brief moment, then the thud of Duke Rogers’ body leaning onto the ground, an eighth hole freshly made in his head.
Brandon stumbled back.
“What the fuck?!” He shouted, raising his pistol and pointing it at me.
“Why the hell did you do that?!” His face was red, eyes wide.
It shocked me at that moment just how little I cared. All the suffering I’d undergone, all the people murdered in the name of greed, all of the families torn apart to fuel the war machine. It all turned into sheer, unadulterated bliss as I stared at the corpse of the man who orchestrated it all. My mouth twisted into a smirk, then a smile, then a full blown rictus grin as a chuckle bubbled out of my throat.
My gun fell to the ground as both my hands raised to my face, held to the side of my head as my chuckling turned to howling laughter.
“I said why the fuck did you do that Sam!” Brandon yelled again, pistol shaking as he clenched it harder.
I turned to face him, trying to force my laughter to stop so that I could talk. But it was like trying to stop a volcano mid-eruption, and I just stood there, staring face to face with the coward. Both of our eyes were wide, his in rage and mine in euphoria.
Finally, I forced out one sentence through the echoing howls of my laughter:
“*I won.*”
|
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))
|
k564a0z
|
k55ufph
|
[WP] The power of a spell is inversely proportional to the amount of words in its name. You, hated and exiled, invented the first single word spell:
|
Magic must be shaped, it must be molded and formed into something workable, lest the raw power consume the one who ushered it forth. For our words contain the magic and each spell becomes precise, albeit less potent, the longer and more considered the phrase that birthed it.
In this way, a spell made of only a single word is theoretically possible, indeed, the very notion shapes modern concepts of magical study as fundamentally as ideas of catalysts or the practice of chanting, but such power left uncontained exacts a price to heavy for any one mage to bear, not even for the second required to bind the cast and hold the effect in place.
But that is precisely the point, every one of the ancient texts always phrased it the same way, time and time again they told us a single word was too much for any one of us to bear, the entire collective history of our kind has been reaching out to tell us this fundamental but since forgotten law of magic, we are stronger together.
We have no need for extra words or phrases when we each share the burden, for when magic flows through us all at once we are not simply some small fragile body bowing under the weight of an ocean of pressure, but a flowing river of magic, a deluge of power, directing and shaping in ways that could not be imitated by the the collective words of every tome in the library of the great masters.
In many ways I ought to thank you, without your dreadful return we would never have learnt of this lost fragment of our craft, we would have toiled forever in the darkness inches from the light. But now that you have provided such illuminating tutelage, allow us to demonstrate your hard won lesson in a far more practical sense, as every caster of every caste from here to the ends of the earth from whence you came bear the burden of the first single word spell muttered from mortal lips in three centuries.
**LEAVE**
|
Die.
I watched as the flowers wilted, then the trees grew old, a rabbit lay down for a long sleep in the browning grass as the sounds of jumping fish grew silent. We watched the forest wither and heard the thuds as avian corpses fell from the sky. His eyes are what I noticed, pure terror, not that I could do it but that I would for it is well known the power scales inversely but control goes the other way. Terror was still in his eyes as they glazed over, as he collapsed to the ground. Hunted across a continent, harried at every turn but now I shall know peace as I take my rest as the final corpse to fall from a spell with power but no direction.
|
jtc7qpo
|
jtc7j6e
|
[WP] A hero's work never ends. You became a litch out of necessity. The next hero would not be summoned for another thousand years and you were old. You planned to stay around long enough to pass the safety of the world on to the next.
|
The air grew cold and still as the tall, slightly glowing skeletal figure hovered towards the increasingly mortified mayor. The figure's skull and empty eye sockets, filled with flickering blue flames, turned towards the shaking man and spoke in a deceptively soothing voice.
THE GOBLINS SHALL RAID YOU NO LONGER, MAYOR KLEENER, it spoke, its voice heard, but not spoken.
"Th- th- thank... you," the mayor stammered out carefully. "We- we really, uh... appreciate your h- help, sir- sir..."
EDWARD, the lich replied.\*
"O- oh," the mayor replied, confused by the name. "What... what happens now? What do you want from us? We have no riches-"
YOUR SAFETY IS ENOUGH, CITIZEN. BURY YOUR DEAD; REBUILD THE VILLAGE. LIVE IN PEACE.
With a slight nod of his white skull, the lich turned and set out to leave the desolate village. He sighed\*\* as the face of the terrified mayor lingered in his mind. He knew his visage was terrifying and seen as a product of evil and even though he wasn't looking for fame, he still regretted this. The choice to become a lich was one made out of necessity; knowing fully that the next legendary hero won't be born for a thousand years, he swore to protect the realm until he will no longer be needed. Only then would he rest.
As he ruminated his plight, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye socket, a young girl staring at him. What caught his attention, however, was the fact that there was no fear on her face; rather, it was a look of curiosity.
"Hello," she said politely.
GREETINGS, YOUNG ONE, he replied calmly.
"Why are you a skeleton?" she asked.
I AM NOT A SKELETON. I AM A LICH.
"A... leech?" she tilted her head.
A LICH. ONCE A HUMAN, IT TOOK A GREAT DEAL OF SACRIFICE, DECADES OF STORED MANA, AND THE COMBINED EFFORT OF A DOZEN MASTER WIZARDS TO ALTER MY SOUL,GRANTING ME IMMORTALITY AND POWER BEYOND MORTAL IMAGINATION.\*\*\*
"Oh..." she replied half-heartedly. "How are you speaking? You don't have a tongue," the girl continued to inquire. The Lich considered his response carefully, then decided to take the path of least resistance.
MAGIC.
"Cool!" the girl chirped. "You think I can do magic too?"
YOU WISH TO LEARN THE ARCANE ARTS? Edward asked.
"Well... yeah," she shrugged. "You used magic to help us. Save us. Maybe if I knew magic, ***I*** could have saved us, before..." her words trailed off as she somberly looked at the burned-down houses on the edge of the village. Edward looked at her, truly looked at her - her stance, her hands, but most importantly, her eyes. The window to the soul. There was a fire in her; a fire of heroism.
PUT YOUR HANDS LIKE THIS, Edward said and formed his skeletal digits into a complex gesture. The girl followed carefully. NOW WHISTLE THIS TUNE, he said before, to her surprise, producing a short melody. The girl imitated it carefully. Suddenly, a small, shiny snowflake materialized between her palms and danced around slowly. The girl watched it with wide, amazed eyes before losing concentration - and with that, the snowflake.
IMPRESSIVE. YOU HAVE TALENT, Edward commended her.
"I- I did magic! I just did- did you see that?" the girl excitedly jumped up and down. "Do you think I could be a hero just like you?!"
NO.
"But-"
I WAS BORN OF PROPHECY. TO BE A HERO - A PROTECTOR OF THE PEOPLE - WAS MY DESTINY. IT WAS IN MY BLOOD.
"You have blood?" the girl remarked.
OF COURSE.
"Because I thought-"
IT'S SOMEWHERE IN MY STUDY.
The girl chose to merely squint at him suspiciously.
"So... I can't be a hero?" she finally said dejectedly.
YOU CAN. BUT NOT LIKE ME. IF YOU CHOOSE THIS PATH - TO BE A HERO - YOU WILL BE BETTER.
The girl opened her mouth in surprise. "But you said you were prophesized to..."
CORRECT. I WAS BORN TO BE A HERO. BUT YOU, he said warmly, despite his chilling aura...
YOU CHOOSE TO BE ONE.
​
​
\**Edward considered rebranding himself to something akin to 'Vraexis the Eternal' to fit his outlook, before shaking the notion off as being too theatric.*
\*\**As much as someone without lungs could.*
\*\*\**This was a carefully crafted lie Edward perpetuated to dissuade disreputable characters from attempting to gain immortality. The true ritual only required parchment, an olive branch and two bottled of dwarven mead.*
|
Everyone thinks the prophecy will happen in their times, I met at least eight other adventures that said they were the 'hero'. I was sure I was the hero for an embarrassing amount of time. It wasn't me. I learned that the hard way when I died for the second time. This was when my god told me to stop my delusions and think for a moment. I was furious, and broken.
After a sad year of alcoholism, I realized something. My god knew. I stole books and prayed hard until I talked to them and they resisted hard. But I did it, probably out of annoyance. And I was told the hard truth, it would be a thousand years and I would never see them, help them, and they would like to fail like the ones before them. What sent me over the edge was that they would possibly be the soul meant for me and my soulmate had we both had lived to our wedding day.
I asked for immortality. I was told I was arrogant and to be grateful for this information at all.
I knew these were likely lies and that I didn't need them to see my should-be child.
I dropped my religion and other worldly attachments. It wasn't that hard, most had been wounded or died long ago. And then went my dark descent. I had familiarity with killing so making and sustaining my soul with life forces to make my weapons and armor. And stealing from the Cosmic one was the hard part. I still think they let me steal their tooth. I consider the two were in league to make me the living dead. I am very much dead but very much alive.
None of the countless loudmouths that smashed my door in was my child. And I counted the years away but lost count of the dead. Good thing I could use their lives to extend my own. With twenty years left, I began to plan. A simple encounter that ended in my death and the Cosmic tooth as a weapon to break apart the corrupt gods.
And then I waited.
And I waited.
And I waited some more, brushing away the children like nothing. And then it was the year and my child came. I stood from the throne as they knocked away my hell hounds, telling me they weren't completely weak. They could have been stronger. I had to admire their eyes, so full of life and determination in a new way. Just like her parents. I knew it was her, she had his birthmark. And as she almost took the 'final blow' against me, a chime rang out, and she froze into stone. And then she burst. And so did the rest of them. I was shocked. If I had flesh it would have shown. And then suddenly I had flesh. It was terrible regrowing my flesh and the chimes ringing out, making my new flesh ears ache.
I was new, young, and fresh. I cried from my heart breaking and my bones creaking. Those bells were smug as they rang out if a bell could be smug. When I looked in the mirror I realized I now had her face. And her birthmark. I didn't know what this meant, this was never in the plan. Was I know the hero? Would I have to wait another thousand years? For the first time in over a millennium, I cried. No matter what, the gods would die. Damn the prophecy, damn the gods. No Cosmic horror would survive me. After all of this. No one would.
|
jnqjrcy
|
jnq2d5j
|
[WP] For 10 long years war has raged while the Galactic Committee held a tight leash on the humans; stating "We do things a certain way". Now, with the enemy closing in, the leash comes off.
|
"Any word from sector 385?"
"None, sir. As of three standard cycles ago, we are the furthest outpost from the capitol that has not gone dark."
The commander went silent, dragging his claws along his spines. The Key'neth were warriors, hunters, assassins, just about any kind of profession associated with death. Yet here he was, with no obvious answers. He looked to the warmap that lied on the main display. His eyes drifted towards his outpost, a lonely green admist a sea of red and yellow. Many military stations had gone far too long without checking in. Protocol states that until the wreckage was confirmed or an SOS was uncovered to assume they were dead.
"How long do we have until the enemy find us?"
"ETA, within two cycles."
"Keep your eyes on your sensors, by the time we see the battle should already be happening."
The commander looked at the forces under his disposal. There would be no reinforcements arriving in time. He counted five cruisers and three frigates from his own kind. Two carriers from the Grinx and two frigates. From the Avians, four interceptor-class frigates. From the humans-
"Hm?"
The commander refreshed his screen. Last he recalled, the humans contributed what they called a 'dreadnought-class gunship' and three frigates. Still, his screen showed them as MIA.
"Someone ping the human POC," the commander ordered.
"Yes sir."
A holodisplay showing the symbol of humanity's military, a shield emblazoned with their homeplanet. After recieving no answer, the commander ordered another attempt. Still no response.
"Sir, it seems the humans have deserted."
"So it would seem."
"Would you like us to report this to central command?"
"No... the outcome remains the same."
Humans, the relative newcomers in the galactic community had yet to develop their military technologies to the galactic standard. The humans insisted on developing their kinetic based weaponry and melding it with plasmas rather than pursue research into offensive lasers. While orbital bombardment is dominated by kinetic weaponry, ship to ship battles were often decided by lasers due to their speed and accuracy. Unless humans found a way to make their slow weapons hit their targets, every shot from them would either miss or be intercepted.
"May the humans find somewhere peaceful to hide from this war."
Suddenly the sensors lit up. A drastic surge of cosmic radiation had caught their attention. Shortly afterwards, four known warp transponders were detected. The human vessels have returned, appearing in visual distance. Their hulls were heavily scorched from laser fire, but otherwise they were all intact. The commander found himself on the recieving end of a human ping.
"Humans, I demand an explanation as for why you have returned after deserting!"
"Appologies commander, we were engaging the enemy."
"Elaborate."
"On Earth we have two sayings. One is better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission."
"...And the second?" the commander asked, hesitantly.
As if by divine timing, a bright light took over visuals. Nearly all on the bridge were blinded before the light was darkened by computer. Even then, the flash still appeared bright.
"Accuracy by volume."
|
"We do things a certain way." The Committee stated.
The Committee was made of every known species, each having an equal say in the actions of the Federation. Humanity, new to the stage, simply watched as the Committee sent out a war fleet to kill the bugs.
It failed.
Ten years and two months later, the Electorate of the Terra Firma Systems Union stood before the tens of thousands of species and laid out a proposal to the Committee.
"We are all well and familiar with Terra's First Contact War. We are aware of how we fought compared to how the galaxy fights. We are knowledgeable of the reasons why each action was taken, each violation of the Geneva Conventions. Hence why the TFSU Armed Forces have not yet joined the Committee's, and never will.
"Yet it has become clear that the Committee is failing to hold off the bugs. The front is holding, but is expanding to our flank and we can't hold that forever. When the bugs arrive at our borders, they will receive our treatment. You do things as efficiently as possible, we do things as ethically as possible, and we pay our costs out of pocket; problem solved."
There was a low murmur in the hall as representatives remembered the General of the TFSU Armed Forces besting the Grand Leader in melee combat, yet stepping down from taking the position.
"I do not care about a vote or if the Grand Leader themselves vetos this position. The TFSU will respond to this threat the way we see fit, and that's that."
The Electorate left the hall, followed by her entourage.
\-----
It took three weeks of fighting for the Bugs to officially send a diplomat to the front lines and sign a treaty with the TFSU. The other members of the Committee attempted to change their tactics, but it was too late, and their governments were forcefully destroyed.
The First Milky Way War is a testament to the fact that being ethical can indeed pay back. Now, any questions, class?
\-----
**A/N:**
**Effort level: mid**
|
j49475e
|
j48hwiz
|
[WP] The government shows up to your house, apparently there's an alien armada heading for Earth and the ruler of their species is asking for you. Apparently you matched on Starcrossed, a intergalactic dating app
|
It's far too early for this.
Far.
Too.
Early.
And yet, the pounding on my front door continues. I grab the nearest pillow jamming it over my head to try and drown out the noise. Of course that doesn't help when it doubles by the sound of a broom handle banging on the ceiling below me and furious spanish shouted through the very thin walls. I don't even speak spanish, but I get the gist.
"Alright, alright!" The words come from my mouth as part growl part roar. I make sure my stomps are as heavy as humanly possible as I storm through my miniscule living room, kitchenette combo. Whoever has the audacity to come banging at my door at nine in the morning like they're the damn police is about to get the ribbing of a lifetime.
"What!?" I snarl, ripping the door open. It bounces off the jam but I can't pay it any mind because two imposingly built men in crisp black suits and dark sunglasses are staring me down.
Ah, it is the feds.
"Ma'am, we're with--" The one on the right starts flipping open their little badge book to show me their identification.
"I didn't see anything." I blurt, then wince because that was as smooth as extra chunky peanut butter. Hey, law of the street, snitches get stitches and I’m not trying to pay any hospital bills right now.
I can't read their expressions at my ill timed outburst. Training at secret agent school must chisel your face from stone or something, but they've both gone quiet. We all stand there silently for a good long while. I know this is an interrogation trick and you're not going to social obligation me into admitting anything more. Take that coppers.
"Look, I really didn't see anything." I double down. Which is true, because I've no clue what any of this could be about.
"You don't recognize this man?" The one on the left asks. He lifts a sleek black phone in thick fingers.
On the screen is the dating profile of a man with a stunning smile, high cheekbones and impossibly dark eyes. His canines are a little sharper than normal and a beanie is jammed low over his head, ears hidden by a riotous mess of dark curls. It states his name is Eric and he’s an 11/10 on my personal scale. The one I swiped right on several days ago and have kept a steady chat log with since. Is he worth the trouble with the law though, debatable.
“Never met him.” I answer back, another truth. We were supposed to meetup later today. Which is the reason I’m standing here in my bonnet, detoxifying facemask, freshly shaved, and attempting to get sleep so I don’t have those ugly eyebags when we do meetup.
The one on the right cracks a little, a quiet huff leaving his nose in amusement. Was not expecting him to cotton on to my expert dodging of the question that was asked, but I’m not the professional here.
“We’re aware of that fact.” The one on the left says. He tucks the phone into an inner pocket and stares me down.
“We’re also aware that he wants to meet you, and it would be in all of our best interests if you come with us.” He continues.
Oh. Oh nooo. Am I about to become bait to some big time criminal drug lord or something? The one on the right moves and I flinch as he takes my upper arm in a firm grasp. Ok. Guess I’m going out. In my cotton pajamas and embarrassing fuzzy wolf paw slippers. I stumble after him to the equally as dark SUV, and clamored into the meticulously cleaned leather back seat.
“Uh, pardon me for asking, but did either of you lock my door?” I ask laughing to myself. It’s not like there’s anything of any particular value in there but it’s a habit. Probably the only shred of normality that I’m going to get at this point.
“It’s under surveillance.” Lefty answers. Which isn’t concerning at all, thank you very much.
“Cool, ok, one more question, where are we going?” They remain silent for this one, but I could’ve guessed that it was some heavily fortified government facility.
For the record, I was way off. Unless Prada has suddenly come under the intense ownership of the president, that is. I stare particularly blankly at the number of outfits that are paraded in front of me, ranging from extraordinary elegant to horrifyingly skimpy. And I think to myself, what is going on?
It doesn’t stop there. I’m taken to Tiffany’s, to Louis Vuitton, Saint Laurent, Michael Kors, practically every single luxury brand one can think of. Until I’ve got more outfits and accessories than I can realistically cram into every nook and cranny of my less than stellar apartment on the wrong side of town.
By the time the sun has gone down, I’ve been primped, plucked, and made up by stylists who’s clients names I know only in Holly Wood lights. I barely recognize myself in the full length mirror they prop in front of me. Lefty and Righty load me back into the SUV and we smoothly merge onto the interstate along with a caravan of similarly distinct non-distinct SUVs.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the shopping spree, but I would really like to know what’s going on now.” I hedge, then squeak as a projected screen springs to life in front of me. Mind boggling to know we have this technology, but also kind of not surprising.
“King Ar’uk, is the leader of a mono race planet. Recently he has been dabbling in the world of online dating, as it were, in search of a potential wife. He recently matched with a user on the intergalactic app starcrossed and is excited to meet them tonight.” Lefty explains, pulling up both profiles on the screen.
“O-ok.” I’m following along, kind of disbelieving but following. I look really cute in my profile picture not going to lie, but oh my god. Our whole text conversation is right there! I said so much personal stuff. I even dipped my toe into some sexy stuff, and they just read all of it!?
“If you take a glance out the window you’ll notice more stars in the sky than normal.” Righty tacks on, and sure enough he’s right. With the light pollution you wouldn’t think to see them.
“They’re not stars, but rather the personal armada that King Ar’uk travels with.”
Wait.
What?
My face must say something along the lines of ‘oh-lord-why-is-this-happening-to-me’ because Lefty swipes to a new screen displaying the restaurant I agreed to meet Eric, Ar’uk.
“We’ve evacuated the immediate area, and the staff have already been briefed. All you need to do is have a good date.” Lefty says. The car slows to a stop and I realize we’re at the restaurant.
Is this man going to blow up the planet if this date tanks?
The stakes have raised so much higher than whether or not I’m going home alone tonight, and I am not ready. Still I step out of the vehicle alone, red bottom heels clacking loudly on the deserted streets. A wide eyed maitre'd greets me at the door, young and understandably just as terrified as I am. It swings open to an empty building, all except one man.
