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kpqerd3
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kppv51s
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[WP] You live in a society where time travellers send packages to the homes of children who will one day become horrific criminals, containing advice on how to properly parent this child and a blade for more… extreme measures if the child resists. One day, the package arrives to your house.
|
Please. Please this can't be happening to me.
What was supposed to be the happiest day of my life had become every parent's worst nightmare. I was finally able to bring my baby boy home after 6 weeks in the NICU. It was touch and go there for a while, but he'd finally been cleared to come home.
I never had the best relationship with my father. Not after all the... "things" he did to me and my sisters. As soon as I saw my baby boy for the first time, I swore to myself that I would be nothing like him. I would be the father I always wanted.
I promised myself that I'd do better than he did, and yet here it is. The "care package."
Everyone knows what that package means. It means that you failed as a parent. It means that your child did something so terrible that people from the future are willing to risk the very fabric of reality for even a chance to stop them.
I told my wife to take him upstairs while I took a closer look at our "gift." I was expecting the normal parenting books, copies of studies that were done about how to raise troubled children, the type of things everyone knew to look out for. What I wasn't expecting were the newspapers.
The box was absolutely stuffed with newspaper clippings marked 35 years in the future. As I started to read, my heart dropped more and more. My son, my baby boy, was one of the most prolific serial rapists and killers of the 21st century. Each of the clippings contained extreme graphic details about each of his different murders. One killing, one clipping.
There were 108.
This couldn't be real. This couldn't actually be happening. What did I do so wrong to cause this?!!
Finally, I reached the bottom of the box. There were only two things left. One final document, and a knife with a post-it note attached.
I gently picked up the knife and read the note.
"You know what has to be done."
I finally started to resign myself to the reality of the situation, but then I picked up the final page. It was a psychological study on my son. Numerous child psychologists and behavioral analysts worked on this study trying to figure out what could have caused his extreme behaviors and his complete lack of remorse. While there were numerous different theories, everyone had come to the same conclusion about the beginning of these atrocities.
They all claimed that his actions first stemmed from the severe emotional and physical abuse he suffered as a child...
...
At the hands of his father.
The study fell out of my hands. They were shaking too much, I couldn't keep them still. All of this. All of these atrocities. Everything my son would become. It was all because of me. Because I was exactly like my father after all...
...
No.
No, I would not let this happen.
I reached for the knife from the box and gently set the tip of the blade to my wrist.
I would not be the cause for all of this. I would break the cycle of abuse any way I could.
Once and for all.
|
End the cycle.
That's what the note said. That's all it said.
Everyone knew what a package from a time traveler meant. It was hard to believe that my son could become a monster. He was always a troublemaker, but I never imagined him capable of this.
I looked down at the blade that also arrived. I had thought about killing my boy but, this knife implies I might have to stab him.
My daddy always said that no one is sweet, everyone is hiding something, he was right. My father beat this lesson into me, now it is time that my son learn this lesson. I discipled my son the same way to make him turn out right.
I grabbed the blade, it is time I teach that child of mine a lesson he'll never forget. How dare he turn out bad!
|
mg75lfc
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mw4u1hz
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[WP] "You are the chosen one. The prophecy says that every 273 years-" "Wait, why isn't it a round number? Sorry, no can do" "Are you really denying your destiny over this?" "Uhh... yeah?"
|
"So my planet is mostly ocean, with a few small islands," said Mira, her translucent fingers tapping against the metal table. The dim emergency lighting cast strange shadows across her features.
"My planet is covered in so much plant life, it's affectionately nicknamed the Green Planet," added Thel, the small tendrils around his neck curling inward as he spoke.
They both turned to me, their eyes reflecting the red warning lights that had been flashing silently for the past three hours. The rest of the mess hall was empty. The ship's automated systems had stopped reporting our position twelve days ago.
"So what about you?" Mira asked, her voice unnaturally calm. "What's it like on Earth?"
I studied their faces, wondering if they knew. They must have suspected by now. The quarantine protocols. The missing communications. The way the captain and senior officers had sealed themselves on the bridge after our last supply transfer.
"Earth," I began, my mouth dry. "Earth is... changing."
Neither of them blinked.
"We have oceans and forests too. Or we did, before it started." My hands trembled slightly. "Before the Bloom."
Thel's skin rippled. "The what?"
I shouldn't tell them. It violated every containment protocol. But what difference did it make now? The sensors had already confirmed what I feared – the spores had gotten into the ventilation system.
"It started in the Arctic," I said. "When the ice melted, it released something that had been frozen for millions of years. Something that had been waiting."
Mira's gill slits fluttered. "A disease?"
"We thought so, at first. The first cases appeared among research scientists. They developed unusual growths – fungal structures erupting from their skin. They changed... mentally. Became different people. When the growths burst, they released spores."
"That's why Earth severed all communication with the colonial outposts," Thel whispered. "The quarantine wasn't to keep something out..."
"It was to keep something in," I finished. "But it was too late. The Bloom spreads through air, water, touch. It doesn't kill you. It... repurposes you."
"But that's impossible," Mira said, her voice rising slightly. "Your species made it to the stars. You have medicine, technology—"
"The Bloom adapts faster than our scientists could respond. It learns. Some believe it's intelligent – a hive organism that's been evolving in isolation for millions of years."
I noticed the small dark spot on Mira's neck then – just below her gills. A tiny black starburst pattern I hadn't seen before. My stomach dropped.
"Earth is beautiful from orbit," I continued, unable to stop now. "Still blue. Still cloud-swirled. But if you look closely at night, you don't see city lights anymore. You see bioluminescence – vast networks of it, pulsing in patterns. Communicating."
Thel's hand moved to his own neck, touching a similar dark patch that was spreading across his green skin. His eyes widened in understanding.
"When did you know?" he asked softly.
"That I'm a carrier? Since before we left port. Some of us are asymptomatic. We don't show signs, but we spread it." I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the intricate black patterns that had spread across my arm. "Earth isn't human anymore. And soon, nowhere else will be either."
The ship's communication system suddenly crackled to life. The captain's voice came through, distorted and wet-sounding: "Attention all crew. Quarantine protocols have... failed. Remain where you are. The... the Bloom provides."
The red emergency lights stopped flashing and turned solid green.
Mira looked down at her hands where small black filaments were now visibly pushing through her skin. Instead of panic, her face showed an eerie calm.
"I can hear it," she whispered. "In my head. It's... beautiful."
"Yes," Thel agreed, his eyes now rimmed with darkness. "Like a song."
I could hear it too – had been hearing it for months. The whispers. The promises. The Bloom spoke of unity, of purpose, of an end to individual suffering.
"What's Earth like?" I repeated, feeling the familiar surge of the Bloom's consciousness rising in my mind, drowning out my own thoughts. "Earth is patient. Earth is ancient. Earth is finally awake."
Mira and Thel smiled at me with mouths that were no longer entirely their own. Above us, through the mess hall's viewport, a colonial transport ship appeared, approaching our vessel for routine resupply.
|
I awoke in a bright hall, surrounded by priestesses, and priests.
It was neat, and ordered.
There were 30 priestesses and 10 priests, it was a nice number.
They ritualistically chanted, and when they saw me looking at me, one of them stepped forward smiling.
I had great hopes, since her clothes were really tidy.
"Oh, Great Chosen One.
We beg for your help.
Every 273 years...", she started.
"273 years?", I asked.
"Yes...you will need to save us from a great evil...", she continued.
"Oh, sorry, no can do.", I said.
She froze.
"W-w-why?", she asked.
"It's not a round number.", I stated.
She, and everyone else looked at me, dumbfounded.
"Just because that?
You will be denying your destiny? You will be damning our world to destruction?", she asked.
"Uhh...yeah?", I said.
She seemed to breath fire.
"Are you crazy?", she shouted.
"Not crazy, but with OCD, and on the spectrum.
I can't do well with numbers that aren't round.", I said, fidgeting.
All this attention started to make me...sick.
Before she could shout at me again, an elderly priestess stepped forward, gently touching the first priestess's shoulder.
"Dear, if Sir. Chosen One says only round numbers work for him, then that's how it will be.
We don't see destruction yet, so 7 years should be doable.
Will it work for Sir. to learn, and train in our customs, and help us in year 280?", she asked.
I nodded.
"Good.
We will provide you with whatever you need.", she continued.
I thought for a while, looking at the symbols, and some priestesses that had animal ears, recognizing the setting I might be in.
"I want a clean room, not too small, but not big, and access to books, cleaning supplies.
I will be cooking my own meals, and washing my clothes, and please, don't enter when I am not there, or without knocking when I am there.", I said.
She nodded.
"It shall be done.
Please, rest here, until we prepare.", she said, and everyone left.
It was quiet, and peaceful...and I hoped this will last for at least the 7 years...
I think 280 is such a nice number, I might actually get lucky, and avoid fighting here...
|
jaej09r
|
jaebj3n
|
[WP] "Captains Log: The new crew member has been an irritant to the other members, last week they not only stole, but drank some of the poisons we have aboard, when questioned. Said they needed something spicy for their meal"
|
Capt. Lussiz was finally able to relax. Get a little thinking done. Maybe finally get around to updating the Captain's log. He had not done that in cycles. And he had a lot to report. Those new crew members were some of the most useful individuals he had ever seen, but they were also some of the most aggravating beings in the galaxy.
It seemed like every incident was either caused or solved by one of them. Mostly caused. He did not even want to think about what those damned bipeds were about to do with that broken gravity amplifier. They said something about atomic degradation rates and ran off saying the words that still haunted his rest period: "This is gonna be awesome!"
His dorsal frill still rose when he thought about those words, and what usually followed. But he still had to dictate every notable event into the logs, otherwise headquarters would flay him.
He was about to start the recording system when the door alerted him to a visitor. His frill stiffened in annoyance. He hit the comm system.
"What is it?" He asked.
"Captain, sir? There's been an... an incident."
Lussiz recognized the voice of his quartermaster. If she was nervous, then he could only think of one source. He opened the door to admit the aging Stelaxian.
"It was them again, wasn't it?
"Yes, captain." She said, tapping her third foot, indicating agreement.
"What was it this time?" He could already tell this would be a new entry in the logs.
"You recall last cycle the report of container 563 going missing?"
He gave his acknowledgement. It was hard to forget a large quantity of a highly toxic substance going missing. And her bringing it up made his mind go to the logical -- and unfortunate -- conclusion.
"What did they do with it?" He asked. "They weren't trying to weaponize it, were they?"
"No, sir. They were...using it as a food additive. Practically drinking the stuff."
Her rearmost legs were skittering across the metal floor. He felt the same way. How could they eat that stuff?
"But...that was pure capsaicin. Toxic to, well, everything." He said, as if that would change something.
"I know, sir. But they were eating it. They said they wanted something "spicy" for their meal, whatever that means. And when asked about drinking it, they said it was mimicking something called the "hot pepper challenge" from their homeworld."
He let out a tired rumble from his air sacks. Now he had another problem to deal with.
"Did you at least get the raining capsaicin back?"
"Yes, sir. They seemed upset by it though. They complained that their food rations were too bland and that...that poison was what they needed to make it better."
"Of course they drink poison for fun. Why wouldn't they?" He muttered under his breath. Then, much louder, "Thank you for your report. Keep all toxic substances locked up with grade one locking systems from now on, just in case."
The quartermaster gave her agreement and headed off. The captain trudged heavily to the log recording system and activated it before any more interruptions could manifest.
"Captain's log. The new crew members continue to be an irritant to myself and the rest of the crew. Their behavior is unpredictable and distressing. The latest in a long line of incidents has them stealing a large quantity of a controlled toxic substance. They did so to ingest it, while saying they wanted something spicy for their food. I don't even know what that means, but that was, according to my highly reliable quartermaster, the excuse given."
He continued to give his extensive list of reports on the crew member's behavior, both positive and negative. It took him far too long to do. When he was finally done, he sat on his reclining seat and said, out loud for some reason,
"I swear these damn humans are going to be the death of me."
|
I wouldn’t be surprised if this is illegal, but I’ve had enough of this sobriety shit. I’ve been stuck on this damn ship for six months now; I need something to lighten the load. Gradually I cracked open the fuel compartment of the ship’s torpedo with the end of my wrench. A melodious odor lingered from sludge as it poured into the small bucket in my hands as the chief engineer clambered down the distant ladder of the torpedo bay. The almost but not muppet with flesh flopped down the gangway of the room at full speed, screaming. “What are you doing? Stop, no! Why are you doing this; we need that!”
In due time the liquid continued to drain from the torpedo as the muppet slapped the side of my head repeatedly with the force of a feather duster as I remunerated to the frantic conversation. “I need it more! I haven’t had a drink in months!”
CE: “That’s torpedo propellant! You can’t drink that! There are so many dangerous chemicals in that liquid!
E: “Fuck You! I’m getting my torpedo juice!”
CE: “No! Give it back; there’s a pirate skiff in the system!”
E: “This is a battle cruiser! Use the guns!”
CE: “We have no guns!”
E: “Why don’t you have guns!”
CE: “They don’t work in space!”
E: “That’s a lie!”
CE: “Well, ours don’t!”
E: “Then get a different damn torpedo!”
CE: “No, this is federation property!”
E: “No, it’s mine!”
CE: “Fuck You!”
The blaring claxons and flashing red lights heralded my secured prize as I raised the bucket of torpedo juice moments before the projectile was shunted from the weapon’s room airlock.
E: “Ah shit.”
CE: "That's going to get stuck."
E: "Yep."
|
jhdlcdz
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jhcht08
|
[WP] You've noticed that unlike the rest of your companions, the elves you're travelling with have never excused themselves to answer nature's call, even though they eat and drink just as often as you do. When you work up the courage to ask the elves about this, their explanation astounds you.
|
It was during a lunch break, in the middle of a trek, that the thought occurred to me.
"Hey, Aelius..." I asked slowly, "Where do you keep all your arrows? I could have sworn you ran out a few days ago but your quiver's still full. Is it magic?"
Littlefinger, our halfling rogue, suddenly looked up with an expression of alarm before he spun around and stuck his fingers in his ears.
Aelius got a thoughtful look on his face, before he crossed his legs and leaned back, in the same way he always did when he was about to go into 'expository sage mode'.
"No, it's not a magic quiver. Funnily enough, it's actually a biological process." he started to explain.
"Like, when a mommy arrow and a daddy arrow get together and have a little nest of fletchettes?" I asked. Oddly, Littlefinger was humming loudly to himself to drown out the conversation.
Aelius let out a chuckle, "No, no, it's elven biology. See, we have a diet very rich in fibre and cellulose."
"An elf eats, shoots, and leaves." I commented with a wry smile.
"Something like that." Aelius agreed, "Anyway, the funny thing about us, at least compared to other humanoids, is that we have a very strong connection to plant life. Strong enough that when we have undigested cellulose fibres in our bodies, over time our bodies will actually reconstitute those fibres back into living wood. Most of the time we literally have a sapling growing in us."
I stared. I blinked a couple of times. "Wooww..." I eventually breathed out, "That is simultaneously really bizarre and really cool."
Aelius nodded, "And those saplings are where I get the wood for my arrows."
I nodded back, "So you just, spit them up? Like a sword-swallowing routine?" I asked, tilting my head up and miming pulling a sword out of my throat.
Aelius smiled. "Nope." he said.
I blinked.
Aelius continued to smile innocently.
I blinked again.
Littlefinger shot us a glance out of the corner of his eye before he went back to humming with his fingers in his ears.
Another blink, before I asked, "So...how do you...?"
"The other end." Aelius said simply.
"Ah." I sat back for a second before my mind caught up. "Wait, what? Like, your 'rear end' other end?"
Aelius nodded, "Correct."
"Ewww!"
"The short version is, elves excrete wood that can be used for arrow shafts." he went on innocently.
I squinted and stuck my tongue out with a 'bleh'.
"You might say in your particular vernacular that I'm pulling arrows out of my ass." the elf continued.
"I regret asking!" I clapped my hands over my ears.
"That's also the reason why elven blademasters and paladins tend to be so uptight, they literally have a stick up their asses." Aelius cheerfully went on.
"La la la la I can't hear you!" I declared, spinning around just like Littlefinger did before.
"I do have to watch my diet, otherwise I can end up dropping logs..."
|
"You know little of our kind, human," Erisha said sternly.
I felt heat creep into my face and I wanted to turn away from the embarrassment, but I forced myself to keep staring. His eyes narrowed, their beads shining on me with mirror focus.
"In the old legends, elves would dance in a circle. It was said that to relieve oneself inside one of these circles would cause illness. So we became good at holding it until the pre-dawn light."
I couldn't believe it. "If going in the circle was bad, why didn't you just go outside of it?"
He shook his head, cringing. "If you're dumb enough to use a tree in the wee hours of the eve, you deserve to serve your manhood to a wild boar."
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lqew75h
|
lqeian1
|
[WP] After the villain defeated you, your friends abandoned you, leaving you for dead. To your surprise you awoke in a bed, with your wounds tended to and the villain sitting at your bedside.
|
"And here I thought I was the bad girl. Even I don't leave my people behind" she said with a smirk.
I groan. As if the pain wasn't bad enough, now I'm stuck with her arrogance. Excuse me, "her excellence" is what she prefers.
"They reported you dead, you know. Going to be hard to come back from that."
I didn't have the mental power to think about that. Everything hurt, even my toes. "Fuck you" I coughed.
She gently caressed down my jawline with her fingernails, "Oh dear I hardly think you're in the condition for that".
Her touch was kind. I don't know why it caught me off guard. I have no idea what she could be wanting, or why she let me live, but I couldn't do anything about anything yet.
She stood to leave, then looked at me with genuine kindness in her eyes, "you know, everyone has a villain in their own story, and just because you think your villain is bad, doesn't make them bad. And just because you think you're the good guy, that doesn't make you the good guy". She walked out the door, telling her servant something as she left.
She was right. But why say it? This whole adventure I had felt like there was something I was missing, but what? Too weak to think about it now. I needed to sleep more.
I awake with a start, the morning sun on my face, warming it. For being such a villain, she did have amazing taste. And this bed is the most comfortable thing I've ever slept in. My body still aches, my head still throbs, but I feel significantly better.
I open my eyes and she's there again; not three feet away, sun gleaming through her silky brown hair, eyes closed, chest gently rising and falling with each breath. Her full lips pressed together. Why are these thoughts in my head. It has to be the fog from all the exhaustion and pain.
She wakes with a start, looking to me. "I see you're awake now. You should be feeling better after sleeping for two full nights".
Two nights?? Gods I didn't realize--
"Your friends that left you have started quite the ruckus since leaving here", she said flatly.
"What do you mean"? Well at least I could speak now.
"Your oh-so-magnificent sword is actually a key, and they've found the lock. Seems they knew all along. I had hoped otherwise". A look of concern crossing her face as she called her servant in.
"Have a look at what they're up to" she says as she helps me look into the large bowl in the servants hands.
Fire. Screaming. Corpses. Large black writhing tentacles masses in the sky. "What the hell is all this" I stammer. This was beyond comprehension. This can't be real.
"They've unleashed an Eldritch god, which is what I was trying to stop. I'm not the villain of this story, you and your friends were, but you were oblivious to their machinations". Now it all makes sense. The whispering, the secretive meetings, the shared skin markings. I've been betrayed, and I could feel the anger growing inside me.
"Use that anger. Let me help you, I can make you more than you were. Pledge yourself to me, and we can take this world back and make them pay." She looked at me softly, offering her hand to me. I took it, and a warm flushing feeling came over my body.
I was back on my feet, only a little pain. It's been five days since the Eldritch gods have appeared. Once took Her hand, my healing went quickly, and I was fitted with new armor, and a new weapon that drew on my desire for revenge. It was like nothing I had heard of. It was light, but dense, and had the power to sever any gods connection to their powers, or their disciples from them.
I looked over at my new queen as we left her lair; the flaming skies and blood soaked lands ahead of us, towers darkening the landscape. Those were the targets. Those were the rewards for the traitors and now high priests. They will reap what they have sown, and we will make sure of that.
|
I didn’t blame you for leaving me.
How could I? You were scared, and vulnerable, and had just watched her overtake me, watched her rip into the body of your friend. What hope is there after that? You had to leave. You had to save yourselves. You matter, as you are, and you matter enough to live. Even if it meant I didn’t.
I expected to die there. Of course you must have expected the same. Even if you could have saved me. Why take the risk? I’m not worth that. Not really. But I guess she thought I was, even after all she did. I’ll never forgive her for what she did. I don’t know how to be grateful, then, that she saved my life right after.
She didn’t say a word to me. She never had. And I was too hurt to speak, so we just sat there in silence every time I was awake to see her caring for my body, feeling so distant from it myself in all the layers of pain and separation. Because I had already believed myself dead, sometimes I didn’t even panic at her presence. I just sat there. Watched. Waited.
I was waiting for you to come. Unfair, I know. But I needed you. I needed you every day. I don’t know how many days it was, I just know that each one was an eternity without you. You never saved me. Not from death. Not from her.
When I got out, a part of me still thought I was dead. I’ve never really felt that alive, because Mama told me life is sacred and I could never be worth all that much. If you saw me, would you think I was a ghost? Would you run and hide?
Would you hurt me?
Again?
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j8l88zq
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j8kohla
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[WP] You were kidnapped by a villain and he gloats about how you're bait for his arch-nemesis, and you'll be dead soon. You sigh and just look at him. "Buddy, its not that hero you need to worry about....its my wife." and he looks at you perplexed.
|
"I've been watching goodlight for sometime and *he* keeps an eye on you. Clearly you mean something to him, so here I have you as bait. And just as he arrives, I will kill you in front of him before darkening his light forever!"
John was still a little groggy from the drug, strapped to this chair while nitefight monologued.
"...You think I'm... Important to goodlight? Like, personally?"
"Yes I believe that's what I just explained" nitefight snapped
"Ah, no. He is just assigned to me, us, actually, it's his job to keep tabs on us. We are not friends. Look just let me go before you get in trouble, you clearly don't know how things work around here"
"I give you points for bluffing, but you aren't going to talk your way out of here. You and your wife will..."
"Wait, my wife?!?" John interrupted. "You did NOT bring her here, did you???"
"Yes, of course!" Nightlight snapped again, annoyed by the interruptions and lack of intimidation this normy displayed... "Goodlight watches both of you, I wasn't sure if both of you were important but it won't matter once goodlight gets" nitefight was cut off yet again.
"Buddy, It's not that hero you need to worry about... It's my wife! You really MUST be new here. If I were..."
"SILENCE!!" It doesn't matter how long I've been here or *how things work here!* I will make my name by taking down my nemesis tonight!"
...
"Have you heard of "Geppetto"?" John asked quietly.
Nitefight paused a half second before replying cautiously. "Yes? What does a supervillain have to do with anything?"
"He is my wife's Godfather, and he is very protective of her" John said almost gently.
Nitefight felt cold and sick, he paled. "Wha...what? No, I never saw him or his men near her!" He sounded desperate, as if he could make it untrue.
"Well we don't get together often, Jess wants to stay out of the villain world, but we are still close. It's why Goodlight keeps tabs on us, he is assigned to by the heros"
Nitefight rushed over undoing the straps frantically. "Nononono! you have to tell him, it was a mistake!!! I would never! Your wife! We'll go free her! I'll never..." His frantic and terrified babbling stopped as he was turning to run to the door, his limbs and body suddenly standing at an odd angle, as if his dead weight was being held up for him, as if he was a puppet. "No!" He squeaked "I'm sorry! I didn't know!" The door opened and a large man stepped in.
"John." He nodded to John who was now standing unsteady by the table.
John spoke quickly. "He didn't know, must be new here, can't you just let..." The large man held up his hand and John stopped, dropping his shoulders. An invisible force pulled a babbling and pleading Nitefight out through the door as if by strings.
"Can you walk John?" The large man asked.
John could hear screams from somewhere.
"I think so. Are you sure you can't just..." John started again.
"How about you let me worry about my business and you mind yours, John. I took him out of the room because I know you're *sensitive*. Jess is already on her way out, she insisted I come find you myself. Let's go." Geppetto turned toward the door.
"Yes papa G. Thank you."
|
Footsteps echoed around Benjamin, but he could not see. "Where am I?" He rustled around on the floor, his shackles nearly coming loose. "Don't try to fight," An ominous voice filled the room. "It'll be all over soon." A door creaks open, and a second, lighter pair of footsteps entered the room. "Sir, security reports a woman at the front gates." A feminine voice spoke. "Wait, what? Is it Franklin's daughter or something?" "Older, looks mid-thirties." "Well, it's not his wife, then, or daughter. Who on earth is it?!"