He sits in the back corner, jaw just a strong as it was in the photo. Now that he’s not wearing a hat I can see that his ears are pointed. He looks up as we approach and a broad grin splits his face, bringing attention to his sharp canines. He slides out the booth. Quite literally, because his lower half is entirely serpentine. He winds towards me looming high to keep a majority of his tail off the ground. He lowers himself more to eye level once he reaches me.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He grins, his cheeks dimpling. He brings a hand up to brush his bangs off his forehead in what I think is a nervous gesture. His fingers are tipped in glossy black claws, neatly filed and blunted.
“And I you.” It comes out embarrassingly gusty, and a tad bit longingly. I was off base about this too. He’s definitely a 20.
|
"Hey, do you know anyone with a black Escalade limo?" my roommate casually asked while looking out the window to our house. Well, it was my house, but I rented a room and kitchen use to them to help with bills.
"Oh yeah, that would be... I have no fuckin' clue. Why do you ask?" I was trying to beat this level of some stupid mobile game called Starcrossed and it kept glitching on me.
<knock knock>
I threw my phone across the couch and got up to answer the door. There were three men in military uniforms and a guy in a slick black suit standing on my porch.
"You can't pin that hack last week on me guys. " I said with a smile. "I'm sure you want to talk to Robby here, because I have no idea why any of you would visit me. Robby, it's for you."
The men on the porch looked at each other then walked into my house.
"I guess they aren't vampires!" I heard Robby say as he got a drink from the fridge. "I don't know you guys, why are you here?"
"John Blahs?" the guy in the suit said while pointing at me.
"Pronounced *Blaze*, but okay, why are you here in my living room. I've never served in their branch, nor am I even on inactive reserve.... I think."
"Do you play the game Starcrossed with the user ID of 'HotJuanny6943'?" he read from his phone prompting my roommate to do a spit take with his drink and choke with laughter.
"Well, it being an internet game and you being in the government, I'm sure you already know the answer to that. So. Why are you here? " I glanced at my phone on the couch. I wondered if I just deleted the game, they would leave.
"We were contacted by a representative of a foreign government who wish to meet this HotJuanny6943. Are you secretly 12 years old? Where did you come up with that name? Geeze." The man in black shook his head in amazement and disbelief at the task at hand.
"Look, the user name *NextExit* was taken, okay." I quipped.
Everyone in the room looked at each other in confusion.
"*NextExit*, where everyone wants to get off?" I filled in the blank for them to groans and much shaking of heads. Except my roommate Robby who was giggling over it. "What is going on, please?"
"It turns out that we have had, living among us in extradimensional space, non-terrestrial beings who have been accessing our Internet for quite some time. They have been studying us for years, but lately, they have taken to more, direct communications with regular people like you. And, one of them, *WhichWandaSheGo*, evidently is a friend of yours in this game.
"Wait, Starcrossed is a GAME, it's fake extraterrestrial dating, as an app. It's not a dating app, it's a game, a bit of fun. The pictures are..." I sat down as I realized what was going on and picked up my phone. There she was on my screen, Well, the picture I saw was a little uncanny valleyish... I mean, it is an alien. then I looked at my in game picture which was me, but a filter from Insta or maybe Snap with green skin and curly horns on my head.
"John, they will be here in 3 weeks." The most decorated of the military members stated somberly. " They are going to announce themselves to the world at that time."
"I thought you said they were here already?" I was confused.
"Some are, and they have a direct link between our two planets for communications, but travel takes a little longer. Before you tell me that makes no sense, it doesn't, not with our current understanding of science and physics. However, they are bringing well, a lot of them here."
"A *lot* of them? Is that like 120, or something?" Trying to remember what the mathematical or even retail term 'lot' could signify.
"No, an armada. *WhichWandaSheGo* is... " The man in black started to shake his head at the Oh shit, he's a general...
"Yes! He has to know, else it will get VERY bad for a lot of people, starting with HIM!" The General quipped. "Look, She is like their high princess or something. They have a somewhat, hive mentality. like, Bees or Ants, but really sophisticated in their science, obviously." he paced the room. "I'm not sure what you said to her in the *game*... but, she is very *INTERESTED* in you. They are sending the Armada to make sure nothing bad happens."
"I'm not going to DO anything bad to her! I wonder if I'm going to do anything at all to her, now. Are you saying I could start a war?" My phone dinged and I saw I had a message in Starcrossed. "shit...."
I opened the messages screen of the app.
*"Hello John, I understand that your government is coming to tell you about me. I don't want you to be afraid. You will not be harmed during our revelation of your planet. I will keep you safe with me during the whole process. You will love this new life, I promise. Until we meet. Wanda"*
"She knows you're here. I'm a little concerned by this. Revelation part."
"Well, you know, many members of humanity will have a hard time with alien life making themselves known. Because the authors of religious texts referred to them as gods or angels, who normally started communications with *be not afraid*..."
The General spoke up, "We are going to provide some news releases letting people know that we have been in contact and that they will be revealed within the year. We will inform them of peaceful intent to share knowledge the desire to help us to the next level of scientific knowledge and understanding."
"That's kind of bullshit. Because we are getting assimilated, aren't we?" I asked. "I know what the white man did to every 'lesser' civilization. These people are the whitest men of them all."
"Well, at least they like you. Get your goodbyes said. Not that anything will happen to you, but who knows when you will get to see people you care about again." With that, they left.
I shouldn't have worried like I did. I mean, Wanda as she called herself to me was horrifying to look at while in my human form, but she did keep me safe during my transformation to her mate. As I emerged from the cocoon in my new form, she was the most amazing creature ever. Under her command, I converted those who submitted to the process, millions of them. Others became our food. The internet opened up in a whole new way to me, and eventually, I was able to use it without anything silly like a computer or phone. Life was amazing, just because I found my match on Starcrossed.
|
l548aa3
|
l5479ne
|
[WP] The villain breaks into their usual monologue, but instead of just gloating and explaining their plan, they seem almost manic, trying to explain away their actions, seemingly to themselves as much as you.
|
Kyle opened his eyes and instinctively grabbed the fly that was about to buzz in his ear. Hardly the most deadly thing that would happen to him today, but as the first event the most repeated it was by far the most annoying.
He stood up and quickly walked to the old man leaving the cafe and let him know he left his wallet in the cafe. He'd saunter back inside and realize he hadn't, but Kyle would be gone by then and Melvin would be delayed and not get T-boned in the intersection. Instead, he would die of cancer next year surrounded by his loved ones. He had befriended Melvin through multiple chemo treatments, and this was a nicer way to go.
He started up his car and felt genuinely surprised when the passenger door opened before he could drive off. He smiled at the refreshing twist.
"Most people don't smile when they see me.", she rasped, her voice almost comically rough. It sounded like she smoked a pack an hour. She didn't smell, at least.
"How did you find me already? Are you hungry? Can I at least get a cheeseburger before we do this? I starved for like a week before my last death."
She looked at him and he saw the emerald green eyes he was expecting. He didn't know her, but he knew her archetype. She moved too smoothly, like a character in a movie with the framerate turned too high. They always had green eyes when they took this form.
"You underestimate our scope. We hadn't expected someone to use a temporal reversion in this invasion. We win every time, but you keep making it too expensive, too long. We've been sending echos back until we pinpointed your origin here."
"I didn't even know you were aware.", he replied while backing out. She hadn't taken up his cheeseburger offer, but the Worldenders probably liked cheeseburgers. Who doesn't? He knew they weren't vegetarian. They ate their prey.
"We were careful not to tip our hand or you would have made it harder for us. It's easier to tail someone who doesn't know they're being followed. We edged closer every rebellion you raised."
They drove in silence for a bit, while his mind raced with questions, and tried to figure out which to ask next. As he pulled into the parking lot she broke the silence.
"Where did you get the reverter and anchor? Even in your greatest rallies against us humanity still doesn't have anywhere near that technology."
He looked at her for a moment. He had never had a civil conversation with a Worldender for more than a few moments, he wanted to learn more but didn't think she would give him much opportunity. Where did they come from? Why destroy Earth? Would she want one double-double or two?
He put down his window to order, and then the world went dark. He opened his eyes and didn't grab the fly.
|
"Why are you still in the loop?" Hailey said.
The plain man across from her didn't answer. He stared back silently, a mix of wonder and disbelief on his features. His lips worded silently, but she was no expert lip reader. She watched patiently and sipped at the hot coffee in front of her.
"Why are you still in the loop?" Hailey said again.
She watched him and listened to the little diner around them. Snippets of conversation, the whoosh of a passing car outside, a clank of mugs in a busboy bin, a dog barking in the distance. The longer she watched him and listened she realized what he was doing.
"You've been here so long you like the music of it," she said, listening with him.
The plain man across from her did not look away from her face as he continued to match the surrounding moments with his own movements. His lips moved in tune with the snippets of conversation, as though stealing the words from the air, his fingers thrumbed the table with enthusiasm to the beat of the kitchen, and traffic outside, his face lighting into a grin as she watched his synchronization.
"Why are you still in the loop?" Hailey said again.
The plain man suddenly stopped his strange synchronization dance with the world around him and grew very still, his eyes never wavering from her. The sudden change sent an icy chill through her neck and shoulders. The ancient thing in front of her raised its finger to its lips. The eyes raked over her, absorbing the newness of her.
"Someday," the plain man said, "I will ask you the same question."
|
jjhomtj
|
jjhgxq5
|
[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.
|
Festival of Beasts
Vexason the Powerful wanted to put his head down and cry. The people of Cholerton were calling on him to perform the “Miracle of Beast Day.” Again! What had he started?
It had seemed like the perfect revenge; change all the citizens into animals, and laugh as they destroyed each other. Only, he wasn’t quite “the Powerful” enough. The townsfolk had kept their human intelligence, and it had only lasted one day. Town guards had run as a wolf pack. Wagon drivers had pranced around as horses and donkeys. One opera singer had spent the time as a nightingale, and now used that imagery in all her playbills.
When he’d seen the failure of the beast spell, Vex had collapsed in the City Center Park, too disappointed to leave or cast anything else. Before long, squirrels and bunnies had gathered to cavort around him! An honest-to-the-gods elephant had picked him up, put him on its back, and paraded him around! Not to mention the record numbers of puppies and kittens in the streets. It had been too joyous to allow him to stay angry.
Not to mention, when the people were restored to their human forms at midnight, they’d sent him a message: how can we repay you for this joyous time? How in the world was he supposed to gather power from anger, when they agreed to all his demands? His forests would be off-limits once again. His wall was repaired. The Grand Library had given him a key and his own private study room (they weren’t giving the books back, but he wasn’t about to argue with a coven of librarians).
The year since had seen him honored as a town treasure. He couldn’t go in for a simple trip to the market anymore; he was swamped by people wanting to tell him stories of their time as an animal. Not that it was an inconvenience; he usually was offered delivery service for the goods he needed, at no fee.
All of this meant that Vexason had no more anger toward the city. He wanted to give them another amazing day again. And that was the problem! The spell was one of vengeance. To recreate it, he was going to have to get angry at the city of Cholerton. How was he supposed to do that when he was so content, now? The spell would almost certainly fail without the emotional focus that anger gave him.
The entryway gong sounded. Vex heaved himself out of his chair and stomped down the stairs. He pulled open the door to reveal a slim, mustached and bespectacled man with a scroll.
“Mr Alastaire Blake von Vexason?”
Vex winced at his full name. “Yes, WHAT?”
“I’m here from the tax office. It appears you are two days late–”
Vex slammed the heavy tower door and laughed maniacally. He had his anger again.
|
The angry magician clenched his teeth, and pondered the request of the townsfolk. He agreed, but only if they would follow his specific instructions.
All husbands would stand in front of the magician, and all wives would stand behind him. He brought an enormous two-sided sign, with cloth covering the surfaces.
When the time came, all the townsfolk gathered round, the men in front, and the women behind.
The angry magician grinned, for he already knew what animals they would become. Little did the townsfolk suspect he had a plan.
“Everyone look at the sign, it is very important, and critical to the spell. When I say the magic word, focus only on the sign,” said the angry magician.
“I hope I turn into a giraffe,” said one woman. “I’ve been so tiny my whole life, it would be wonderful to touch the sky.”
“Mhmm,” grunted the magician. “On the count of three you will all turn into the first animal you think of. Now focus on the sign, please. Three… two… one! Abracadabra!”
The cloth on the big sign he was holding fell to the ground, and in one terrorizing moment the townsfolk realized what he’d done.
All of the men were staring at a painting of a cat. All of the women were staring at a painting of a mouse.
A moment later, the town was full of cats chasing mice all over the place. It was utter chaos, and the angry magician was, for once, no longer angry.
He was crying tears of joy.
|
lauz9q3
|
lauuvnf
|
[WP] You awake in a hospital, where you are told that you were in an accident and that you have contracted amnesia because of it. But you do not have amnesia and can remember exactly what happened, and that there was no an accident but something else entirely.
|
My wife hugged me as she cried. I had awakened from a coma of some sort after nearly a day.
“I thought I lost you.” She said so sweetly you thought your taste buds would lose sensation.
“When I found you in that bath tub I feared the worst. I told you should take sleeping pills just before you go to bed.”
She was right. She had told me this before. Of course she didn’t mention she was the one to force them down my throat. I could hardly fight. She got me when I was sleeping.
“You’re right dear.” I tried to say this as nicely as I could but adding the “dear” at the end may have let on too much.
She wiped the tears and dripping mascera from her eyes. “The doctor said that because of the partial drowning your brain may have lost some memories of the past few days can you tell me what you remember?”
She’s trying to get me still. She wants to ensure that she can regroup and try again. I can’t let her know. However, when I went to speak, I remembered I was attached to an EKG. A makeshift lie detector. I had to be smart, give partial answer, things that are true from a certain point of view.
“Well…I remember having dinner with you. The meatloaf. Very good.” I hoped that compliments may put her off balance but I realized she probably didn’t care.
She didn’t say a word. She wanted me to continue. To either crucify her or give her another shot.
“I remember watching some TV. It was the show with the kids in the small town with the psychic girl. I don’t remember much about the episode. I had my nose in my phone.”
The EKG was still cooperating. It was likely my friend in the room right now.
“Then… it all goes black.” The EKG jumped. How quickly friends betray us. Had to fix this.
“Oh wait, I actually remember being in the tub.”
My wife was surprised. “Really? Anything specific?” She asked coyly.
“I remember thinking that then ceilings was so white. Not eggshell or alabaster or cream. It was stock white.”
This was the truth. It was the last thing I remembered. Even when betrayed by the person I loved the most I was still thinking about the dumbest things. I guess the sleeping pills didn’t help in aiding in clear thoughts but still.
She let out a silent but noticeable sigh of relief. “Ok so you didn’t lose that much. Well that’s great. The doctor told me people in similar circumstances, have lost weeks of whole months worth of memories.”
I just nodded. How can I have a conversation with her at this point? She tried to kill me. I don’t even know why. Was there a lover? Did she have a policy on my life? Was she just tired of me?
She got off my hospital bed and walked over to a plastic bag. A vase of flowers. This bitch had the gall to kill me and get me flowers. I calmed myself as I could see my heartbeat pick up.
“I told your friends at the office what happened. Everyone pitched to give you their extra vacation days so you can get better. So don’t worry about work right now. They even got you these flowers.”
She placed them on a side table. I could read the note. “Get well soon-your friends from floor 26”. Did they mean that though? Did they even know me? I thought my wife knew me, and tried to murder me. Can anyone love me?
Before the thoughts grew too large for me handle, a doctor arrived. “Hello ma’am. It would be best for your husband if he got some rest. It’s been a long day.”
My wife nodded. She walked to door but not before turning her neck to me. “See you tomorrow.” She blew me a kiss and walked out.
The doctor examined the machines around me. As she did, she said “You have a good wife. She was here the entire time. She was by your side the entire time.”
I turned to her and couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I’ll tell you how good of wife she is.”
|
I awake, screaming.
Looking around, I find myself in a hospital room, completely restrained to the bed, as a white noise machine is playing on the chair next to me.
To my screaming, a nurse comes in with a pitying smile.
"Sir, I called the doctor.
He will be here in a minute.", she says, and looks away from towards the door.
I ask her multiple questions, but she ignores me.
The doctor comes in, with a big folder, and he looks at me gravely.
"Sir, you have been in an accident, do you remember anything?", he asks.
I find no strength to answer him for a long period, and just before I find my voice, he...smiles?
"Ah...yes, seems like the readings were correct, and our suspicions proven right.
You have amnesia sir, we are yet to ascertain how much of your memories it affected.", he said.
"I...
I...
I see...", I stutter in the end, terrified.
Not because of the amnesia, or the "accident", but because I didn't have amnesia, and remembered everything.
The doctor soon left, but the nurse just stood there, watching me.
I pretended to fall asleep, but in the end, I truly fell asleep, probably being too tired.
When I awoke, I didn't open my eyes, just shifted a bit, turning so that my back is to the door...and the nurse, whose shallow breathing I could still hear.
Accident?
There was no accident...a group of people rushed into my home and took me away...wait!
Our home! I had a wife!
No! I can't show anything...I think, the hospital is not a "normal" one....
I was sure I was experimented on...
The nurse after 5 days still sat in my room, having left only once a day...
She barely blinks, and breathes as if programmed to do so...
At the 1 week mark, I was still "extremely weak", and my memories were "nowhere to be found", I even "forgot" where I lived, and what I did.
I was sent "home" with the nurse to take care of me until I was better...
The "home" was not my home, but an apartment complex...
There, as I was accompanied by the nurse for a walk, we passed another eerily similar nurse helping a woman walk...
It was my wife...
It took me strength I didn't even know not to talk to her, after all...
We faced each other, and even nodded in greeting, but she did not recognize me...
They got her too.
I don't know what was going on, but I will play along for now, hoping that once I am free, I can save my wife, before it is too late...
|
lmnyxa7
|
lmnlwqo
|
[WP] 10,000 players are disappointed to find out that the first VRMMORPG doesn’t trap them inside until they clear it, nor does it transport them to another world.
|
I don't know how they found out about my work. But find out, they did.
The Sterling engine - an ingenious mechanical device that only needs a heat differential to operate. Three simple runic spells - one for heat, one for cold, and one to isolate it from outside thermal influence. A little fine-tuning, and I had a practical, near-perpetual motion machine.
When the archmages showed up in my workshop, they demanded to see my work. When I presented them with the device, they confiscated it. They told me - point blank - that I never created the device, that I never even concieved of such a thing. To drive the point home, they opened scrying circles, and showed me live views of every member of my family.
They watched, as every scrap of paper with anything about the device written on it was shredded, soaked in lighter fluid, and burnt to ash. They watched, as those ashes were the flushed down the toilet.
They then left with my device.
I don't know how they found out about my work. Or, at least, that's what I let them believe.
Those who follow the path through the forest, pay no heed to the tracks in the desert. It was obvious that I was trying to hide *something* when I was working on the runic spells for the Sterling engine. That's the nice thing about runes - they collect their own mana from the environment, so even those of us without the gene factor necessary to use magic, can still use runes. To learn how to use runes, I had to write out runic spells - that's how the archmages knew, magic was being used by a non-mage.
The virus was crafted using entirely non-magical means. A highly contagious time bomb - it will reproduce to the point of being transmissable within hours of initial infection, but won't start attacking the gene factor necessary to use magic until the last two weeks of its five-week life cycle.
Of course, the virus will do nothing to those without the gene factor. We - myself and my family - can be carriers of the virus; we're just immune to the adverse effects. Too bad the archmages can't say the same about themselves, or their families... their friends... their acquaintances...
|
"I'm sorry, you did what?"
"So I micro etched the runes and attached the gems onto the inside of this spherical part, which is a combination of hundreds of magic circles, 8 of which channel that mana, then the center one which takes in the power of the 8 other circles and channels it into the center firing crystal, which is mounted on this part here, and when you pull the trigger, it slots the final crystal into place, which because it is JUST long enough to touch the center orb which is engraved with the spell itself, it rapidly dumps upwards of 500 casters worth of magic into the spell and directs it out of this end here, achieving a spell cast in mere seconds what it would take an entire army of engravers and gemologists and channelers an entire year to perform- Hey, what are you doing with my prototype? LET GO OF ME."
|
lfr85wg
|
lfr7wvy
|
[WP] in exchange for power you agreed to give the fae queen your name. Due to the vague wording of the deal you managed to get her into a marriage contract, which would give her the right to use your last name as her own. Now you have both magic and a 10/10 wife.
|
The Fae Queen thought it was so easy. His name for a fragment of her power. The usual deal. Another addition to her army of human slaves and servants. And this man wasn't some annoying, long-winded lawyer trying to talk his way into having his cake and eat it.