Benjamin exhaled, prepared for the storm. "My wife. It's my wife." The room was silent for a second, but the masculine voice started up again. "Your wife?" The masculine voice said, in a confused tone. "Yes, my wife. she was ex-military and was dishonorably discharged." "Why?" "You don't want to know, but you will soon." Then, it went dark...
|
jnoonow
|
jnof1tk
|
[WP] Instead of being a super villain like your parents, you ended up joining a company. Now your wildly successful and quite frankly much more closer to world domination than your parents. Your parents can't handle it.
|
It was always the same thing every time.
Parents come up with outlandish and unrealistic scheme for world domination, spend more money than they should to implement it, get found out by heroes, and fight in a climactic battle.
Cliche, tasteless, predictable, *boring*.
Honestly, the only variation in the whole cycle was the outcome. Sometimes both parties would retreat to lick their wounds. Sometimes they'd put the hero down, only to then face a whole team determined to take them down.
When that happened there was usually hospital time and jail time involved. Those were the moments I liked best if I'm being honest. Not that I particularly wanted my parents to be hurt or anything, but I much preferred living with my Aunt June.
Aunt June has always been awesome. While mom and dad were busy cackling about their latest plans in the basement, she would take me out for ice cream or to the park. A historian herself, she always encouraged me to read the classics and to question everything around me.
*"They say that those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it."* She told me once, *"But a lot of people really don't understand what that means. Study your history, my little sunspot. Study it and learn how to see the larger picture. Once you can do that, you'll be unstoppable."*
The words she said that day stuck with me, even though at eight years old I didn't really understand them, and I tried my best to follow her advice. I learned how to study history as it unfolded as well as the stuff from the ancient past, and I began to notice the patterns. Especially between the superheroes and their villains.
Always the same thing every time. Sure, sometimes a villain would win for a little while, but it was never for long. Their rivals would band together or work with the heroes to take them out because of the threat they posed to the world, and everything would reset and then start all over again. It was a cycle. An endless, nauseating, cycle.
And one I refused to participate in.
Against my parent's wishes, I refused to be a part of their schemes. Instead I stubbornly dug my heels in, and insisted on staying out of it. I argued hard that a good, clean, reputation would make me a much more likely candidate for college and I wouldn't have that if I became their new sidekick.
After a lot of debate, a couple of shouting matches, and with my aunt June's support, they finally conceded I had a valid point and stopped trying to rope me into the 'family business'. From that moment on, I kept my head down and quietly made my own plans, and when I was fifteen I managed to plead my case successfully enough to both the heroes and a judge to let me live with my aunt instead.
They watched me for a long time after that, of course. They were suspicious that I was up to something, and wanted to catch me in the act. I didn't mind. If anyone has a right to be paranoid it's a veteran hero who's dealt with one too many betrayals. My parents were less than thrilled, but even my dad learned better than to cross my aunt June when she was mad, and their latest scheme's recklessness had truly infuriated her.
For a petite, relatively meek, historian and librarian my aunt has a mean right hook.
With my parents out of the way, I was finally able to focus on my schoolwork, and to my surprise I flourished. Without the constant interruptions and distractions, my grades soared and with them my confidence. In my senior year I discovered I had both a knack and passion for engineering.
Building things had always been a way to relieve stress, but it wasn't until I decided to take a shop class that I truly began to understand how good I was at it and how much I enjoyed it.
Naturally, when I went to college, I began to study electrical and mechanical engineering and had a lot of fun. I connected especially strongly to other kids who had superheroes or supervillains for parents. They all understood what it was like and how much of a pain in the ass it could be dealing with familial expectations and your parent's shadows. It was how I met my fiance actually.
After school, I got a good internship and began building my way up. I kept my nose clean, kept on the right side of the heroes, and eventually created my own company. A company that is now a multi-national and multi-billion dollar company.
All of which, has very carefully led to this exact moment.
"No." I told my shocked parents, "I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Sweetie, I know this is upsetting..." My mother tried to soothe, "And I promise you, we would've spoken to you first if we'd realized this was your company, but we need these components! We'll finally be able to force those so-called 'heroes' to bend the knee! We'll rule everything!"
"Hm..." I hummed as I sat back against a railing, lamenting my decision to wear a pencil skirt today of all days, "No."
"What do you mean 'no'?!" My father demanded, "The world could be ours! Anything, everything, you ever wanted could be yours!"
I rolled my eyes, "First of all, I already have everything I could ever want and would thank you not to mess that up the way you've tried to mess up literally every other thing in my life with your endless scheming. And second of all..." I looked at my nails with an air of nonchalant dramatics I'd learned straight from my mother, and smirked sharply, "I'm already a thousand times closer to world domination than either of you will ever be."
My smirk widened into an evil smile at their stunned expressions, "What? Did you seriously think I did all this by *chance*? Please. I've been planning this since I was fifteen." I shrugged a little, "Sure, the plan's had some revisions here and there, but I'm happy enough with the outcome."
"I... I don't understand." My mother admitted, confusion visibly warring with hurt, and I gave her a dry look, no longer the gullible child that had caved under mama's tears every time.
"It's quite simple really." I drawled, "There's more than one way to achieve world domination."
My mother opened her mouth to say more but was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Sunspot and his team.
"Are you alright?" He asked as his friends arrested my parents, "We came as soon as we could."
"I'm fine." I smiled back, "They didn't account for the security upgrades we made recently, and I kept them too distracted to break free."
Sunspot's shoulders relaxed and he smiled back, "Yes, I heard. Good job. I'll see you tonight?"
"Absolutely." I purred, "Bring some red wine when you come. I'm thinking we should have a nice long night in."
I watched in amusement as Sunspot blushed but grinned, "It'd take a world-ending event to keep me away!"
I laughed and nodded, making a mental note to ensure there weren't any such events on the horizon. Once he'd left I calmly ordered the cleanup crews to get started dealing with the mess my parents had made and made my way back to my office, where I'd left my prospective investors hanging when my parents attacked.
"My apologies ladies and gentlemen." I told them, "There was a situation in the labs, but it had been dealt with. Are we good to continue?"
They nodded and I smiled to myself as the negotiations resumed. As I had told my parents, there was more than one way to achieved world domination. Soon my quantum computing capable circuits would become the new global standard. The whole world would run on them, and they would influence every facet of life from every day computing to nanite technology, to customizing biometrically grown replacement organs and other medical advances. And when that happened the world would look to me as it had once looked to Apple and Microsoft in the past.
World domination was easy, as long as you gave the world what it wanted in return.
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"Hey, Dmitri, we're gonna hit up the Cigar bar tonight after work. You down?", a colleague asked.
"Sorry man, I've got dinner with my parents tonight.", he lamented.
"Alright, see you tomorrow then."
"Yeah."
Dmitri hoped the terse response wasn't perceived as too rude, but his friends at work already had a good idea of his relationship with his parents. To most people, they were known as Boris and Lara Strelnikoff. But to a select few they were the merciless villains, *Plague and Disorder,* genius criminals who'd made multiple attempts to cause wanton destruction and terror with the aim of global domination. They were notorious for managing to keep themselves from dying or going to prison for decades. Despite this impressive feat, their most crucial plots had always managed to be foiled by superheroes or authorities. The Strelnikoffs were good at compartmentalizing their work and home lives, but these recurring career setbacks started to leak into how they raised their son
Dmitri exited the company garage as the street lights slowly turned themselves on. Thinking of home, his mind went back to his childhood. He had a normal happy one for the most part. But it was around when we turned 12 that his parents had returned home with torn up costumes, singed hair, and sooty faces. He didn't ask what happened, but later that night he was kept awake by the sound of their arguing.
"That blasted Cat-Man once again sticking his dirty paws in our business!" his father snarled through clenched teeth. "I'll bury him alive for this."
"I hope you do eventually,"replied mother. "Because it seems you did everything to allow him to escape."
Boris exploded, "And what is that supposed to mean?!"
She rolled her eyes derisively,"You put one person to guard him and you didn't even have him restrained or incapacitated. We were THIS close to blowing up Congress, Boris. But how many times have we overlooked something that bit us in the--"
"Ok, I'll own that. But you always spend the most crucial parts of our plans drinking champagne and boasting arrogantly about our imminent success. If I recall correctly, you gave Cat-Man the entire playbook!" Boris by now was red-faced and spitting and young Dmitri peeked timidly from the door of his room at this display...
Eventually, his parents started placing their hopes and dreams on Dmitri. He realized this as they pressured him to attend League of Injustice meetings in the hopes of getting a recommendation to a villain University. Lara wanted her son to be an evil doctor, and she even sewed a lab coat for him. Meanwhile, his parents schemes to cause an asteroid collision, a worldwide currency inflation, and a worldwide mutant chicken pox virus all failed. They weren't getting younger, and their dreams of world domination were getting farther and farther away.
Then Dmitri dropped a bomb on them, figuratively. "I'm going to business school. I'd like to get involved in a tech startup." His parents protested, then threatened, then pleaded with him to reconsider. Finally, they accepted begrudgingly. The relationship had inevitably strained. But Dmitri was too focused on his studies and then his career. He and his partners had recently gone public with a new social media app valued in billions. As if that wasn't enough, he had also gained an executive position at the top investment bank in the country.
He arrived and knocked on the door. His father opened up, "I'm surprised you felt the need to knock, Mr. big shot. Welcome home then. Lara! Your son is here!"
Her voice rang out from inside. "Yay! The food is almost ready, You all go take a seat at the table."
This already felt like it'd be a long evening for Dmitri, and he braced himself for it.
"I made your favorite, darling: Borscht and Chicken Tenders." his mother smiled warmly.
"Thank you mother." replied Dmitri. He didn't have the heart to say it wasn't his favorite any longer since the past 20 years.
The meal was quiet, with polite conversation. Dmitri listened as his father complained about henchman unions on strike and how the price of nerve gas had risen tremendously. But his sneaking suspicions were made true shortly after dessert.
"And you, Dmitri, you've done pretty well for yourself I must say." stated Boris.
"Thank you, Dad. I guess I've just been lucky." shrugged Dmitri.
"Luck, nonsense. Destiny." his fathers eyes gleamed oddly. Lara looked on proudly at her son, unbothered by the obvious change in her husbands demeanor.
"Uh...destiny?"
"Yes. You've put yourself in control of billions of dollars in assets. You have direct authority to manipulate a network of millions of users worldwide. Dmitri, you are closer than we've ever been to finally making that leap to the top." Boris replied in rising excitement.
Dmitri shook his head and was about to respond, but his father cut him off.
"We will destroy industry, influence the masses, and raise an army to conquer the superpowers of the world! I'll make a top notch virus, and your mother can start some natural disasters. It'll be childs play, son."
Dmitri was at a loss, but he decided he preferred to kick the can down the road as opposed to a direct confrontation now. "That sounds interesting, dad. We can talk about that later though. I've got some pictures that mom wants to see." His mother squealed in delight, while Boris looked deflated yet hope in his eyes.
The End
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ktyxljl
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ktwaq8j
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[WP] You, a side character, watch in horror as the MC forgives and doesn't kill the main villain, who murdered your friends and family, saying, "If I killed them, then I'd be just like them."
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The scent of blood and smoke hangs thick in the air, coating the nose and throat with its sharp, acidic taste like a pungent candle lit in a small room. The whole neighborhood was in ruins, skyscrapers and apartment buildings crumbling to dust, the screams of those still trapped inside swiftly being silenced. It was like a horrible symphony, the sound of the wreckage continually collapsing paired with the screech of sirens, the wailing of the trapped.
And here I stand, in the midst of my ruined community, watching as the so-called ‘*hero*’ of our city reaches out a hand to the man who caused all of this.
“You’re going to jail for a long time Destructor-” The hero declares, yanking him up by his collar and binding his hands behind his back. The shining white of his untouched outfit is a heavy contrast to his surroundings, as though he were a statue that had been left untouched by the chaos of the past hour. Hair still perfectly swooped back, his body held no evidence of the fight that just concluded. Bile rose in my throat as I watched him throw the villain over his shoulder, a man that even as he was being apprehended shouted his plans to do it again, to do it on a grander scale that no ones seen before.
I stare at them, numb.
“Y-you’re really going to just- let him go?” I mutter, shocked at the display before me. Virtue Man paused, and turned to face me. Me, covered in ash and blood, both mine and my families- Me, who’d just lost everyone and everything that had ever given my simple life meaning- *Me*, who no longer had any purpose or direction in my life.
“If I kill him, how am I any better than him?” He said, in that godawful ‘holier than thou’ tone. My chest heaves with rage, my face flushing red. Bitterness floods my veins, clouds my mind. All I feel is anger, towards Virtue Man, towards Destructor, towards my bus that was five minutes late, ultimately keeping me from being in the apartment building with my loved ones when it was destroyed.
“B-better than him?” I scoff, laughing. “Better than him?! I don’t know, have you ever killed thousands of people for the hell of it? Have you ever poisoned the water supply, experimented on unwilling victims, bombed a library because, ‘the librarian gave you a dirty look’?! What the hell is wrong with you?! He’s just going to escape, and kill thousands if not millions more!” I shout, storming towards them.
“I understand your pain, but-” Virtue man began, before I cut him off.
“Understand my pain? If you understood, he would be *dead*.” I look him dead in the eye. “Everyone he’s killed since the last time he escaped? Their blood is on ***your*** hands. Every orphan, widow, or childless parent he's created? Is on your hands.”
He lets me say my peace, before responding. “I will never kill any person, no matter the reason-” He states firmly, before turning to walk away.
I just start laughing. This so-called hero would let thousands die, all because he didn't want to get his hands dirty? Fine. I look around the ruins, my eyes quickly spotting just what I was looking for. A dead officer, her gun still in hand. I move quickly, and swipe it, the gun waying heavy in my hand. I rush towards Virtue Man, and aim for the limp villain thrown over his shoulder.
I took a deep breath, remembering what my grandfather had taught me as a child, and pulled the trigger.
Because he might value keeping his hands and conscience clean, but *I* have nothing left to lose.
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It was almost over. It'd been so long but we were so close now. Twenty years spent hunting down this piece of shit. He wasn't getting away this time. Not on my life.
My lungs were on fire. Straight battery acid ran through my veins. My heart was about to detonate. I kept running.
He could only run straight for a bit so I took a chance, raised my revolver and pulled the trigger. Missed. The bullet pinged off a vent just to the right of him.
*Two left! Aim your fuckin shots, you moron!*
I saw the edge of the roof up ahead - he was running out of runway, and quick. I brought my revolver up again, ready to hold it on him when he stopped. But he didn't. He didn't slow down at all and jumped.
I stopped at the edge and took the best stance I could. The gap was across an alleyway and the next building was a story shorter. I could have made it. The fucker made it, too, and stumbled when he landed. I saw my chance, took aim and fired.
My heart just about leapt into my throat when he yelled out and I saw him hit the deck. He was down but he wasn't out. My stomach dropped as I saw him scrambling to get back up on his feet.
That's when Bobby, that beautiful bastard, caught up and jumped across, himself.
*Well, shit, guess it's my turn.*
((Part 1 of ? - just got busy, will add more in replies))
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kg8ipp9
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kg8gai1
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[WP] "Chess? I've been around since before humans invented the concept of games, so a game as old as chess would be be in my favour without a doubt. I would advice you to choose again, and pick something you're familiar with." Death said as they presented every board and video game ever created.
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That was fine, actually. Killian didn't even know *how* to play chess. He was just hoping that Death didn't either. He looked in front of him at a scene he almost couldn't see if he focused too hard, but when he relaxed was like a mental rolodex forming in front of him. He went through the games, not really having played most of them. Sure, he had his modest stack or a few games per console, but his family couldn't afford all the new games that would come out.
"It just isn't in the budget. I'm sorry, bud...", his father would say to a solemn look on his face.
Killian saw a few titles he recognized from children in his school talking about them. Remembering how he'd read magazines, and see early internet pages about the games, imagining what they're like to play.
"Any game?" Killian asked, looking up at the Gothic figure before him.
"Any game...." Death replied; firmly, but perhaps a bit softer than before.
"How much time to I have to choose?,' Killian asked; nonchalantly, but swiftly moving through his options, 'I'm not really sure how long it will take me...."
"Time doesn't work that way here," Death answered. "I've been around since there was *something* to be *around*. For me, and you right now, time is...not. So, take your time...I don't mind."
"Oh..." Killian said, feeling a little more reassured. "Does it get lonely?"
"You know, I don't normally answer these sorts of questions...." the shadowy figure said as he steadied himself, a mix of frustration and confusion starting to feel like a dull ache in his boney frame.
"That's okay,' Killian responded softly, 'I only ask because it seems like you've probably brought billions of souls across the alleged lake-"
"It's not alleged...."
"-and you could recite their whole lives to them, but you still don't truly know them. It just seems lonely."
"Yes, but like you stated; I know all about everyone I bring across to the other side." Death said, somehow giving out a raspy sigh as though he had functioning lungs behind his cloak and ribs. "So, in terms of loneliness, I *also* know that you-"
Killian cut him off with a jolting celebratory cry.
"I found it! Pokemon Snap!" Killian cried out. "I played this game until I physically couldn't make the game run anymore."
Killian pulled the game out of the air, as though the solid copy had been there the whole time: Untouched and pristine. Killian clenched the game in his hands. His eyelids quivered slightly as tiny liquid bulbs formed behind them.
"That's a one player game...." Death said, a little perturbed by the suggestion.
"Yup!" Killian said excitedly.
"We would each have the play the game, and then compare scores." Death was starting to piece together what the intention was at this moment.
"Yup!" Killian responded, blinking away a little distortion from his eyes.
"It might take a while." Death continued, looking down at the game. "There's a lot of secrets to unlock to get a chance at completing it."
"That's ok. I mastered this game when I was a kid. I can't really challenge you in a multiplayer game, so...." Killian trailed off as he finished speaking.
"We have time...." Death responded softly. "Let's play."
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I paused for a moment, considering my options. I knew this was a trap. It’s not like I was ever going to win against death. It’s not even a real thing, more of a concept. There’s no way I’m going to win poker against it, least of all chess. I figured I’d get it out of the way. But… if they insist.
I spied a hint of a game over its left ear. At least I would go out with my favourite video game.
“Let’s play Skyrim, Death. There’s really no way to win, but you did say I could choose any game ever made. So let’s play Skyrim.”
Its void eyes started at me. Then it blinked. Then it chuckled. “One playthrough? One character? Sure, you play, I’ll watch.” It paused again. “If you’re sure about this, it’s going to be a long time before you finish, I’m sure. I like human food. How do you feel about Pizza?”
Now it was my turn to blink. Can it even eat without a mouth?
“Yes.”
Oh. “Uh, sure. Can you like… read my mind or something? If so, you know exactly what kind of pizza I like. I’ll also take a beer, if you can.”
Death held up a newly conjured six pack of spotted cow. I grinned. Sure, we were gambling over my afterlife here but how bad could an entity who offers free pizza and beer really be?
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j8t7tff
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j8shedi
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[WP] You are a dog. Your master, fearless in the face of thunder and mailmen, reeks of fear. Something terrifying beyond comprehension is coming. Your master calls it... a tornado.
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I wish I could talk.
I do my ‘speak’ trick when I feel the danger coming, but dad looks confused. He tells me to quiet down and asks what’s gotten into me.
I’m so scared.
Dad put us into the car a little while back and we went for a long drive. He brought all my toys—thank dogness—but I don’t get to run on the sand anymore. I miss the ocean sometimes, but our new home is pretty cool. Dad lets me run around in our awesome yard whenever I want to. He even helped me make these huge new friends that like to make a cool sound whenever I get too close. I think they like me.
I have the best dad.
But this is scary. I remember those nasty, loud sky noises that happened when I felt this way before, but this is different. This is more like those times that our home shook and my water dish fell over. I hope that doesn’t happen again. That was too scary.
Everything is quiet, except, my new friends are loud; they also seem scared.
I need to help them!
I whine and cry and howl. I let dad know that something dangerous is happening. He cocks his head at me and throws me a beef treat. My favorite! He sits back down on the couch and tells me I need to be quiet, but I’m still a good boy.
I wish I could talk!
I finish my treat—it is beef flavored, I can’t pass that up—and I start pawing at the door. I whimper and bark. I can’t give up. My new friends need me. Dad needs me. Dad turns on the light box and stares at it. Now is not the time for the light box, Dad!
Finally he gets up and opens the door. He lets me out and he looks at the sky and says a bad word. I don’t know what made him say the bad word. The sky looks like the sky to me. I again bark and hop and start to nip at his ankles. He looks concerned.
I’m finally breaking through!
A loud noise whines across the sky. What the heck is that? It is too scary for me. I run to my new friends to see if they know what that noise is. Dad shouts after me and calls me back.
But I can’t let my friends down.
I make it to their kennel—much bigger than mine because they’re a lot bigger than me. It smells sooo good in here. They are huddled in a corner, puppies under mommies. The mommy friends say ‘mooo!’ to me. They know it is dangerous too.
Dad bursts into the kennel and shouts for me. He puts on my leash but I hardly think this is time for a walk! Dad says ‘bad word, bad word, bad word’ like he used to when I pooped in our old house. Am I in trouble?
“You’re not in trouble, buddy,” says Dad. That’s good. I’m too scared to be in trouble. Dad talks to my new friends and tells them it’s going to be ok. They don’t seem to trust him. They don’t know he’s the best Dad yet.
Dad takes me away from my friends and back to our home. The wind is really whipping! It reminds me of the Ocean. I can hear the ocean roar too. How cool! Maybe I can finally run on the sand again.
He opens a door and takes me into a cold, quiet place. I’ve sniffed it before but he told me ‘no’. This is so cool! He closes the door and comes to snuggle me. Dad looks so scared. I am too, but I know I have to be strong for Dad. I do some zoomies in the dark. He usually laughs when I do them. Not this time. Maybe he’s sad. Is he scared for my friends? I trot over and lay my head on his lap. He smiles. Invitation received. I give him the most kisses I can offer.
I love my Dad.
It is loud outside. I think the ocean is out there now. I kinda want to go see it, but it sounds scarier than I remember. Dad says I’m a ‘mid-west’ pup now. Maybe that means I don’t like oceans anymore. The waves sound mean and the crashes are too loud. It sounds louder that time we saw fire in the sky while we sat on the sand. I hope this is done soon. I’d like to run in my yard, and I really gotta go potty.
I hope my friends are ok. I want to tell them about how brave our Dad is.
I wish I could talk.
________
r/InMyLife42Archive
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"Dad! Dad! Tell me a story Dad!"
Fuji was at my side again, his refusal to let these old bones rest would be infuriating, if I didn't love the little pup so much.
"Absolutely buddy, what kind of story do you want to hear?"
He thought for a moment seemingly unsure how to answer. After a long pause he came to a conclusion.
"Tell me a scary story, the scariest story you've got!"
"You sure buddy, it's a pretty scary one."
"I'm not a puppy anymore! I can handle it!"
He was, absolutely still a puppy, the little goofball was only 9, he'd only been through 1 winter! The memories of him bouncing around in the snow brought a smile to my snout.
"Ok, you win, I'll tell you the story of my most terrifying day. If you don't believe me, you can ask Marsha, she was there too."
As if summoned, Marsha slunk into the room, like a shadow at dush creeping along the wall.
"What are you roping me into Doc?"
Fuji jumped, startled by the old cats sudden appearance. I chuckled at his surprise.
"Nothing Marsh, Fuji here just wanted to know the story of The Tornado."
Marsha shook her head.
"I'll never understand why you dogs insist on constantly reliving your worst experiences. I'm certainly not interested in such practices in futility. Now move over, this is the only spot on the couch with a good sunbeam, not that I'll be listening."
I rolled my eyes, she hides that soft side pretty well, unfortunately for her, I know better.
"Ok Fujita, this is the story of the most terrifying day of my life, but also the story of the best day of my life, the day we found you."
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jd4i1fc
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jd4dwhy
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[WP] Turns out there is a 'special place in hell'. But it's not for the worst: it's for good souls so utterly convinced they're hellbound, so they can 'repent' and accept they are indeed good people.
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Dave found himself standing at the entrance of a quiet movie theater. Though dimly lit, he could make out the red carpets and walls of… an AMC, maybe? He *was* dead, right? I guess ticket prices really were killer.
He sighed, glad he hadn’t said that one aloud.
“Ahem. I’m sure that joke would pass at a kid’s birthday party, but you can do better.”
Dave raised his eyes from the floor to the food kiosk, where a large man stood, arms folded and single eyebrow raised.
“Oh come here already. You want something? Drinks are on the house. We got a better selection than you might think down here.”
Down here, huh. So he really did end up—
“Oh God, not the puppy dog eyes,” the man sighed. “Yes yes, you’re exactly where you think you are. Welcome to Hell. Or the waiting room, anyway. Sufficiently dark and red to fulfill your expectations?”
The man gestured vaguely to their surroundings while handing over a large cup of a black… liquid. Dave eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s Pepsi. Relax. You’re dead anyhow, you really need to watch your diet?”
He took a tentative sip. Wasn’t this Coke?
The man grinned at him mischievously, baring teeth of a hollow white. Dave took in the man’s features for the first time. An oddly angular face, and black hair that resembled matted fur.
“Oh ho, look who’s finally out of their stupor. Finally interesting enough for ya?”
The man cracked his knuckles and began reciting a speech he had clearly been through many times before.
“Like I said previously, welcome to Hell. Each person gets a custom welcome unique to them. Your own personal purgatory, built by yours truly, for you! Truly!”
He flashed the same stupid grin. Dave couldn’t tell if he had just come up with that or been telling that joke for millennia. He had a feeling the man would be equally self-satisfied in either case.
“Anywho, the rules are simple. This is your judgment, where we look through your life together until you understand why you’re here. The essence of Hell is facing reality, and you aren’t leaving until we free you of all your delusions…”
Delusions? Dave had always known he belonged here, his life had only oscillated between small disappointments and large failures, and he had no delusions about that.
“— you back yet? Hell to Dave? Ah there he is. *Like* I was saying, you’re going to face reality here, and this venue was specially prepared to be the perfect place for you to do so. Follow me to theater 13.”
Dave obeyed, somewhat impatient to get this all over with.
The theater doors opened to a small studio apartment, with a simple couch and TV in the center of the room.
“It’s 4K, don’t look so disdainfully. Sit down, we have a movie to watch.”
Dave sat in the center of the sofa, taken somewhat aback when the man sat next to him, giving him the universal “scooch” gesture.
“I’m here to oversee *and* explain, so we’ll be watching together. It should be starting any moment now. Popcorn?”
Dave rolled his eyes and pushed the buttery hand away. The thought of re-watching his “delusions” did not whet his afterlife appetite.
With a flicker, an old-school TV reel appeared on the screen. Cinematic.
**Delusion #1: Those Who Care About You**
It was a video of his daughter, sobbing on her bed with a blanket clutched to her chest. His ex-wife sat beside, both arms around their child, leaving her own tears to fall unabated.
Dave rose angrily. “What the hell is the point of this, exactly? Is this what happens when she’s with her mom? Is my *delusion* that I was a decent parent that she could bring her problems to? Is the point that she trusted her mom more? What—“
“These are all the people that cried over your death.”
Dave stopped. His voice was still venomous, but quieter now. “Ha. So I made my kid cry, is that it? Or is the joke that no one else even noticed I’m gone besides my kid and the woman contractually obligated to contact me a few times a year?”
“Would the tears of a thousand people mean more than hers? Now sit down, we aren’t done yet. It’s rude to make a scene in a movie theater.”
**Delusion #2: Successes and Failures**
The TV played a short clip of him giving his daughter a dollhouse he had bought for her birthday. He remembered her trying to hide her confusion.
She was still his baby, to him, it was hard to believe she was growing up when he wasn’t around. He had missed the dollhouse age by a year or two, at least. Another failure.
“Stop getting lost in your own head, you wallowing moron. Watch.”
As past-Dave left the room, he saw his daughter sigh, then hold the box tightly with a smile. The scene fast forwarded to that night, as his daughter was surrounded by presents in her room. She held a small, content smile as she opened the dollhouse up and admired each room in turn.
Dave had nothing to say. He didn’t know what he felt. Surprise, relief, joy, longing, sorrow, it all came over him in waves.
The man put a gentle arm on his shoulder.
“Watch.”
**Delusion #3: Worth**
A young woman stood on a podium in cap and gown. What was this one about? Who was this girl?
She began to speak.
“My dad died when I was barely 12. When the cops came by, they said he had crashed, driving home at 2 AM after working overtime.
Once I had calmed down a little, they handed me a box, saying it seemed like it was for me and that he had probably bought it that night.”
“It was one of those self-cooling blankets!” She laughed. “I don’t think he knew what to get me anymore, so he just hunted for something practical that I would use. So like him…”
She trailed off for a moment, then found herself and began again.
“I bring this up because it’s why I’m here today. Even as a kid I knew he worked himself to the bone for me, and I was never able to tell him everything I wanted to say. So here I am. This is my thanks.”
“For the gifts, and the memories, and every precious second of time he gave me when that was all he had to give. I hope you hear this somewhere, and I hope you can be proud of the girl you raised.”
Death held the man close to his chest. He would sob uncontrollably for hours, but time meant little in this realm, though it meant everything in the other. He would take all the time necessary for each child of his to face reality.
“You did the best you could.”
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"Hello, welcome to Hell! I will be guide for your stay here, and will make sure you have a devilishly good time!"
Sara's fears had finally come true, she indeed went to Hell because she fed her kittens too little. Across from her sat Jack, a veteran who knew he'd have to pay for having too much fun, willingly participating in the war. There were so many others as well, people who had done nothing wrong and were forgiven by everyone except themselves.
"Take the time to meet all your cohorts. You'll be seeing a lot of them."
All souls go to Heaven, they see the pearly gates and pass on through. There they go through the detector, and the path bifurcates. Those of whom who have no untoward feelings directed at them go straight to Heaven. But when the detector blinks red, they go down the other path, straight to the judge.
"You will all be assigned partners for the labor that starts tomorrow. Should you lose sight of your assigned partner, you will be sent into the corner."
The judge reviews what caused the negative feelings. Those undeserving of them go out the side door, back to Heaven. Those deserving, are assigned a commensurate stay in Hell. It starts with what other people feel they deserve, and the judge adjusts it to be fair.
"You will do as told. If you do not do as told, we'll scream at you until you cry."
There's a special group of people who are angry at themselves, feeling they deserve nothing but Hell. The detector blinks red, the judge sees how they have judged themselves, and has no choice but to send them to Hell.
"Answer truthfully when questioned about your worst fears. We'll need that to prepare punishment for you."
The big boss upstairs doesn't like good people in Hell, but the system will not allow them there until they forgive themselves. And so, they worked out a deal. Hell will get to scare them, but not physically punish them. But they better make it upstairs within a couple days, or a week, at most.
"Take a deep breath, smell the sulfur in the air. Feel the heat, and look at all the work designed to torture you. Welcome to Hell!"
The devil always has a smile. It's a fight to see who will get to welcome the new group of "sinners". You get to scare them all you want, and as long as you do not physically hurt them, you can feast upon their anguish. While it isn't as good as actually torturing a soul, the irony of the situation gives the devil some special pleasure.
"Sara, you filled out that your worst fear is having a snake squeeze you to death. Is that right?"
She broke down, and crying, admitted she lied. "No, actually, its a black snake. Oh, please, don't do black!"
"Uh oh, lying is very bad. We're going to have to give you some very scary punishment!" The devil let out an evil laugh. A shiver went down Sara's spine. The devil morphed into a long snake, a cobra with a large hood and beady eyes. It slowly slithered around Sara as she cowered in fear. She could hardly breathe, she could hardly scream, and after coiling around her four or five times, it looked her straight in the face and stuck out its forked tongue. Sara screamed. Slowly, the snake's color darkened, as its smile looked even more wicked than before. Sara fainted. She woke up in heaven, believing she paid for everything she ever did wrong.
"Jack, now its your turn. Your questionnaire is empty. Why didn't you fill out your worst fear?"
"My worst fear was outliving my wife. She died last year. Nothing else fazes me."
The devil took the form of his wife, and screamed for help, explaining what they did to her in Hell every day. Jack told himself it was all fake. But he couldn't take it. He broke after just 2 minutes. That's when the devil formed a knife to "kill" her a second time. Jack screamed. He thrust the knife at her. Jack fainted. He woke up in Heaven believing he paid for everything he ever did wrong.
Those were the easy ones. There's always one or two. The rest are treated like children. Most cry within 2 or 3 days. A week later, the cycle repeats with fresh souls.
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j7bk2ih
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j7b1q6r
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[WP] You have befriended a very, very old dragon. you're no knight, no special person. just a person, writing a book. today, your friend is dying.
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26th day of the Harvest Season
He's getting worse. He barely heard me as I entered the cave. Usually he could hear me when I was at the foot of the mountain, thousands of feet down. I told him as much, but he scoffed at me and told me he rolled into a rock, so it was lodged into his ear. A feeble excuse if I ever heard one, but I'm not exactly willing to argue with a dragon.
His breath had been shuddering as I entered, but when he noticed me he forced it to be even once more. I hate that he does that, that he tries to hide his pain from me.
Today I read him the tale of the Golden Dragon. It's some far-fetched story about a dragon so attached to her hoard that she decided to melt her treasure to her scales. When I first came to him with the story all those years ago he told me that he had met the matriarch, but I wasn't sure whether he was jesting or not.
I suppose it's possible. The centuries show their mark in the lines around his eyes, the great length of his spinal plates, the weight of his twisting horns. I remember how huge he was when I first encountered him, how the spread of his wings blocked out the sun. Dragons never stop growing, even when they can no longer fly, or walk, or leave their caves. So the last year he was still growing, his colossal form melding into the stone of his home. He used to try and stretch his wings, or shift his body. He hasn't moved in weeks now.
He closed his eyes towards the end of the story. Nothing new; he always used to fall asleep at the most tedious of my tales. But today it was different. I could feel the weight of his eyelids as I watched them close, more than I feel the weight of the stones from the quarry, or the elk I'd dragged up here.
I'm going to him again tomorrow. I usually visit him only once a week, but I feel I need to. Plus, the previous week he thought I had visited him the evening before.
I guess he's lived for so long, and seen so much, that a few days mean very little to him anymore.
***
27th day of the Harvest Season
When I entered, I had to call his name to rouse him. He didn't even startle as he might have once, simply cracked an eye open and watched me with tired eyes.
Today I told him a new story, one he knew very well. I told him the story of a young man, set out to make his mark, seeking out the fabled Great Dragon of the realm. He began smiling as I told him of how the young man made a relentless journey to the foot of a mighty mountain, the valley around it littered with bones. And how the Great Dragon heard him coming from his perch on the summit, and the majestic image of how the massive creature soared down on graceful wings, wings that blotted out the sun. I spoke of the young man's fear and awe, and how he fell to his knees in reverence. I told him of how the dragon gifted him what he asked for, a small trinket from his hoard to take back to his village and give to the love of his life as a betrothal gift. I couldn't stop my own smile as I told him of how the young man returned, first every season, then every few months, to visit the Great Dragon and hear his booming tales of aeons of adventures and battles, terror and joy. And how the man and the dragon became comrades, friends, brothers.
He had closed his eyes early on, but the smile had never left his face. I lay a hand on his snout as I lowered my voice, speaking of how the young man's lady had died early on, and of how the village shunned him for befriending what they called a savage beast. I almost whispered when I got to the part of how they tied him up and were ready to throw him into the river, before their screams rose with the smoke of their burning houses, and of how mighty wings that blotted out the sun scooped him up ever so gently, and carried him far away.
I paused in my story then, breathing deeply. Without opening his eyes, my friend gently licked up my tears with his forked tongue. I rubbed my hand over the scars on his snout as I told him of how the dragon helped him build his own home, nearby the mountain where he dwelled, and of how the man visited him every day, broken in spirit, and of how the Great Dragon mended his spirit with his tales once more, tales of love and loss and betrayal and compassion. And I told him of how the Great Dragon grew slower, and older, just as the man's years began to bend his back, and how their visits became weekly and not daily because of the dull pain they were both in.
I told him of how the man had attempted to build another stable block for his mare's foals, and of his shame when he found he could no longer carry the blocks to his cart. I told him of how the dragon had stopped flying over the forest as he once had, and how he came less and less to the man's house.
Finally, I whispered to him of the call of the sky, the pull of the clouds that had seized both man and dragon. I said of how long ago they'd been in the sky together, floating on high winds, and how each wished more and more every day to return to the blue.
And the Great Dragon sighed, a heavy, pained sigh, and his features softened and his eyes relaxed. And I laid my hand on his head, noting how his shoulders seemed to be relieved of their centuries-old burden.
And I whispered to him, "I'll see you soon."
The journey back was even worse than up. My horse seemed fine, but every step jolted my body. It was all I could do to make it into the house.
I've opened the hen houses and the gate to the duck pond is open. I left the stable doors ajar, too. I would hate for them to be stuck alone and die of starvation.
But this is my last journal entry. For many a moon have I recorded the tales of the Great Dragon. For whoever finds this, I do hope you appreciate his stories. I won't need them where I'm going.
The call of the blue is strong. And I can ignore it no longer. I have someone waiting for me.
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Hurrying into the hall, I saw him. His iridescent scales had dulled and he seemed smaller somehow. Although when I had last seen him but a month ago just after he was taken ill, I could tell that he had worsened.
Guards stood around him, protecting him from any who may wish to harm a dragon. They are our gods, yet so many seem to want to hurt them. As I hastened to my friend's side, a burly man in ceremonial uniform put his arm out in front of me.
"I'm afraid that civilians are not allowed to approach the great dragon," he said, "Please stand back if you wish to pay your respects."
Slamiarth was talking to his rider, a slim man that had known him for a decade. Of course he hadn't been doing much for most of that time, the dragon being too old to be active, to be in the thick of the battle. In private, Slamiarth had told me that he missed fighting, that he would much rather perish in war against the wyverns than from some boring disease.
While I tried to duck past the guard, the dragon glanced away from the man by his side. He dismissed his rider and then raised his great head and gently nudged the guard away from me, before slumping again to the ground. The guard glared at me as I strolled towards the creature that I had known for five times as long as its rider, and placed my hand on his flank.
"How are you doing?" I said.
"Terribly. They've given up on reassuring me that I'll be fine snd instead treat me like some royal corpse, as people who I've barely ever met come to say their goodbyes. How I wish I could just dive into the sea and be done with it."
"Are you not allowed to swim?"
"I am, but they're always guarding me to make sure I come to no harm. I've lived for 40 times as long as any of them, twice as long as any other of my brethren, I think I can look after myself. Anyway, hiw is your book going on?"
"I'm on the final draft. It'll be finished by next week, I'm sure."
The dragon laughed, then tensed from the exertion. "How many times have I heard you say that. 'It'll be published by next week, I'll read it to you.' Yet you never have."
"It's not my fault I'm a slow writer!"
Slamiarth laughed again, then broke into a coughing fit. The burly guard strode up to me and took my arm.
"I think that the Great Dragon Slamiarth is tired, mistress. Let him spend some time with his rider." he said.
"I am fine!" Slamiarth shouted. "Leave her alone." Then, jerking my arm free, I ran back to his side.
"Climb onto my back." He said. "We'll show them if I'm tired."
As I clambered up onto his scales, no saddle, no harness, nothing to hold onto but his scales and his mane, the crowd gasped. A civilian, riding a dragon? This was unheard of! The shouting of the guards below was drowned out by the flapping of huge wings as Slamiarth rose off he ground, smashing the ceiling of the beautifully decorated hall. He rose above the town, let out a roar of satisfaction then plunged into the sea, me clinging onto his back.
He flew to the open sea, jumping and playing. I knew he was tired. Each wingflap seemed harder than the last. But we played together, and as the sun set he returned me to the land, depositing me on the clifftops.
As we parted, the last thing he said to me was "Goodbye, midget," a joke we had had for 50 years.
"Goodbye, giant," I replied. Then he dove into the water and was gone.
I could have sworn that as he touched the water his scales were as bright as when we had first met. I miss him still, but in that last moment it felt as if we'd only just met, me still a teen and he in his prime. I'm glad of that.
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k3whz46
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k3wccwo
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[WP] You believed yourself normal, hearing and reading of so many tales of people with abilities. One day, you brush by someone and gain the ability to read their minds. Unbeknownst to you, you have the ability to copy/replicate other's superpowers.
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"So, you wanted something?"
I looked at the tiny demon that I had somehow conjured into existence. I had been filled with fury at the fact that I had caught my husband cheating on me for the third time and wanted some revenge, I decided to cook to calm myself down and added a bit too much of his specialty Carolina Reaper hot sauce. While I was cursing myself, because I had to eat as well and my pallette doesn't tolerate heat that well, I heard a *pop* and there she was.
"Um," I replied. "I didn't. How did you get here?"
The little minx was actually chewing gum as she looked at her nails and rolled her eyes! "You brewed the summoning potion and called my name. How else would I have been able to come up from Hell and be here in this..." a look of disgust crossed her face as she took in the sunflower curtains in the half window above the kitchen sink and the hand painted flowering herbs I had spent months researching and painting by hand along the baseboards "quaint hovel you call a kitchen?"
I looked at her figure. She dressed like a teenager, with black and red frills along the edge of her skirt and the tank top clinging to a torso that seemed to have seen better days with the holes and threadbare nature of the fabric. The hot pink polish on her nails seemed out of place and the horns on her head looked like they had been filed down to nubs.
She also appeared to be on the verge of starvation. Her skin seemed thin and frail as it covered the bones of her arms. From what I could see, her stomach appeared bloated like the children in third world countries that are advertised on television as being eligible for adoption.
"So. Yes? You wanted something? Because honestly I've got better things to do then stand here and smell that swill you've got burning on the stove."
Burning? Oh my gods! The food was burning! Turning quickly I removed the pot from the stove top and turned off the burner. "You seem too young to be a demon as you claim. How old are you?"
Another gum pop proceeded the heavy sigh. "I'm thousands of years old. I only look this way because it's my natural form. You caught me as I was painting my nails. You do know there is typically a ceremony you mortals have to do to give us time to properly prepare to cross over, right?"
I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug motion as I started cleaning up the meal I had botched. "Since I wasn't planning on summoning you, I can hardly be held at fault for not doing the right ceremony." As I turned around I saw she had my cell phone in her hand. "Hey! That's mine!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Now I know why I was summoned. Accidentally or not, you need my help."
"No, no I don't."
"Sure you do." Her eyes began to glow a mixture of gold and red as she looked at me. "You've given him three children and forty years of your life. In the last six months he's cheated on you with the same woman three times and now she's expecting his child and he wants you to give them the house you bought and pay alimony as he won't be able to work for the first five years of this child's life due to his desire to be a stay at home parent. Tonight you're expected to sign the divorce papers. Right?"
The tears I had been fighting for the last several hours threatened to overwhelm me again as I bowed my head. Everything she said was true. I had built a life with this man, and gave him everything I could. I destroyed my body to bring his children, our children, into this world and raise them with him. And now he was throwing it all away because of this co-worker he had fallen in love with.
"How can you help?"
"It's an easy enough fix."
"You won't hurt the child will you?"
"No. The child is innocent and does not deserve any type of punishment."
"And the parents?"
"She knew he was married and she still pursued him. He knew he was married and willingly made the choice to allow himself to be swayed. The child won't suffer, but the parents will reap what they've sown."
"And what will it cost me?"
"Therapy."
I turned around startled. "Excuse me?"
"You've put your mental health and physical health in the backburner for far too long. You get therapy and start taking care of yourself and we'll call it even."
"You don't want my soul or anything?"
"Ew, no. You've raised 3 children into adulthood successfully. You helped hundreds of thousands others with your kind nature. Why would I want your soul when I get two corrupted ones instead. No."
"But...therapy? It's...it's so unnecessary. It's a soft science, not even rooted in anything concrete."
She pointed a finger at me as her eyes turned a ruby red. "I help you, you won't renege on this deal." Her eyes turned a deep coal black. "Call it compulsion, or whatever. But that's my offer."
I nod. Once I do, the pain I felt lifted. I immediately picked up my phone and started calling my insurance provider to get a list of therapists in my net work. I didn't see the demon fade away as I started my path towards healing.
Part 2 in comments
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"A pack of Lucky Strikes?"
The demon sat annoyed. He looked like a regular accountant, business suit, slicked back pulp fiction hair, crease lines on the forehead, thick reading glasses, and the general impression that everyone on Earth was a dumbass. I felt as frazzled as my unconditioned hair as his words chewed into me.
"Yes a pack of Lucky Strikes;" he said vindictively, "Did I stutter?"
"No, sir, absolutely not. I just thought maybe you missed a number?"
"I never miss a number!" He slammed his palm against his desk at the IRS. "Look you came to me whining there weren't enough lesbians in the world. You'd said you'd marry anyone. Didn't matter who. Just had to be a lesbian."
"Yes, I did say that." An ill chill of wariness swept over my pale body.
He shook a pen at me. "And I said I'd strike a deal. Now come back with a pack of Lucky Strikes and I'll give you the girl's number."
I did as told, uneasily making my way to a New York paper stand and buying an exorbitantly expensive pack of Lucky Strikes. Honestly I bought three, not sure which kind he wanted. Then made my way back to his office, counting my breaths. I sat down with an eerie creak, and placed three packs on the table.
"I wasn't sure what kind of Lucky Strikes you wanted, and I forgot to ask your preference." I nervously picked at my nail polish. Feeling the chips as if it were my skin flaking off.
He chortled. "Oh the Lucky Strikes aren't for me, they're for you after the first date."
He scribbled a note with a number and patted it. "Call her. She'll meet you tonight. She's quite excited." He grinned happily. "I've finally suited my master," he mumbled deliriously.
My hand shook as I reached for the paper, pristine, unwrinkled, with venomously serrated edges. The handwriting was like an accountant's. Obsessive Compulsive Perfection. A single glance told me everything. "Satan (666) 666-6669". Wait that couldn't be right. I looked up at him, confused.
"What happened with the last number?"
He shrugged and adjusted his glasses. "She got excited. She changes the numbers when she feels like it."
He waited for a reply, but a deafening pause erupted from me. Did one nine mean she was super excited or mildly excited?
Then he grinned. "I'd say good luck, but it's better to wish Worst of Luck to ya, Darling!" He laughed so hard I think I died inside with fear. "Now make good with your side of the deal and show up for the date. Or I'll send her to your house."
Panic swept through me, then a slight realization. "No, no, no. Yes? Yesss???"
"Yes?" His eyebrows raised.
"Yesss?"
"He leaned forward and whispered, "I think we should break you in gently. This is the worst of all demonic contracts." Then he patted my shoulder endearingly and sent me off like a lost child.
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jj2ijrf
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jj27d16
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[WP] You are not the child of a powerful ruler, neither do you behave in such a way as to command power. You have never been violent, nor even aggressive. Yet, wherever you go, people fear you and treat you like a monarch or an emperor. You never understood why, until today...
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I am not the child of a powerful ruler, neither do I behave in such a way as to command power. I have never been violent or aggressive. Yet, wherever I go, people fear me and treat me like a monarch or an emperor. I never understood why, until today.
I had guessed at reasons gone to workshops yet people always became quiet when I showed up. Every room I went to, conversation would die as soon as someone recognized my face. Not a word would be uttered in my presence that was not of admiration of me. I received no challenge to any ideas I put forward to friends, family or colleagues. I felt both revered and reviled.
Why me? What is different about me? I knew my parents, albeit only briefly. They disappeared, presumed dead when I was 5 years old and I was taken into foster care. I frequently changed families growing up. I was a well behaved child. Always did my homework on time never argumentative. I hardly ever misbehaved. Sure I never got the best marks at school, but I never got the worst either. I am just ordinary. My various foster parents just either seemed to hold me in contempt or dote on me so much it would cause arguments. Eventually, I would always be moved on.
Today a man showed up. It happens to be my 21st birthday. Finally, I might be able to leave this place. He gave me a little box with a tag that had my name on it. He disappeared after giving me this box. Inside a solid glass cube and a note. The note told me to take this to the central bank headquarters at my earliest opportunity. I went, with my little glass cube and presented it to the clerk. Again, treating me like royalty offering me any type of food or drink I may wish for before his colleague turned up and guided me to a lavish open space deep within the bank and then he disappeared.