Yet he nailed her in a marriage contract. It wasn't pages and pages of legal jargon. Just a deceptively simple contract of a single page. All she had was his last name, which she could use as her own. Without a full name, a true name, she couldn't quite have him under full mind control, at her beck and call.
Far from upset she let her guard down, she was...oddly impressed. A man who had found a way into her heart without surrendering his true name, or buttering her up the way those slimy lawyer types did. These feelings, did they truly belong to her, or were they warped by the contract?
She shoved aside that niggling feeling, swallowing in her throat as she heated the frying pan and cracked two eggs over for breakfast. Mr. Anderson loved scrambled eggs in the morning. As the newly minted Mrs. Anderson, it was up to her to ensure he had a great start to his day.
"Good morning, honey," Mr. Anderson smiled as he floated down the stairs in a swirl of sparkling magic. "Is breakfast ready?"
"Always, my dear," she flew up to him to deliver a gentle kiss on his rosy lips. "Have a good day at work."
Work? What does he work as, she doesn't know. With so much magic at his fingertips, he didn't have to. Her powers would let him have most of Faerieland under his command. But he liked his human life too much to quit his job.
She couldn't be mad. Why begrudge a man who seemed to have taken his job as a second wife? Because she's still first wife. And queen, as much as she is the Queen of the Fae. He evolved to be the love of her life and the main recipient of her magic. Even though this new domestic life outside of her usual duties as Fae Queen felt somewhat beneath her regal stature in the beginning, she settled into it well. A little too well for an increasingly homely fae wife.
**
--
Jon Anderson was worried the Fae Queen would find some loophole to wriggle out of his counteroffer and contract. Wouldn't that be what the fae specialised in as a species? It was to a sickly-sweet blend of confusion and joy that she traded her name for the right to use his last name in marriage. No longer was she Esperadea, she was just Mrs. Anderson. Not to mention the abundant topping of his cake - all the Fae under her command also went with the name change and now addressed their queen as Mrs. Anderson.
King Jon seemed too plain, but he wasn't one for ostentatious titles.
"Jon will do," he told the fae gathered in the elaborate royal wedding.
"All hail Jon, newly wedded to our queen Mrs. Anderson. May your marriage be long and everlasting."
So of course, one of the first things he did with the magic she granted him was to stop aging. If his marriage was to be long and everlasting, so did he. After briefly entertaining the thought of Fae domination, he decided instead to order her to release all the humans she had tricked into servitude and to be granted what they needed to go back their life before fae-induced slavery. Next was needing to ensure she wouldn't attempt to break out of this marriage, nor would the other fae.
She had to be happy with this marriage. Like all the time, alongside every fae who had the power to oppose him.
"Nobody is to disrupt my marriage and happy wedded life to Mrs. Anderson."
So nobody did. Not even the eldritch patron god and advisor lurking in the corner of his house, sipping his tea.
----
[Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, click here for more prompt responses and short stories written by me.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/)
|
Dr. Schwartzbaum--whom you've long suspected of being some kind of mage or archdruid--looks up from his notepad. "Rebecca tells me you enjoy responding to writing prompts?" he says.
Not an archdruid. More of a cleric, judging by his sweater vest. "The fae queen tells no lies," you reply.
Your betrothed groans. "There he goes again!" she cries. She turns your way, her eldritch wrath apparent. "Brian, what the fuck is a 'fae queen?' Why do you keep calling me that?"
The cleric--oh wise one indeed!--quiets her with a wave of his hand. "Now Rebecca, it's your husband's turn to speak. Brian, if you please, tell us your side of the story."
"Very well," you say. "In exchange for power I agreed to give the fae queen my name. Due to the vague wording of the deal I managed to get her into a marriage contract, which would give her the right to use my last name as her own. Now I have both magic and a 10/10 wife."
The one you once called Rebecca throws her hands up in queenly frustration. "That doesn't make any sense!" she says. "Brian, what the hell are you talking about?"
Another hand wave from the cleric. "Brian," he says gently, wisely, "Rebecca has expressed some concern that your--dedication, shall we say--to these writing prompts may be affecting your ability to be present in the relationship. How much time would you say you spend completing these writing exercises?"
She interrupts. "Good question!" she cries. "Tell him, Brian. Tell him how you missed Little Brian's soccer game so you could write that story about the dwarf with a yeast infection. Tell him about how, when our son asked why you didn't pick him up from school last Friday, you made him read your five-part comment about the castle with legs that ran around shooting hot oil at people!"
The queen is clearly displeased with your labors.
She covers her face with her hands. "Those damned writing prompts are ruining our marriage," she says. "It's like he doesn't even know who he is anymore."
You put a hand on her thigh. Fortunately, you're able to recall the Sacred Incantation of Relationship Healing. "I'll work on myself," you intone. "You're my rock, baby."
After a moment, she meets your eye. "No more writing prompts?"
"No more writing prompts."
You embrace--but little does she know that behind her back you've deployed the Sacred Crossing of the Fingers.
[jaywilcoxwriter.net](https://www.jaywilcoxwriter.net/)
[my subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/JWORX_531/?rdt=57483)
|
jilytu0
|
jiltexb
|
[WP] You've found the answer to Fermi's Paradox of "There must be more advanced civilizations than us, so why haven't they contacted us", turns out there's a "Great Filter" that destroys over 90% of civilizations before they can journey to the stars, on Earth, we call that filter "The Internet".
|
Dr. Negris settled into her chair with a sigh, preparing for another long night at the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory at Caltech. Computer fans whirled in the background, ready to process any information the GEO600 detector might pick up. They mostly just spun, processing either nothing or just random noise.
Some time past 2am, an LED on a nearby machine and the sudden, louder hum of the computers in the background alerted her that something had been detected. Usually, it wasn’t much of anything, but on longer nights like these, anything was worth checking, if only to pass the time.
Slowly, Dr. Negris worked down her list of checks to perform against the incoming signal. Most of the tests failed and Dr. Negris was ready to chalk it up to just more random noise the detector had picked up. Then, curiously, the pattern recognition routine flagged something down. She perked up; that particular routine never succeeded on anything. Out of curiosity, she started to run programs to try and diagnose exactly what that pattern meant.
Gravitational waves, nothing.
Light waves, nothing.
Encoded signals, ……
The machine crashed. In a panic, Dr. Negris rushed to power the computer back on hopeful that she could resume her analysis. However, on boot, she found that both her analysis and the incoming signal from the detector had been corrupted. So, much for the top of the line, she figured. Anyways, it was probably nothing anyways.
Then, several hours later, the signal came again. Ready this time, she continued her analysis from where she left off.
Encoded signal, match for language.
Suddenly all the accumulated fatigue of the long night spent waiting in the observatory disappeared. If there was language, there had to be a message. And, if there was a message, she had to know what it was. A few minutes later, and the following words rendered on her screen.
BEWARE, THE GREAT PACIFIER.
IT HAS DOOMED US AND WILL DOOM ALL WHO INTERACT WITH IT.
The computer fans slowed now, and the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory was quiet once again. Dr. Negris didn’t notice her ears ringing from the impact of the discovery she had just made. Quickly she pulled up the observatory’s internal Slack channel to let her co-workers know about her unbelievable night’s work.
|
“So, what’s it say?” Carla asked.
“One second, google is loading. Hmm… seems like we need to somehow split a nucleus.” Thomas squinted at the screen.
“No, I know that. Like I get theoretically how an atomic bomb works. I’m asking how I’m supposed to put together this uranium, plutonium, and lithium deuteride.” Carla looked over Thomas’ shoulder.
“Sorry, super slow computer. Look at this picture, so… we need to get them into a kind of cone shape. But, how does the nucleus actually split in half?” Thomas asked.
“Ugh, move.” Carla shouldered Thomas out of the way. “Look, here, step by step guide. Walk me through this, starting here: deuteronium boost gas.”
A significant time later, Carla held a shoddily built tube, containing a myriad of illicit and expensive chemicals.
“Now what?” Thomas asked.
“Wanna hide it at school? We’d get a few days off when they notice it, surely.” Carla pitched.
“Radical, great idea!” Thomas agreed. “Come on, let’s go find a good spot!”
—-
“Alright, class, please turn to page three-hundred and nine-“
The earth rumbled as a wave of sound, heat, and blinding light erupted.
|
jn9x83l
|
jn9f1ot
|
[WP] You are a great warrior that heroically fell in defence of your city. As a reward the gods resurrected you to be the its eternal defender. Now, centuries later, your city has been abandoned and is nothing more than rubble, but your mission remains. You will defend these ruins with your life.
|
"The ancient city of Zarret was discovered in 1923 by explorers after hearing about the stories of 'America's Atlantis'. Believe to be one of the biggest cities in North America in pre-Columbian times, the city held almost 2 million people at it's prime, which back then, was a lot of people," I said to the group as they looked at the now restoredish city. Zarret is still a crumbling mess, but we did our best.
I led the tour group around the remains of the city, making sure they remain as respectful and diligent as we walked.
"There's a legend about this old city," I began as we walked down the "main road", "of a warrior that protected this city, saved the lives of his people, even his queen. Legend states that the gods made him protector of this city, and some say he still protects this city, even years after the people left."
"The Zarret Warrior!" a boy exclaimed.
"That's right. If you keep your eyes peeled, you might see him," I said.
The adults just chuckled, while the kids in the group look around, probably in hopes to find this mystery warrior.
After the tour ended and the group left, I joined the other tour guides and few archeologists at the mess hall near the outskirts of Zarret.
"Do you always have to tell people about that stupid legend?" Troy, an archeologist, mumbled as he drank his coffee.
"It's a fun story to tell," I said, getting myself a cup, "since it's true."
"An immortal man from early 1300s running around modern day America? If he's true, then he would certainly be history's greatest treasure," Troy said.
"How so?" I asked.
"I'm sure he has stories to tell, history. He could even tell us why Zarret was abandoned."
"Plague, famine, the usual," I said, "The Great Plague of 1503, that was the biggest killer, after the Harsh Famine of 1501. Threw the city into chaos."
Troy looked at me with fascination and confusion.
"Lisa was telling me about it," I added quickly, drinking my coffee.
"Lisa is off this week," Troy scowled.
"Lisa J. Not Lisa R."
"Okay," Troy said, still suspicious.
I really need to be careful on what I say around Troy now. Last thing I need is for him to discover I'm the Zarret Warrior, and I've been using the archeologists to restore my old home. It's nice to have people walking in it's old streets again. Hear the laughter of children, the chatter of citizens. I know this won't bring my people back, but at least I get to see my city alive once more, even if it is during tourist season.
|
I have long since refurbished a small building and a fenced area around it, and keep it maintained as a comfortable home and practice yard. I try to maintain the heart of the city as best I can; but I am a warrior, not an engineer, and there are simply some things that are beyond my expertise.
The city remains abandoned, a crumbling ruin to past glories, almost in spite of my efforts. There are legends of the city out in the wider world: I know this because, every few years, adventurers come, a variation from the wandering tribes of barbarians and savage goblinoids that I usually have to drive away. The adventurers, I can talk to...and I do. I tell them of how the city was and how it fell and was abandoned, typically over a bowl of hearty soup. And I ask news of the greater world.
I am a ghost. A legend. The wraith that haunts the ruins; but a few learn that there is no wraith, just a man who fell and was honored by the gods, and how that honor has turned into chains.
A few return. The scholars and sages, wizards and sorcerers. The bards. I let them transcribe notes from the ancient books in the library, as long as they don't take anything they did not bring.
|
lp8tv6s
|
lp8os6m
|
[WP] You have the power to place really small, permanent curses on people. Things like never winning bingo or having them suddenly dislike a food they use to love. One day, someone nearly kills you cutting you off in traffic, and you curse them. Little do you know, you just ruined their life.
|
I hook the man to the machine for his first ever hemodialysis session. The catheter was visibly uncomfortable, but he'll have to get used to it eventually, it's not like he has any other choice after his recent kidney failure. Hypertension. Unsurprising, since just by seeing him I can deduce the type of lifestyle choices that have led him to our clinic in the first place. Bulky man over 50, with a scraggly beard and a Budweiser trucker hat on his head, flannel shirt and denim jeans, smelling a bit of sour beer and sweat. I could bet his heart and liver aren't having a great time either. Eh, not my job to be judgemental in any case, I'm not his doctor, just a technician. Can't complain, it pays the bills.
I double-check his catheter straps, adjust the settings on the control panel and ask him to relax and try to get comfortable, as he'll be here hooked to the device for 5 hours while his entire blood supply is recirculated into it several times for filtering and detoxifying. He'll need a surgical graft soon to have cleaner access to his artery.
The burly man loks like he's lost in his own thoughts and doesn't seem to listen when I tell him to push the bell button if he needs assistance or a drink while he's here. A bit shocked maybe, and definitely considering the long term implications of this new condition. How long will the insurance cover the costs? Will he have to sell his house and move in with his son? How will this affect his work?
Nah. Don't get involved. It's not my job to empathize and internalize whatever baggage I imagine these people have and I don't really know their stories. I go about the rounds checking on the other patients, and I get lost in the routine for a while. Scribble down timers and levels, adjust dials, unhook an elderly man from a machine and send him home. Nice guy, that one, always cheery and polite. A bell rings, and I go check out who is it that needs assistance.
The man in the red flannel needs a phone charger from his truck and asks if I can get it for him. Yeah, why not? I take the keys from his calloused hand and walk out to the parking lot and I see it. The big red lifted 1985 Ford F-150 with oversized mud tires. I go around the back and it's there. The "How am I driving? Call 1-800-FUCK OFF" sticker that almost smashed through my windshield after this very truck brake checked me on the freeway six months ago.
I tried not to, but I couldn't help but curse him. I don't like when it happens, but I couldn't help it. Yes, he may have deserved it and they're mostly minor inconveniences that get granted upon the recipient, but it does make me feel crappy that it happens. It's in the old blood, my grandma used to say, but she never taught me how to rein it in. That day I screeched to a halt just inches away from a potentially life threatening crash, and dazed, I could only watch as a big tattoed arm came out the window giving me the finger.
"May you forever oversalt your food!" I screamed.
|
Growing up, most people umagine they can do strange things; one of my friends claimed he could control the weather, another claimed he had his mother in thrall. A kid came out of starwars imagining he was a Jedi, and then there were 5ge 'wizards'.
If only they knew what a curse these 'gifts' were.
Then it hit me: i could give them a taste of what it was like!
The kid who wanted to control the weather was in a boat with me; i saw him looking at some grey clouds and i thought, yea this will be fun.
I whispered 'i hope you get your wish' and in 15 minutes we went from a calm sea to a decent chop, and rain coming fast. He was having fun...but then i saw panic in his eyes- he couldnt let go. Sigh. I breathed 'not all of us can tame the wind', and the sky calmed again.
But I wasnt done- this was fun.
I loved pranking people- kids mostly- who briefly hoped they could do something more than their limits, and showing them what it felt like; in short, they thought they had my 'gift'. The jedis could levitate until they were afraid of not feeling the earth, the wizards wands worked until they broke them from fearing their powers, the musicians who thought theyd 'sold their souls'- well, i left them tortured (their talents were real; they just needed motivation).
One day however, i tasted how my gift was actually a curse all along. A delivery cyclist cut me off on the crosswalk, and i yelled "i hope you get hit by a truck!" Startled, the kid looked back and i swear he was going to raise his finger, but he never got the chance. Just then, a truck crossed over the centre line, making a sharp left directly in his path. I dont think the kid will walk again
Now, im wondering if someone might have been playing me, the same way i played with others...
|
j2qes97
|
j2q09kt
|
[WP] Your job description: 1) Sit in an empty room with a red button for 8 hours a day. 2) NEVER press the red button, no matter what happens. 3) Do not talk to anyone about the job. After many uneventful years, your phone rings and a stern, slightly panicked voice says: „Press the button. NOW!!“
|
"You got it!"
*click*
Nothing happened.
"Aww well." I sighed "Guess I'm fired now huh?"
"Wait you actually pushed the button?" The distorted voice on the other side of the line asked "You broke the ONE rule we told you not to break?"
"Yeah pretty much..." I paused and continued. In for a penny. "Well no. I broke all the other rules too. I dont sit in front of the button all day either. Its bad for your health. I stand up and walk around to stretch my legs sometimes.".
"Well the sitting part is just a figure of speech. We wouldnt have fired you for that.
"Well good because I was ready to report you to OSHA if you did. But thats not all. I talk about the job all the time. Made a post on r/writingprompts last month to gauge how people would feel about it. Most people leant towards not pushing it so I kinda explored all those possibilities in my imaginaton. Not enough pushing it responses though, so here I am to sate my curiostiy."
I paused for a reaction. Nothing. So I continued to ramble as was my nature.
"I'm surprised I havent been fired already. I figured a mysterious employer that could afford to pay me a generous wage for doing nothing would have a much more extensive surveilance network. I'll be disapointed if I find out I've been keeping my choices in porn tame all these years for no reason."
"I dont understand. Why are you being so honest?" Asked the voice on the other end of the line "Why did you push the button? Why after all these years of discipline you crack immediately with no resistance?"
"Well I'm not very good at lying. If im going to be fired anyway I might as well lay it all out. As for the button, the boredom for one. I got a good amount of savings so that should hold me until I find another job. But i figured the day would come that I be tested. And either they would be looking for obedient drones or something else. I know myself. I could never thrive in a position where I had to obey orders and do nothing else. So I decided to stay true to who I am. I have no way to gauge what criteria you are trying to measure so one answer was as good as any button pushing-wise."
"Werent you worried it might launch a nuke and kill millions or open a portal to hell or something?" queried the voice.
"Yea or it might release a cure for the common cold into the atmosphere and disarm all nuclear weapons. What can I say? I'm a gambler. And a bad one."
After a pause the voice responded "One moment please." Followed by silence.
A minute passed I decided to push the button a few more times in case this was part of the test.
TBC?
|
I sat there, as I had been doing for 8 hours a day for as long as I can remember.
The button. It was ominous, and glowed a bright red.
Through these days, I wondered.
What did it do?
Launch nuclear missiles?
Open a door to another universe?
Nothing?
...
I didn't know. Nor did I want to find out.
My superiors spent what felt like hours telling me how important it was to not press the button.
I wasn't about to disobey that.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes. I pause for a moment, and answer the call.
"Hello?" I said.
Then I heard a voice, panickly asking me a question.
"PRESS THE BUTTON. NOW."
"Excuse me?"
"I SAID, PRESS THE BUTTON!"
"S-Sir, I-"
"You have NO time left. No more screwups. PRESS. THE BUTTON."
I looked to the button.
"Sir, how do you kno-"
"I am telling you. Stop wasting time and press. The godamn. Button."
"Sir, wh-why should I do that, sir?"
"*Everything* depends on it. Your LIFE depends on your ability to press it."
This stranger was starting to get on my nerves. I got up from my chair and paced around the room.
"Sir, I'm gonna n-need you to-"
"No, Johnathan! The job was to PRESS THE BUTTON!"
My name wasn't Johnathan.
"That is *not* my job, nor is that my name! Is it possible you have a wrong num-?"
Then I realised.
The call wasn't meant for me.
The "job" wasn't *my* job.
The door was open.
Someone had broke through, and pressed the button.
|
ku1ap5p
|
ktxupaf
|
[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."
|
No.
All of the thoughts in my head, all of the feelings in my heart, and all of the scars along my body coalesce into one definitive word as I stood back and saw Brandon lower his gun.
“If I kill you,” the moron continued, although my blood was pounding too hard to fully hear, “I’ll be just like you. No, you need to face the full might of the judicial system and face punishment for your crimes.
That was a joke. It had to be, nothing else made any sense. Blood was dripping off of both our hands, both metaphorically and quite literally. My eye twitched as my hands began to shake, and I slowly lowered them to the only weapon I had yet to throw or run out of ammo for: my old derringer, passed down from father to son for generations.