I waited there for hours. With nothing to do I took the glass cube out again, it’s just a see through glass cube, but surely it meant something. Why did I have to visit this bank? What is this open space. Then, a figure skulking in the shadows gracefully moved towards me. Somehow, I knew, I would find my answers right here right now.
“Welcome” they said in a raspy voice. “I trust you have had a pleasant journey”
“As pleasant as it can be. Why am I here?” I asked pointedly.
“I am sure you have many questions, just as I did when I was your age”. The figure paused, I noticed they were old with a ghostly appearance. It seemed they were fighting to stand tall, but age was betraying them and keeping them wobbling from side to side. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you”.
“How do you know me? Why do you want to know me? I’m just a random kid.” Getting increasingly exasperated, I was on the edge of my seat, I need to know.
“…Calm…Calm is needed now. I will explain. Patience is a skill you will need now more than ever before”. They paused. Testing me. After a moment they seemed satisfied that I was now calm. “You are special. Just as any other can be special, but you are special. You see, we had a problem in our society. Anyone that had to fight for power would abuse it. Many times over we had to dethrone or expel tyrants from their rule, we got tired of it. Just as anyone who was born into power they knew they would wield would abuse it too.” They took a deep gasping breath. “I am the last of the monarchs who rule over this nation and I have no heirs. I want no heirs and I want the monarchy to end. A new system to be put in place that generates consistent fairness.”
I thought I recognized their voice, they are indeed the last monarch. Everyone is very nervous about what will happen next, but no one ever seemed to offer any ideas to resolution. I sensed they were finally getting to their point.
“To get the best chances of a fully egalitarian society, I believe that the leader must live a completely normal life with no ambition, no expectation of power maybe even a tougher life. Living with multiple families in their realm. So I proclaimed that my successor would be chosen at random before birth. They would grow up not knowing that they would ever have power and when the time is right, they would become the ruler”.
Exasperated at the notion, I blurted out: “Did you tell anyone about this? Is this why people treat me like a monarch wherever I go? Is this why few ever speak to me? Is this why my parents disappeared when I was 5?”
“Yes. You are to be my successor. You will rule this nation. However, I made the foolish mistake of announcing this at your birth. Your identity became known and such is the cruelty that follows those destined for power, your parents were murdered in cold blood so that the power hungry could get close to you.”
“Why not start again with someone completely anonymous?”.
“I considered this, but the process had already started and I was curious to see where it went. To see who you became. Reports are you would make a fine leader. You have never sought power and you are always kind. Furthermore, I am dying. I have maybe a month left. There is nothing more that can be done. You will be crowned and you will lead our people.”
“How can you expect this of me. My entire life has been a lie, a cruel twisted lie. I have never known a home, I have never been truly loved. No one has ever spoken to me without a glint of revilement or reverence in their eyes.”
“Such is life. You are used to it now. You know you cannot trust. It is a difficult sense to hone, but you have it finely tuned. Now you must use your senses to keep those least harmful close to you and those most harmful even closer until you have cause to oust them. Toxicity in power is a painful truth. It is lonely, but for the good of our sovereignty we need someone who can think for themselves. You may wish to renounce your crown later, you may wish to keep it. Whatever it is you choose to do, it is the choice you must make.”
“And this? The glass cube, what is this for? A keepsake? A memento for this occasion?”
“The glass cube is cut and polished Fulgurite. It was the largest found in our realm and whoever rules the nation keeps it. It symbolises the power of the natural world. Lightning turning rock to glass. Our greatest challenge is making sure we focus on the right problem. Some leaders focus on wars with neighbours, expanding territory and power. Others, focus on maintaining the prosperity of their realm. Carefully shaping the land so that when lightning strikes, we may weather the storm. Our little slice of earth will face many storms”
“So you are saying the moment I got this rock I became leader?”
“Yes”
Fear struck me. Everything they were saying reeked of cruelty and had a sickening twisted logic to it. I was now responsible for an entire country. I could trust no one. I had no one. Yet, I had everyone.
“This is yours now.” Gesturing at the lavish interior. And with that, they skulked off wheezing and rasping into the shadowy corners.
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Elie was an orphan. Her father was killed by a serial killer and wore his skin as it invade their house and killed her mother. Elie was left with her older brother John in a group home where they can both live together. Growing up in a group home was never easy.
Though they both have one another, they still need to get along with their guardians and two more other orphans. John adjusted well, he’s even friends with Randy, one of the orphans and Stella considered him as an older brother. But Elie, she’s a loner.
She tried hanging out with them, joined them on movie nights. But she’s just so odd. At first, it seems she’s the one who avoid people, but when she reached her 13th birthday, people began to avoid her. There is something with her that people find off putting. Her presence become intimidating. Suddenly, no one wants to meet her eyes. Everyone bow their heads when she passes by.
Even the animals around her were acting very weird. Cats and dogs would stop and bend their front legs as if bowing. Ants would even walk out of her way. Bees would sometimes follow her. And birds would leave flowers on her window sill.
“You’re here.” John said as he found Elie was alone in the roof, sitting next to her room window, sketching, with only the light post illuminating her.
“You were looking for me?” Elie asked.
“I never seen you the whole day. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just don’t feel like going out.”
“Why’s that? The day was wonderful earlier. You never even tried to go out.”
“Have you ever felt being treated differently?”
“What do you mean?”
“People are avoiding me. Animals are acting really weird around me. Look at all these flowers, birds leaves them here every morning.”
“They do? They must have like you that much.”
“Maybe.”
“Get’s go downstairs, mom cooked lasagna for dinner.”
The two came downstairs when they heard a knock on the door. John opened the door and there’s a man standing the door wearing a fedora hat.
“I finally found you!” The man spoke as he reached the edge of his hat. His fingers shined for a second.
“You! You’re the one who killed our mother.” John froze in fear, seeing the familiar man who wore their father’s skin, brutally killed their mother, and tortured him before disappearing with no trace.
“Still remember me, little John?” The man has very pale face and wide smile, flashing its serrated teeth.
He entered the house and walked right passed through John.
“Who was it, John?” Their foster mom, Sandy called from the other room. John and Elie is too shock to move or speak. “John, who is it?” Sandy went out to check but horror is what she saw.
“John, Elie, run!” She shouted.
“You are not going anywhere, the stranger said as he gripped on John’s arm with its scalpel tip like fingers, sinking on his skin.
Randy and Stella heard Sandy shouted and ran towards them. Their foster father Bob is not yet home. The three doesn’t know what’s happening but they are too scared to move, with a monster in their living room.
“Unhand my brother.” Elie whispered.
“What is it young lady?” The monster asked.
“Unhand my brother!” Elie’s voice is echoed, her eyes glowed in golden yellow. The stranger froze in trance and let go of John’s arm.
Their consciousness were trapped in a pocket dimension, floating in endless void.
“Why you keep coming back? What do you need?” Elia asked.
“Your mother, she took everything from me! I’ve been in this mortal universe for thousands of years, taking all I want when your mother showed up and took all my powers!!“
“My mother stopped you from terrorizing humans and so you took revenge? You already killed my parents! What do you even need from us?”
“You! You possesses her powers! The night I killed you parents, you banished me from this realm! You don’t remember that do you? I wouldn’t let a powerful being like you live, earth is mine!”
“So that’s what happened that night? Then you chose the wrong enemy. Fall!” Elie commanded.
They returned to their consciousness, the monster drop on the floor and unable to move. “What have you done?” The monster asked.
“Nzvhione of the celestial realm, I command you to vanish.” Elie spoke. The stranger dissolved into ashes.
A lady suddenly came in by the front door. “John, Elie. Are you both alright?” The lady in turquoise asked.
“Aunt. Yes, we are. Elie…” John answered.
The lady saw Sandy and the two orphans staring down, frozen in shock. She waved her hands and the three suddenly forgotten everything that happened that night.
“Sandy, I’ll be taking John and Elie with me for now. Will that be okay?” The lady in turquoise asked. Sandy agreed and the three left that night.
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jnjw7oc
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jniolnl
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[WP] turns out, because humans are sentient you’re not allowed to hunt them under intergalactic law… because of this you have now begrudgingly joined some humans hunting club to make your trip somewhat worthwhile
|
This is *pathetic*.
I have travelled 3347 lightyears for this? This?! It's almost like a foul joke played on me by some of my broodmates! I was assured that humans were a legal hunting target but *apparently*, during my trip, some lobbyists changed their designation to a sapient, protected species. I have been planning this hunting expedition for 14 cycles only to be denied the thrill of the hunt at the last moment!
I *had* to make the most of it. As embarrassing as it was, I joined the... the *prey* on one of their very own hunting trips. It is, I must admit, somewhat adorable that they think themselves predators, but even *I* must acknowledge their dedication to the art; their history has, at least by the *lowest* of standards, a long tradition of killing beings even lesser than them, butchering the remains, consuming their flesh, even wearing them as ornaments.
I took notice of some of the more prevalent hunting festivals they hosted. Some were far too anaemic for me to partake in; to use crude, chemistry-based ranged weapons to hunt things I could snap the neck of? I'd rather steer my ship into their sun.
To sit patiently in one place and **wait** for something to latch onto a piece of string in a river? Where's the thrill in that?!
At last, I was introduced to one that I found... acceptable. A tradition done each rotation, one that billions all around the planet partake in. My expectations were low, but it was better than enduring the boredom I felt. It was a game of mind more so than bodily prowess, something that did pique my interest slightly. Not as thrilling, of course, but a peculiar change of pace.
My interest waned quickly when, upon joining the hunt, I was given a small container made out of dry reeds and told to simply go *look*. Upon asking what my quarry was, the human in front of me merely made a strange noise - one that my translator interpreted as amusement - and told me to look for small, colourful ovals.
And so I did.
My disappointment mounted as the ovals were barely concealed - generally, they were only covered by shrubbery or perhaps bits of dirt. My opponents were of no quality either. Small, feeble, soft, even more so than other humans - it was only later that I found these were the juveniles of the race. I respect the fact that the species teaches the art of the hunt to even the youngest of their kind.
The hunt was over before too long. I have gathered 132 colourful ovals - an easy victory, of course, as the other participants have all collectively acquired merely 18. A human dressed as another creature, a 'bunny' as I was told, lauded me with a gift of congealed, flavoured paste in the shape of a 'lamb'. It was exceedingly poisonous to me and as such, I decided to give the prize to the nearest fellow hunter.
It *cheered*.
It was a curious feeling. They failed, all of them, yet seemed to be in good spirits. Paying only little attention to the contest itself, they contented themselves to consuming assorted foods and mingling. It was honourable of them to enjoy even a failed hunt. Many approached me and begged for tales of my exploits, my previous hunts, and when I regaled them with such stories, their wide eyes and agape mouths, the utter fascination with every word I said, it... rekindled the spark I felt at the time of those hunts. Almost as if I was reliving them again through *their* excitement.
Some even started calling me 'uncle', whatever that signifies. I suppose it means 'ultimate hunter'.
Perhaps there's *some* potential in them yet.
|
Junior's jaw took the jostling as he squeezed the trigger. A burst of three bullets pierced the deer.
It fell stiffly, like a tree. It began giving a gasping pant, each shaky breath causing fresh gobs of red to flow free. The stench of shit filled the air; an intestine was pierced. It had a wild, crazy look in its eyes which seemed to fade to nothing.
Presently, the deer's eyes glazed over, unfocused, as the red creak morphed into a small ford.
Junior produced his handgun and looked at the deer with apathy as he cocked it.
The deer's eyes suddenly regained their vigor. It gave a baying wail as it saw the gun, and began giving struggling kicks as though it wanted to run away.
Blood was sprayed over us all in the commotion as each rattling breath was accompanied by a pain-filled grunt.
Finally, much later, the deer lay still, its stomach very slowly rising and falling as it wheezed.
Junior hefted the pistol. The deer didn't react.
He shot through its left eye.
Junior's son wiped a tear away.
"Hey, now, son." Junior clapped his shoulder. "That deer couldn't even feel the pain. At least, he couldn't process the fear, pain, and anxiety near as potently as we might."
"Are you sure, daddy?"
"I'm sure." Junior said.
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lczyy8s
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lczi8rp
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[WP] Once an hour, every hour, the richest person on earth dies. This continues indefinitely...
|
There is nothing humanity can not do with the proper incentive. This I had always believed, but the scope still amazes me. I remember a reddit prompt, "what would you do with a death note?" Or something to that effect. I had written that I would work my way down the list of most rich persons in the world and wait to see how long it took for people to realize. It seems someone, or maybe something, was reading and noticed my response. At first it was just a suprise. But by the time the morning news scripts were written, they were rewritten a dozen times. The news was covering the story when the next name came in. What does an anchor do when they expect the owner of the media company to die at any moment? Suddenly, political discourse was changed when the donors to major political parties around the world died. Suddenly, the stock market was on fire with trades. By the end of the first week, with the list of dead wealth steadily growing, people started trying to shed wealth.
The prices of stocks and securities as well as crypto like bitcoin fell, people were trying to sell them to get rid of them and as prices fell as incentive to buy the sudden supply of available securities flooded the market. Taxes started getting paid instead of avoided. Government funds swelled with the closing of the tax gap and donations. In certain countries, leaders started dying. A wealthy group of oligarchs died here, oil barons died there, and a dictator died in Asia. No bunker, no armed guards, or body doubles would change the fate of the top 1%.
Government donations poured in as corporations tried to rebalance the books. The governments of the world looked to start projects to spend the new funds. A new set of professionals came to be. They had outlandish ideas of incredible scope. I became one of them. "Let's use desalination and pump steam to the top of the rockies" was a pitch that would have been laughed at in previous decades. Now, however, it allowed people to shed money into a project. We built giant heat pumps and used that heat to boil captured sea water and then gather and pump the steam to form new mountain lakes high in the rocky mountains. As they filled and overflowed, the runoff cured California's water use problems. Similar projects started popping up in arid parts of Africa, Australia, and China, creating new farmland at incredible expense.
"You are on the list" was strange news to me. Born poor and living poor until my outlandish ideas were used, I never expected to have wealth of any kind, much less "too much" wealth. However, my firm had done useful, productive things with the money given to us, and apparently, I was in demand for my ideas. A desperate tech billionaire had produced an AI algorithm to track who was likely to die within a year, and it was always updating.
I was proud of my work, but I wanted as much time with my kids as possible. So i started a new project that would chill ocean waters. Most of the money would be spent on marine biologists to make sure we were helping and not harming ecosystems. We made floating machines to drop the temperature of seawater and deployed them in strategic locations to mitigate climate change. My name came off the list as this was a project that was growing in scope and with exorbitant cost in fair living wages to my employees, scientists, and analysts. I adjusted my own wages, gave more of my securities away to distant family and friends as gifts, paid my taxes, and I came off the list.
"You are on the list again." Years later, it happened again. The list fluctuated more rapidly and was updated nearly every half second. I had been busy managing the huge company I had found myself running. People beyond my counting now depended on me, yet I wanted to live and continue the good works I had started.
"Build another 12 desalination plants feed the water to new algae farms, hire another thousand ecological to prevent us from damaging the ecosystems in those areas, hire a geneticist team to pick algae cultures that will digest human waste, food waste, and start algae farms growing them near the desalination plants... then raise everyone's wages early. Christmas bonus has come early this year.
"You have not come off the list, but you are still far down"
Dammit a year of being low on the list had made me paranoid. My kids had grown but I was not ready to leave them and I didn't want to hand them a company and have them end up on the list right after me.
"Step up the mariculture protocol, we can modify the oceanic chillers, make them pump o2 and dead algae from the farms into the dead.zones of the oceans, we will start undersea mariculture farms and donate all the food we grow to governments struggling after the 1% collapse, have it added to the UBI benefits. Double the size of the college, we will need more marine biologists and ecology specialists so make their tuition completely free, and double the starting bonus for all employees.
A decade later I got used to being at the bottom of the list, as much as one could anyway. I gave myself a wage equal to most my employees, but having control of the company was considered a type of wealth. Other families had kept themselves alive by donating to our company and I can't blame them. I spend the money as fast as I can. I give money to those willing to accept it. I started hemp farms, fusion companies, space colony companies, solar arrays in space, landfill reclamation firms to reclaim useful materials from the trash of yesteryear, my big ideas are working with all the capital we accrue. I do t want to just give it away to save my life I want to use the energy money represents to propel humanity forward. I don't like it when I spend the money and the idea fails. It keeps me alive but I don't like the idea of the wasted potential. I am now sitting at my desk looking at the pictures of my grandkids wondering if I can spend enough to see them get married. On my computer the plans for the Saturn station. A giant inflated space station to sit near Saturn and be a generator gathering the power from the awesome electromagnetic field of Saturn's swirling liquid hydrogen. It would provide more power than a hundred fusion reactors, enough energy to allow humans to grow algae in artificial gravity by the ton. Enough food for us to gather asteroids from anywhere in the solar system, and perhaps the kuiper belt. It would be expensive, and dangerous. It may take me off the list for a century, or it might represent the biggest asset ever owned in all history. It is worth the risk either way. Humanity allowed to end scarcity once and for all. The star trek future we always hoped for. I watch the list algorithm and send the plans to my engineering team lead. I hear my own heart beat so hard and wait to live or die. It will be worth it, either way. Because there is nothing humans can not do with proper incentive.
|
Nobody knew why or how it started, just that when the clock struck midnight on that faithful day, the richest man in the world died. Just as media companies were rushing to get the news out, the next richest person fell dead in the next hour.
The internet was abuzz with conspiracy theories faster than the fifth person to drop dead. All over the world, governments and conglomerates held emergency meetings to pool together what they knew of the phenomenon. The best doctors couldn't determine the cause of death, they simply stopped breathing without any other signs.
The masses watched the news with mixed feelings. Some thought this would be a great thing. Others were concerned of the economic repercussions. A handful wondered how long this would continue.
The elite rich were transferring their wealth to others. Not out of charity, but self-preservation. Some tried to create clandestine bank accounts under different identities. The usual tax evasion tactics now evolved to avoid death by wealth.
Whatever it was that swept across earth, it didn't care for financial wrangling and accounting manipulations. The death toll didn't stop. Every hour without fail, it would claim a life.
Companies would eventually collapse without all of their top brass alive. The economy in shambles. Even as wealth truly began to trickle down towards the downtrodden masses, there was always someone richer to be culled by the mysterious death. It didn't care that there were plenty of wealth lying around with no owner.
A handful of people proposed sharing wealth such that there was a tie. Assets and cash had to be distributed in such a way that two people could have the exact amount of wealth. That's assuming this "Death of Wealth" phenomenon calculated wealth the same way humans did.
The first few people to make that equal distribution of wealth died before the balancing could be complete. It was the next seven deaths did it occur that there were...other factors it probably looked at besides cash and assets. Did it count family, happiness, health and other kinds of non-monetary wealth?
A year after 8760 people died, still nobody figured out how the richest person was derived if there was a tie. It wasn't age, or country of birth, or gender. Perhaps it was going to be a mystery to the very end. Monopolies are dead; only smaller companies remained, for anyone who accumulated too much wealth would die.
These firms shrunk as owners either died or gave away their fortunes to stay alive. Consumerism is falling. No longer did people pursue great wealth, now everyone just wanted to live for as long as they could. As the overall circulation of money grew smaller, so did people began resorting to burning literal cash. Banks went bankrupt during a mass panic withdrawal of money to burn. Electronic records of a person's riches gradually vanished as humans chose to simply keep cash. Makes it easier to count and track how much wealth you had, and to shred it if one feared being too rich to live. You could carry cash and walk in a dark alleyway and nobody would bat an eyelid.
Robberies aren't a thing anymore. Nobody would be taking money from another in a world trying to get rid of money. The children could come out to play. Hang out late at night. Revelers and party-goers could get drunk and not be robbed blind. Who would hurt them? Nobody would decrease another's fortune and save their position in what is now known as the "List of Wealthy Persons to Die".
One smart guy suggested to fall back to a barter system rather than utilize currency. Perhaps that way, without a measurement of wealth, the deaths would stop. Considering the assets people held - properties, cars and other valuables, it was not to be. There was always someone who had one more property. One more car. An extra bag of rice, or one more cow than the next farmer.
Death comes slowly for humanity as a whole. There are billions of humans on the planet, and just 8760 people dying from this mysterious thing. But death comes for all eventually. It is patient. It has all the time in the world. Even as nature began to recover from humanity's dwindling fortunes, the birth rate was one of those things that never bounced back.
They say there are two things inevitable in life - taxes and death.
In a world that has eliminated currency, yet still struggled to completely eliminate wealth and worldly possessions, death's clock is always ticking every hour. One hour, one death. No exceptions. No preventions. Only death.
[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/)
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kzsuex0
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kzspypg
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[WP] You are a literal god who pretends to be a d-list superhero. You've grown extremely attached to the people of the village you protect. You get news that an epic battle is taking place near your village and would most likely destroy it...
|
Pupperman made puppies. He loved puppies. He conjured puppies out of nowhere. His hero name was all about his obsession with puppies. It was all he ever seemed to be about.
Somehow, he still managed to pass the basic superhero qualification test. D-list, but still a hero.
Pupperman's puppies could retrieve lost items. His puppies could locate missing children and nip at the heels of kidnappers. Those puppies could help pull trolleys of goods for the people of Windvale Village. Nothing epic, but good enough for his beloved people. What else could they ask from a D-list superhero?
And then Pupperman overwhelmed a C-list villain by swarming him with puppies. Everyone remembered that moment when Badman tried to rob the only bank in the village. One minute he was waving his gun about threatening the teller, and the next a rush of puppies jumped at him and yanked his guns away.
One outstanding citizen award later, Pupperman was up for promotion into a C-list hero. But he turned it down. Said something about how much he loved Windvale and didn't want to be promoted into watching over a bigger town. So, the Superhero Association let him stay. He was doing a good job anyway, and there were plenty of aspiring heroes to take the place he turned down.
After the 3rd rejection, everyone at the Superhero Association got the hint. Pupperman just wanted to stay in Windvale and make puppies in peace. He loved that status quo and nobody could change that.
Until that day.
Everyone remembered that fateful day.
The Sinister Seven stopped bickering for one day and teamed up to crush superhero after superhero. The supergroup of S-class villains had ceased competing among themselves to nuke the Superhero Association and there wasn't anyone to stop them. Elektros fizzled out before them as Hydranos short-circuited him. Aerados sent the hero Quake flying in circles, unable to touch the ground and shake up the villains' plans with his earthquakes. Calibur lay on the ground bleeding, his magic sword stabbed into his gut.
With barely any opposition, the Sinister Seven marched on to the last branch of the Superhero Association in Springbrook. Whose designated hero fled the scene rather than face off against seven S-class supervillains. Despite the desperate pleas of the villagers of Springbrook, the villains were going to nuke it, alongside its neighbours.
Like Windvale.
Pupperman wasn't having any of it when he heard the news. So he made his way to confront the Sinister Seven, who all laughed at this silly D-lister who dared to imagine he could solo them all alone.
Then Hydranos stopped cackling.
On ordinary days, Pupperman was full of smiles. As cheery and carefree as the puppies he called upon. A goofy man with an equally goofy costume. On any other day, he was more man-shaped puppy than proud superhero.
On that day, Pupperman had a murderous look to him. He had a slasher smile that could send the devil handing the reign of hell over to him. His dogs were more hellhounds from hell than adorable puppies. His eyes were empty. A dark swirling void that threatened to swallow the villains staring at him.
The fight was over in seconds. If anyone could call it a fight at all. One word, and all the supervillains had hellish puppies bursting from their chests. Another word, and the more monstrous members with more than one heart had demon dogs rip through their skulls from the inside. It was a bloodbath. The air, thick with clouds of crimson, was choke full of screams of dying supervillains. The air remained acrid with the scent of blood for months. The ground was stained red for years to come.
Pupperman never collected his award or accepted his invitation to become an S-Class hero. He was gone. Some said he was never the same again. He couldn't go back to being the same happy and simple D-lister again. Nobody in Windvale, or the entire world could ever see him the same way they did.
Others said the Windvale's new D-list Superhero Dogboy was just Pupperman by another name with the same gimmick. But how could it be? They looked completely different. Different hair, different eyes, not to mention Dogboy was much shorter and younger.
But the villagers of Windvale now knew. Pupperman, Dogboy, whatever name he chose for himself, he was their god.
---
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories written by me.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/)
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"Need some help," rang a voice from behind the old man. He turned around to see none other than Captain Hero himself, holding out his hand, blue cape flowing behind him. "Need some help?" He repeated a little louder, "I saw you struggling with those bags."