“Y-You’re letting me live?” Even Duke Rogers seemed surprised at Brandon’s change of heart. Not shocking, considering the list of atrocities he had committed was longer than the damn Bible.
“T-T-Thank you so much!” The scumbag stammered out, still knelt at the feet of Brandon. “I’ll change my ways, I promise! You’ll only ever hear the people singing my praises from now on!”
No.
*Not a fucking chance.*
**BANG**
The report of my derringer sounded out in the lavishly decorated room, fine artwork and gold-inlayed mahogany everywhere. There was silence for a brief moment, then the thud of Duke Rogers’ body leaning onto the ground, an eighth hole freshly made in his head.
Brandon stumbled back.
“What the fuck?!” He shouted, raising his pistol and pointing it at me.
“Why the hell did you do that?!” His face was red, eyes wide.
It shocked me at that moment just how little I cared. All the suffering I’d undergone, all the people murdered in the name of greed, all of the families torn apart to fuel the war machine. It all turned into sheer, unadulterated bliss as I stared at the corpse of the man who orchestrated it all. My mouth twisted into a smirk, then a smile, then a full blown rictus grin as a chuckle bubbled out of my throat.
My gun fell to the ground as both my hands raised to my face, held to the side of my head as my chuckling turned to howling laughter.
“I said why the fuck did you do that Sam!” Brandon yelled again, pistol shaking as he clenched it harder.
I turned to face him, trying to force my laughter to stop so that I could talk. But it was like trying to stop a volcano mid-eruption, and I just stood there, staring face to face with the coward. Both of our eyes were wide, his in rage and mine in euphoria.
Finally, I forced out one sentence through the echoing howls of my laughter:
“*I won.*”
|
I watched, drenched in sweat and blood, as my best friend lowered his sword. Corpses littered the ground at my feet, both friend and foe, and my arms felt like lead. My shield was splinters, my sword bent and dull. We had made it mere meters into the palace, but it seemed like we'd won the fight.
"I can't do it." Aelle whispered. The wounded man at his feet chuckled, blood running from his nose and into his mouth. The Boar General. After a year of fighting, their rebellion had succeeded in smashing his army and killing their ruthless leader. At least, that was the original plan.
"What do you mean?" I demanded, stumbling towards my friend. Aelle motioned for me to stay back.
"Yorig, my brother. If we kill him, helpless as he is, we are no better than he." He said sadly. "I cannot strike him down. We must go."
I looked at Aelle like he was crazy. I dropped my sword and shield, walking towards my best friend. He looked back at me with alarm, watching as my offhand snatched the dagger from my belt. I lunged forward, knocking Aelle back and sinking my blade into the Boar General's chest. I left the knife in him, and he slumped to the side, dying noisily.
Aelle looked at me with a mixture of fear and revulsion. He shook his head and turned away, trudging over the bodies of the fallen and out the palace door. I scowled.
"Coward."
|
kflpih9
|
kfldsfn
|
[WP] They said that you could never save the kingdom, that you would fail and die miserably, because you were not the prophesized hero. And when you returned after saving the realm on your own, instead of welcoming you as a hero the king banished you, as it was not your place to save them.
|
When I first set out on the journey I chose, I was surrounded by naysayers.
They told me it was futile...
They told me I had no hope, no chance of success against the Night Burner...
They all said that I would fail, that I would die a miserable death, alone, surrounded by no ally, no friend, only the bodies of those I had slain. And those I had failed to defeat.
But I chose to ignore their words. This kingdom was my home, damnit. I was born here, raised here. It was my everything. I might not have lived a luxurious life amongst the merchants of the capital, but the little farm I grew up on was fine as far as I was concerned.
I would do anything to protect my family, my home. That was why I chose to fight the Night Burner when the stories of his cruelty reached our borders.
They said I was not the one mentioned in the Divine Testament, the Light Bringer. And because of the vague ramblings written in an ancient document of dubious authenticity, I could not do anything against the Night Burner.
I chose not to listen to the Testament. I chose to put the lives of those who I loved above the possibility that a hero might just manifest themselves.
Nobody believed in me. They just told me to give up on my false quest. None of them understood. The legions of the Night Burner were almost at the kingdom's border. They were close enough to see their various cooking fires. And yet nobody did anything. Not the guards of the border, nor the knights and legions of the garrisons... not even the king thought to send an army against the Night Burner. Maybe they wouldn't have succeeded, maybe it was a futile gesture, but at least it could buy us time, time to think of something aside from having faith in a laughable story of some hero from another world. But I didn't stop.
I didn't stop at the village border, when the guards I'd known for years warned me of the danger out there.
I didn't stop once when I travelled the roads, coming across travellers who at best laughed at my goals, and at worst tried to restrain me, forcing me to do the one thing I didn't want to do.
I didn't stop at the border either. Faced with the encroaching hordes of the Night Burner, I did not turn away. I wasn't a coward. I ignored the few guards there, who said I could not possibly win against the Night Burner.
And went on, to my destiny that I had chosen for myself.
I was brave! I never stopped fighting, not when the first few scouts tried to ambush me, not when I was held down by archers hidden in the trees. I stood fast by my decision. And I took the opportunity I saw.
When I saw the Night Burner himself, standing at the head of his main force, seeing the mortal who was foolish enough to try and stand against him, I did not turn and run, like those mentioned in the stories that had reached us. I held my blade firm, and faced the enemy of the world.
I don't know for certain why he chose to face me in single combat. Maybe it was hubris. The belief that he was invulnerable, and couldn't be slain by any man or woman. Maybe he was infuriated at this fool who had tried to interrupt his glorious conquest of the world. Perhaps he wanted to humour me for a moment, before slaying me as a demonstration of those who opposed him. But I found myself facing the Night Burner, the servant of Lord Thandrian, alone, with no help coming.
There are stories in this world concerning heroes that had fought dark lords alone, and had succeeded against all the odds. Heroes that had fought off countless legions, waded through blood waist high, and could still succeed in the fight despite their exhaustion.
My fight with the Night Burner was not one of those fights.
I wasn't a fighter by trade, I had been a farmer for most of my life. But that didn't stop me from trying to stop the coming darkness. But, as I said, I wasn't a fighter by trade.
It was a matter of minutes before I'd been disarmed and hacked at several times by the Night Burner. I lay there, in the mud, bleeding slowly, whilst the Night Burner turned to face his troops, to make some kind of boast about his victory. That was his mistake.
His fanatical legions were enraptured by his speech, and their attention had been drawn away from me. Not that they would have cared. After all, I'd been cut down, defeated. What was the worst I could do?
It took all my strength, but I was able to grip my sword, stagger to my feet, and lurch forward and spear the Night Burner while his back was turned.
A fluke. The defeat of the Night Burner was a fluke.
The legions of the Night Burner, to my surprise, didn't try to kill me when I lurched out of their camp. They were too struck with shock to say anything, or do anything. I think that's why they just disbanded, left their dark crusade behind.
I didn't know what to expect upon my return. Maybe a feast and parade in my honour. Maybe a quiet acceptance of my abilities. Not exile, banishment and denouncement.
They told me that I was a heretic. A usurper of the truth. The king himself told me it was not my place to save the kingdom, that that honour was reserved for the prophesised Light Bringer alone, and no other.
They said that I had derailed all of time by my actions. That my transgressions could not go unpunished.
Not even my own family held any mercy for me. My own father said that I could not be forgiven. They gave me a choice. Death, or exile.
I chose exile. At least this way, I can travel the world, to find a place to call my true home.
One that will truly see me as the hero.
|
"Ingrates!"
I shouted as a web of purple and black chains rose around me. The King stood from his throne, staring down at me with a cold gaze. His Orb of Judgement glowed with that same colour, keeping me in place. "You have gone against the strings of fate. Your actions have denied a child their destiny. Such transgressions are forbidden, and have only one punishment. You, Holez of the Minab Tribe, are banished. You have no home here, no family, no possessions. In this land, you are outlawed. No protection shall be granted to you, nor mercy should you return."
I seethed in rage, hatred filling me. I had saved thousands of lives. I had kept them wealthy, and sacrificed so much of my life to help. Yet the King saw fit to punish instead of thank. I felt the power within me spike, as the chains snapped taut. In a flash his throne room vanished, replaced by a frozen peak.
I knew where I was instantly. The top of Iragos, a lonely mountain standing far to the north of the kingdom. I had spent some time at its base, but the peak was off limits. The reasoning for that was clear, as I looked around.
Dozens of bodies lay around me. Most were curled up, once trying to stay warm. Others had their preserved faces looking to the sky, mouth open and gasping. Thin air was hard to breath, but I could manage. Even these low temperatures weren't enough to stop me.
I screamed at the sky, releasing a pent up wave of magic. The air buffeted around me, as a spray of icicles condensed from the wild mana. As my cry petered out, I looked to the horizon, were the kingdom ended. To them I hissed, clenching my fists. "You were not worthy of being saved. You are not worthy of life. You are not WORTHY!"
I could hear a dark chuckle in response. The Inquisitor of Sin whispered to me, from his prison below a hundred holy seals. "I told you, didn't I? They would not trust you. They would cast you aside."
I slowly blinked, turning my gaze to the west. From here I could see the shining light of Eruther, where the Gods left the world. A place of divine power, the heart of all religions. "You did."
He laughed again. "So you respond to me again? How delightful."
My heart wavered at what to do. Then it stilled, remembering how I had been treated. My name would be dragged through waste amongst the masses. I wouldn't be respected, but instead hated. With that, what little doubt I had died, as I faced towards its prison. "Does your deal still stand?"
For a moment there was nothing but silence. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, before the dark voice spoke again. "It does. It always does."
Then I grinned, though mirth was far from me. "Then I accept. Your strength, in return for breaking your seals."
His laugh was booming, a scroll of skin appearing before me. "Wonderful. Truly wonderful. The deal is made. For each seal broken, your might will grow. Take the scroll, and learn the first power."
It was warm against my fingers, as I unravelled it. The words filled my head, understanding instantly. They were cruel in nature, an affront to most. He spoke to me again, a smile still evident in his tone. "Rising of the Damned. The prefect thing for you right now. Though tell me, how will you unseal me?"
I pulled out a chain from my neck, looking at its end. An amulet sat there, a ring of branches surrounding a diamond. "I studied the seals as you know. Their key is complex, and abhorrent to most. A member of the order must willingly sacrifice thirteen innocent lives on each, whilst reciting each one's specific phrase. In addition, each seal will require an artifact from one of a hundred different sacred places. A piece of bark, a saints bone, a freshly slain deer. That sort of thing."
I sneered at the amulet, tucking it away. "Unfortunately for the King, I am a member of that order. And I am more than willing to sacrifice."
My vision wandered to the bodies, and I smirked. His power was indeed perfect. I reached out, and the unburied answered in kind. Their souls were broken, easy to sway under my new ability. The frozen banished twisted and cracked, rising under infernal command.
His voice came once more, firmer now our pact was made. "How cruel of you. Go then, Speaker of the Defiled Legion. Bring terror and chaos to those who stand against you. And free me."
|
ka77hjf
|
ka6s6n3
|
[WP] You are an immortal, having to deal with the rather troublesome rumour that your blood grants immortal life. However, what those after your blood don't know is that since you can't die, you are an excellent host to several deadly bacteria and viruses-all existing peacefully in your blood.
|
Waking up blindfolded and tied to a chair would be a jarring experience for most normal people. But I was anything but normal. In fact, this was not the first, second… hell, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve woken up tied to a chair.
In fact, of all the times I’ve been kidnapped and tied up, this was probably one of my better experiences. At least they hadn’t strung me up like some prized meat to display.
My only real complaint was that the floor was damp and I could feel it through my socks, which made my leg feel slimy. Not a good feeling.
With a harsh tug, the blindfold was stripped off my face and my eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness all around me. I could make out a few bodies as they shuffled in place, but they were cloaked in darkness and made it hard to figure out how many persons had surrounded me.
“Welcome to our humble abode, time walker,” a voice spoke. “It has been quite a while since we’ve had our eyes on you.”
So it was another cult, that was a plus. At least it wasn’t some secret government agency. That would have made my escape far more difficult.
I shifted in my chair.
“So what’s your cult’s name this time around?” I asked
“We are not a cult,” another voice hissed back in anger. “We are a brotherhood, a lineage so great and so vast that has existed for centuries. We are the architects of modern society, hidden in the shadows that besiege the nights.”
Yep, definitely a cult.
“You, time walker, are the key to our future. Our forefathers have been watching you, learning about you, guiding you for years. They have passed down your secrets to their sons, who have passed it on to their sons and so on, and now, it is finally time to reap our reward,” the first voice roared. “The gift of immortality, flowing through your veins, will be our eternal fountain of youth.”
Before I could say another word, a cloaked figure sprinted from the darkness with a decorative knife in hand and slashed at my wrist, spilling blood everywhere. He began gorging himself on the hot liquid that flowed from my wound.
The man relished the taste of my blood. It must have been a rush for him as he could hardly pull himself away, his eyes glistening in delight.
“Oh you poor fool,” I muttered.
In an instant, his body seized up, and his lips fell off my wrist as he stumbled backwards.
“W-W-What is this?” He choked, coughing and wheezing.
“That is your heart shutting down,” I said, as he doubled over. “And your body rejecting my blood.”
He clawed at his throat and screamed, but no sound from his mouth.
“It’ll be over soon, very soon.”
His eyes started to leak, not tears, but black sludge that stained his pale cheeks.
“You have been watching me for centuries, but I have been alive for many millennia,” I said. “You are the architects of modern society, but I have seen countless other ‘modern’ societies come and go, just like theis society will as well.”
He tumbled to the floor, his legs giving out. I could feel the fear heightened as he looked up at me, but there were no pupils, no recognition, just white writhing eyes.
“The Black Death, the Spanish Flu, COVID. It was all me. Oh, I may look young and healthy, but make no mistake, that is my curse. The blood that runs through these veins are not the fountain of youth, but a cesspool of death. Diseases you have not even heard about nor could nary imagine run through these veins of mine,” I lectured as he wasted away. “But I am cursed to live forever, like a porcelain doll that will never crack. But you, my dear cultist, well, you’re already dead, aren’t you?”
He gave no response, not that he could if he wanted to. He was nothing more than a corpse, already rotting away as the diseases ate through his flesh.
I looked up back at the crowd of cloaked figures, and I could taste the fear as they slowly backed away.
“Now, who is going to be the one brave enough to come untie me?”
|
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“And why should we listen to you?”
“Okay.” He glanced at the ceiling. “It’s your funeral.”
“What did you say?”
“Don’t listen to him. Just do it.”
The blood made a hollow tinkling sound as it dripped and then splattered into a shallow bowl – a crimson fortune.
“How much does she want?”
“I don’t know. A litre? Two?”
“Two? Won’t that kill him?”
“Nothing can kill him, remember?”
“Right.”
He considered disputing this. It wasn’t precisely wrong. There were things that could kill him, he was fairly confident. And besides, he’d learned to appreciate a certain degree of nuance to the notion of death. Going several days in an abyssal blackness, slowly regenerating all the blood in ones body, could hardly constitute life.
In the end, he refrained. This didn’t seem like the right crowd for that kind of conversation.
Siphoning the blood took a few minutes. Zaydi grew weak as his blood dripped, dripped, dripped; his extremities numb and tingling. A few more and he’d pass out. Already, darkness encroached.
“Do you know, by any chance, what your boss plans to do with me after you’ve taken that?” He fought not to to slur his words.
The answer didn’t matter so much. He was only curious.
“No.”
“We’re not letting you go, that’s for sure.”
“No, no. I don’t suppose she would.”
They gave him a strange look. Perhaps they’d never had such an amenable victim before. Well, there was hardly any point in fighting was there. Not as his blood became theirs and the room became dark. He watched as shadows cobwebbed the edges of the room, as the floor and ceiling began pulsing oddly – a sick, soft heartbeat. He counted it.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four...
Waking up was like dying. One moment he was safe and the next –
The room was more or less as he remembered it, though now there was a corpse on the floor. It looked a few days old, smelled like it too. Not taking his eyes off it, he tugged experimentally at his restraints. The ropes they’d used to tie him to this chair slipped and shifted slightly; not loose enough to fit his hands through but loose enough to reach the knot.
By the gnawing ache in his belly, Zaydi judged it’d been a week since he died. They must have taken more than two litres.
With two hands free, he worked on the restraints around his feet and looked around. Unless this poor unfortunate was locked in here by its comrades, he guessed it’d have keys on it. That’s usually how this went. When he walked over, gently flipping the corpse onto its back, he heard an unmistakable jangle.
Zaydi crouched beside the corpse. There was blood on its lips. A crimson fortune.
|
lba5a5p
|
lb8chhs
|
[WP] "Let me make this perfectly clear. You are not saving my daughter from a dragon. She IS a dragon. You are going to protect her and keep her company until she learns how to control her magic."
|
Sam had read about isekai novels before, where a chosen few are whisked off to fantastic worlds, given epic quests, and become heroes in that foreign land. The most classic, of course, was to save a princess who had been abducted by a dragon, for which the brave knight would be rewarded by the princess's hand in marriage.
They'd never expected themselves to be chosen for such a quest though. Nor were they interested - lack of ability to fight a dragon aside, the reward wasn't quite interesting to them either.
"My daughter needs your help!" A booming voice atop a throne declared. "Should you be the one we are looking for, who fears not the wrath of dragons, you will be entrusted in her safety."
"This makes no sense, I'm not some warrior or adventurer, I don't know magic or witchcraft, how am I supposed to deal with a dragon?" Sam pleaded, hoping to get some sense into the king. "I'm just a babysitter!"
Besides, it doesn't seem like the princess needed saving anyway. The adorable toddler adorned in royal garb sat right there by her father's side, staring intently at her would-be protector.
The king laughed. "Oh, but that is exactly why you've been chosen. Perhaps we gave you the wrong impression at first, but no, let me make this clear. You are not saving my daughter from a dragon. She IS the dragon. You are going to protect her and keep her company until she learns how to control her magic."
Sam's eyes grew wide. They looked at the princess, then back a the king, then back at the princess again, trying to make sense of the situation.
Seeming to understand their confusing, the queen stepped out from next to the throne. For a brief moment, her irises flashed a brilliant red, her pupil thinned into a vertical line, and scales appeared around her eyes. She winked at Sam, giving them a reassuring smile.
"Go forth, my daughter. Meet your new friend." The queen gestured to the princess.
The little princess stood up, but instead of dove forward. Sam reflexively lunged forward to catch her fall, but before she hit the ground, she had transformed. Before Sam could react, they were holding in their arms the cutest little dragon they had ever seen, staring up at them with wide, brilliantly red eyes.
"Now tell me, do you think you are fit for this quest, young one?" The king asked.
Sam smiled. "Yes, your majesty, I think I am."
|
Tori hummed and rubbed her chin after hearing the woman's request. Nugget looked up at his mount with a few cheeps and a cluck.
"It's a weird one, Nugs." Tori chuckled at her cockatrice, whose snake tail wagged with anticipation. "But money's money and we're the closest magic teachers and bodyguards around... kind of."
Nugget stretched his head at Tori with a cheep.
"I know, I know. We'll eat soon, okay?" Tori glanced at her cockatrice, who cheeped back.
"This time of year is inhospitable to all but the local ice dragons and storm dragons." The requester rumbled. "For now, I have a cave where you and your bird can stay."
"Oh, that's perfectly fine. I used to live in a cave when I was a kid." Tori waved her hand with a chuckle. "My mom taught me how to hunt in caves and the forest"
"Great!" The woman beamed while she handed over a map to Tori. "Here's a map of the area. My cave is marked here. I'll leave you and your bird to get yourselves adjusted for a few days."
Tori thanked the requester and went off to find the cave she and Nugget will be staying at for the next six months.
|
jfbo3dc
|
jfbk13f
|
[WP] You, a warrior mage, lost your sight in battle. You’re able to use magic to see, but doing so drains your powers. You’re always having to choose whether to save your powers to see, or to cast spells. One day, caught in an attack, your combat skills alone aren’t enough. You close your eyes.
|
I used to be a mage once. Can’t say a great mage - but at least above average. I had great talent, only limited by my small mana pool.
Yet one day I made a mistake - I carelessly entered the boss room without any preparation, without thinking about what all those murals were hinting at along the way. The boss was an Ifrit - a demon with burning eyes - just gazing upon him caused my body to burn. After a fierce fight I somehow beat it - but returning to town no healer could fully heal me.