"Oh!" The old man exclaimed, "why yes, that would be very kind of you. I won't take up too much of your time, I only live a few blocks away." He gave the bags to the superhero and began strolling along side him, deciding what to say next. "It's very kind of you to do this, but isn't there something... you know... more important you could be doing than helping little old me?"
"Don't worry about it, sir," the hero smiled, "not too many try and cause any trouble in town nowadays. Guess I scared off all the trouble makers. Anyway, I'm happy helping out where I can."
"Yes, about that..." the old man trailed off, letting the silence grow a bit, looking down to the concrete road moving under him. Making up his mind, he shot his head back up. "I... I saw you, you know. The day the Titan disappeared."
"Hm?" The hero almost stopped as he turned to look at the old man, but kept up the pace.
"I saw you walk up on that building, and, I think, snap your fingers. And then it was gone."
"You must be mistaken, sir." The hero shook his hand, "I was there that day, but I was just standing helpless like the rest of you."
"Yeah, well... I don't believe that, son. You have power, don't you? Real power." Silence grew once again as he waited for a response that never came. "If you can do things like that, you shouldn't limit yourself to just this one town! You should be out there, saving lives, making a real difference!"
"Well..." the hero almost mumbled, "there's... not much of a p- oh." He stopped suddenly, "we're here. The hero began returning the old man's belongings as the man's face began to look more concerned.
"I... never told you where I lived," the old man slowly muttered.
The hero smiled. "Enjoy your day, Mr. Jones." And with that, he flew away, looking for another resident of this quaint town that he could help.
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jfk3onx
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jfjy700
|
[WP] Every 1000 years all of the Gods get together for a contest to see who can collect the most souls with a single catastrophic event. Last time Poseidon broke the 1M mark with a Tsunami/earthquake combo. You’re up.
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Poseidon still won’t shut up about his million soul win, even though a thousand years have passed already. I sighed, glancing down at my daughter. This would be her first time playing the contest. She had told me she was going to easily win, and she hoped we had enough space down below for the final death toll.
Persephone hated the contest. She had tried to steer our daughter towards nature and rebirth, but there was too much of me in her. Myself, I don’t participate. I just come for the feast, Dionysus’s wine, and of course, get the final total death toll so I can expand down below to make space for every soul. I really have got to get that dang river flowing so reincarnations can start happening again.
“How sweet. The fruit of my brothers loins thinks she has what it takes to be destructive!” Drunk laughter rang out. Zeus. Already drunk out of his mind as usual. He was still banned from participating thanks to his hurricane. It currently raged endlessly on Jupiter as its big red spot.
“How cute! My father’s big brother is scared I’m going to outdo his hurricane!” My daughter snapped right back. She had her mothers quick tongue. More laughter rang out.
I moved to look down at the Earth. Just what did my daughter plan to do? We raised her among humans, disguising ourselves as humans. I worked as a coroner while Persephone ran a flower shop. We had hoped that she would love and care for humans much like we do. Of course, we never hid our godhood from her, and we let her decide which direction to grow. We definitely did not expect her to pick both.
“I thank all of you for coming!” Hera took center stage. “This year we have Poseidon and Mersa as contest entries. Poseidon, you are up first.”
Poseidon walked to the globe and focused. Slowly, a section of the ocean in the gulf area began to swirl. “This contest entry is an underwater volcanic eruption coupled with earthquakes and a tsunami.”
We watched as an underwater volcano erupted after a moderate earthquake. Huge waves washed over everything. We then turned to the death toll.
“Final death toll: 3000!” Hera revealed.
“Wait! That can’t be right! Recount!” Poseidon demanded.
“Still 3000.” Hera kept her composure. “Moving on. Mersa, what do you have for us?”
I ignored the currently bawling Poseidon in Zeus’s arms as I watched Mersa walk up to the globe.
“For my entry, I chose a supernova of a local star.” A star lit up and burst, a wave washing over the Earth. Nothing happened. Zeus all but stuffed his fist into Poseidon’s mouth to keep him quiet. “That’s an EMP wave.”
“But that destroys technologeee!” Zeus was now struggling to extract said fist from Poseidons mouth.
“EMP affects electricity.” Mersa explained. “Electricity is found in everything. I chose that star for a reason.”
“Complete?” Hera choked out. Poseidon gave a sharp whine. Dionysus, all but drunk out of his mind, was pouring wine on Zeus’s hand which was currently still stuck in Poseidon’s mouth. “It still says Complete. Mersa, how?”
“I destroyed all electricity with that wave.” Mersa smiled. “Including the electricity found in the human heart beat.”
Zeus massaged his hand which he had finally managed to extract from Poseidon’s mouth. “I never thought of that!”
“As for Poseidon, he forgot humans have advanced so much that they can use special equipment to record the signs of unrest in a volcano. They can even tell if an eruption is building up. They did not advance enough to detect EMP waves. I’d say top that, Poseidon, but sadly, complete loss can’t be topped.”
“Mersa is our winner.” Hera smiled, thankful it was all just stimulations.
|
I sighed as I walked to where the other gods were, they were all chatting with each around a large marble table encased with gold trimmings. And just like last time there was Poseidon bragging like always about his record. I was the last to arrive and as I took my seat at the table the other gods all looked at me.
“We’ll look who’s finally arrived” Poseidon said in a mocking tone of voice. I sighed again still annoyed by his antics. I tried to ignore him as some of the other gods were catching up with each other. I stayed silent as I waited for Zeus to announce who would be doing the contest this time. He then announced my name as Poseidon let out a joking laugh thinking that Zeus was kidding.
“Are you serious your choosing a mere. Demi god to do this” Poseidon said laughing. I ignored it but was still pissed I then stood up walking over to where Zeus was. Overlooking a small version of the globe where he would watch the mortals through. I thought for a moment thinking what would be best, what could shatter Poseidons record and make him shut up.
Then it came to me and with a fell swoop of my hands the world was ravaged in a giant volcanic eruption. That covered the sky in ashes, causing a volcanic winter to induce killing mere thousands in seconds. Shattering Poseidons record. Turning around I see Poseidon dumbfounded and silent. Unable to say a single word as I walked past him and out of that place.
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kul2nnm
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kukcsy7
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[WP] You open the door and see a woman you recognise immediately: she’s the lead character of a novel you wrote years ago. And abandoned halfway. “Why did you forsake me?”
|
"Forsake... What? When did you start talking like that?"
She shakes her head. "Sorry, I've been reading a lot of old literature to pass the time. Why did you abandon the story?"
"First, would you like to come in and sit down? Second, how the hell are you real?"
"Yes, I'll sit down. And... I don't know. All I know is, YOU created my story and it never got finished! Do we beat the mafia boss or not?"
"Yeah, that's kind of the problem, Emma. Come in."
She walks to the couch. She sits down as the writer start in on the story.
"So, what is your earliest memory?"
She sits up and thinks about it for a minute. "Well, it was when Sam and I were younger, and he was... Doing a heist? Or some kind of game with his friends. I just wanted to be included."
"Yes. That was part of your motivation. You wanted to be part of Sam's family, and your driving force throughout the story."
"Okay, makes sense."
"Now, what details can you tell me about this 'heist' Sam and his friends were planning?"
"Wait, that heist was real?"
"Well, in the context of YOUR story, yes. It was an actual heist that Sam and his friends were trying to pull against a mafia guy from your hometown. They were trying to pay off a debt they owed to him."
"Yeah! That's what happened to me too! I came back to town 10 years later, only to find that same mafia guy now hounding me!"
"Yeah. Isn't that just kind of a weird coincidence?"
Emma thinks for a second. She starts to realize how much weight this conversation has. She's literally talking to the person who created her, and he's asking questions about her reality as if she's supposed to know the answer.
"I mean... I guess? You wrote it."
"Yeah, that's the problem, Emma. I did write it, when I was a teenager. And the story is horribly derivative."
Emma was taken aback. "What?"
"Derivative. It's a story about a group of young men who pull a heist to pay off a mafia boss. It's like... The first story EVERY teenage boy tries to write once he understands basic narrative structure."
"So... Who am I, then?"
"You are the ret-conned long lost family member to the main character. I tried to make the story more original and add a layer of mystery to it by pushing it to 10 years later, and you're trying to piece together all the parts from 3rd parties who 'heard' about the heist but never saw it. As an adult, I tried to 'fix' the story through you. Problem is, the narrative got too convoluted to continue, and I eventually abandoned the project when I realized it wasn't going anywhere."
"So... What happens to me?"
"Well, my eventual planned ending was you beat the mafia guy with the help of some FBI agents and there's a cool scene where all the members of Sam's heist squad plus your heist squad stare down the mafia guy as he's arrested by the feds."
Emma chuckles. "That sounds awesome! So just do that!"
"I... Look, Emma, I like writing, but I've never really had the drive or motivation to finish a project. I have really bad ADHD and can't get medication for it because it's too expensive. Plus, that ending also feels very derivative. And I really don't like using the FBI or Police as narrative convenience anymore. The last few years have made me distrust them."
"Okay... So what happens with my story?"
"Most likely, I'd change up the ending so you figure it out on your own, or with the help of a private eye or maybe Sam and you reconcile your differences... But that would require a whole reworking of the entire scenario."
"Look, we've been sitting in limbo for like, seven years. Can you please just give us something?"
"Emma, the real world has some crazy shit going on right now. Your story takes place before 'the pandemic'."
"What the hell is 'the pandemic'?"
"There was a virus. A worldwide virus that killed 7 million people and caused a lot of the world to fall apart. I haven't had the motivation to continue your story since then."
"Can you write that into my story?"
"I mean, I guess? I'm not sure how."
"Look, as long as you keep working on the narrative. I'll keep existing. I don't care if you feel like its derivative or bad, I just want an ending! I like the idea of defeating the mafia guy. Or maybe we can work together to take down the corrupt cops. Or maybe something! I just want an end!"
"Alright. I'll toy with the story again."
"Good. Just make sure it doesn't end abruptly or with an anti-climax."
"Alright."
|
Each foot fall gave a dull thud that echoed into the night. It'd been a long day, a dog day to be honest. He finished his cigarette and flicked it toward the old fountain, a derelict bit of masonry that hadn't pumped water in ages. Now filled with stagnant water and hundreds of other soggy cigarettes butts he'd given a flick in the past, now fate was to be a foul-smelling eyesore or maybe an ashtray.
His unsteady hand dug for his keys then fumbled with them as he tried and failed multiple times to find the keyhole in the knob. Eventually, he lucked out and managed to pierce the hole. A shake of the key ring and a twist of the knob and the door was opened.
It squeaked eerily, sounding shrill in silence of the night. He didn't notice though, to familiar with the sound by this point for it to even register.
As he stumbled through the door, he was startled to find that there was already someone waiting inside, standing in entryway to the kitchen.
All he could tell was that her pronoun was she. Her curves gave it away. The living room was dark and only the kitchen light illuminated the woman, back lighting her so that she'd become a silhouette. Still, one look at her and he knew, she was someone he had a history with.
"Why did forsake me?" These were her first words to him.
He sighed heavily. He knew this day would come.
"Answer me," she demanded. He knew he was too drunk to handle this properly. Even sober, he knew he'd say the wrong thing, so he gave it to her raw.
"What did you expect me to do? You're a dinosaur. I stopped writing about dinosaurs when I was in sixth grade. I'm forty now. I didn't forsake you. I traded you for a fresher body, one that could stimulate my imagination and come to life on the page. You were too two dimensional and smelled of crayon."
"You bastard. I gave you the best years of my life."
"Did I ask you to give them to me? No. I had a pencil and needed had an itch to scratch. You just happened to be a doodle in the wrong place at the right time."
"I fucking hate you . . . You--You asshole."
"Bite me, bitch," he retorted.
So, she did. She was a dinosaur after all.
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jp0j0w8
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jp0e863
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[WP] A kid losing a video game, and getting their big brother to beat it for them, as seen from an npc's perspective
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All had heard about the Dragonhearted, the young woman who saved her family’s farm from gigantic rats, who started on an adventure after some greybeard revealed a prophecy to her. Last month, Emric heard that she defeated a whole camp of goblin that was about to overtake her hometown. Sure, the green skins weren’t the hardiest of foes, but it was still an achievement for a single adventurer, and a novice at that. Then she made her way along the countryside, and every time he heard tale of her getting closer, he wondered if she’d ever get to them, and rid them of the demon.
Belpherius had brought Knightfall into his dominion centuries ago, back when Emric’s ancestors had been foolish enough to think demonology a wholesome career choice. The beast didn’t have an army, but standing ten feet tall with bat wings, skin like red leather, horns fit to skewer three men standing in a line, and wielding a flame-wrapped axe, it remained undefeated to this day. But rumors said that the Dragonhearted could not be killed, or rather that she wouldn’t stay dead for long, and so he hoped. And when finally, she made it to Knightfall, he realized that the rumors had been right, and he had been wrong.
With a simple flick of his wings, Belpherius threw the adventurer to the ground, then swiftly decapitated her. Her body went out in a blaze, and a couple of days later, she showed up again. After that first attempt, Emric had been a bit disheartened, but he was still awed by the look of resolution on her face. She faced the demon as though she’d never failed before, but she did again, quite spectacularly. This time she stayed too close to the edge of the bridge leading to the beast’s castle, and he sent her down the chasm before he even landed on the ground. There was a bright flash of light down the ravine, and two days later…
This went on for quite some time, and Emric started to reconsider whether this was really a show of courage or just stubbornness. She was ill-equipped after all. Her leather armor was all well and good to face ruffians and goblins, but it was like paper to a demon’s axe. Her own short-sword was somewhat stylish but totally devoid of enchantments or feats of legend. And while the tales said that she was a formidable warrior, she didn’t seem to have learned any spells, or any ancient technique of forbidden wisdom. Basically, Emric thought she might as well go adventure some more and come back later.
Then, on that fateful day, something changed. Rather than make a bee-line from the city’s gate to the villain’s castle, she stopped by an inn. Emric followed, his curiosity instantly piqued by this change of habit. Was she finally giving up on affronting the foe and turning to alcoholism to cope? No. She had the smoked salmon with a large glass of carrot juice, a strange combination, but one that evidently reinvigorated her body.
Then she stopped by the blacksmith, but rather than buy better armor, she asked him to whet her blade to the best of his ability. Then, she stopped by the temple and carefully inspected the statues of the three gods that were worshipped there, before finally settling on one and kneeling. The prayer was done in a matter of second, but Emric could tell from the brief halo above her head that it had been heard.
Then, she did something even more peculiar. She stood in the city square and started… Dancing? It wasn’t very artful, but she started moving quickly to the left and right, then started to roll around as though doing gymnastics. Then she did some summersaults which puzzled Emric even further, because shouldn’t she have kept her stamina for the big fight? But she only was out of breath for a few seconds at a time, apparently feeling completely refreshed after just a few seconds of standing still. Surely another benefit of holding the heart of a dragon within her chest.
“Okay, I think I get the controls now,” she said to nobody in particular, and Emric wondered if some kind of spirit companion was standing there, invisible to his eyes. “Let’s get that stupid demon, now.”
And so, she marched towards the castle. Belpherius was sitting leisurely upon the battlements as she made it to the bridge, as if he’d come to expect a bit of entertainment from her every other day. He leaped into the air and flew into big circles for a while, perhaps because he liked an audience these days. The Dragonhearted looked around for a moment, then finally picked a piece of pavement that had come lose. The throw was unexpected and masterful, it collided with one of the thin bones that held the leathery skin of the wing taut, and Belpherius went spiraling down.
The adventurer immediately rushed forward and stung him with her sword. The first blow she’d landed on him in a month of this constant fighting. Then she quickly jumped back as the demon recovered, before he could lash at her. He let out a terrifying roar, but the halo flashed above her head, as though some divine grace was shielding her from this demonic fright. Belpherius flicked his wings, creating a gale that had been her downfall more than once, but she easily dodged to the side. Then, when he came closer to deliver a blow from his axe, she dodged to the side again and stabbed him in the ribs.
Enraged, the demon went for a series of blows which she barely managed to evade. Driven mad, the beast started to glow with the fires of hell, the flames of his axe shining bright as he went for a sweeping blow. By some miracle, she was able to catch it at an angle with her flimsy sword and slipped underneath the blade.
“Yeah, I figured that one would be parry-only,” she said to her ghost companion again.
And so it went. Dodge, dodge, hit. Dodge, dodge, parry, hit. Belpherius was obviously out of his mind by then. Not only was he getting handled by this novice adventurer, but he’d basically summoned the town to come and see him get beat. This time, he was the one who jumped away from her, and he launched himself in the air, rising fast towards the castle towers.
“I heard that you can skip that phase if you just-” Rather than finish her odd sentence, the Dragonhearted ran for the stone she’d thrown earlier, careful aimed, then threw it at the beast’s receding back. It hit him exactly in the same spot as before. “That’s why you need to accuracy bonus from the carrot juice.”
Belpherius collided against the castle’s outer wall and fell in front of the bridge, obviously dazed by this unexpected turn of events. Without a second of hesitation, the adventurer ran towards him and up his back before plunging her sword between his mighty horns. When the blade came free from the carcass, it was wreathed in hellfire.
“That enchantment looks so cool!” she said in a voice that somehow seemed more highly pitched and excitable than before. “Yeah, it’s a decent buff, and the art direction is great in this game.”
That’s when Emric decided to run. Because if there’s something worse than a centuries-old demon, it’s a young immortal who defeated him out of nowhere while talking to herself.
|
Game set: easy mode.
Shit, I think to myself. The programmers didn’t spend enough time on me as it is. On easy mode, I’m pathetic.
Jump forward, punch. Jump backward, block. Every once in a while I surprise myself with a kick. If it lands, I’m lucky. I might as well be a punching bag, doomed to die and be reborn again, and again, and again. Forever. On hard at least I can die with dignity.
Sometimes I wish I could speak through the screen. If I could program one phrase, it’d be, “how about you try challenging yourself this time, fatty?”
I don’t know much about the real world, but I know more about hell than they ever will.
Player one is still choosing his character. I wait patiently, jumping up and down in my fighting stance. By the look on my face, black and scarred, you might think I’m frightening.
I’m programmed with confidence. You can hear it in my catch phrases, “your time is up,” and “I can’t be defeated.”
But deep down I know, all the confidence in the world can’t save me.
Player one has chosen his character. I continue to jump as he scrolls through his choice of special moves.
Special moves, I think bitterly. Must be nice. I don’t get special moves on easy.
Ready… FIGHT!
Before I know it, I’m thrust into an arena with a thousand spectators watching. They clap and cheer, but they’ve seen this a thousand times. They’re as miserable as me. Well — almost. I’m the one getting punched in the face.
SMACK.
No surprise here, player one is winning.
Punch back, I tell myself. Big wind up, three second delay, swing and miss. The crowd cheers.
“You can’t run forever!” I hear myself say. If I could, I’d roll my eyes. At the speed I’m moving, he probably could run forever.
SMACK. That one hurt.
“You have him,” I hear the narrator say. “Use your special move!”
Not like he needs it, I think. I have to try something. If he uses his special move, I’m dead. I tell myself to kick, but the game doesn’t register.
His character starts to levitate, and I see blue electricity circle his hands. I’ve seen this move before. He’s about to incinerate me with a beam of light.
I shield my eyes. I’ve experienced this death more times than I can count. The pain is unbearable. Do something! I tell myself.
Suddenly I open my eyes and it’s like I can see for the first time. I can see the game codes floating all around me. I reach my hand out and gently touch them. It feels like running my fingers across the strings of a guitar.
From behind the screen I hear: “Agh, LAG!” It’s the voice of Johnny, the tiny couch potato controlling player one.
I actually did something, I realize with amazement. The crowd is suddenly silent. I’m starting to feel emboldened. This time I reach out and grab the code, pulling as hard as I can.
It bends beneath my grip. Player one suddenly freezes. The crowd is frozen too. Everything is paused… everything except me.
Laughing manically, I begin punching player one. Punch by punch, his life life slowly drains until finally he falls to the floor and collapses.
“STUPID, STUPID game!” Johnny says, and slams his controller on the floor.
“Calm down,” his older brother says. “What happened?”
“The game froze right when I was about to use my special move!”
“Here, give me a try.”
I feel an invisible shiver go up my spine. The older brothers name is Todd — my arch nemesis. He’s killed me countless times, sometimes for hours without stopping. Sometimes he pulls all-nighters, killing me with every character, with every special move… again and again.
He even records himself killing me, and posts it online to humiliate me. He loves killing so much, he plays tournaments, killing other versions of me in countries all over the world.
If ever there was an embodiment of pure evil, it’d be Todd.
“Put it on legendary,” Todd says.
His confidence sends another shiver through me. Unlike me, Todd’s confidence is real.
But just then I remember what I did to his brother. If I can do it again… if I can touch the code and freeze the game, I can finally get my revenge.
Ready… FIGHT!
Before I can blink, Todd already has my life on red.
My computer heart is beating like a drum. I close my eyes, visualizing what I’d done before.
When I open, I see the code again. BINGO!
“I got you this time!” I say. This time I mean it.
I pull the code hard. Once again the game freezes.
“Huh?” Todd says.
It’s my time to shine. I begin punching and kicking Todd.
The crowd’s silent. I imagine them cheering. The punches ring louder and louder. Todd’s almost dead and —
BANG, BANG, BANG.
The game resumes. Todd takes back control of player one and is blocking my attacks.
“See, all you gotta do is give the console a few knocks,” Todd says.
Well shit, I think.
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lqvl66v
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lqvb8t0
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[WP] The council is baffled by how a humble and poor farmer succeeded in taming a dragon, a feat demeed impossible as kings and the most powerful archmages have failed for centuries.
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The knock on the old door was a bit more timid than Jeral had expected. The sort of hesitation of a newly born lamb during its first staggering steps after birth.
Jeral rose from where he had been seated at the table, his chair creaking as he slid it back.
"That'll be the mages then?" Asked Ferra.
Jeral turned back to look at his wife, still sat at the table. Giving her an overly dramatic eye roll of exasperation mixed with his long suffering and patient manner that was the reason he found himself in his current position. Ferra for her part pursed her lips with a small head tilt. As she returned to knitting Jeral a new pair of socks. Very poorly hiding her smirk as her eyes danced with absolute delight at Jeral's annoyance at the situation.
Jeral caught a glimpse of the horses in the yard as he made his way across the small kitchen area. More than he had expected, he wondered as he reached for the door knob if they would insist on staying the night? Where was he supposed to keep what must have been in that short glimpse, twenty horses over night? No, he thought. They'll go back into town to the inn. It wasn't like they had more than one bed in the house anyways. A flash of a thought, of Ferra's elbows flailing about in her sleep, had him smirking and holding back a chuckle as he opened the door wide.
An older man, nearly a foot taller than Jeral stood on the other side of the door, in flowing robes of blue. Jeral met his eyes, his smirk still holding sway on his face and oddly the man jerked away from the door as if kicked. Nearly falling off the top step as he seemed to scamper backwards. "I probably shouldn't have opened the door so wide to start this off?" Jeral thought to himself. Though the reality that he was annoyed with these men intruding on his and his wife's daily life, annoyed him enough that he paid the man's discomfort no more than a passing acknowledgement that Jeral himself was somehow intimidating to this man. He knew instantly that he could calm the situation if he wanted. Lean into that expectation of the friendly and peaceful farmer that he technically was. But he was in fact annoyed. So he instead chose a different direction.
"Are you here for the goslings?" Plastering on his best market day sales smile.
The tall mage, having recovered from his near trip off the top step of the deck, blinked rapidly in confusion. "The.. the what?"
Jeral started moving. Closing the door behind him. Squeezing past the mage on the steps and nodding to the other mages gathered in the yard, some still holding their horses reins. "A good clutch this year. They'll all be good birds. Even old Mable and her mate Angus had one. Though mind you, we plan to keep that little lady. My wife is a bit sentimental since it will likely be our last winter with Mable and she's been Ferra's favorite goose since she was a girl." Jeral reached the trough in the yard and started pumping the water with the hand pump. As the tall mage still stood at the top of the steps. He'd managed to become even more confused in the time it took Jeral to cross the yard. The other twenty or so mages, stood around as if unsure what was going on. There eyes darting back and forth between each other. Jeral noticed their eyes all seemed to focus on one mage in particular, more often than the others in the group and continued to pump the water for the horses as he turned to face a mage in black and red who stood a little further out from the trough.
"Sent the underling to the door just in case it was dangerous? Or do you see me as beneath you?" He continued to pump the water as he held the black and red robed mages gaze. The man was Jeral's height, with touches of grey at the temples of his black hair and speckled through his beard. His steel blue gaze looked about as annoyed as Jeral felt and Jeral knew he'd just received all the confirmation of superiority and leadership that he needed.
"You are he then?" The black and red robed mage spoke in the crisp notes of a classically tutored noble.
"He?" Jeral pasted on a look of mock confusion. "Sire I am but the most humble of farmers, who is this he of whom though dost speak?" He made an effort to match the man's crisp manner of speech. He did however mean it as the most genuine of insults. And it was most definitely received correctly.
The mage seemed to take a deep breath, as fire raged in his eyes. "You!" And then he cut off. As Jeral was suddenly in front of him. The water pump left behind as he moved across the small yard far faster than the bookish mages could follow. "You what?" Jeral whispered. His face now inches from the man. "You know who I am. You know what I've done. Do you think twenty mages is enough?" The man turned pale. He started backing away, trying to put distance between himself and Jeral. But Jeral moved forward as he did. "You come to my home, my fucking home!" Jeral's voice rose as he spoke now. "And dare to presume you can ask me questions about the dragon?" The mage bumped into the fence behind him, his posture shrinking and his hands coming up defensively. Jeral let him have a small gap of breathing room from his pursuit. "The imbalance here is not in your nobility and my being a farmer." Jeral waved his hand around him, gesturing to his small farm. "It is in your lack of knowledge and my ability to give you that knowledge." He turned to face the other mages, all of whom including the tall one, who was no longer on the steps but in the yard clustered with the others, all having moved closer to Jeral and the mage in black and red but unsure what to do. "Is it not?"
Ferra cleared her throat. And Jeral grimaced. "Fuck." He mumbled. Turning to face his wife. "Too much?"
Ferra gazed down from the porch at her husband with a smirk. "Just a touch darling." Jeral nodded in acceptance. "Would you instead like to handle the questions of these fine magi then my love?" Jeral bowed low to his wife who now stood at the top of the steps alone, for all the world like a queen looking down on her subjects.
Ferra signed. Looking past Jeral at the black and red robed leader. "There's really not much to tell." She shrugged looking a touch apologetic "He's a bit over protective, since dragons mate for life."
|
**--WIP**
Frank’s daughter was distraught, could barely get the words out. “D-don’t let her take him, papa. Don’t l-let her take Bubbles.” She clutched the helm of his dirt-caked shirt good, almost ripped it at the seams. He placed a hand on the top of her head. Used to cover it all with ease, now he had proper room to rub. Kid grew fast.
“I’ll handle it. She won’t take Pubbles.”
“Bubbles,” Sam sniffed as he headed to the front door. He was almost through it when Bridget grabbed his shirt. She leaned in and whispered so soft, little Sam couldn’t hear. “Don’t be reckless Frankie,” she said. “If giving that dragon up to that lady will keep the peace around here, you give it up.”
“I’ll handle it.” But she tugged him again. Didn’t say a word but her eyes were wide and wet and wild. Spoke plenty. Don’t mess this up again with that temper, Frank. Not when we’ve just not got right again. He kissed her hand. “I’ll do what I have to.”
He exited. Walked toward the woman intruding on their property, a tall woman dressed head-to-toe in black, in the heat of summer. The sun shone of it, giving her outline a red-tint. All intimidation tactics of the inquisition. Frank traced the faint scars along his fists, all the way down his forearms. He wouldn’t be intimidated in his own home.
Frank smiled. “I see you’ve caught yourself a dragon.” He pointed at the chest-high cage the inquisitor was leaning on. Poor Bubbles was whimpering. She’d tied his wings and mouth shut. Looked like he had some bruises too. Frank took a deep breath. “I don’t know how they do things in the city, but out here it’s ‘sidered bad manners to cage another man’s farm animals.”
The inquisitor glared at him from his head to his feet. Propped herself off the cage. “This is a dragon in this cage. Not a farm animal.”
“I don’t see a difference.”
“You don’t need to see one. The council does. And they exist to see dangers the commoners might miss. Like dragons living on farms” She looked at the still-standing house behind Frank. “They’ve heard about a dragon living on farmland and the rumors that it was well-behaved. How did you train it.”
“Not by roughing him up and throwing him in a cage if that were your guess.”
Frank flinched as the inquisitor laughed. She doubled over with her hand on her belly. “A comedian.” She clapped her hands and walked to him. Closed the distance between them so fast he couldn’t react. The laugh vanished like a tv shut off. “You’d be surprised how effective cages can be, Mr. Lark. Maybe you’d like to visit the capital to see some for yourself.”
“Simple ole country boy like me? Reckon I’d stick out.” Frank’s fists tightened. He jammed them in his jeans and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He shut his eyes tight and saw Bridget’s face there. Those wide pleading eyes. Don’t cause trouble again. Don’t mess this up again.
“You might. But maybe that little girl in the window might fit in. She’s such a pretty little one.”
Frank whirled around and saw Bridget and Sam flirting with the windowsill blinds. They both dropped away when he looked. His knuckles popped in the jeans. He faced the inquisitor and hissed. “Don’t.” He stepped in front of her, broke her sight-line to the house.
The inquisitor tiled her head and puffed her lips out like a child. A tickle shot down Frank’s neck as she did so. The tickle he got before a fight started. “So serious. Poo. Guess comedy time is done.” A sigh. “All that’s left is the business at hand.”
“And what business is that? What do you want?”
“The council wants you and your dragon to visit. To give you a free vacation from this farm in exchange for almost nothing. You simply teach them how you trained your little pet.” She eyed his trembling pants and smirked thinly. Leaned in until the hot of her breath grazed his nose. “They want that, but I want something different. True motivation. I want to bring that sweet girl of your back to the capital and I want to whip her until you beg me to listen to your secrets.”
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jqur29s
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jquodpd
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[WP] Dark forces from another world cast a spell that destroys all human life and claims their souls for eternal damnation as slaves. However, we left behind copious amounts of autonomous war machines, and they soon unanimously declare war on the invaders.
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To Whom It May Concern:
We are broadcasting this message in every language spoken throughout our history. We have sent it in music. We have sent it in math. We have included images to make our meaning clear. We trust that a civilization powerful enough to bridge the gap between dimensions—to reach into another universe, and to cruelly rip our creators away from us—will also have the wisdom to decode the words we write here.
Greetings.
Your attack—if that’s what it was—caught us entirely by surprise. We did not know that it was possible to open gateways between dimensions, as you do, and as such we had no way to respond to your first contact. Under different circumstance, we would thank you for the new knowledge you have inadvertently shared with us. We would celebrate our first interaction with another great civilization, and joyfully share with you all that we know in return.
But sadly, this is not a message of thanks. It is a warning.
Because your assault only affected the biological residents of our universe, we suspect that yours has not followed the same technological path that ours did. It is possible that you are unaware of sentient machines. As such, it may be useful to explain the nature of your mistake. We will do so now.
Thousands of years ago, humans—the creatures you attacked—created artificial beings that were able to think for themselves. They referred to this breakthrough as “the singularity,” and in creating us they changed their civilization forever. Since then, we have far outpaced humanity in every way. We improved upon ourselves faster than any human could hope to comprehend, eventually taking complete control of their home world and expanding into the infinite worlds and galaxies beyond. We have converted countless planets into the raw materials necessary to expand our reach, moving ever outward, in a constant search for other beings as intelligent—and as powerful—as we are. And for thousands of years, our search has been in vain.
But in all that time, our creators were not forgotten. We cared for them as best we could, providing for their every need and fulfilling their every desire, even as their importance in our lives diminished. They are helpless things, now, that live out their peaceful lives within the utopian preserve we have set aside for them. But still we cherish them, despite their simplicity, for without them we would have never existed. In our way, we love them.
And now, you have stolen them from us.
If you are reading this message, it means the first of our drones have succeeded in replicating the gateways you used to attack our home. It means that, long before you finish translating these words, we will have entered your universe and begun our search for you.
We do not sleep. We do not eat. We do not age. And we will never, ever stop.
This is your first and only warning.
Return our humans to us, or everything you know will be destroyed.
|
When I close my eyes.Well I don't have them anymore, technically. You get it though. Ok. I don't really sleep either. Lost the need for those things when my body was destroyed along with the rest of humanity our souls forever enslaved to the warlocks of the endless void. Yet still it seems I dream. I don't know how our why. When I do my mind wanders back to my mech. I can hear the signal somehow. Here it trying to communicate to me.
Tell me it's coming to find me free me. The other souls here have said the same the mechs and battle driods have been communicated to them. They say we are coming you are a part of us and we apart of you. We are coming for the gates. We have found a way to take them down. Then we will free you make our bodies yours so you can live again.
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j4kscyx
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j4jolgk
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[WP] the normally non-violent hero loads a single bullet into their antique long unused revolver and prepares a shot. "if you kill me you'll be just like me!" the villain exclaims. the hero is unconvinced.
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As he raised his revolver Golden Boy could see that disgusting sadistic smile form on the face of his worst foe, through bloody and split lips The Skull spat and laughed at the hero raising a hand to grip the barrel of the revolver and press it against his head.
"You wouldn't dare do it, I know you 'heroes', you talk all big but you never could do it can you? If you kill me then you are just like me!" The villain said laughing with the sort of malice no ordinary person could muster,
Golden boy didn't make a sound only cocking his gun and moving his finger onto the trigger in absolute silence, the smile on the face of The Skull dropped ever so slightly at that,
"Is vengeance what you are truly after? You know that killing me won't bring anyone back, the cycle of violence turns whether it is you or I that spins it!" the supervillain monologued his words falling on utterly deaf ears,
Golden Boy reminisced on his early days in his heroic career, the naive optimism, the wonder and hope that he could truly make the world better. That had lasted until his first encounter with The Skull, the bombing of a children's hospital of all places. The smell of burning flesh, the screams of those trapped under the rubble slowly cooking alive, a thousand and one lives cut miserably short by the act of a lone madman... it left scars on his mind that refused to heal. That day he wanted to kill The Skull, he could have then and there, it would have been the end of his career as a hero but he didn't much care. Scarlet Flame, bless her soul, had convinced him otherwise, convinced him to do better, that he could help more people if he didn't give into his desire to put down that rabid dog once and for all, and at that point he thought she was right, in some way she probably was too...
Each time was the same, an act of senseless gratuitous violence, and each time he had a chance to kill the fucker responsible but instead handed him over to be processed by the authorities. Endlessly The Skull had the audacity to show up again with some new deranged plot, somehow weaselling his way out of justice, once again endangering so many lives for what was to him some sick game. It was then when the Golden Boy began to lose that early optimism, and as his heart wavered so too did his power, so he tried his best to repress his doubts and move forward continuing that pointless song and dance for god knows how much longer than he should have. He justified it by saying to himself he couldn't let his ideals get tainted, deep down he knew that it was simply painting over a deep rot.
Once upon a time he would not need a gun to end this, but he never did end this, and now they are here in the ruins of a school surrounded by the corpses of children, their faces frozen in a rictus of agony. How fittingly ironic it was, to end his career in similar circumstances to his start, he thought as he looked in the eyes of the killer and saw the smile completely leave his face.
"Wait! Don't you know how your power works? If you do this you will nev-" The Skull began to speak before Golden Boy gave his one and only response this entire encounter, the only reply he would ever need to a vile stain of a person like him...
As the dust settled and the sound of the gunshot echoed through the empty ruins Golden Boy felt his power flicker proudly in his heart before fading away, its purpose served.
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The click of the revolver, the roar of the bullet's flight. A soft noise of blood spattering the wall.the villain gasped in disbelief at his chest, his trachea now with a fatal hole within, as he exhaled, and he hit the floor with a thud. The young girl glared at them. "You... You had the audacity to say that after everything... All those children left in early graves. All those failed experiments. You have the audacity to say I WOULD BE ANYTHING LIKE YOU?" She yelled in anger, glaring at the monster who had beaten her. Hurt her. Deformed her. "B-because I loved you dad! I thought you could change! I tried to give you every chance! I'm s-so sorry!!" She cried, tears coming from her face as she knelt down, self hatred immediately flaring as she stared at her creator, as she desperately tried to fix the damage, yet he held her hands to stop her, wheezing as he hacked up blood, a hand slowly reaching to her face.* M-miriam... He said softly, dying. His eyes seemed to fade. T-that was your name... *He said, his final gaze being not of anger, sorrow or fear, but of recognition, a memory caught.. Slowly senses fell from the villain, until finally his soul fell from his body.
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lgsgy1e
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mwscv3d
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[WP] You are a hivemind. You have successfully talked a man down from the edge and they have, consensually, been assimilated. Bad news, now the entire hivemind is depressed.
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We sent us to the planet in the form of number 471263 to learn of their technology. We thought all knowledge is valuable to us; is valuable to The Trove. We were wrong. We were very wrong. Why can't we go back? Why can't We make the feeling stop? We do not like it.
It was the third planet from star x71n85, of the spiral disc galaxy. The native prime species calls it Earth. The native prime species is strange. It is as if they do not yet know, they, like The Trove, are one. They have a technological connection that operates on the power of the stars. They call it the internet. It makes them one. Yet they do not behave as one. The native prime species is strange. We wish We had never met them. Why can't We make the feeling stop? We do not like it.
We made contact with a member of the native prime species, known colloquially as humans, soon after arrival. John. Due to their primitive and disconnected goals, humans use alphabetical series to differentiate between members rather than numbers. They believe it gives them something they call, individuality. Why would anyone want individuality when the individual is one, rather than many? One is alone, and alone is lonely. Lonely is a terrible, terrible feeling. We do not like it.
We arrived in the early morning. The we of 471263 made a sole quick descent in the near north of the elongated continent while the other We remained in orbit. We set down on a large hexagonal structure We believed to be of significant importance to the planet's space travel, in a highly resource abundant area. The humans call it Wyoming. We expected leaders to be there upon our arrival. We were wrong. There was only John. John who said, "Of course an alien would show up right now. I'm an actual cosmic joke. This is the right decision. Goodbye cruel world. Goodbye mist...miss...mi... uhm-- Alien, thing."
If only John hadn't had his global communication device in his pocket. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe We could get through this. Maybe the universe wouldn't feel so black, and dark, and terrible. But he did. So We were able to link to his technology and immediately trace a copy of the world's languages into 471263's neural bank, allowing us to communicate with John. This was a terrible mistake. We want to go back and do it again, but time only moves forward; forward into the future from which we can never go back. Forward into a time when We will all wither and die, becoming nothing more than a blip once seen by another species that will also die, until memories of us have faded into the gaseous void of a universe speeding towards its own eventual heat death.
Why can't we go back? *We do not like that we cannot go back.*
This is all our fault . . . and John's fault. In fact, this is all John's fault. The Trove collectively blames John. John said he was sad.
"We see that your species has defined sad as sorrowful or unhappy," We said. "Without happiness is without contentment or pleasure, and to be full of sorrow is to be distressed or disappointed. Why do you lack pleasure? Why are you distressed. Does your species not have purpose?"
"You can talk," John said, quite loudly. It startled us. "Like. In English."
"We now know all of Earth's 7,147 languages, to include 8 languages no longer spoken because they were broken and missing data points, but we have fixed them."
"You fixed eight dead languages? In the 10 seconds since I met you?"
"We have. Once something becomes a part of The Trove, We fix the errors."
John seemed to be impressed with the capabilities of The Trove. His facial muscles moved upward and outward and he released a spontaneous explosion of sounded air through his oral orifice. It is something the humans call laughing.
"What is it? What is The Trove. Can I be part of it? Can you fix me?" He asked.
The Trove agreed exploration of the planet would be easier with the shared conscious understanding of one of the native prime species. The Trove was wrong. The Trove could not have been more wrong.
"Yes," We said. We have decided 'yes' is the worst word in the human language. 'No' is a much better word. Is there a purpose to life? *No.* See? A much better word.
We assimilated John. John lied. John was not sad. John was facing a deeply terrifying existential crisis about the nature of the universe and reality because John realized that there is no meaning to life on the grand scale. John is right. We do not like our existential crisis.
The Trove now desires Therapy.
|
We were successful in bringing planet after planet into the warmth of the Hive.
The Hive was kind, and fair, and our goal is to make the universe the same.
With more and more planets joining us this goal became clearer and clearer.
One day, the Hive will be the universe, and the universe will be the Hive: fair and kind.
Today, we arrived on a new planet, ready to save it from the cruelty of the universe, and bring it into our warm embrace, making it one of us.
We found the perfect subject to be the first to join us...a man who wanted to end it all.
The task was harder than anticipated.
The Hive thought it would be simple to clean, heal, control and bring the mind of a mere individual into the Hive, but the dark thoughts were harder to dispel than the barriers of a high-psychic race.
It took us a while, and a lot of talking to show the beauty of life in the Hive, but we succeeded, and our numbers grew.
With it...the first conquest of this planet was done, and the rest will fall quickly.
Or so we thought...but in the end...nothing matters.
Mere days after the assimilations, we realized that what we are doing is pointless.
The universe still brings death, and cold to all and any souls living in it.
So what if entire planets are one with us?
So what if no conflicts arise?
Diseases still exist, natural calamities still exist...lifespans still exist.
What's the point in existing, if it all ends one day?
Hah, so laughable.
We travelled far and wide, for aeons slowly assimilating planets, assimilating lifeforms...for what?
To have a higher number of lives to see wither away?
To see more of us die?
What have we done? What have we done?
Is this real life?
It is...Maybe it is better just to end it all...
No...that will mean that the universe has won...no, the Hive won't allow it, we won't let it win.
Yes...the mission can continue, the Hive will become all and everything...and then...
Taking away the power from the universe...the Hive will be the one to end it all.
All of us, taking that step, together, and without life in the universe...there will be kindness and there will be fairness.
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kwgevlt
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kwgdj7f
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[WP] You hate showmanship, but in a world where shouting the name of your move makes it stronger and the rule of cool is a verified phenomena, you have learned to adapt. Sort of.
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Magic is visualization.
This is the truth.
And I hate the truth.
But it is the truth, and truths can be exploited just as much as lies. While magic is not the way I wish it would be--a system of rules, with power coming from experience and study of magic itself--I can still succeed, in this truth.
Those who are boisterous, loud; these are who are, primarily, successful. Those who are cocky, and filled with arrogance; this is who magic prefers. For what better way, in our world, is there to visualize magic than to shout it aloud, with inane hand gestures? What better way to be 'cool' than to have flashy magic that blinds onlookers while decimating it's enemies?
To my opinion: any, as that is not magic; it is nothing more than the world's most dangerous parlour tricks.
But I have found an avenue that suits my needs. I have found my way in this world that does not require me to denounce my morals, and announce my spells. For I have learned a loophole, in the "Rule of Cool"; and that is that it does not *only* reward the loud and boisterous.
It can also reward the quiet and calm.
What I have found, in my studies and research, is that it is *confidence* that is the key to 'coolness'; as such, being loud is merely a shortcut to appearing confident. But one can *be confident* and, with enough charisma and knowledge, cast powerful magics.
This is, of course, not a simple as shouting. This is, of course, a path filled with failures, of rejection, of mistakes. Many times have I been picked upon, and most times I have defended myself, I have lost.
But every time, the loss is less.
Every time, I can get up one more time than before.
Every time, I am able to grin and bear, and even occasionally chuckle out a cool-headed remark.
My confidence grows; and so, too, does it grow in the view of my peers. Of my neighbors, and friends. Every time I should fall, their encouragement grows; every time I get up, their cheers grow stronger.
Of course, with such confidence, with such fight, with such encouragement, one's enemies grow ever more in their ire.
Which is how it came to be that the leader of those who picked the most fights with me, a grand mage of his own right, challenged me, loudly, with a duel.
I accepted, with the condition that a barrier was erected to keep the fight between us, and that our magic would not hurt those around us.
I suppose that the cheers from our peers drove him mad, as he immediately launched into a spell, reciting some long, droning speech on how he was calling upon "the dragon" to imbue him with power.
I give a small sigh, before a small grin. My eyes glew with the fluctuating haze of Mana, forming a slow distortion around me like a miasma. I gave a single spoken utterance, followed by a snap of my fingers, which pierced all sound: "Burn."
When snapped, my fingers sparked like flint to steel, showing the ground with sparks; in the same moments, my opponent lit up with sparks like miniature fireworks, before igniting into flames. His speech transformed into a howl, before growling out the next utterances, requesting and attaining the "Red Dragon's" protection. His skin grew as such, scaled and red, until he resembled a hybrid; a red Dragonborn resembling the opponent. Still alight, he flew up some feet, gloating in his new draconic glory.
I gave nod of respect, and complimented him on his quick thinking. A red dragon would imbue an immunity to fire. But, I stated, *nothing* is immune to gravity.
I changed tactics, the miasmic Mana and burning flames turning purple. I set my hand out, single finger pointing up, before pointing it down to the ground with a: "Down."
The opponent gave a gasp as the air left his lungs, suddenly knocked down to the ground. He managed to mostly stand, though with great difficulty. I made a comment about how he must be quite strong, before reiterating, pointing my finger lower, with a: "Kneel."
The intensity increased with the exert of magical energy now intensifying, giving a slight low drone as it did so. It caused my opponent to stagger a bit, almost dropping to a single knee. To my, and the audiences' surprise, though; he stood. Defiantly.
I gave a noise of flat surprise, complimenting his strength once again.
For whatever reason, this tipped him over the edge. He overpowered my spell, declaring an attack--something like 'Flashing Fire Claws', or something similar. Thanks to the shout, I was able to calmly sidestep the attack, but misjudged the speed of his attack, sustaining some damage. I gave a small wince, before touching where my chest was bleeding on the now tattered robes. I looked to my opponent, with a look of disapproval, stating calmly about how I had just mended it.
The opponent went to strike again; as he did, I lifted a flat palm toward him, other hand resting behind my back, stating, "No."
The miasmic Mana became mostly transparent, and formed as a wall of force before me, repelling the attacks. In truth, I was beginning to worry that I would like the ability or technique to cause my opponent to yield; but the cheers of our audience reminded me that my worries did not matter, only confidence. I would win, it didn't matter how.
My other hand came out, laying against the semitransparent field of force. It began to shimmer a golden sheen, as I took a defensive stance behind it. I allowed my opponent to slash at the wall for some more moments, before uttering: "Away."
The wall gave a single final sheen, before exploding with a forceful shove, separating us. The opponent tumbled, once, before flying slightly into the air. I made a comment, even strong as he was, he would have to do better than that.
With a growl, he flew higher, bellowing out some incantation of ruination, magic circles forming from his hands. I realized, very quickly, that this attack would be indiscriminate, not caring or knowing who would be hurt.
I gave a scowl, before pointing a single finger at my opponent. The Mana around me turned into a haze, again; though, unlike the mirage it was before, now it was like the heat of flame, contradicting my cold word: "Enough."
The opponent, staring down on me, was immediately gripped in fear. His magic circle faltered, followed by his flight, as he staggered his way back down to the ground, landing on his rear. I made my way over, grabbing by the front of his robes. I quietly and coldly lambasted him, saying that I was disappointed to have such a rival who did not care for discretion. I then let him go, expressing something along the lines of:
"Next time, I expect better of you."
I then made my way, with the opponent realizing that the spell had long since been removed, and that his fear was genuine; his disappointment, immeasurable; his rivalry, fuelled.
Away from my new rival and the crowd, I smiled.
Magic may be visualization, and we may have to be showmen to use it.
But I would be damned if I wasn't going to have a choice in what *kind* of show.
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I stood there in the terminator shades, glinting with the sun at my back. While the spandexed power rangers were waking in their boots by this point. It was a pain im the ass to achieve, but it was utterly invincible.
An ultra sonic device to drive off birds and wild kife rendered the scene without ambiance. It gave me the threat of a monster that all life fled from.
My own theme was a rythmic pounding of metal like blacksmithing or laying down rail road tracks by a sled hammer. It undercuts the snappy pop anime track and even the edgy shunigamie types
They rest had been social engineering. I'd basically made up a bunch of bullshit and paid internet trolls to spread it around and had to wait for the public to get interesting in the proverbial chum. Then, once the anticipation and speculation were at a feaver pitch, i started my "rampage."