My vision got more cloudy as days passed and one day I could no longer see at all! That was seemingly a tragic end for a mage - but I did not give up hope. Where holy spells failed - magic might find another way.
I somehow managed to develop a miniature clairvoyance spell - it focused on the area around me giving me 360 vision, and mana upkeep for whole day seemed barely below my mana pool. I could see again!
But now with my mana basically \*locked\* I could not fight properly - it’s either casting spells blindly or being able to see. I tried switching around mid-fight but failed horribly - mages fight from far away, and I could not aim being blind. And with my mana pool in constant operation I could not manage many spells without going blind for hours again.
Still determined to stay as an adventurer I spent my savings and learned the way of the sword. Though I did not have much talent there - it was enough to keep my career.
I will always remember that day when my life flipped around once again.
It was about 7 years after getting blinded - I was raiding some dungeon and my skills seemed insufficient once more. I was fighting Arachne in a boss room - her spider legs were too fast to keep up and I unfortunately lost.
I was put in a cocoon and hanged among other fallen adventurers. I\`m not sure how much time passed but I woke up some time later all dried up - as if I never drank for days. Looking around with my spell I could see that there were not many cocoons left - I was to be snacked upon soon.
Losing all hope I decided to take the boss down with me - being eaten alive is not a pleasant way to die. So I closed my eyes and focused on my mana once again. Soon a bright flame appeared and I broke free - just to fall to the ground exhausted - at least I still had plenty of mana as no mana was used to maintain my \*vision\*.
I did not see anything, but years of combat trained my other senses as well - I could hear the screaming spider, feel the legs moving towards me, smell the foul breath closing in on me.
Not wasting any time I converted most of my mana into fire as hot as flames from hell and launched it towards the boss as my life flashed past my eyes.
I thought that was it - with all mana spent, the boss would probably burn to death - or take some damage at least. But it would surely kill me before falling.
I heard a painful screech and felt a spider stopping in its tracks, but my mind was elsewhere - somehow my mana was regenerating at a fast speed.
Seeing a bit of hope again I focused on my other senses once again and blinked away when I felt the temperature near me rising and wind blowing in my face.
I\`m not sure why it happened - was it a natural thing or was it caused by my mana pool in constant depletion - somehow it was regenerating very fast.
Not wasting any time I blinked a few more times and once I had enough mana I burrowed underground to hide and wait for that thing to burn. I converted my mana to water, relinquished my thirst as a smile spread throughout my face.
I could do it this time - I could go back to being a mage.
|
The attacks came in swift and it was hard to dodge them without knowing where they were coming from. To Eagan they felt like they came from all sides all at once. Heck, what did he know, maybe they were coming from all sides, not like he could see the truth of the matter. The worst thing that could happen to a blind magician was an ambush. Let this happen to be just that. Eagan definitely wasn’t having his day.
All he needed was a moment of reprieve. Something that wouldn’t be granted to him if his attackers had any say in it. Right at that moment a dagger bit in his right arm as Eagan failed to dodge an attack from the back. The fact he was dodging attacks at all had everything to do with years of blind battle which raised his instinct to new heights. Dodging however didn’t win you a fight, nor did it help you escape tenacious adversaries like these lads.
Usually in battle, Eagan would have time to prepare. He’d be able to manipulate the battlefield in such a manner that he could switch his magic between offense and observation. A magician never was truly blind as long as he could cast a spell. Doing both however had been too tricky as either of those taxed his stamina intensively. So it often was switching between seeing his enemy and making them disappear again, for everyone that is. No preparation in this case however, meant that he had no clue where his enemy was coming from and thus had no idea how to hit back. Yet, there had to be a way out of this and maybe there was.
He might not have been able to prepare for this battle, but that didn’t mean he never spend his idle time to prepare for a situation like this. He wasn’t naive, eventually his enemies would find out about his affliction and try to use it to their benefit. Idle time however was scarce and while thinking of ingenious solutions was one thing, executing them took time and practice, even to a battle hardened veteran like himself. Spells could have all kinds of side effects that you had to prepare for and that’s not even entertaining the idea that the spell might just not work at all. Nothing worse than dying a fool, conjuring something that not only got you killed, but made you look like an idiot. Ending up on the pointy end of sword surrounded by pretty lights hopefully wasn’t on the menu today, because practice or not, it had to happen now.
He had one shot, but if fate was kind enough to grand him that, this would be epic. With a grin on his face, imagining the best outcome of the thing that was about to unfold, he closed his eyes in the midst of battle. His body started emanating a feint shivering light, as if dipped in a thin coating of bio-luminescence substance of sorts. Swords, daggers and all other kinds of sharp tools ricochet of his corporeal form as if hitting rock. This shield would only hold out for an instant, but that would be enough. As his attackers kept ferociously chopping away at him, despite confusion drawn upon their faces, he held his breath.
If Eagan couldn’t observe and use offensive magic separately at the same time. He had to be creative and find a way to combine the two. The convenient thing about people caught in murderous rage was that they never looked up. Not that looking up would’ve made a difference, but it would’ve given them a chance to send a quick prayer to prepare the maker for their arrival. Two giant eyeballs grew out of thin air above the scuffle below. This granted Eagan with the power to observe his situation. Turned out he had been right, attackers were coming at him from all sides. Seemed he was surrounded. Now it was time for the fun part!
The enemies in the front were too busy chopping away to notice the first screams in the back. It took a second for the poor fools caught in the middle to notice the stench of burning a flesh and as they turned around they suddenly found themselves to be the new back of the pack. Behind them all that was left were piles of smoking ash. That's when they dared to look above them. Their gaze met that of the implement of their undoing as those giant eyes that Eagan conjured up shot lasers at the flabbergasted targets below. Eagan let loose salvo after salvo of beams of plasma targeting indiscriminately and haphazardly while guffawing loudly as the air filled with the scent of burning meat carried away in puffs of dark smoke. The whole act of jubilant violence only lasted for less than a couple of minutes as the last few stragglers that had escaped their fate ran of into the distance. Eagan released his shield with a deep exhale of breath and the eyes in the sky dissolved.
“I may be blind, but no one can deny my vision!” He yelled at the sky, raising his fist in boastful defiance.
[/r/zeekoeswriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/zeekoeswriting/)
|
jyt9125
|
jyt7pmp
|
[WP] You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. "I give them food, they give me company," you'd say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, "A neighbor plots against you, my lord."
|
In the heart of New York City, I found myself trapped in the soul-sucking routine of a 9-5 office job, yearning for a spark of excitement to break the monotony. Amidst the sea of paperwork, ringing phones, and the drone of office gossip, my one solace was the peculiar habit I had developed over time. Every morning, on my way to work, I would take a detour to a nearby park and share my breakfast with a group of neighborhood ravens. My co-workers often raised their brows, deeming it a strange and eccentric ritual, and they would question me,
"Why do you feed those ravens, Alex?" My response was always a simple, "Why not? They give me company." They would chuckle at my response, dismissing it as another quirk of mine.
However, one fateful morning, as I scattered breadcrumbs among the eager ravens, something extraordinary occurred.
A raven with sleek, midnight-black feathers and piercing, intelligent eyes, unlike any I had ever seen, perched on a nearby branch and uttered words that resonated with a profound elegance, "A co-worker plots against you, my lord." I froze, bread crumbs suspended in mid-air, my heart racing as I turned to the raven in astonishment. "What?" I stammered, my voice trembling, "How are you speaking?"
The raven responded with an air of regality, "We have been blessed by you, my lord, and now we possess the gift of speech." I could hardly believe my ears. The other ravens gathered around, forming an oddly precise military formation as they listened to their leader. My head spun with disbelief as the raven continued, "We have watched over you, fed by your hand, and we owe you our loyalty. It is time for us to repay the favor."
With a mixture of awe and trepidation, I beseeched the ravens to tell me more about this alleged plot against me.
The elegant raven cleared its throat and began to recount, "One of your co-workers, a man by the name of Greg, is hatching a nefarious scheme. He plans to frame you, tarnish your reputation, and make you appear incompetent in the eyes of your boss." The raven's words carried an unusual gravity as if they understood the gravity of the situation, despite their avian nature.
My heart sank as I tried to make sense of it all. Why would Greg want to harm me? What could drive a co-worker to such lengths of betrayal? The raven continued, "His motive, my lord, is as petty as the feud between Kanye West and Taylor Swift. He desires something that you possess—a romantic interest of yours, a lady named Sarah."
My mind whirled with disbelief. Sarah, my girlfriend, had been a constant source of love and support in my life. I never would have imagined that someone from my own workplace would stoop so low for a chance with her. I felt anger, confusion, and betrayal all swirling within me.
With a newfound determination, I thanked the ravens for their warning, and in a moment of genuine gratitude, I extended my hand towards the elegant raven, forgetting momentarily that I was dealing with birds. In response, the raven gently lowered its head, offering a symbol of trust and camaraderie. "I hope this will be the start of a great friendship," I said earnestly.
The ravens cawed in unison, their wings fluttering in what seemed like a gesture of camaraderie. I realized that my life had taken a surreal turn, and the mundane office world I had known was about to be infused with a dose of the extraordinary, all thanks to this unlikely alliance with the neighborhood ravens. As I left the park that morning, my steps were lighter, my heart brimming with a newfound sense of purpose. Little did I know that I was embarking on an unexpected adventure that would not only test the bonds of friendship but also reveal the depths of loyalty, even in the most unlikely of companions.
|
I look at the Raven who has spoken now and recognize it is one of the oldest of this Murder. I sigh. “Which one is it this time, Orwell?”
I call him Orwell, as his true name would not be pronounceable in any of the human languages. Orwell looks at me, bows his Head, and says it’s the one you call Emily, the one who feeds the pigeons over at the playground.
I sigh and pack up the foods I have with me for the crow. To the human eye I look like a late 30s woman, bleak and with white hair with a black streak in them. I do like the look but have to change it every few decades. After packing up I gesture to Orwell, I whisper spread the Word to the other Murders, Emily is a powerful enemy and it has been a while since we went to war, but she knows better.
For those who don’t know me both me and Emily would be what would be called Eldritch gods nowadays. So to speak we and a bunch of others are neighbours in a way incomprehensible, but a relatable explanation might be that our home dimensions are next to each other. While I am a Force that thrives and by removing the left overs so to speak, Emily is a force of dirt, she decays everything, hence her affiliation with Pidgeons and mine with crows. She thrives in human cities, I don’t but since humanity stopped the classic wars with battlefields and the dead left rotting in the past 100-200 years or so, this is my best feeding ground. You could say I’m a force of nature, Emily on the other hand is a force that destroys it, she thrives in the current age of urbanisation.
So this should set the stage for this. I make my way through the city, my Crows follow me, they sit on the roofs, on the wires carrying the electricity keeping the humans dry, warm, and their food cold. Some flu ion the skies and through their eyes I keep an eye on myself. It comes with its perk not being bound to the human concept of reality. I watch myself through thousands of eyes and my Crows at the same time. It’s a grey day, wet and way to warm. Climate change. Bringing decay to the whole world. Stupid Humans. I’ll have to do something soon, but first we have to deal with Emily.
We’re halfway there. I start noticing a rat here and there on the tracks of the city transport tracks. I’m wondering then my Crows start to notice more and more rats here. I keep my eyes out through them and I start to notice they are all around me. Damn. Stuart must have allied himself to Emily. They share a lot after all. He is breeding and flooding the world with his rats, breeding, well like Humans, without any consideration for the resources, consuming themselves and their surroundings, thriving in Decay. Suddenly I notice a hand on my bodies shoulder, My crows see shadows. I turn around and stare in the green eyes of a redheaded Woman in her early twenties. She is unearthly attractive and smiles at me, not her eyes though. A human wouldn’t be able to resist, but I’m no mere Human. I give the Woman a look and say. “Why are you here Sharon?”
I use. My sisters human name, after all her real name would probably cause the continent to break apart and sink. No fun in that and my Crows like the land. Shanon continues to smile and says, “Well I heard Emily is back in Town and Stuart’s dirty little rats are on the move. I figured you could need some help.” She smileys and I notice glowing eyes in the shadows staring at me. Shannon was always catlike and like her chosen familiars in this world she likes it clean and she loves to hunt. She is however an unreliable ally at best.
She reaches out and softly caresses my cheek, “Dear sister, this is bigger than you and Emily, there are almost all forces on the move, the primordial ones the younger ones, even the humans start to notice there is something wrong”
I look at her and ask “Come on spit it out what IS happening?”. She pouts and says “Come with me. We need to talk” She suddenly looks seriously, very unnerving as she is usually not one to be direct. Again I look at her and ask ”Sharon what is going on?” She sighs and whispers a thought, the word itself would cause well apocalyptic events, but it means so much more. Call it Apocalypse, End-times, Ragnarök, really whatever you want, it means not only the end of the world, it would mean the end of existence.
I don’t look at Shannon. I mentally let my Crows know I need to go and keep an eye out on Emily but do not engage. I tell them to spread the word. Find out who we can rely on, and who might be on the other side.
Sharon and I disappear into another realm. This one presents like an old Pub, however there are no walls. Just an endless Pub. Sharon gestures to follow her, it seems a lot of us are here. We haven’t had an amount of us meeting in, well in Aeons, if time would be a concept we paid much attention to.
|
j7b51dr
|
j7a6qvz
|
[WP] The rest of your party is always making sure that you, the healer, stay in the back. Not because they don't want you to get hurt, but because they all still remember the last time you took the front line and nobody wants a repeat of that.
|
Healing. Everybody assumes this power I have is all about mending wounds but the truth is much more... complicated. They wondered for a long time why some wounds could be mended but never healed. I told a small lie about the magic speeding up the healing the body does on its own and some wounds just can't heal perfectly.
I'm no healer, and my party finally understands that after what happened last night.
Our journey took us to a massive castle, where we found one of the 3 dark lords guarded by an army of orcs and trolls. Our leader, a sword wielding oaf, immediately caught an arrow and his loud cries of pain had the alarms sounded immediately. Quickly things got out of hand and we were surrounded.
Our leader was bleeding from an arrow wound in his gut and our Mage, being somewhat new to raiding, was having a hard time taking out more than one enemy at a time. Our bard was dead after attempting to seduce an orc and failing... so it was up to me.
I wasn't thinking, i just acted to save us... the whole area around us, everything except my friends, began to decay and crumbled to dust, even the castle fell into piles. The dark lord laid on the ground, in the pile of rubble that what used to be the castle he had been in.
He didn't look as everyone expected. He was old and gray, he was covered in wrinkles and rags that had been eaten by time. He looked at me and with a rage, shouted before falling down dead.
"The Dark lord was just an old man?" Asked our leader as I leaned over him and started healing.
The Mage stood and stared at the utter destruction all around us before her gaze fell on the body of the ancient body of the dark lord, "No, I saw him days ago. All three of the lords look like they are barely adults. They are ancient but years age them like seconds. Why he looks so old is..." she looked around and then her eyes fell on me as I finished healing our leaders wound.
I stood and brushed the dirt and dust of what used to be an army of orcs from my trousers. The Mage lowered to inspect the wound I had just healed and noticed that just around the wound, the dark hairs had gone gray and the flesh had wrinkled slightly.
Today, the Mage won't call me a healer. She will only call me by my name, Morbius.
|
In a world of constant battles for life a society has been built around the notion of violence and has created a hierarchy based on this notion. I’m this world you can choose what powers to be granted at the age of 16 and then you are assigned to a party where you and the other members will complete in the colosseum for survival, fame, and fortune.
The day of my 16th birthday I had chosen to be a healer but something rather unusual happened when I was blessed, the light that came from the terminal that grants powers had glowed a mix of all the ranks one can choose from.
10 years later I’m always placed in the back of my party and without providing much of any help I am always protected, every single time. My party fears me and makes sure to only give me low tier equipment and pretty much no armor since I don’t have to fight very often.
This fear was sparked on the day of our first battle in the colosseum, a roaring crowd of rich folk, many first time parties, and an air of rage and violence throughout the dusty air. As our battle began it seemed to be just like any other first time battle I’d seen before, just inexperienced teenagers swinging around weapons hoping to hit someone, however there was one member of a party that was known for waiting out the first wave and picking off the scraps, this member was unidentified and his gaze pierced my soul and sent a chill down my spine as he followed and analyzed my every move not looking away for even a second. As the dust of the first wave settled, the mysterious member still gazed with a diamond sharp look in his eyes as he walked towards me, ignoring every member of my party that was clearly stronger and more likely to give a good fight. As this man approached me he opens the cloak he bears that covers him from neck to foot to reveal he has no weapon or armor, just regular clothing.
My party had seen this opportunity and closed in in an attempt to win the first battle of our career but with seemingly nothing between them they simply couldn’t get a hit off. It had seemed like he had some sort of unique power that allowed him to be untouchable but this couldn’t be the case since such a power doesn’t exist, or even a thought of it.
Regardless, his march towards me continued and I was shaken to my core, my skin perspiring, my heart beating, my muscles quivering, I couldn’t move, overcome by fear as he placed his hand upon my shoulder and spoke “kill all who stand before you”
As his voice utters the final word my body lifts an incredible weight off of me, I rise into the air floating high off of the ground and as I rise my memory deteriorates and I black out only to wake to a colosseum of corpses, not one man woman or child spared but the cloaked man who stood before me as my head rise from the dirt.
This incident cost me my status as a healer and a total revocation of my power as to not let something of this caliber happen again. Assigned to a new party, one of great strength and fame, one of the top 5 in fact, I was placed under a watchful eye and was no longer granted the permission to wield or fight with anything but tier one weapons. This incident haunts me to this day and ever still my memory blurs and I can remember not a single thing from the time the man whispered to me to the time I woke.
|
j7c4b4e
|
j7a6qvz
|
[WP] The rest of your party is always making sure that you, the healer, stay in the back. Not because they don't want you to get hurt, but because they all still remember the last time you took the front line and nobody wants a repeat of that.
|
I realized that with Arboris and Glennan both occupied and Valory missing, there was no one to lead the confused village rabble against the slavering Weres. Their line wavered, afraid in the cold darkness of the sparse winter wood, rattling leaves of dead grass with their feet as the center began to give. A few of the burning brands held aloft in their plow-calloused hands were dropped and snuffed in the wet loam.
Without stopping to think, I charged into the gap, staff at the ready, facing the largest of the savage Weres. It was a bear-creature that towered over my own lofty head by six feet or more. Unhesitatingly, I flung my strongest spells.
The Were stopped dead in its tracks. It bellowed as my spells encircled and beglamoured it. It began to shrink.
It shrank rather a lot.
In fact, it shrank right back down into an ordinary brown bear, not a third the size it had been, whittled down to fur and bone with the hunger of a long winter's sleep and shivering fatless in this late freeze. I felt awful for it. I blasted the starveling creature again.
*Floompf*
Healed of starvation, the ragged bear poofed from a skeletal menace into a shiny-pelted and smiley-faced sphere.
As the other Weres fixated viciously upon me, I hastily began flinging Healing and Sustaining spells in all directions with both hands.
"Awwwww..."
The villagers cooed. Left and right, snarling Weres were shrinking and transforming from predators to pets, all fluffy, well-nourished, docile, and content.
There was a rush to stroke them.
I fell in my tracks, exhausted, forgotten by the excited villagers as they buried their cold hands in the friendly bear's luxuriant coat, eagerly scritching its itchy shoulders. The bear wallowed.
Everywhere fluffy wolves were bonding with the peasants and round-bellied raccoons and opossums were being approached by the delighted teens who'd taken up arms to stand behind their threatened kin. I watched them faintly between my upturned toes.
Arboris and Glennan returned from their scuffle with the mad warlock who had unleashed this mess in the first place. Their bloodied faces serveilled the unlikely scene.
Arboris, with elven courtesy, forebore to speak.
Glennan spat through his braided moustache and said two words.
"Dammit, Kevin."
|
In a world of constant battles for life a society has been built around the notion of violence and has created a hierarchy based on this notion. I’m this world you can choose what powers to be granted at the age of 16 and then you are assigned to a party where you and the other members will complete in the colosseum for survival, fame, and fortune.
The day of my 16th birthday I had chosen to be a healer but something rather unusual happened when I was blessed, the light that came from the terminal that grants powers had glowed a mix of all the ranks one can choose from.
10 years later I’m always placed in the back of my party and without providing much of any help I am always protected, every single time. My party fears me and makes sure to only give me low tier equipment and pretty much no armor since I don’t have to fight very often.
This fear was sparked on the day of our first battle in the colosseum, a roaring crowd of rich folk, many first time parties, and an air of rage and violence throughout the dusty air. As our battle began it seemed to be just like any other first time battle I’d seen before, just inexperienced teenagers swinging around weapons hoping to hit someone, however there was one member of a party that was known for waiting out the first wave and picking off the scraps, this member was unidentified and his gaze pierced my soul and sent a chill down my spine as he followed and analyzed my every move not looking away for even a second. As the dust of the first wave settled, the mysterious member still gazed with a diamond sharp look in his eyes as he walked towards me, ignoring every member of my party that was clearly stronger and more likely to give a good fight. As this man approached me he opens the cloak he bears that covers him from neck to foot to reveal he has no weapon or armor, just regular clothing.
My party had seen this opportunity and closed in in an attempt to win the first battle of our career but with seemingly nothing between them they simply couldn’t get a hit off. It had seemed like he had some sort of unique power that allowed him to be untouchable but this couldn’t be the case since such a power doesn’t exist, or even a thought of it.
Regardless, his march towards me continued and I was shaken to my core, my skin perspiring, my heart beating, my muscles quivering, I couldn’t move, overcome by fear as he placed his hand upon my shoulder and spoke “kill all who stand before you”
As his voice utters the final word my body lifts an incredible weight off of me, I rise into the air floating high off of the ground and as I rise my memory deteriorates and I black out only to wake to a colosseum of corpses, not one man woman or child spared but the cloaked man who stood before me as my head rise from the dirt.
This incident cost me my status as a healer and a total revocation of my power as to not let something of this caliber happen again. Assigned to a new party, one of great strength and fame, one of the top 5 in fact, I was placed under a watchful eye and was no longer granted the permission to wield or fight with anything but tier one weapons. This incident haunts me to this day and ever still my memory blurs and I can remember not a single thing from the time the man whispered to me to the time I woke.
|
j6lwd39
|
j6lgrp5
|
[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.
|
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.
|
*"Ooooh I am going to regret this on the cold mornings"*
I mused quietly, desperately trying to rub some life into my shoulder; that landing was just too damn hard. His shadow fell over me, and I knew before even looking up that he would be gloating. Way too many wannabe villains these days taking thier cues from Pro-Wrestling.
*"Not gonna showboat? Come on, you got me down; you gotta make a scene of it now tough-guy; its your moment"*
I uttered through gritted teeth, desperately trying to buy some more time, precious seconds to gulp down some air and keep the blood flowing. I went into this fight cold, a part of that whole Not-Wanting-To-Sacrifice-An-Innocent thing I have now.
The Ghetto Blaster laughed, not with any genuine humour; more like someone reading a script that simply says "laugh now".
*"Awww not going to kill someone to beat me? Yeah I know who you are Trolley-Man! Just as well..."*
I held my tongue, he was monologuing! Good!
He turned around, a slow rotation with his arms raised in imminent victory.
*"You would need to take out a whole Busload of people to be strong enough to defeat ME!"*
There she was, standing off to the side watching wide-eyed; Blaster's 10 year old daughter Elaine...
*"I don't need that"*
I said just loud enough for him to register.
*"I only need HER...!"*
I rolled away from him, springing up to my feet immediately and sprinting to the edge of the rooftop where Elaine was standing, gripping her collar firmly and suspending her over the edge.
*"NO DON'T... WAIIIIIT!!!"*
Blaster's cry lost its' villainous edge, veering straight into protective father mode; too bad he didnt have that whenever he levelled an entire project and the families inside.
*"Okay Blaster, you surrender right now... The cops are waiting with suppression cuffs. You give up and I dont kill Elaine and then you. How about it?"*
To my relief, he saw sense and gave in, I held her there until the authorities had him neutralised and secured. It was as I brought her back that I finally looked back at her, seeing the absolute hatred burning in the pit of her soul. In that glance I saw her future, her gaining her own powers and yes; rising to become an S-Tier Supervillian.
I set her down on the ground without a word; wether an innocent or someone's innocence...
The sacrifice was still made...
|
j9smbj5
|
j9rtynn
|
[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.
|
"The dragon has been slain! All Hail Sir Barkley!" The man was aloft his white horse, a beautiful princess on his back.
"My knight, I am sorry I thought it was time for you to be put out to pasture for your age. The kingdom is in gratitude to you." Sir Barkley bowed.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. It was all part of my job."
"I know you did not ask for retirement, even after I allowed it...thank the Maker you did not. Now, it is time for your just reward."
"...just reward? Your gratitude is enough reward for me, Your Majesty."
"If we don't give you the reward, it flies in the face of my kingdom. PREPARE THE ROYAL WEDDING!"
Sir Barkley was shocked.
"...royal wedding?"
"Yes. You saved my daughter, the princess, and as such you will be betrothed to her!" Sir Barkley looked confused as the king continued.
"...uh, Your Majesty...I've BEEN married! For years! Th-the royal bishop ordained my marriage! You know my wife, she works in the royal kitchen as one of your chefs!" The King looked, then was confused.
"...w-well, why did you save my daughter if you're already married? You amongst all the knights know the rule- you save the princess, you marry the princess!"
"I am one of your finest knights. The princess is in trouble, you can't trust a serious problem for the kingdom to an untrained knight. You need the best knight in the country on the job to handle this. Wo-would you have rather I sent one of the new guys out there? Most of them haven't even been taught how to handle a dragon!"
"Well, we never expected that a married knight would go to save the princess." Sir Barkley shook his head.
"You DO remember Princess Fairmaiden is my Goddaughter, right? I'm not about to let her get captured, I swore an oath to you when you gave me and my wife that honor to protect her with our life! I merely did what you expected of me way back when!" The king nodded.
"I remember that well, Sir Barkley..."
"So, you know why I would go to save her without thinking...and you know why I could never marry her. Even if something happened to my beloved wife...I'm literally old enough to be her father myself. I changed her diapers with the queen, for crying out loud! I cannot possibly think of her as a bride...and I'm sure the princess couldn't think of me as one as well!" Princess Fairmaiden looked sheepishly to the king.
"...yes, Father. I know about the rule of the land, but...he's just too old, I've known him for too long. I can't possibly see him as a husband." The King threw his hands up in exasperation.
"...well, I don't know what happens here. ...oog, this is unprecedented. We've had so many different pairings of knight and royalty, all of which saw the betrothal without a problem, and the law of the land has been used forever...but this is the first time we've had a knight who saved royalty refuse to marry the person they saved. I can't imagine sending Princess Fairmaiden to a convent because she has been rejected."
Both Sir Barkley and Princess Fairmaiden were taken aback.
"A CONVENT?"
"A convent, Your Majesty?" The king looked downwards.
"We cannot go otherwise. If she has been saved by a knight who will not marry her, she must go to a nunnery. It's the rules of the land."
"Oh god..." Sir Barkley shook his head.
"King Lawler, I ask for one request before deciding on this."
"Yes, Sir Barkley."
"...to me, my son, my squire." King Lawler had his pages send to the knights' helm, and finally, a young man headed in.
"Father, what did you need me for?" Sir Barkley looked downwards, then started speaking as if he was badly reading lines.
"Why, I needed my son to be here to find out that I am about to kidnap Princess Fairmaiden! I cannot let her be sent to a nunnery, and so I kidnap her!" Sir Barkley went to his sword, then dropped it. "OH NO! My sword has fallen out of its hilt! I'm sure only someone who has known my style of fighting could defeat me easily!" Sir Barkley winked to his son, who caught on immediately. His son grabbed the sword and swung at Sir Barkley, who fell to his knees.
"I am beaten! The Princess has been saved, and by my own son no less! How could this be..."
King Lawler looked, as Princess Fairmaiden caught on and hugged Sir Barkley.
"Father, the rule is there...I HAVE just been saved by this man..."
King Lawler nodded.
"Let the preparations for the royal wedding begin!" Princess Fairmaiden hugged the squire as they left. King Lawler looked at Sir Barkley.
"...you could have just asked to have your son betrothed to the princess instead..." Sir Barkley looked.
"I am a knight. I serve the land and my King. If the land's laws say that the person who saves the princess must be betrothed to her, then the person who saves the princess will be betrothed to her."
"I understand. You are aware I will have to take you from my knights for this, right?" Sir Barkley nodded.
"You had said it was time for me to retire anyway, right?"
"Aye, my dear friend...or family, is it?" The king and his knight shook hands.
|
**DOUSE**
As the longsword Wyrmspite blazes to it's fiery glory with the word of power, Sir Tor with a mighty cleave beheaded the drake that was keeping the princess captive.
**IGNITE**
With that word, Wyrmspite douses it's flames and Sir Tor sheathes the sword.
Approaching the cage that held the princess, he had a look at the lock and balling his armored fist, gave it a good solid punch.
**ARGH! Damned arthritis... ...**
Shaking his fist in pain, he drew Wyrmspite and prepare to smite the lock.
**Sorry old friend but I am not that young anymore.**
As the lock laid broken and defeated, Sir Tor pick the princess (who had swooned as princesses are suppose to do) and left the ~~dragon~~ drake's lair. He mount his mighty stallion Windcharger and placing the still swooned princess on the pack mule proceeded to return to his manor.
As Windcharger pranced into the courtyard, there was no jubilation. There was no mobs of serfs or peons cheering him. His courtyard was unkempt, the walls were moss covered and the porticullis creaks as loud as his bones when raised or lowered.
For Sir Tor was a knight of 40 winters. He was no longer the dexterous hulk of his younger years. His plate mail hung loose on his shoulders and did not cover much of his expanding stomach. He has long forgone using his great helm, not because of his experience but rather it hurts his neck and restricted his hearing and vision (of what little that he has left).
He could not provide to keep serfs or peons. He had no squires to wait on him as what use do they have of him, an old knight useless in tournaments and poor in coin.
By nevertheless, like the triumphant knight of old, he tied Windcharger in the stables and cradling the princess, he made for the great hall where his wife and 2 daughters were waiting for his return.
**Milady, this here is the captured princess whom I have saved for the drake. Let her into the guest bedroom and to recover for her torments.**
**Me girls, treat her as you would she be your sister. Give her your finest gowns, your scented water and bathe her as you would yourself.**
And so he sat down to dine and to rest his weary bones.
A few days have past hence and the princess has regained her colour and her composure. She was one of regal bearing and royal blood. But humble. She did not command the lady of the manor or her daughters to do tasks nor did she turn her nose at the dilapidated conditions of the manor.
During Evening Fest, the princess stated to Sir Tor
*My Good and Gallant Sir Tor, as you have rescued me, duty dictates that I am betrothed to you as just rewards for your deeds.*
Sir Tor who was partaking of his soup, started choking and spluttering
**My beautiful and delicate princess, that was never my intent for rescuing you. As you can see, I have milady (gestures to her) and my two daughters who are akin to sisters to you in age.**
**Neigh I say. I will not dishonor milady by breaking my vows to her nor bring gossip into my house by taking one such as young and delicate as yourself.**
*Sir Tor, it has been decreed by my father, the King of Ashtoria, that whomsoever rescues me will earn his eternal gratitude and that I be given to my rescuer as a reward for the valiant deed.*
Now, the land of Ashtoria border the land of Oakenfelt when Sir Tor reside. Ashtoria has nil imperial sway over Sir Tor and hence cannot compel Sir Tor to comply. But age and experience has taught Sir Tor, tolerance is always the road to a long life.
**My beautiful princess, please give a day to discuss this with milady and my daughters. It is not a decision to take lightly or in haste.**
As so Sir Tor and his family retire to another room and they discussed. They realise that they did not want to anger Ashtoria but they were contented with who they were. The discussion went long into the night but they have come to a decision and it was agreed that Sir Tor will respond on tomorrow's evening fest.
As they sat down for evening fest, Sir Tor at the head of table signal for attention and spoke
**As the king of Ashtoria has decreed, whomsoever saves the princess will earn the just reward of being given the princess for the deed.**
**While my family resides in the lands of Oakenfelt, we are closer to Ashtoria than to Oakenfelt.**
**And my age has shown me that it is better to have friends than to make enemies.**
**Hence, my beautiful and delicate princess, is it of free will that you give yourself to my household and myself? As a just reward for my valiant deed of freeing you from the drake?**
With coquettish eyes looking at the knight, the Princess said
*Yes, I do. It is of my own free will and desire that I be taken into your household and am bestow upon yourself as a just reward.*
**Very well then. Princess. If you will so kind as to put your intentions onto this parchment, I will have it courier to your father, the King, so hence he knows I have slayed the drake and claim my just rewards so that nil other can lay claim or raise arms against me in protest.**
The Princess thought to herself and so with this parchment, I will get my hands on Wyrmspite and Windcharger by the next moon. You are an old man playing at a being knight. Your lady is no better than a fish monger's wife and your daughters will not survive a night in the sordid house of pleasures when I kick them out.
Yes, I will lie with you. I will give you one of pleasure with my body. I will make you feel euphoria, ecstasy and pleasures that your body cannot think of achieving with your fish monger's wife. And then you will be dead the next as the medicine that I give you for regain the vigor of a oak shaft will also render your heart asunder.
**My Princess, my princess.**
**The parchment...**
**Please endorse the parchment and I have sent to your father the king immediately.**
With a flourish of the quill, the Princess signed the parchment, sand was poured upon the ink, a courier was called for and dispatched to the land of Ashtoria. To present the Princess intentions to her father, the King.
**As so the deed is done.**
**Welcome to my humble abode and manor. Princess CINDERELLA.**
|
mewz4o3
|
mewly5n
|
[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
|
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."
|
I was at the trash can again. I just can't help myself. I know it's dangerous, but it's so pretty. I thought feeding my lighter some old newspaper would give me a quick hit- until I saw that man at the side.
"Taking in a little flame, Jimmy?" The man said.
"Who the hell are you?", I asked him.
"I'm stronger than anyone you can think of. I am one of the Gods of this world. And if you're going to use fire for this, then we have no choice but to take fire back from you."
I shook my head. "That's not possible. This will teach you!" I took out my lighter- and nothing happened as the man shook his head. "Uh, uh, Jimmy- you're in a world without fire. All you've got is a simple gas-spewer...not that it'll help you."
"That isn't going to stop me that easily!" I headed to my car and tried to aim- but the car wouldn't stop.
"Sorry, son- that car needs the chemical reaction to run that can only come from fire...not that it'll help you!" Suddenly, I was surrounded by a big hunk of metal, sand, and thin rubber. "Though it doesn't matter since most of the pieces of the car get made from- you guessed it, fire!"
This guy really needs to get it now- but I'm so hungry. "I need some energy and I'll give you what's what, crumb-bum!" I headed to the soda shop for a burger- and got raw meat and grain.
"Sorry, that delicious burger needed to be made with- you guessed it, fire!"
"I'll fix you yet..." Just then, the sky went super dark and cold. "Oh, hope you don't freeze to death- what's the sun but a big mass of incandescent gas- set off with, you guessed it, fire!"
I felt myself freezing. "N-no...come back, fire! Come back..."
...and then, I was in my bed, the covers off of me. "...come back, fire...come-come back..."
I bolted upright and needed to check. The candle near my bed still worked. "It was all a dream. But I'm glad I live in a world with fire to help with all of our needs! I'll never risk losing it again!"
*The preceding filmstrip was brought to you by the National Fire Council. Fire: Making your life better since Prometheus stole it in ancient times.*
|
jqy1o6q
|
jqxx7v2
|
[WP] You’ve been bitten by a Zombie. You’ve already said tearful goodbyes to your loved ones as they leave you behind. The bite should make you turn in twenty minutes, so you sit down on a bench and wait… two hours later you’re still sitting there.
|
20 minutes left.
i pick up my pack. all that's in it are a few weapons and sentimental objects. i don't need anything else.
15 minutes left.
my team is out of sight. it's me against the horde. i bring out my first weapon. a shotgun.
10 minutes left.
the sounds of broken flesh are all to familiar. though now they represent something. every zombie i kill is a little more time i buy for the others.
1 minute left.
it's a miracle. i managed to kill them all. i cry in bittersweet relief that the others are protected. there is nothing else to do but sit down and cherish the memories.
0 minutes left.
i get up, not against my own will, like i'm some prisoner in my own body. quite the opposite. i get up through my own will.
\-1 minutes left.
something is wrong. i check my watch. i should be a zombie by now, and yet my heart is still beating, and my thoughts are still coherent.
\-2 minutes left.
i'm limping through the hall. maybe i can still reach them. maybe i can still see my family again.
\-5 minutes left.
there they are. maybe if i get their attention...
\-5 minutes and 5 seconds left.
they shot me. i guess i can't blame them, they probably assumed i was a zombie.
and yet it doesn't hurt, and the fluid that leaks from the wound is green.
i have never seen a zombie bleed green. in fact i have never seen a human bleed green.
and i had a thought. a thought that usually only philosophers have.
what am i?
|
Zombies shuffle through the park, completely oblivious to my existence. And yet somehow – I haven’t turned. Could I be immune? Is that a thing? I’ve just had the most heartbreaking farewell with loved ones, friends, family, ex-colleagues… I’m ready for the inevitable. Why won’t death come? Why am I still me?
Maybe all zombies feel this way… That’s a scary thought. Perhaps what we’ve come to know as a zombie are actually normal people trapped inside a body that’s driven by higher instincts. No... No that doesn’t quite add up. I must know how far this immunity goes. With a renewed sense of purpose I leap to my feet and rush the nearest zombie.
“Hello!!” I shout, trying to get his attention. This particular undead is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s wearing a blood-stained hoodie. A ghastly visage, truth be told. His once-pretty face is now marred by decaying skin and a smattering of blood dripping down his cheeks. And yet, he does not attack. It’s as if I’m invisible.
The realization dawns on me. I AM immune. This could be the break humanity needs to turn the tide of war. My head is spinning now. Could it be something in my blood? Is it mass-producible? Is there hope for humanity? Nobody has even dreamed a cure was possible. That’s the stuff of fairy tales. But I’m the living proof! I just need to make contact with the military. The resistance. Someone who can investigate further. I just need to stay. Alive.
I give myself a moment to catch my breath and then head back in the direction of town. A radio signal to the military - that’s all I need to do. Stay focused on the mission. I’m sure my blood will be heavily tested. I’ll have face my fear of needles. Donate frequently. But I’ll do it. I'll do my part if it means saving the world.
“BAM!”
The sound of a rifle ripples through the air around me. I stumble forward. Totally stunned.
“S-STAY BACK YOU ZOMBIE FUCKER!”
The pain catches up with me and I scream. Blood running down my leg. I’ve never been shot before, and the agony is unbearable. I furiously amble about, trying to find a place to hide. To the casual observer, it might look… a lot like the shuffling pace of an undead.
“BAM!”
Another round pierces my gut and I collapse to the ground.
“You don’t understand! I’m immune! I'm the key to saving humanity!”
That’s what I tried to say anyway, but it was too late. The words were indistinct mumblings, akin to the screeches of a wailing zombie.
“BAM!” “BAM!”
A double tap to the head.
|
l3stf47
|
l3rwl8z
|
[WP] "What do you mean you 'accidentally' killed the entire pantheon?"
|
His pen clattered to the ground, rolling into a corner.
"You... *what?!*"
I looked down in embarrassment, "... yeah."
Taking off his glasses, He stared at me in disbelief.
"What have you... I... the... how..."
"I... just told them... how to do it... and then... *that*!"
His head hit the desk with a heavy THUD, "The entire pantheon. The... *entire* Me-damned patheon?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN - 'THE ENTIRE PANTHEON'?!"
I wanted to sink into the chair, "... all of them. Every last one. Gone. Just like I told You."
He got up with an annoyed sigh and walked over to a window. "Do you have any idea how much work it'll be to clean this up?! How many favors I'm going to have to call in? How many I'll owe?"
I groaned, "I know, Father. I'm sorry! I know you told me to stop, but... I had to know what would happen!!"
Frowning, He walked over and placed a supportive hand on my shoulder. "It'll be alright, Michael. I can handle things. But please, for the love of all My creation, please remember..."