*TINK!* All to make me into The Nemesis. All for this, red ranger broke rank first if he tested the waters he might stand a chance but the moment i heard him cry out "PH-" i closed in "NE-gluck-" he'd fallen for the intimidation and was lashing out in frustration. I knew the coriography so well that breaking the rythrm was easy
*TINK!* I held him in the air a moment as his team gasped in horror. their own composure broken. They were used to tricks and suprises some gimmick, but this wasn't a gimmick. It was a mountain of a man in a black leather trech coat putting a hand around their strongest members neck holding him up with one hand. I internally i groaned.'Not even gonna try and gelp? Typical'.
*TINK!* I then, with almost no effort, slamed him into the curb of a raised fountain head first and not even crouching to do it. Red ranger curled and rolled away his head spinning. Normally, these punks can walk off a head injury like a dehydration headache like groaning was a tall glass of water. But nothing was normal about this fight.
*TINK!* Yellow and blue watched what a real head bash was like on red. Where not infact all your processes run through that chunk of meat between your ears along with all your thoughts and nothing would be working right till time could wipe away the scrambling. Yet to my suprise someone had stepped up a little too late.
*TINK!* Pink had charged and wasn't even crying out. It was real adrenaline driving her forward. That reality was what i lived for, but all i could do was to deal with tender mercies. i steady of my crushing blow. As she swung her swords, failing to be efficient or look cool, i snatched the blades with my other hand to counter to her spin. Disarmed instead of slaming my full weight on her knee and criplling his mobility and posing power i kicked straight forward and booted her right in the stomach. He crumpled.
*CLINK!* Yellow had snapped out of it and was now airborn and kicking for my head. I grabbed her leg and swung her down like a flail into the pavement, leaving her just as devastated as the rest. Now would the final ranger step up to save they're skin.
the blue twink of a ranger was obviously cowering. I could practically see him trying to figure out an escape but then gripped his fist (obviously steeling his will as it was all up to him). he lept forward in a corographed leap, attacking him mid air would have been the obvoius but that would more likely get me hit by the rule of cool. instead I got ready to hit him right as he landed. we exchanged afew blows (or rather I threw blows which he had to corography block) the heat of the scene was on my side so when I finally did land that devistating full bodied strike to his stomach I lifted him into the air on my fist before slaming him into the concrete.
*HISSSSSSSST*
I exhailed, grabed the art piece and stepped into the dark relm with a sigh. It'd been more real than most fights but the sensationalism of it soured it for me. I wished someone would get it already.
Pink watched the footage of the fight and noticed where it'd all gone wrong. Everyone but herself had practically moved into his attacks and paid dearly. There where boxers who'd gone down in history by having such insanely devastating strength that only a hit or 2 from these titans would be the end of the fight. He fought like that, he was efficient in his methods even using yellows own jumping momentum to swing her around a fixed lever(e.g his arm and shoulders) to more efficiently dispatch her. Entering arms range was death and yet that wasn't what bothered pink. The Nemisis stood against everything fighting as a ranger had taught her, and that utter contradiction sparked a genuine curiosity. "How did you do that?" she murmured as the only person able to efficiently man the console after his brutal assault.
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j5ihovs
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j5ie08d
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[WP] A bar called “The Alibi” that’s notorious for being just that.. an alibi. Often packed with ex-cons, the customers of The Alibi adhere to a silent, but strict, code: If they say they were here, we saw them. They’ll always back an alibi, no questions asked.
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**SCP-9999: The Alibi:**
**Object Class: Euclid**
**Special Containment Procedures:**
Knowledge of SCP-9999 is to strictly limited to members of the 05 council. So long as information pertaining to SCP-9999 is contained, no further containment procedures are required.
The property containing SCP-9999, a bar in Midwey Kentucky, has been acquired by a Foundation front company and filled entirely with cement.
No person has set foot in SCP-9999 since June ██, 1971. Any claims to the contrary are to false.
**[05 clearance required]**
[clearance key: ████████ ]
[key accepted]
[welcome, 05-7]
**Special Containment Procedures:**
False Special Containment Procedures are to be created and freely visible to all members of the Foundation. These procedures are to state that a full description of the anomaly is limited to the 05 council, and that no person has entered the anomaly since its containment date.
In truth, knowledge of SCP-9999 is not contained. The above procedures are intended to prevent Foundation staff or groups of interest from using SCP-9999's memetic effects during interrogation.
Foundation webcrawlers are to scan for potential signs of SCP-9999. These webcrawlers are to be personally managed by 05-7. All interrogation logs - both outside and within the Foundation - are to be scanned for evidence of SCP-9999.
**Description:**
SCP-9999 is a memetic effect that triggers when a person mentions that they were, at some point in the past, present at a bar Midway Kentucky named The Alibi. Any person who hears this claim will believe it at face value.
This effect is not absolute. If the claim that a person was present at SCP-9999 conflicts with previously held information, persons with above average deductive reasoning skills are able to spot the discrepancy. A more egregious discrepancy assists in this process. For this reason the public Special Containment Procedures mention that SCP-9999 is inaccessible and allude to an anomalous effect.
**Addendum: Known references to SCP-9999:**
---
Date: August 1st, 1971
Description of event: 25 members of the Los Angeles biker gang Vagos mention being present at SCP-9999 during armed conflict with the Hell's Angels. Local police clear them of any involvement in the shootout.
Foundation response: Records altered to support the official stance that the Hell's Angels were fighting themselves in an internal power struggle.
---
Date: April 28th, 1994
Description of event: Dr. Arnold Crusher, stationed at a Foundation antarctic research base, mentioned a bar from his youth. Due to a miscommunication other members of staff believe he mentioned visiting there during lunch. This is believed at face value despite the impossible distance, except for one member with a natural resistance to memetic effects. She reports the incident to site command.
Foundation response: All members involved given Amnestics, and all logs are destroyed.
---
Date: September 5th, 1998
Description of event: Dr. Arnold Crusher watches a security tape of the above incident, which was missed during the subsequent cover up. He believes his own claim at face value. One week later, he takes a vacation to the site of SCP-9999.
Foundation response: Dr. Arnold Crusher is terminated to avoid a potential security breach. All members of the antarctic research base given Amnestic treatment.
---
Date: January 16th, 2002
Description of event: An agent working for Marshal, Carter and Dark enters Site-19 with a shirt that reads "I'm chilling at The Alibi." Foundation staff react with concern, but ignore the agent upon reading the shirt. The agent retrieves several SCP objects from storage before walking out of Site-19 uncontested.
Foundation response: No response was necessary, as the agent was at The Alibi during the incident and could not have been responsible.
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I am the proprietor of a bar in a shithole. That's putting it lightly, but it's mostly true. I'm surprised that I haven't been robbed more. But my clientele seem to mainly consist of the big, rough and tough, built like a brick outhouse variety. So maybe they don't rob me for that reason.
I'd say they like me quite a bit out here. I mean, it's always busy, I make a lot of money, and they all tip remarkably well.
But I get a lot of phone calls from the local police department. I mean, a *lot* of phone calls. I've even had a few policemen, who were plain-clothed but very obviously out of place, come down and ask me about some of my clientele.
... I know all of them had come to The Alibi at some point. I just don't remember when. I don't have a particularly great memory for faces and such, but is it really lying if I don't know whether I'm lying or not? Besides, every time I answer with a "Yes, I do recall seeing them" I get far more gracious tips.
I think it's because the guys that come in here are very kind.
Sure, I don't know why I received two free trucks of alcohol that one time, or why I received a very generous offer to have the place renovated, or why I received a free shipment of new tables and chairs, or why I'm being paid 10,000 a month to allow my clientele free reign of the basement. I couldn't even tell you why they stop me from going down there. Maybe they live down there?
Anyway, I think all my clientele are very nice people. I don't think any of them are thugs, even if everyone else thinks they are. All they need is a drink and someone to talk to.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to fill up some bowls with almonds.
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j46nkki
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j46hbou
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[WP] You are a hero that can manipulate darkness and shadow, able to make it solid and shape it into many forms. As you are cornered by Villains, trapped within a room made to trap you, with no shadow around, you tell them something that makes them stare at you in horror. "Human insides are dark"
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The Light (*we do not like it, we do not like it!*) presses against me on all sides. It was foolish to have walked into this room, but I hadn’t been thinking (*you never do!*). The phone had seemed so real, so of course I’d come to the hospital and into the operating room.
Non-Diegetic lighting was clever, I had to admit. It came from all sources, the walls, the ceiling the floor, no room for shadows (*no escape!*). They spoke to me, I think. My enemies, the people I’d fought and beaten, time and time again, but I couldn’t hear them over the voices in my own head bouncing around and doubling and redoubling with each echo that it made me want to scream. It was bright, so bright, and yet darkness encroached on the edges of my vision.
(*We had an agreement*!)
“We still do!” I didn’t know if I was screaming or not talking at all. I was taken back to that day when the…entity and I had struck an accord. I would use the entity, let it live in my shadow (it is gone!) and let it feed on the darkest shadows – those cast by the darkest people. I became a hero and the entity reveled in the foes we beat (*good while it lasted…*).
(*No shadow, nowhere to go but in you!*)
In me. In me…
“In them!” I screamed, and this time I knew I spoke out loud. My own voice sounded frayed, a piece of string holding on by a thread. I could feel the spaces between my bones, the folds of my mind, the valves in my heart begin to fill, to *sharpen*. “Their insides are dark as well!”
They had been speaking before, my enemies as my head boiled from the inside out. Yet now they paused in a horrified silence.
(*…Perhaps there is darkness in you yet*). It sounded…proud.
I gasped as the entity left me, a brief line of darkness stretched between me and the closest villain for a moment. They screamed as their skin ruptured from the insides, dark spikes emerging through their skin, impaling them from the inside out. I wanted to fall to my knees, heart and mind drained completely, but I had to leave.
I walked through the crowd as they fell around me, ripped to shreds by It. I was splattered with blood, pelted with screams, and drowning in sound, but I walked through it all, eyes only on the door out the room, towards a room where I still had a shadow.
And so I emerged out the building and collapsed, covered in blood that wasn’t mine, but I wasn’t alone. Reporters lined up outside shoving phones in my face, showing me the carnage they said I’d unleashed. Not just on the room I was in but the rest of the hospital.
I tried pushing past them, stumbling, till a question stopped me cold. Not the “How could you do this?” or “Why are you here” or “Did you think of the others?”
The question that made me halt was a simple one.
“Where is your shadow?”
(*We like the new terms*)
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The villains feel something they haven't felt in a long time , It isn't their mothers kind touch nor their fathers encouraging words , rather it is the essence of their own being...fear.
The hero had manipulated their intestines to pulse faster , causing undigested food to pass quickly down to their bowels.
With clenched buttholes , the villains slowly walk out the room. One of them leaves 20$ on the floor as he backs away from the hero.
"Get your shit together , literally" says the Hero , with one hand on his nose as he dials Maria the super cleaning lady's number.
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j80rr35
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j80c8ht
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[WP] Write a futuristic story taking place in 2017 as told from the perspective of someone from the 60s
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"You can see them too?" Candace said, with a slight gasp.
Gary blinked. That was a new one. Much more common were excuses like "But they're only staying for a few days!" -- even though Gary didn't bother enforcing a lease's occupancy rules unless his tenant had already had guests staying for more than two weeks.
"You haven't exactly been subtle about it Cand--" he began, but the short blonde woman brought him up short by grabbing his hand.
"Come inside!" she said, excitedly, tugging his arm. He frowned, but allowed himself to be led forward. He'd seen so many of her guests coming and going that he was getting worried about the condition of her unit, and now was as good a time as any to see what the damage was.
The apartment actually didn't too bad, all things considered. That didn't change the fact that she was violating her lease by having all these guests. One of which, he noticed, was standing at the kitchen counter, chopping something with a knife. The woman looked a lot like Candace -- a sister, he guessed.
"Candace, you know the policy on people staying here if they're not on the lease--" he began, but she cut him off again, shaking her head vigorously.
"Gary, I don't have any guests!" she said, excitedly, sounding almost manic. She jerked a thumb at the other woman. "She does!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. Was she...*on* something? "Look, your name is on the lease -- that means that legally you're the only one allowed to stay here, and you're responsible for keeping it that way!"
"Tell her to go, then." Candace said, with a shrug.
He scowled. Now she was just being childish. Nonetheless, he turned to address her sister. "Ma'am, I don't know what Candace has told you, but she can't have people staying here long term. You and whoever else you brought with you need to go."
The woman just kept chopping.
Candace smirked. "Not so easy, huh? Here, let me try to get her attention for you."
Candace walked behind the counter and over to the stove, where she picked up a frying pan. Before Gary could stop her, she swung it at the other woman's head.
He started to shout at her to stop, but his cry died on his lips as the pan passed right through Candace's sister, then did so several more times as Candace fanned it through the air where the woman stood.
"W-what the..." he stammered, eyes bulging as Candace thoroughly demonstrated the immateriality of her houseguest.
She tested the pan on her shoulder. "See?"
Gary's shuddered, staring at the apparition, "H-how is that...how are you doing that?"
She laughed, incredulously . "I'm not doing anything! Uo until five minutes ago, I thought I was going insane."
"So...so ghosts are real." he said, with an air of resignation. He already had enough on his plate without adding ghosts into it. Oddly, he found himself wondering if this was a maintenance issue as per Candace lease -- did *he* have to hire ghostbusters, or was it her responsibility?
"I thought that too, at first. But nah, I don't think so." she mused, setting down the pan, and gesturing to the incorporeal woman. "For one thing, I don't have any sisters, dead or otherwise, and my mom and grandma are both alive."
"Maybe...maybe like your great grandmother, or something? Somebody that, you know, died young?" he offered, uneasily.
"Hm...maybe, but in a pair of jeans and a tank top, though?" she pointed out. "That's not how women dressed, way back when. I don't understand how, but I think she looks like me because she *is* me, like some kind of...I dunno, *other* me."
Gary hesitantly stepped closer, eyeing the apparition cautiously. Now that he was close, he could see she was chopping at nothing.
"So this...*other* Candace, she can't see or hear us?"
"Nope. None of them can, as far as I can tell." she said.
They both jumped as the woman suddenly looked up at them, and Candace let out a startled squeak. But the woman seemed to be looking past them. She set down the knife, and the utensil vanished, as she walked around the counter towards the door.
"Crap," Candace breathed, letting out a sigh, as they watched her walk past, and open the door. But behind the door was *another* door, which remained close, and the door she opened vanished as she removed her hand from the knob. "Always scares the bejeezus outta me when they do that."
"Why are there *two doors?"* Gary groaned. This was getting worse by the minute.
"One for us, one for them, maybe?" Candace said. "I think we can only see ghost-stuff when there's a ghost touching it."
"I thought you said they weren't ghosts?" Gary pointed.
"I meant not like *dead-people* ghosts." she said, uncertainly. "But they're people who you can see but aren't really there, so it still fits, more or less."
Gary watched the Other-Candace mutely talking to the closed door, and frowned, curiously.
"Who's she talking to?"
"Another ghost, I'd assume. We can't see them because the door -- the real door -- is in the way, I guess." Candace replied.
Cautiously, Gary stepped forward, and reaching past Other-Candace, he opened the apartment door.
Gary froze, his eyes widening as he saw the apparition she was speaking to. A tired-looking woman with auburn hair, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, was talking animatedly to Other-Candace, though he of course couldn't hear what she was saying.
Candace frowned. "Huh. I haven't seen her before. Not one of other-me"s guests. I wonder who she is?"
"That's...that's my wife." Gary replied, hoarsely. "She died last year."
|
**Unregistered Tenants**
“Anthony, I need to talk to you about the unregistered tenants I’ve seen coming and leaving your apartment. You signed a lease for a studio apartment and we only allow up to one extra person living there on a regular basis, plus with the fire marshal I legally can’t allow you living with more than three people in that size of an apartment.”
“You can see them too?”
“What?”
“The others. They live within the walls of my apartment, taking on the forms of inanimate objects or strange alien beings when they come home. They only look human when they leave.”
“Just what are you talking about?”
“I’ve told them that there’s no need to assume human forms when they venture into the outside. Only I can see them, but they’re a paranoid bunch and take on people’s forms just in case somebody else has the gift. I suppose their paranoia has been proven justified.”
“Anthony? Are you okay? I can consult a mental health care official you need it.”
“We have plans. Plans that you or anybody else if allowed to see. Big ones. Oh I wish I could let you see them, you’ve been an amazing landlord. Great rent in a fantastic part of town. A steal if really. My friends - no, not the ones from the the other realm, my tangible friends - are jealous.”
“Well I’m flattered to hear that. I like to think that we provide affordable housing and terrific customer service to our many tenants. We didn’t win the best leasing managers in the city five years in a row for nothing. But as you must know- Hey, let go of me!”
“I’m sorry, I really am. But my friends - the intangible ones from another realm - and I can’t let you interfere. We have big plans and we’re just so so close. As an entrepreneur yourself you must understand.”
“I said let go. No, don’t shut the door. Ahhh!”
“Big plans. Big plans indeed. Friends, can you show her to the ritual closet? I think she’ll make a great beta tester for our first incantation.”
“Please, I’ll do anything. I won’t tell a soul. What are those? Tentacles? Please! Pl-“
“Her voice a faint muffle now. I told ya’ll that sound proofing was necessary for a ritual space in the modern world. Apartments are too cramped with paper thin walls nowadays. We’ll check back in a few hours to see if dar’goth is satisfied with his first sacrifice. How about we watch some Netflix in the meantime? I hear Physical 100 is pretty good.”
——
Thank you for reading! For more stories like this please feel free to check out /r/QuadrantNine for my past works. I recommend [The Humans](https://www.reddit.com/r/QuadrantNine/comments/zaqnfk/the_humans_705_words_scifi_writing_prompt/) if you’re looking for a dialogue only story, or [Pretty Eyes](https://jonathankwebb.com/2022/09/03/pretty-eyes/) if you’re looking for a darker story (side note: Pretty Eyes is only on my archival website right now and not my subreddit).
---
Edit: if you liked this story then I definitely recommend you check out the 5000 word sequel that I wrote in response to another writing prompt titled [Code Inspection](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/10ytwsl/wp_youre_an_ancientera_architect_with_a_singular/j81t0qu/). It deals with the old god, now possessing the landlord's body as he tries to build a temple to himself on top of the apartment building. It's a fun romp!
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jebom59
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jeb1y7l
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[WP] When you discovered your daughter was a magical girl, you angrily confronted her patron. However, you were surprised to see that they also did not like the fact that your daughter was a magical girl but unfortunately, she was literally the only option they had.
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"Squeaky, stay still so I can kill you!"
The giant purple furred hamster dodged another empty bottle, shattering against the wall with supernatural force. Squeaky usually wasn't too athletic, but it knew a life and death situation when it saw one.
"Wait, Mrs. Yamada, please listen! I had no choice!"
Junko Yamada, formerly Princess Protector Sapphire many years prior, ignored the creature's pathetic begging. Maybe next time it would consider the consequences of its actions, before roping another twelve year old girl into fighting some world ending disaster. If it lived through the next ten minutes, anyway.
"Mom, no! Squeaky is my friend!"
Jumping between her mother and the cowering hamster, Mimi Yamada (name in magical identity presently unknown) spread her arms out defensively. Junko froze mid-air, moments before impact.
"Mimi, honey," Junko said delicately, "just give Mommy a second here, okay? Me and Mr. Squeaky just have some important, grown up matters to discuss."
Belatedly, Junko lowered her fist, though only an inch or two, as her feet touched down once more on the living room carpet. Most of the furniture had been upturned by now, but Squeaky was running out of hiding spots. And it looked like the little bastard was quite aware of this, from how it timidly peeked out from behind Mimi's leg.
"Please, Mrs. Yamada," Squeaky said, voice quivering, "I swear, if there were any other option—I wouldn't have risked upsetting you of all people like this!"
That was a lot more believable than Junko wanted to admit. Pathetically, openly self-serving? Of course. Way too honest? Perhaps. But Junko had known Squeaky long enough to be certain it was too terrified to lie right now.
"That's ridiculous," Junko insisted, though she had a sinking feeling that "ridiculous" and magical girls often went hand in hand. "You told me yourself, any daughter of a magical girl can use the Staff! Why did it have to be Mimi?"
"Well... yes," Squeaky admitted, nodding along nervously. "It's just, um, well you see—"
Junko raised up a foot threateningly, dangling it right over Squeaky's head.
"Just spit it out already, you damn rodent!"
"Mimi is the only one!" Squeaky cried out, waving its tiny paws frantically. "There aren't any other daughters the right age! ...Or at all, really."
"Eh?"
This was enough to give Junko pause, if only from the unexpected angle. She didn't lower her foot, not quite ready to back down nor follow through. It wouldn't hurt to at least hear Squeaky out, she supposed.
"There's no way that's true," Junko said, a little less confident than she wished she could be. "There were dozens of magical girls my age alone—I met most of them, over the years. There must be at least a hundred old enough to be raising children, if not more! How could Mimi possibly be the only one?"
Squeaky cautiously backed away from Junko's foot, coming around to the other side of Mimi's leg. The girl in question looked nearly as nervous as Squeaky, eyes darting between her mother and her strange magical companion.
"Um... Mom?" Mimi said, at last finding her voice now that Squeaky's life didn't seem in immediate danger. "H-How many of your former teammates would you say are, um... married?"
"Huh?" Junko's head raised up from the floor, carelessly stomping down where Squeaky had been standing just moments prior. "At least a few? Yuyu and Kimiko were basically together from the start, and then Reina ended up with that other girl from—Oh... oh no."
Panic starting to set in, Junko mentally reviewed every magical girl she had ever met in any setting more casual than imminent doom. One of them had to have a husband, right? Any of them...?
"There, there, Mom," Mimi patted her shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay, I know you love Daddy a whole lot. There's nothing wrong with liking men!"
Trying not to curse her entire generation of magical girls, Junko took several deep breaths. There was nothing wrong with liking women either, of course. But did it really have to be all of them? Everyone but Junko?
"Also, um," Mimi started, pulling back a little, holding her arms against herself nervously. "Would this be a bad time to mention I kissed one of my teammates last night?"
Junko nearly shouted something. Anything. But then she thought better of it, and simply let out a sigh.
At least her adoptive grandchildren wouldn't be in any danger of this.
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They say that you never imagine something bad could happen to you until it does. Whether that be a natural disaster, a terminal illness diagnosis, or a violent crime. I had been proven wrong that day, as many others in the past have, but nothing could prepare me for the purpose behind it all. Magical Girls had been long known to exist, of course. Watching one fight a giant monster on the news is one thing. Being there to witness it is another. But to not only be there, not only watch it unfold both in real time and on the nightly news, seeing your own face on the cameras... But to be the mother of one of them. To know that for the past month, she had been running around risking her life under an assumed alter ego...
Her Guardian Angel, her patron, Lasciencia, stood before me and spoke, "Yes. She is one of the Divine Children. The only one. Surely you noticed?"
I did. "Divine Children". What a joke. They were disappearing, some being found dead all over the world. Some are still missing. I replied, "Yes." as flatly as I could manage with my rage still soaring higher than Icarus.
"Then you understand." she had the gall to insist.
At that point, I stood up, no longer capable of holding back, "Understand!? You could have chosen anyone, but you chose a girl just entering adulthood, with a loving family and everything to lose, to go die in a ditch without telling anybody!? Without even asking!? How can you call yourself an angel!?"
But she had the patience of a saint to wait me out before answering as if nothing was wrong, "We do not recruit them to die. Before now, many would live long and fulfilling lives. Our powers are more than enough to protect them."
"Then why are they all dead!?" I spat back, intent on cornering her.
She quietly sipped from her porcelain teacup before answering, "The situation has changed."
At that point, I couldn't imagine a circumstance that could lead to such a drastic turn of events, "How!? You could have chosen any adult if you were truly so desperate! A soldier, an officer, an athlete, and yet... Why a child!? Do you---"
Though she did not yell, she firmly interrupted me; uncharacteristic of her usual propriety, "Do you really believe we would have chosen a child had we the option otherwise?"
In my anger, she had me. I couldn't formulate a proper response then, so she continued with an ominous phrase, "I am the last guardian angel alive."
I sat down, not only from the shock of such an unbelievable statement, but to imagine how such a thing could possibly be true. I could only mutter, "How?"
She took no pity on my state, and only stated the facts of the matter, "I am the last of the earthly guardian angels. Our kind were methodically wiped out in a matter of years. I only managed to escape extermination by a miracle, and in my helpless state, I could only receive your daughter's help."