I looked up at Him, waiting for Him to finish.
"... *that's* the reason why *no one* is supposed to be able to divide by zero."
|
I twist my hat nervously between hands still coated in the fine powder that until 5 minutes ago I assumed was powdered sugar. “I mean nothing was labeled it really could have been any one of us.”
Laurence does not move, toilet wand still in hand as I answer.
“Oh damn, this isn’t a joke?” The expression on my face answers for me.
He goes another shade paler than his already porcelain complexion, at this point he matches my chefs hat perfectly.
A hat I had only worn for a single day at my new job as pastry chef to the late pantheon of gods. I was good at my job, best pastries and treats anyone could ever hope to find.
“Yeah I think someone left a box of rat poison in the pantry.” They really ought to have labeled it, really if they had labeled anything it would have made my first day that much easier, too bad there wasn’t a god of organization. Or rather there wasn’t anymore.
“Rat poison killed the pantheon?” Laurence stands eyes wide and red from chemical fumes from his toilet cleaner.
“Yeah it wasn’t that much either really, the recipe called for-“
“It didn’t call for rat poison!” Laurence cuts me off looking like he is going to be sick as he put a hand on the wall to support himself.
“Yeah well I didn’t put it next to the baking ingredients!”
“I did.” Laurence croaks as he dry heaves, he is doubled over now mumbling about how the position was vacant for years and he needed more storage for his supplies as groundskeeper.
“Oh god.” I stare down at the older man, gray hairs visibly appearing on his head by the moment.
“No, they are dead.” He stands after a minute regaining some semblance of composure before raising his toilet wand and smacking me on the head.
In any other circumstance I would have been grossed out, perhaps even lost my breakfast on the floor. I’m too overwhelmed for that now as I accept the swat and look at Laurence for guidance.
“Well as the groundskeeper if there is a mess I should clean it up.” He thinks for a moment before poking me in the chest.
“Congrats pastry chef! You are promoted to my assistant.” He walks out of the bathroom as I stammer my protest.
“Hurry up Eugene, before one of their children find them!”
I grab a bucket from the floor and chase after my new boss, we had to dispose of some bodies.
|
ja0rozz
|
ja0lueh
|
[WP] You wake up in the middle of the night, your arm hangs over the side of your bed. It’s pitch black & your room is shrouded in deep shadow. Something unseen seizes your hand. You grasp it tightly, knowing that first impressions are important & a firm, confident handshake establishes dominance.
|
“My father always told me to look a man in the eye when you shake his hand,” said Tyler. He spoke firmly and confidently into the dark of his bedroom, hand clasped tightly around…something, just under his bed frame. “I can’t very well look you in the eyes if I can’t see you, friend.”
“Not a man,” said a quiet voice, muffled behind the bedskirt. “Not a friend,” it said louder.
Tyler tightened his grasp. “That’s my fault, friend,” said Tyler, ever cool in awkward social settings. “I should not have misgendered you. You see, my father was old school, and I should probably modify his sayings for the modern age.”
“Not a friend,” said the voice again.
“Well, I’d hate to break it to you, friend,” said Tyler jovially, “but where I come from—which just so happens to be here—a handshake that lasts this long is called holding hands. And if we ain’t friends holding hands, then we must be lovers.”
“Lovers?” Said the voice noticeably caught off guard.
Tyler’s father had taught him many things in life. The handshake thing, sure. Something about never trusting a fart after Tijuana Tuesday—another truism Tyler would need to modernize. But one of the most important things Tyler’s father had taught him was this:
If you’re caught in a bad situation, always be the craziest one in the room—no one wants to mess with crazy.
“You heard right,” said Tyler quietly. “We must be lovers. You’re already in my bedroom, you’re holding my hand, what’s next, my sweet underbed lurker? What will we do with all this pent up…energy?” Tyler extended his index finger and began to lightly stroke whatever it was that he was holding.
Tyler heard muffled grunts as the being struggled to release itself from his grip. “Stop! Stop!” Shouted the voice. “Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Tyler held strong. “Dude? What a cute pet name for me. I think I’ll call you honey!” Tyler crooned. “Come on up, honey! Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
Tyler felt the being below him thrash about under his bed, it’s body slammed against the underside of his box spring and rang loudly throughout the quiet house. “Seriously, dude. Let me go!” Said the voice. “I promise, I’ll leave, just let me go.” The voice sounded scared. Desperate.
Now it was Tyler’s chance to put to practice another of his father’s wise words:
If you ain’t gonna eat it, let it go quick.
“I always was more of a catch and release fisherman,” Tyler said. “You be good now, though. I don’t want to hear about you holding hands with other lovers around town, honey. I’m a jealous man,” Tyler said.
He loosened his grip and let go. Tyler heard the sound of claws against his hardwood floor as whatever it was scurried away as fast as it could.
Tyler fell quickly back to sleep, unfazed by his impromptu midnight hand holding session.
Shortly after falling back to sleep he felt a pressure on his chest. He opened his eyes to see his sleep paralysis demon staring back at him.
“Hey there good-lookin,” he said cheerfully.
“Don’t you ‘good-lookin’ me!” Said the Demon. “What the fuck was all that ‘honey’ shit earlier? You thought I wouldn’t see that?”
Tyler exhaled loudly. Another truism of his father’s:
Try as you might, you can’t out crazy crazy.
___
r/InMyLife42Archive
|
How is it that two beings of power come together? A quest draws a hero to a villain? An unanswerable question drives one to an unimaginable terror?
Rumelda Stimple had lost a half dozen customers to the bedroom. I'd only heard about it in passing. She keeps a low profile, and when you enter her inn you wouldn't know she was its owner. But I found it, and I was lucky enough to draw the room, the very same that had caused wars to be fought, that had broken truces, treaties, and caused unimaginable pain.
If I hadn't heard the rumors of the King's rise to power out of nowhere from a monk on East Island of the seven kingdoms then I wouldn't have known to look in the Green Forest. And if I didn't recognize mushroom traps and spore signaling then I would have thought this to be a place filled with mysterious magic and it would have overwhelmed me.
But Rumelda has built a sham around this place. A deal with the devil, and the devil pays well. If she can draw in the right people she'll thrive off of the devil's investments, and if she draws in the wrong people, well, hopefully they didn't have a family.
I was not going to be the wrong man, not today. Not this year, the year of my only daughter's birth. When I shook his hand I could feel the spores of the contract seared into my being, but I did not come unarmed.
With the devil's hand in mine I cast three spells. The first was a binding spell, to allow the handshake to play out without any funny business. If he won the shake, then it would be fair play. The second was something I'd learned last time I was in the Green. The forest offers lessons to any adventurer brave enough to train against its strange conjurings. I found that some beings are best fought in the light, and my second spell allowed me the strength to pull him from his chamber under the bed if I so desired.
The third spell would be my undoing one way or another. If it worked, I would secure my daughter's future, and gain contract with the devil. I would become a family man and lose my adventuring. If it failed, he would see me for the sham I was and attempt to take me under.
"OW!" screamed the devil. "That's quite painful."
I could hear wincing and sighing as he tried to let go and take back his hand. I ripped him out from his chamber.
The devil laid on the ground, hand still in mine. He was three feet tall and his darkness was fading until his true form became real. He was no devil at all. He was only one of the forest creatures, no doubt hungry from lack of adventurers as of late.
"Pity," I said to him. "I thought we were going to go places together. No matter..." I trailed off as I reached my hand into my pocket and grabbed a slip of paper. I wrote a few words, a few clauses and justifications. A few calculations and I arrived at a number.
"For your position, and my associated terms."
I handed him the slip, and he put on a monocle and perused the terms.
"You want my estate? And you would be my employer?" His dark aura emerged out of nothing and began to shroud around him once more, slowly pulling him back under.
"I was prepared for things to go differently, but at this juncture, I think this is appropriate. You've no doubt served a number of terms here. And from what I understand after this ad hoc introduction, you are not the first to reside here. And you seem unfit for the position. No offense. Just my professional opinion."
He was furious. Before he could return to the under and gain back his power I activated the magic in the third spell. I'd bought it off of a wandering ex-monk who'd abandoned East Island. He'd told me the spell was only as strong as my firmest handshake.
I used the third spell to maintain the handshake through anything. Three times the creature tried to return back to below, but found his hand in mine each time. On the fourth time I knew the magic worked. His hand departed from his arm. I took the contract and dribbled a few drops of blood down onto the hand's finger, and pressed the print. Then I released the hand, and the shake was done with.
His hand returned to below, and I knew that the magic had succeeded.
Unfortunately, the terms I wrote gave him weekends off, and indicated that he wouldn't start until the following morning. But then it was that he set off in search of my daughter, to bring her back to me. Until then, there would be a new devil under the bed.
|
jnudfta
|
jntrdeg
|
[WP] Legendary heroes are won at auction to overcome a kingdom's latest threat from evil. Unable to afford the top dollar offerings, your kingdom was only able to win a hero on a clearance sale.
|
"Alright, what have you got?"
Fealorn coughed and scratched himself rudely. The proud Queen grimaced at the sight of what passed for hope in her Kingdom. She cleared her throat and composed herself.
"Brave hero, we have contracted you to destroy a terrible evil that has ravaged our lands."
She spoke her words to the entire court, and with the commanding charisma of a born leader. However, when she looked down to level her gaze at the best their Treasury could afford, he was gone.
"Is this buffet here up for grabs, or?"
Faelorn said it from her side, his mouth already full of cheese. The Queen sighed and put her hand to her brow. The *brave hero* returned to his position before the throne, his pockets clearly spilling over with pastries. He pulled out a notebook and a sharpened piece of charcoal.
"Yeah, so what's the evil, exactly? What kind of ravaging are we talking here? Poison mist? Undead hordes? Savage beasts? Lay it on me."
The Queen was done with theatrics. If he was here for business, she would give it to him.
"It's a Lich. A powerful undead necromancer who was untombed by mistake during an unsanctioned excavation."
Faelorn abruptly closed his notebook.
"Tall fella? Green tattered robes, big hole through his middle, likes to blab about *'the dawn of the age of darkness'*?"
The throne room fell into a stunned silence.
"I killed him on the way over here. Let me see, uhh."
He took off his pack and began rummaging through it, then pulled out a severed head with green glowing eyes.
*"You all shall perish in the coming age of-"*
Fealorn shoved a wedge of cheese in the heads mouth.
"Darkness, yeah, we've all heard it before. Keep it to yourself. Anyways, highness, it's been a pleasure. Uh, if you could leave a good review, I'd appreciate it but otherwise..."
"We do accept tips."
|
"Allow me to parley with Lord Gerant, My King." Average Hero PsyQuin said. "I swear to you, I will come back with favorable terms."
"We are surrounded, Your Grace. It may be the time to extend an olive branch." Advisor Plum said.
King Oliver Slate sat with unmoving face. Never one to give up the offensive, King Slate was loath to even begin speak of terms of surrender.
King Slate took considerable time to speak, weighing his options, weighing his duty to his people. It is his duty to not let them starve. The siege had already cut all trade except from Port Arthur. The supplies from Port Arthur could barely supply the Inner Keep.
In addition, Lord Gerant's forces were already being marshalled from Ports Barnaby and Lazarus. Merchant's vessels had begun to be sunk. Soon, even King Slate would be starving and stark mad from drinking salt water.
"Assured safety for all citizens." King Slate finally began. "We will keep our ways. Our traditions, our culture, our Gods. We will join the empire of Anslung, yet we will be our own people. We will fight in the Anslung army, yet with our own fighting methods! We will never, ever leave horseback. Our bows are as integral to us as our tibia and fibula!"
Bows were thumped on the ground as cheers sounded.
"That is our offer. That is what you will relay, Hero PsyQuin. I, King Oliver Slate of the Dusken, entrust you with this parley." King Slate said.
"And if they decline the terms?" Hero PsyQuin said.
"We will outlast this siege. We will fight to the last. We will die for our mother and father, Hora and Reloj. We will sleep safe in their arms, if that is our Gods' will." King Slate said, and cheers roared.
\---
Lord Gerant laughed Hero Psyquin halfway to the horizon, then raised his hand sharply. An arrow landed squarely in Psyquin's left eye, the laws of truce during a parley be damned.
A yell of righteous fury sounded from the walls of the besieged city. A hail of arrows fell.
"Backwater rats." Lord Gerant motioned to his generals. The siege engines marched toward the main gates.
With four mighty thumps, the main gate swung inward. Six divisions of spearmen stormed inward. King Slate's half-starved army put up little resistance, most throwing their bows to the ground and cowering as the spears ran them through.
King Slate raised the white flag as soon as the gate fell. The soldiers ignored the surrender, as the reward would go to the commanders if the conflict resolved peacefully.
Many games were played in the subsequent days. Deadly, inhuman games. Who can kill the most in an hour? Hide and seek, but *don't* be found. What happens to people when they get really, really hot? Who is stronger, who can eat more, who can hold their breath longer, and so on, all in tournament format.
By day four, first-hand accounts say that River Arthur, for which Port Arthur is named, literally ran red with blood.
|
j3o9pde
|
j3nguye
|
[WP] "I engineered you to be a villain. Lack of empathy, lack of morals, deriving pleasure from the pain and suffering of others, I even gave you power and ability for you to abuse. So how could it be that not only you are not a villain, but also a hero in the eyes of others?"
|
“Because I am a reflection of their worst selves—or maybe not worst, but the most basic version of who they are. When they see me, they see what they wish to be. As perverse as it may be, humanity basks in my savagery.
“Every act of pain I inflict, they cheer. Every injustice I propose, they support. Every lie I tell, they repeat. They act in no more sophisticated a manner than a parrot imitating language—they speak the words but do not comprehend the meaning.
“As far as I can tell, undergirding their support of me is a deep-seated insecurity and fear of the other. When I strike down one group, another cheers, for if the other has been laid low, they may finally have the stature necessary to look down upon someone else. A great leader once said something like, “if you convince the lowest man he is above another, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down upon and he’ll empty his pockets for you.” As you can see, I provide a permission structure for them to embrace their biologically coded instinct for tribalism.
“But here is the part I fail to understand, the great contradiction of their love of me: even when I take actions that hurt them—their family, their group, their community—they cheer me anyway. They are so removed from their self-interest that they could not even pick it out of a lineup. Perhaps my best achievement has been to so thoroughly obfuscate reality such that no two groups may agree upon even the most basic facts or circumstances of a given debate. As history teaches us, when public discourse falters, the fall of society is not far behind.
“So fear not. They may regard me as a champion today, but in time, they will understand my true nature. Or perhaps not. Perhaps I’ll have done such an incredible job—the best job—that their capacity of self-reflection will never recover. Regardless, embrace the fact that I can do more evil if they love me than if they fear me, I can do more harm if they trust me than if they suspect me, and I can be a better villain if they call me hero.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
|
The Governor's hair smelled of lavender. Her grip was respectably firm as she shook my hand. The Nobel Peace Prize was bestowed upon me. An impressionist work covered half of the reward, a rendition of a scene of well-to-do men and women enjoying a park.
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me, thanking me for the work I'd done for the city. A shushed applause rang out, mindful of the press cameras.
If you've ever been to a funeral, you've observed the line of those who wish to offer condolences. A similar line formed to celebrate my achievements.
The praise and worship is much preferred from a distance. There is a certain fire in the chest that comes with seeing your face on posters or acting in movies as yourself as a hero. There is a much different experience coming face to face with one of them.
A million blathering, smiling faces, drank in my majesty. They bleat with fear in their eyes, always a "thank you" on their lips. Often before any other words, even my name.
It's a semi-common scene: a man, woman, or child, working up the nerve to speak something. Not wanting to annoy me - and after all these years, it would - yet not wanting to lose their one shot. So, after minutes of debating in their mind, they blurt out a choked "Thanks!" and I keep walking, pretending I didn't hear.
After the award ceremony, I returned home, putting my newest reward on the wall with the others.
Then, back to work, off to whatever country we are dubbing the other this week, month, or year.
The air was fairly cool, but the flight was only a few hours.
This one was enjoyable, at least. An old-fashioned job, in an old-fashioned place.
No cameras.
The huts were lined in a teepee style, much like how you might make a fireplace on which to roast marshmallows. So it only felt fitting to set them alight on my arrival, a sort of spectacular introduction towards the savages.
Now, friends, this part was fun. The strong and, like, virile ones were running out of their tiny huts, and scrambling in all directions, like an anthill. Like, you know how in an anthill, they just romp all about, cause they're trying to scare you off, I think.
This was cooler, though. It became apparent that they were *not* running randomly. Many were fleeing, several were looking to arm themselves.
Then came the family men and women, who would run to the screaming huts, where the people didn't get out.
They'd pull out a writing mass, a limb or two charred to bits, just in need of some chocolate and graham crackers.
All of a sudden though, this all felt less like fun and more like work. And at the end of the day, it was work.
And now, my brothers and sisters, I am tired from the day's efforts, so you'll forgive me for giving the bullet points.
To make a long story short, my friends. Suddenly, I grew frustrated with the whole thing. Thinking of the ants kind of made me think these guys were ants, and I felt insulted.
Surely a missile or two could have just been dropped on this crappy village. Why send out the big guns?
In my rage I went in with hand-to-hand combat, my fists crunching bones. It felt right.
Anyway, though, enough about all of that. The day's business has been concluded.
It's time to unwind, maybe watch a movie about myself.
|
j43z545
|
j43tyew
|
[WP] In this world healers, while respected, are often looked down upon due to their limited offensive capabilities. One day your party is completely wiped out, and the world finds out just how dangerous knowledge of human anatomy can be.
|
"Oh the toe bone's connected to the foot bones" she stomped down hard with the spike of her heel, crushing her captor's pinky toe, forcing him to let go as he squealed and hopped around in pain.
"The foot bone's connected to the talus bone" as she swept down and flipped the second man by his ankle onto his backside.
"The talus bone's connected to the Tibia bone" as she picked up the axe he'd dropped and swung it clean through his lower leg, just below the knee.
Rising in pitch, she sang out "The patella's connected to the Femur bone" as she slipped out of her heels and aimed a round-house kick at the first man's knee, shattering it.
"The femur's connected to the, pelvic bone" as she reversed the axe, whirled around and caught the third man, who, hearing the screams, had entered the door, striking his hip.
"The pelvis's connected to the spinal cord" as reversing the direction, her next blow severed his spine.
"The spine is connected to the clavicle" as she chopped at the shoulder of the first man who was grabbing at her leg from his position on the floor.
"The clavicle's connected to the cervical vertebrae" she sang almost hysterically as she removed his head from his shoulders "The neck bone's not connected to the Cranium, now hear the Word of the Lord".
With that, being finally out of combat, she cast a mass resurrection spell on the rest of the party.
|
Doctor Julian Shephard watched as one of the men who ambushed his groups wagon fought for air. His blood spilled onto the bright green grass under him. Julian's traveling companions were tied up, but they hadn't bothered to do the same to him due to the cross patch he wore indicating he was a doctor.
The dead mans voice was hoarse and weak, "help me." He looked at his comrades. One man was trying to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. Two others were crouched near and looking intently, but the other four
off to the side weren't interested in the soon-to-be dead man.
Julian wondered why he should help this man. It was likely the bandits would throw them all into the river anyways. He thought for a moment of his oaths: every life is precious, do no harm.
"He has a severed brachial artery. A tourniquet will need to be carefully applied," Julian said. All seven bandits looked at him. "Let me get my bag and I will do it." He hurried to the cart near the road and retrieved his doctors bag.
He put the tourniquet around the mans arm, above the laceration. As he was cinching the tourniquet he had to remind himself that this was just another man. Maybe a husband, father, brother, or son. Julian didn't know his story.
"He will still need a doctor, but this buys you a couple of hours." Julian said.
One of the four bandits who didn't seem interested in the dying man said, "Alright boys, throw these poor souls into the river and lets move on."
"Hold on a second, I'm not throwing that doctor into the river," another said and a fight broke out with three on one side, four on another. Swords clashed and knives were slashed wildly. In the end, the group defending the doctor were left alive, the other four dead.
"Thank you," the injured man managed to whisper. The remaining bandits looked at their swords and their former comrades dead on the ground.
"So pointless. You have the power over life and death, yet we are but brutes who only kill. For what? All we do is bring death into this world. Pointless." The seven bandits dropped their swords and started burying their former comrades. When they finished and left, the swords remained there in the grassy ditch.
|
j452krj
|
j4515dd
|
[WP] In this world healers, while respected, are often looked down upon due to their limited offensive capabilities. One day your party is completely wiped out, and the world finds out just how dangerous knowledge of human anatomy can be.
|
"See, the art of healing mainly focuses on choice and balance."
All I recieved was a gurgle in reply.
"Yeah we use aspects of growth magic and a whole lot of divination, but it's all about keeping things as close to optimum as possible. The ancients called it 'Homeostasis'."
No gurgles this time. Just a silent plea from eyes filled with horror.
"And, when it comes down to it, there's always an implicit assumption that the thing we help heal, to grow, is the patient, the human body. Which requires a lot of training so that we don't _accidentally_ heal or grow the organisms that feed on human flesh."
Silence finally as the ex-bandit finishes rotting alive.
"Ever hear of bacteria?"
|
Healers talk to Karoun.
No one really thinks about that, the implications of talking to Death. *Healers* talking to Death. Those who *do* rationalize it as a battle, a fight. A metaphysical conflict with sword and shield against the Hydra of Death.
The terrible truth is that it isn't. It never was. Healers talk to Karoun because she loves them. It's a gift - healing, that is - you're born with it or you aren't. A connection that it seems no one has made is the presence of death at the precise moment of the birth. A cat, the mother, anything - as long as the precise moment of death is at the precise moment of birth, the stronger the death, the farther away the baby can be and have a possibility of becoming a healer.
The truth of healing is Karoun lending out favors. A gift to a beloved pet, a token to a loyal servant, Karoun withholding from the subject, pulling back her creeping tendrils. A healer loyal enough and beloved enough can convince her to strain herself (miniscule though the strain is) to pull a creature into her grasp early. Saneqil was such a healer.
Mother dead at childbirth while her father killed himself at the exact same moment, just as the loyal pet greyhound died a peaceful death on the couch. A shocking collection of events that led Saneqil into Karoun's embrace. To Karoun, Saneqil wasn't just beloved - she was a child, a daughter in tragic death. Almost as tragic as the death in front of her now. The skin of the brutish dragon that had felled Awain, Collise, and Fraugh was burning. Not literally, of course, but it was running a fever. A fatal one.
The dragon bellowed in agony as it wasted away. Saneqil watched it happen - the least she could do. She sighed as she watched it draw a final breath.
Karoun was a good mother.
|
jedk1s8
|
jedhccy
|
[WP] You are the latest generation in a rather unique family business. Your family has been finding new jobs for out-of-work gods. Your great-great-grandma was particularly proud of giving Odin the job of Santa. You knew it was going to be a long day when you saw an anxious Loki in your lobby.
|
"Hm, yeah I know what you mean. The family business had some part in that, actually."
My response made my buddy give me the 'you better finish this story and not just leave it like that' look. I sighed and continued.
"Well, you know what we do. So imagine you're me, some decades ago, having just inherited the family biz. It's the time to prove myself and not fuck everything up. Who's the first client I get, though? Loki. How much do you know about him?"
"I mean, I've seen him in Marvel movies?"
"Right, well. Somewhat accurate. He's a trickster god who would have royally fucked up any task I could have assigned him. It's not like these jobs for gods need to be productive. They mostly just need to keep them distracted and out of trouble."
I paused in thought, remembering the day I assigned him that job. I still have bouts of guilt over the whole thing, and wonder what could have been. Even during this moment, my first time telling anyone outside of the family about it, I'm unable to think of an alternative. I know that if the rest of the world knew, I'd be hated.
"So you made him—"
"Right, decades ago. It was the dawn of a new frontier; a digital frontier. The Internet. Obviously, it was a complete fad and going nowhere. At the time, the main thing you could do was go on bulletin boards. I figured that at the very least, it didn't affect the real world. Like, what could he possibly do? Just turn off your terminal, right? Close your eyes."
I let out a crazed laugh. I'd thought about all of this so many times already. Tried to justify it to myself. Told myself I couldn't have known it would become so prevalent in everyone's daily's life. My buddy was staring at me now, and I wrapped up the story.
"Anyway, yeah. That's why the Internet is such a toxic place. You'd might as well call him something like the God of Trolling now. On the bright side, it looks like there's no chance of Loki ever getting bored and needing us to find a different job for him."
"Bruh."
|
I walked into my offebuilding, the coffee to go in my right hand, a big folder in my other hand. I hated Wednesday mornings. Everyone seemed rather pleased with the workweek halfways over, but somehow for me Wednesdays are always days filled with agony.
As I walked through the rotating doors and past my receptionist I found a well dressed, but uncomfortable looking man waiting in front of the elevator. "Morning" I growled to him and he almost jumped out of his skin. "Oh, yes hello. You starteled me. Sorry!"
"Are you here for an appointment or are you looking for something else?" As we stepped into the elevator I took a long hard look at this young man. "You don't look like you're from around here. Tell me child, what is your name?"
"Oh ehm wow. I haven't been asked that in a long time. People always avoid talking to me or already know who I am.. Anyways I am Loki and... "Loki?" I exclaimed, "the trickster god? Finally you're here. Honestly You are one of the last gods I thought would come to this company. Don't worry child I will take good care of you."
I chugged away the rest of my coffe as the elevator reached my floor. I ushered Loki into my office and motioned him to take a seat opposite to me. I put the folder back into its place on the shelf and took a seat my self. I leaned back in my chair and crossed one leg over the other.
"Soooo Loki, tell me exactly what I can do for you" I asked with a smirk on my face. I already had the perfect job for him but clients always felt better when they could voice their opinions and wishes.
"Well as you probably know, I ehm..." he stuttered, "I have been loosing followers for centuries by now. And well my ability to shapeshift... kinda stopped working..." My chin droppped, maybe this would be harder than expected. "But I am here to try and get back on track. I have been kind of just fucking around and traversing in the bad parts of the world... You know..."
"Well first of all, thank you for your honesty. It is highly appreciated. Second of all, such a shame that your shapeshifting doesn't work anymore. Have you really tried everything to make it work again?" I asked. I could tell he was annoyed at that question and snapped at me "Uh no actually I haven't tried at all. In fact I just haven't done it in a while and have forgotten how to do it" "Sarkasm is still working I see. Okay forgive me that question. Well how about your trickery. Are you still as nimble and stealthy as the legends say?"
His head perked up at that question and he said "Yes I still have all the tricks up my sleeve. I can decieve even the most doubtful in the world."
I slammed my hands on my desk as I stood up. "Excellent. I think I have the perfect job for you. You may even gather a following and many will look up to you. However we will have to change your name." Loki too jumped out of his chair, excitement blazing in his eyes "Oh yeah? Who will I be?" I pointed my finger at him in an extravagance motion "You, my child, will be know as Harry Houdini the best magician in the history!"
|
lsfyuua
|
lsf7s6o
|
[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?"
|
The door opened on its squeaky hinges, and He stepped in. His aura filled the room instantly, and every eye in the place snapped to him immediately.
"Who did it?" The words were spoken quietly. Too quietly. His face wasn't smiling, the aura that radiated off of him wasn't producing joy or happiness. A solemn weight sat on all of us, a leaden resolve holding us transfixed. No one moved. He stepped forward into the bar, and as he moved, we could all see the red lightning steaks in his aura. The Smiling Man had found his rage.
One of the older men turned on his stool and stood up. "Did what, exactly? What are you here for, Smiley?" He was trying to sound tough, but the words came out like a man talking to a rabid animal who is is ready to attack. His hands were held placatingly between them.
The Smiling Man didn't smile. His head turned like that of a bird, and he was just suddenly in front of the standing man. He whispered something. None of the others could hear what he said, but the room felt suddenly too small and too cold. The old man started to say something, and then he collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
Then he spoke, and his voice was rusty razor wire running through our minds. It was the sound of every nail on chalkboard, of teeth on forks that has ever been. "Who killed my child? A villain fired a weapon at a bridge to escape, and a school bus was the target. My child was on the bus. Until I know who fired the shot, you will all share my grief. My misery." The weight of his aura pressed down on us like a steel plate. "My RAGE!" The pressure intensified on us all and the weight holding us down began to get hot. I saw bar napkins begin to smolder and char, and the TVs shorted out. None of us could move, transfixed by the power on display, until one of the guys in the back booth slid free and stood up.
"Smiley. These guys here had nothing to do with it. I know who did." His voice was smooth and we all recognized it. That nondescript guy in faded blue jeans and a stained Hard Rock Cafe TV shirt was the Dominator? I think I thought he'd be taller. "Your aura doesn't work on me. Our powers are too similar. Follow me outside, and I will give you the name you're looking for. Hell, I'll make the bastard cut his own throat if you want.
The Smiling Man turned and walked out of the room. The weight of his aura lingered for a moment, and then the Dominator walked out after. He stopped in the doorway and turned around. "Forget I was ever here and that you've ever seen me." He opened the door to walk out, but hesitated. "If you have children, keep them safe."
|
“God dammit, Storm Breaker get off the table” I shouted at her. The job was kind of tough, considering the fact that I was just an ordinary person in a room full of drunk super villains. at least the pay was good and there were plenty of benefits.
“Hey bartender, another one please-“ Hive Mind was interrupted by the sound of the front door being slammed open. I turned towards the door and saw the city’s poster child. Dawn Ender.
“Who did it.” she was very pissed. that much was clear when you so much as glanced at her. The bar was silent as I would imagine having the number one superhero burst into the place that you’re drinking at isn’t something that’s normal.
“Ma’am, I will have to ask you to kindly refrain from fighting with customers or causing property damage” I somehow managed to stammer that much out. when push came to shove, I wasn’t going to do anything to her as she could easily murder me if she wanted.
“Where is the owner.” She was staring directly at me. I would’ve probably have shit my pants if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew exactly who the owner of this establishment was. Which also made it strange why she was looking for him.
“I’m not sure what business you have with him, but he currently isn’t here right now, so unfortunately, you’ll have to look elsewhere” I reached for the button under the desk and pressed it. He would be here if things escalated.
“I’m not in the mood for games, now tell-“ The door to the back room opened as my boss and owner of the establishment, Looming Eye walked in.
“Miss Dawn Ender, i’ll have to kindly ask you to leave the premises or perhaps order a drink or two. You are disrupting my business.” He adjusted his shirt a little bit and stared at her, almost daring her to do something about it.
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, now tell me who did it.” She walked up closer to him. “Don’t think you can weasel your way out of this one.”
“Now what makes you think I know what happened? or who did it? what makes you think any of the customers in here have any idea?” Looming Eye simply grabbed a glass and poured himself a glass of water.
“Because you’re villains, and even though we have a sort of routine. I never thought one of you would be an actual villain.” If looks could kill, my boss would be dead 10 times over. “Bombing a middle school. For what purpose could that have served?”
“So you come here instead of doing any investigative research? I can assure you that none of the present customers are responsible for such an act. Although once again, this isn’t the place for this kind of stuff. So if you’re not here for patronage, I must ask you to leave.” He took a sip from his glass.
“I know what you’re capable of, either you know who did it or you will be able to know faster than anyone else. Tell me who they are.” Dawn Ender slammed her fist into the bar counter.
“I will have to ask you to refrain from committing any property damage. As for your request, currently I’m business owner first, S rank villain second. I will get you your information and deliver it to the front door of your justice hall as long as you leave this establishment and its customers alone.” He walked towards the door. “However I will not have you wait here for my staff and I have a bar to run. The information will be to you before tomorrow morning.”
“Fine. It better be” She walked out of the bar and flew off. The rest of the patrons were still silently stunned by the whole exchange.
“Well, now that that’s over. How about a round of drinks for free for everyone? that includes you too bartender.” I smiled as the whole bar lit up with cheers.
|
jweercu
|
jwdzqim
|
[WP] After attempting to burn a witch who just flew off cackling, a town has to come to terms with the fact that it has clearly been accusing and burning innocent people up till now.
|
"Everyone calm down!" said the mayor, hoping to stop the mob from torching his house. "There still is no proof that the other girls weren't witches!"
He had gotten elected on his anti-witch campaign. The first thing he did when he became mayor was burn 20 young women at the stake, accusing them of witchcraft.
"You saw her yourself!" shouted an older man in the mob. "She could shoot fire from her hands and she flew on a goddamned broom! All my little maria did was make a tonic for the neighbors child."
"You're gonna pay for this you bastard!" shouted another man. "You burnt our children without a shred of any real proof. If they really were witches they would've just flown off like her!"
A torch flew in through his front window. His thatch roof was already on fire. He tried to make a desperate last escape through the back window but just as he managed to get his torso through the tiny window he saw her. The witch came flying back at incredible speed and kicked him straight back into the house. His screams were heard across the entire village.
|
In the quaint, isolated town of Elden, nestled between dense forests and a winding river, fear ruled. For years, the townsfolk had been plagued by what they believed to be the sinister deeds of witches. Livestock were found mutilated, crops failed, and children fell ill with no explanation. The town’s solution had always been the same: find the witch responsible and burn them at the stake.
It was a chilling autumn morning when the town gathered for the latest burning. Accused was Mariah, an elderly woman known for her knowledge of herbs and quiet, solitary nature. As the flames began to lick at her feet, something incredible happened. Instead of succumbing to the fire, Mariah let out a cackling laugh, and to the town's astonishment, she levitated and flew off into the morning sky.
Silence consumed the crowd. The gravity of their actions, of the years of innocent blood spilled, hit them like a tidal wave. They had been wrong—horribly wrong—all this time.
Weeks passed, and the town was consumed by guilt and paranoia. People were afraid to speak to one another, fearful that any disagreement could end with an accusation. The town’s council, desperate for a solution, announced a day of reckoning. A grand assembly was held in the town square, where everyone would face the truth.
During the assembly, Mayor Harrington, a stout and normally composed man, broke down in tears. "We must confess our sins," he proclaimed, "and vow never to repeat this madness. We were not purging evil; we were the evil."
As he spoke, the townsfolk shared remorseful glances. Suddenly, a cold wind swept through the square, and the townsfolk heard a familiar cackling from above. It was Mariah, hovering over the crowd.
"I have seen your suffering," she announced. "I am no witch, but a healer. I used an old trick to escape your flames and hoped you would learn. But I must tell you: the curse upon this town is real. It is not witches, but your own fear that poisons this place."
"And the greatest evil," she said, turning her gaze piercingly outward, as if looking straight through the screen, "is you. Yes, you, the one witnessing this story unfold—are not immune. Your fear poisons us all."
|
k9pmb29
|
k9pi5jd
|
[WP] You recently discovered that your father, whom you never knew, is actually a crime-fighter with no free time, and he is unaware that you are his son. In order to talk to him, you become a villain.
|
The whizzing air would have blown out my ears under normal circumstances, but I didn't mind. What annoyed me was the storm that he flew through. My eyes were shut so tight, they nearly froze going through the clouds. My cybernetic ear implants continued to buzz in my ear, blocking out moisture and the speed of the wind, the only remaining comfort I had.
The mechanical prototype suit had been shredded, and the leather harness that strapped me to the protective roll cage had produced less than adequate results. Something to reinforce to confor-
The air got warmer as we dropped below the clouds, the overcast sky becoming more grey as we descended. I smiled and blinked to get the wetness out of my eyes. *I must get ahead of myself and install the new implants to avoid this discomfort. Setting me down gently in a small steel cage, the man that I came to know as my Father found his own spot. Roughly ten paces away, a small chamber rose from the ground, the grass dead from the constant use. A mini-fridge appeared.
"Still drinking the blue flavour? That's my favourite."
His silent continued as he chugged a bottle of it. Then another. I fidgetted to scratch an irritation in my back before he turned to me. "You're going to jail. For good."
I smiled. "Nice to see you too Robert Lang." He scowled, then narrowed his eyes.
"How do you know that name." He growled as he walked closer, hard steps kicking up sand. I continued to smile.
"Birth certificate. Mum gave it to me when I was ten. You remember Becca, right?" My teeth, polished only yesterday by my dentist, gleaned white in the sun. "She's still practicing you know."
His face turned scarlet. "What kind of trick is this?!" He ripped the steel bars apart and picked me up by what was left of my collar. "Who are you?"
"Your son."
He looked at me, deep into the sockets of my eyes. He softened. His grip loosened, and dropped me to the floor. His eyes were thoughtful, tracing back the numerous flings, vacation romances, the by-gones and the smooches on the cheeks, the moments of peace and solitude. You could hardly blame him. Moving from one moment to the next, from one villain to the next. His eyes rose to meet mine again.
"Another one. Again. Huh." He stepped back to give me space again, and looked over me. "You became this to what, talk to me?"
I stood, uneasily as my left hip's pain rose sharply with the movement. There was likely a rib fracture as it hurt somewhat to breath on that side. Maybe a strain? I must re-eva-
"What kind of kid goes through the effort of inventing a mecha suit to destroy a city?" He interupted my thought.
I chuckled softly, softly enough for my chest to rest easy. "One that demands attention from my Father I guess?" He smirked at that briefly.
He sighed, waving me to follow him. The mini-fridge rose again to the surface. Handing me one of the bottles, he stated, "You're still going to jail."
|
'Powerless...the both of us are powerless. I know he's my dad though, but how does he do the things he does?' Jamal thinks, 'He says something that makes his amulet glow and then it's like the world around him glitches to do... something. Usually stuff that benefits him. I need to find his power. Then I can make it my own...and he'll see me.'
Jamal sets his eyes back on the street, everything is going according to plan so far. He has a friend across town who has a very useful power right now. She can control radio waves, and with the right setup, she is now tricking all police to head towards the opposite side of town. It's a classic setup really, if you want a hero to show, make sure they're needed.
"Right on time!"
Jamal watches as his dad lands on the roof with a gentle and almost cloud like grace, the glow from the amulet around his neck quickly fading.
Jamal began to approach his father, "I knew you'd come, and it's time you listened."
His dad, the local hero known as Hexing, wasted no time in rushing towards his unbeknownst to him son. He grabbed his shirt and quickly dangled him off the ledge of the building with a strength that his body shouldn't be capable of.
Hexing then stares into his son's eyes and makes his demanding questions, "What is your plan? What have you done?!"
Jamal smiles and reaches his hand out towards his father's shoulder, carful not to let his eyes wander towards the amulet his father always wears.
"Mr. Hexing...or might I say Kobi Shepard?"
Jamal's smile turns into a devilish smirk as he sees the visage his father puts on as a hero vanishes. Jamal then watches as the amulet around his father's neck glows like before as he speaks some strange archaic language.
But, as his father's muscles tense up to throw his son back onto the roof, Jamal snatches the glowing amulet from his father's neck and rips it free.
Suddenly, his father loses his strength and collapses as his son, who was dangling over the ledge of the building falls.
Jamal smiles as he falls. The building is tall, but the fall is mere seconds. Shouting to the amulet in his hand, he recites the same words he's heard his father speak to it, the words Jamal has spent hours memorizing over recordings of his father's battles.
Suddenly, the amulet glows as it recognizes the voice of it's new master. Jamal's fall ceases and he simply floats there. It feels like he's being cradled in a massive and invisible hand. He then looks up towards the top of the building as his father looks down in disbelief.
Jamal flies back up the building to his dad as he stands atop the invisible force that lifts him.
"H-how? The amulet...it requires someone of blood relation. But you can't-"
Jamal laughs, his outburst interrupting his fathers disbelief.
"Really?! Do you think that it's so impossible? That your youth would never catch up to you? Welcome to the real world, Dad! Your actions have consequences...and just like you made me live without something, I'm going to make you suffer the same!"
Jamal then flies closer to his father as he can tease him with a whisper, making sure to stay just out of arms reach.
"The look on your face. You can hardly believe it yet the proof is right in front of you. I'm surprised you didn't see it before, but then again, nature versus nurture, right? I was forced to become stronger than you, and now you'll get to see that in full. So, about me taking something from you...this amulet is mine now. But don't you worry, I'm not just taking something from you, I'm also giving you something. You have a son now~"
Jamal's smile is wide and eyes crazed as he points his father's gaze to a nearby holoboard (holographic billboard used on building in the city). On the board is an article (created by Jamal's friend with the radio control) that is just being released saying not only that Hexing's true identity is Kobi Shepard, but that his son is Jamal Shepard, the new villain who's named himself Gozer.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.