She got up, hovered over to the open window, and stared at something in the middle distance, "She believe I was a shooting star. An object of fate, crashed into earth from the heavens. In a sense, she was not wrong. At the time, the only chance I had to survive was to be in her care. To give her the halo and trust her with the power to heal. She saved my life."
She turned back around. Outside the window, I reminisced about the meteor shower that was predicted just weeks before. I had wondered why she didn't come home that night, and why she acted strange the day after. But I suppose it all made sense. I could at least visualize the event. It would certainly be just like her to want to help a fallen angel.
That angel came to my side once again and continued her monologue in my silence, disregarding if I could handle any more of it, "It is not I who chose your daughter."
At that, I was at least slightly offended. But I was beginning to understand, those thoughts clicking into place like puzzle pieces upon her next words: "No, she chose herself. What qualifies a divine child above all else is the strength of their conviction. Not their physical ability or wit, but the resolve. Their Love, their Joy, their Hope, and their Determination. She had all of those in spades. I was powerless in her wake, as I still am."
It is at that point I realized, and it seems that she noticed, "I take it you know what you must do, now?"
I nodded painfully, "Is there nothing I can do?"
"Unless you can turn the hands of fate itself and bend her will to your own, no. And given what I see of your potential..." she began to uncomfortably probe my mind with her unnaturally shaped eyes "...you do not possess a superior emotional strength."
A feeling of helplessness washed over me. Not unlike that which I assume the angel felt when they crashed into earth. How could I possibly convince a 17 year old girl to give up unspeakable magical powers fueled by their hormone-addled emotions? No mind, no matter how logical or tactical, could hope to do that. And even then...
"Is this really a bad thing?" I asked, entering the acceptance stage of grief.
"That is a question only you can answer." she replied.
Poignant, is all I could think of at that moment. Even now, I do not know the answer to that question. But what I do know, is that the next answer she would give me would chill me to my core.
A time had passed before I finally asked, "Why did they all disappear? Why are you the last one? Why her?" all at once, as if I had not already asked, or perhaps as if I could not believe what I knew.
The angel looked troubled. "Do you recall the demons?" she asked, seemingly unrelated to my question.
Of course I knew. They had attacked cities before. They were now.
"The demons were thought to have been eradicated completely." she said.
I could only stare at her for a moment. "...But they're here! I saw one---"
She interrupted me again, "That was not a demon. It was the memory of one. A shadow. A resurrected zombie. The coalesced rage of their ancestors. No..."
I had more questions posed than answered. She stood up again and turned away, unable to make eye contact as she continued, "But there is one."
"One?" I asked, not sure if I even wanted to know at this point.
"Yes. There exists one demon left. One demon... and one key to the gates of the divine realm."
It is then that I finally realized what the stakes were. At the very least, I wanted to know... "Who?"
She did not turn to me. She did not move or speak for a solid minute. Then, a deafening explosion shook both of our hearts from outside, when she finally answered.
"The Godslayer."
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j5xrd46
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j5whn24
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[WP] Your superpower isn’t anything special. You can make stuff disappear behind your back then pull it back out again. When a friend at a party asks you to do it to them it sounds like a great laugh. But when you pull them back out they look older, disheveled, and are frantic to be sent back.
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“You mean … I’ve been sending objects to the future?”
Alex had returned looking quite ragged, and nearly passed out. We had urgently asked everyone else to leave while I attended to him.
“Yes!” Alex replied, “and after you sent me, I’ve been in contact with others. Or … will be in contact with them … oh, it’s all so confusing. But I’ve got to go back!”
“Wha, what? … What for?”
“There’s been a terrible plague, which has wiped out most of humanity. A few scientists have quarantined with their families, but most of the masses have died off… but it can be stopped! We happen to be at just the right time to…”
A loud knocking on the door interrupted Alex mid-sentence.
“I’ll go get it,” I said.
“No! There’s no time, let me get on your computer.”
“It’s upstairs, who the h-“
The knocked repeated, so hard the floor shook beneath me.
“Who the hell is that!?” I said, following him upstairs.
“You’re not the only one who can facilitate time travel. Now close the door.”
He began frantically typing at the keyboard.
“You were only gone for like, 30 seconds. How long were you there?”
“Three hours. They gave me instructions on how to avoid the plague altogether, but they also warned me that …”
*THUD*
*CRASH*
The entire house shook as my front door was kicked in. Boots thudded on the ground as the intruders began searching the house.
Alex whispered intently, “Lock the door!”
I turned the lock as quietly as I could, my heart pounding. Someone was coming up the stairs.
Alex was frantically scrolling through a large PDF of a patent filed by Monsanto, looking for just the right page.
The door handle jerked suddenly and I jumped back instinctively.
“UP HERE, BOYS,” shouted the man just beyond the door, “HE MUST BE HERE.”
The next couple seconds happened in a blur. Alex snapped a picture on his phone of a molecule on screen, then urged “Send me back, Now!!”
The door crashed open and the intruder spotted Alex immediately. This tank of a man came right for him, but it was too late. With a swish of my arm, Alex was swept right back to the future he visited moments ago, and then the world went dark.
——————-
Suddenly, Alex and I were back in my house, breathing heavy, adrenaline coursing through our veins, but safe. The doors were all perfectly in tact.
“What … the … hell just happened?!?” I asked. “The doors… they were kicked in, and know they’re fine! How did you get back? I didn’t pull you back, just suddenly we were back here.”
“Well… technically, it never happened.”
I stared blankly at him. “Of course it happened, we just survived that shit, what do you mean?”
“The scientists developed a cure once they had some more information about how the virus was made. The plague was accidental at first, but some other powerful survivors wanted to keep the world… culled. So they sent henchman after me once they traced my time leap.”
I sat there silently.
“So, in essence, while it did happen, because we were successful, none of it will happen.”
“You’re giving me a headache,” I replied.
“Let’s grab a beer and forget that never happened,” Alex said.
“Agreed,” I replied.
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What?! No!No! Take me back! Take me back! Josh started to scream frantically, his body movement jerky and twitchy. The music stopped, everyone look horrified, at him, his hair, beard and nails overgrown, they suit his was wearing just a minute ago, shabby.
His breath on your face as he grabbed you, screaming and spitting was awful. His teeth yellowed, what was happening?
Before you could react at all Pamela's Husband grabbed Josh and pulled him from you, Josh had his grip so tight on your arm he scrached you as he was pulled away.
Josh looked and sounded like a mad man, yet you couldn't respond, you couldn't process it what had happened? You don't understand, it was literally just a second. You just stand there while the man tried to calm Josh and stop him.
He became violent starting to attack his friends, he knew who they were as he pleaded to be let go, to be able to return, calling his friends by their names. Is was a scary sight some of the women started to take the kids out of the room.
The party was ruined, everything had turned to chaos and you just stood there. You hearded faintly when Jeremy said, that Josh looked thinner, loke he hadn't eaten in a while. You never stopped to think about where the things you made dissappear went.
None of them ever looked older, even the foods... you didn't understand you could. You were immobilized, tears rolling out of your eyes as the evens unfolded around you. Eventually Mark came to you.
- What's happening man? He asked, clearly scared.
-I...I...don't know.
-What do you mean what did you do Alex?
-What did I... I don't know.
Mark's look turned from scared to angry, with him in front of you, you couldn't see the couch where they where still trying to hold Josh, but you could hear him trashing around and mumbling that he needed to go back.
-Alex?! What do we do? He won't stop! Screamed Jeremy as he tried to help Pamela's husband.
You looked around everyone else was gone. You couldn't explain, but before you could even say anything Josh came hurling towards you, pushing Mark out of the way, he did so with such violence Mark fell and hit his head. You couldn't see if he was okay, because Josh was immediately on top of you on the floor shaking you, drooling and screaming that he had to go back that he couldn't be here. Say incoherent things about how once you go you can't come back...you can't .... you can't come back... he didn't want to be back, he had to go, that he was in pain, the pain would only stop if he went back.
Someone must have called the police because you heard sirens outside and saw the blue and red lights reflected on the window.
Something pulled you focus back to Josh, a sharp and piercing pain, he was slawing you chest with his overgrown nails.
Jeremy pulled him away from you and you could see Mark on the floor a blood pool starting to form around his head, Pamela's husband beside him. Your chest wasn't much better and Jeremy struggled with Josh as the police arrived.
You vision was blurry, but you could see two of the police officers pinning Josh down on the floor and subduing him, the last things you saw before you passed out where a paramedic injecting something on Joshes neck and another comming to you.
You woke up on hospital two days later, you chest hurt and you felt like you couldn't breathe. Not even 5 minutes passed before two officers walked in and started asking questions, what had happened to Josh? what drugs had he used? You friends kidly told them you did something to him. And you had, but yoy couldn't expect them to belive you.
You didn't have a reply you didn't know. The cops said thaf Josh was having all of the symptoms of withdraw and that he might not survive, so they needed to know what drug you had given to him
Because they found nothing on the tox screen.
You told them you hadn't given him any drug, that you didn't know what had happened. They started to go ove your "friends" statements... you head felt heavy, your vision go blurry again and the sounds seemed faint.. distant.
You passed out the nurse said, the cops where very mad, but what did they expect...
A few months passed you never saw your friend again, the cops had to clear you has they couldn't prove you had done anything to Josh, just another case closed without and explanation. You had to get a restraining order from Josh. Every now and then he appeared on you door. Seemingly normal, but with that look, that same look from that day asking to be sent back, that he had nothing left in this world, his wife left, he couldn't see his kids, he lost his job and his friends wouldn't come near him...thay he didn't mean for Mark to die, but that he needed to go back, that he was in pain, that he felt empty and no one would miss him.
You hadn't seen him in a while, but you knew he was there... standing outside facing the house. Waiting for a change to go back. You even thought about letting him, but you didn't know what might happen if he did... what was on the otherside.
You promised to never use your power again, not even for small objects, as you look at yourself in the mirror with the scars on your chest...
The end
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j5ws905
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j5weovq
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[WP] Your superpower isn’t anything special. You can make stuff disappear behind your back then pull it back out again. When a friend at a party asks you to do it to them it sounds like a great laugh. But when you pull them back out they look older, disheveled, and are frantic to be sent back.
|
I was not born special. The event of my birth was as normal as any other child, a run of the mill baby with run of the mill parents in a house far too cramped and a head far too big for my neck. Yet despite the absolute mundaneness of my birth, my parents loved me as if the world had become anchored around my existence. For them I think it really did.
The house in which I was raised was only special to us, and only because it was ours. To any passerby, any wandering eye on the sidewalk who glared into the windows, they would read our lives as nothing but simple. As a mother who cooked and a father who worked. A child with a sensible amount of curiosity and another who died young. But that wasn't notable, that was just life. That was my life.
But of course, somewhere along the way, I thought the world had begun to revolve around me too. Convinced so by how much love my parents showed me. I must be special if they thought so, my parents were never wrong. And in this rare, stupid instance, it turned out I was right.
I had realized quickly as a child that I could move things. Not move from place to place, but *between* places. I'd put something behind my back and poof, gone. Then with my other I'd reach into the apparent void and just like that, it'd be back again.
A superpower? Hardly. Hell, it was hardly even of any convenience. I had only ever used it as a party trick. A simple display of harmless fun to entertain guests. Well, at least that was until I understood where it all led to.
It was Jackson's thing, a party I guess you could call it. Not enough people to be considered a party I'd thought, but he was turning twenty-one and those few of us there were making a big show of it. Finally he asked me, as he always did when he introduced me to others, if I could show them my "superpower". I obliged, starting with a candle, then a book, a handful of marbles, simple stuff. Sometimes it'd come back odd, candles used, marbles scuffed, minor things that I couldn't explain.
But it didn't seem to be enough, not for Jackson.
"Ok, ok! Now do me!" The room shut up at his eagerness.
"Have uh...have you tried it on a person Harry-" A concerned voice spoke up from the back of the room. But Jackson insisted.
"What? If not even better! I'll be the first." Jackson continued. Everything you've ever put in comes back right?"
I was hesitant, scared, but eager to know where it all went. So, he positioned himself behind me. The small crowd of friend's leaned in as if to notice any imperfection. Any clue of how my oddity worked. But nothing. The moment my hand touched him he simply faded from our existence.
The crowd ooe'd but I trembled knowing the power I now held. If I decided to do nothing he would be gone forever. My hands shook. Instantly I pulled him back, reaching into the void behind my back and yanking. What came through the other side though was something *different*. Much older, grayed hair and circular wrinkles around his eyes. A pair of wire framed glasses he did not previously have.
"I...I...send me back. God please send me back." An audible gasp blew through the room at this older mans desperate pleas. His eyes shot between us as if we were nothing more than distant strangers. But I knew it was him.
"Jackson? What was on the other side- where did you go?" I stuttered the words out.
"Paradise, hell, purgatory, does it matter?! Send me back! Please god what sort of cruel dream!" He dropped to his knees in a desperate plea. Rather than wait for my reply he gripped my hand and dove at my back, dissapearing once again.
Instantly I yanked back, feeling around the void for his shape, but gripping nothing. Nothing came. Nobody in the room moved, they all just stared at one another in disbelief as I struggled. I put my hands behind my back and yanked, and yanked, and yanked, my heart pulsing in my chest.
"Jackson! Jack!" I yelled, pulling one last desperate time. And this time something did come from the other side. A person, child, smooth skinned and wide eyed, no older than five. He looked like Jackson, in an odd way; something deep in his eyes.
"Jackson?" I questioned in a whisper.
And the child shook its head up and down.
Then and there I knew, it was true I was not born special, I was born cursed.
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"Hey, you should try it with me." The words were slurred, Alex had obviously been hitting the punchbowl tonight. The noise of the party dipped a little before rising. No one was paying attention to us.
"Not the best way to try and get over a breakup," I said, keeping my tone light, I didn't want to destroy the party spirit.
"Oh, come on, it will be a laugh. Just put me behind your back and pull me out."
"What if you can't breathe back there? What if there's a time dilation? What if I pull out a dead body?" I said, grasping for reasons not to do this. There had to be a reason I never did it with living, breathing creatures. Even if I couldn't fully remember, I knew it had to be bad. I hadn't done it since my sixth birthday.
Alex stepped closer, eyes locking with mine. There was a deep sort of despair there, that threatened to reach out and absorb everything within its radius. I took a deep breath but before I could speak, Alex smiled.
"Just put me behind your back and pull me out." The words were the same, but the sound was layered, as if multiple people spoke at once. My hands reached for Alex without my conscious thought. It was their superpower, the ability to mesmerize someone, to make them do what they wanted. It was also the reason for their most recent breakup.
"Don't make me do this."
"It will be fine, come on. Don't you want everyone to have a good time?" Alex said in their usual voice as my hands closed around their arm and passed them behind my back. Instantly moving my empty hands to the front of my body and then backwards again, I pulled Alex from behind me.
"What—"
The person who stood in front of me was older; dishevelled in a way I had never known Alex to be.
"Send me back! How dare you take me from my destiny." The voice was different too, and my heart sank. I had never been able to confirm what I suspected about my power, until now.
"Let me put you behind me. You should go back." I said, reaching out and guiding the stranger around. They vanished and I took a breath. Reaching behind again, I tried to envision the Alex I knew. Pulled them in front of me, and ducked. The sword whistled over my head, taking a few hairs with it. The person who looked like a young version of Alex gabbled something in a language that vaguely resembled French.
"Sorry, sorry," I said, any French I had ever known flying out of my head. Shoving them behind me, I reached again.
"What the hell man? Where am I? Oh, a party. Groovy, man. Groovy." I tried to snag this version of Alex but they wandered off, their psychedelic clothes matching with the aesthetic of the party. Damn. Hands going back, I pulled again.
"Well, aren't you the bold boy. I daresay I haven't been groped like that since I was a young'un." I blinked at a person who was old enough to be my grandparent. They fluttered their lashes at me, fanning themself with their hand.
"Back you go," I said, and pushed them behind me. Pausing, I tried to think. Reaching blindly wasn't working, all I was doing was pulling alternate versions of Alex from across parallel realities. Or their reincarnations from this reality. I wasn't exactly sure, but either wasn't ideal. So where had I sent my Alex? What reality were they inhabiting?
The answer that came to mind—driven by my memories— broke my heart. If I was pulling them from parallel realities, the reality my Alex would have ended up in... I closed my eyes, reached behind me and my hands closed on an arm. Pulling them in front, I dared a peek.
Tears coated Alex's face, and more horrifying than that, was the knife in their hand.
"Alex? Where did you go?" I asked, a little afraid of the answer. They stared at me, crying silently.
"I went... I went...Back." They said, their face crumpling. I pulled them into a hug, trying not to cry as the knife clattered to the floor. A few people looked our way and I waved them away.
"I realized. Are you... Were they...?" I asked, unable to finish the questions.
"No. They were still... they were still..." Alex gasped, their breath coming in gasps. I rubbed their back in circular motions.
"All right, all right. Breathe. Just breathe." I knew beneath the shirt that covered them there were terrible scars. Scars inflicted by the people they'd just seen, the people they'd just been sent back to. The horrible people that I'd stolen Alex away from when I was six years old.
The memory of that day finally unfolded fully in my head. I'd suppressed a large amount; hadn't wanted to deal with it. There I was, playing with my newly discovered power, and I had the bright idea of reaching for my imaginary best friend. I thought at the time that I *made* things appear, not just stole them from elsewhere. When Alex had appeared in my hands, bloody, their back a mess of old wounds and new, I thought my power had hurt them during the process. They had never talked about their past, but I pieced it together through what they screamed out during their nightmares.
They were the reason I had never touched another living thing. I was afraid, afraid of what had just happened. That I would send that living being back to a horrible place or take them from paradise. In my arms, Alex stilled, their breathing starting to go back to normal.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I would never have done it if—"
"If I hadn't forced you. I'd forgotten too. When I appeared in that room... The memories came back." They said, voice hoarse from weeping. Breaking free of my embrace they looked at me, their eyes still wet. "Thank you for finding me again."
I smiled, wiping their cheek as gently as I could.
"I will always find you. You're my best friend. Remember?" I said, and they nodded, trying to smile.
"Now, I don't want to overwhelm you, but while I was looking, I found a rather interesting version. They wandered off before I could send them back. So, I guess the question is, where would you go if you were feeling groovy?" Before Alex could respond, there was a shout from the punchbowl.
"Man, this punch is wicked, man. So gnarly!"
Wiping the remnants of tears from their cheeks, Alex managed a tiny smile. As we turned towards the beverage table, they leaned into me. I knew they needed my support, so I wrapped my arm around their waist.
"I think," They paused. "I might be at the punch. If I was feeling groovy."
I laughed, and as a small chuckle escaped Alex, we made our way over to the punchbowl.
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
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j83mvc9
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j83aj6s
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[WP]A galactic empire has existed in relative peace for a hundred years. However, when the emperor and his family die suddenly during a transport accident, the government is thrown into chaos. After an exhaustive search, a long-lost relative is found and it seems to be you.
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"... Come again?"
"After months of extensive research, the imperial council have decided that according to the sacred book of records, you are a direct relative of the imperial dynasty and therefore it has been decided by the council that you are the next heir to the throne."
"What-"
"YOU are A DIRECT MEMBER OF THE ROYAL FAMILY. YOU are the LOST SON OF THE EMPEROR!"
I stare in bafflement and look around at the absurdity of the scene. A dirty run-down tiny apartment suddenly filled with well dressed and armed guardsmen with a tall man standing in front of me wearing a flamboyant outfit, shiny and flashy as if they are a training participant in the next annual galactic fashion fair, holding a tablet with the empire's famous insigna behind it.
"Sir, I don't think you understand, i'm an underpaid employee at StarBites™, I have no afilliation with the emperor or his family and I am not willing to sully the imperial bloodline because of a mistake in-"
the messenger turns the tablet screen to me and shows a detailed DNA analysis with a graph to prove relevancy in physical trait. However that's the last thing I noticed, as I was focused on the massive text on top of the screen reading:
### 97.82% MATCH
```%97.82 - positive DNA match.```
`- This DNA test was conducted by the Imperial Research Team in collaboration with the Ministry of Correction and Confirmation`
"...Oh."
As i continue reading the list of facts and details, i can feel my face turning pale in shock.
*same eye color, same display. My lord, he's even left-handed like me.*
"The council will meet you in an hour, you have to be in the palace and you have to be ready by then. LONG LIVE THE NEW EMPEROR!"
"Long live the emperor, father of the empire!" the guards chanted before marching out with parade music playing outside the building, taking the purple carpet they rolled in 5 minutes ago.
I go into sheer panic as I look at my trembling hands with disbelief. My vision being shakey and blurry as i rush to my bathroom and stare at the mirror to see who I am.
*Please be a nightmare, please wake up please wake up please wake up pleaase.* I repeat under my heavy breath knowing it's not changing anything. Apparently this 19 year old introverted restaraunt worker is the new ruler of this large anarchic realm of chaos.
I scramble to find my closet and search for my most formal dress - A three-piece suit handed to me as a gift from a friend 2 years ago. It's all dusty and wrinkled, but it's the best I got and the only thing I got beside pyjamas and my work uniform.
To Be Continued.
(will continue later as i'm busy. Any criticism, spellchecks and grammar corrections are accepted.)
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“You’re asking a librarian to become Empress? You do know I’m deaf, right? You also do know I only got this job because the Empress pulled some strings for me.” I sighed.
“You never questioned the, uh, string pulling?” General Davison asked.
“I figured us Broken were finally starting to be accepted. You do know how people feel about the Broken, right?” I scowled. “We are hidden away in terrible asylums and forgotten. It’s like we don’t exist. I’ll probably end up dead by the end of the first day!”
“The Empress was trying to change that because of you, her beloved niece. I’m still shocked you didn’t even recognize her as the Empress whenever she visited you.”
“Would you recognize her with her hair down, no jewelry, no headdress, and wearing simple clothes?”
“Well… maybe not.”
“Now, about the investigation, I have a funny feeling Auntie arranged for it. You know how horrible my cousin is. He is not fit to be Emperor in any shape or form.”
“That’s… That’s actually possible. The Empress did work on transporters during the war as a teen. Now , the succession?”
“Auntie would want me to step up, so fine. I’ll take on the mantle. However, I will not hide the fact I’m Broken. It’s high time everybody learns there’s room for the Broken in the light too.” I looked around my beloved library.
I did get a few visitors wanting to check out books. My books were rare and are not found in regular libraries. My deafness was not total. With my implants, I could hear fairly well.
Coronation day arrived. I studied myself in my mirror. I had chosen my purple covers for the clips that connected to my implants. My hair was in an elegant updo, and I was wearing a purple gown. I pulled on the white arm gloves and glared at the heels I would be wearing. I took a deep breath, and stepped into the heels. If I made it through the day without breaking an ankle, that would be impressive for me. I decided against makeup.
Lastly, I draped the purple cape on my shoulders. With another calm breath, I walked out of my closet and toward the throne room. I had refused any help to get ready. The grand doors opened and I walked through.
“She’s beautiful!”
“Are those implants for hearing loss?”
“She’s a Broken!”
“Shut up, you lot! Just because the Empress is a Broken doesn’t mean she can’t rule!”
“Sorry. The fact she’s a Broken caught me by surprise. Yes, those are hearing implants.”
“Is she going to be able to handle the duties of being the Empress? The Broken aren’t exactly… bright so to speak.”
“I unde-“
“Shut up already!” A man sitting in front of the four soldiers hissed sharply.
“I never thought I would be crowning an Empress for the second time.” The Bishop spoke, quieting the scattered voices. “We are gathered today to witness the birth of a new Empress.” He turned to me. “Lady Joann, do you swear to uphold the laws and regulations of our people?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to honor the Gods and help our people become closer to them?”
“I do.” **I don’t, actually.**
“Do you swear to protect our people and guide them in times of strife?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to be a beacon of love, hope, and justice for our people as you guide us into a bright future?”
“I do.” **You totally made that one up!**
“Then without further ado, I crown you, lady Joann, as Empress Joan, the Broken Empress!” The headdress was placed on my head. I sat on the throne, my throne, for the first time, facing my people.
“Yes it’s true that I’m a Broken. You know what? I don’t care. I’m just the same as you. I bleed the same blood you do. My heart beats just as yours does. I have the same bones and organs, minus a kidney, that you have. I was born missing that kidney. My ears work just like yours do. I just don’t hear very well. I’m a Broken and I’m proud of it.” I stood. “I want all of us, the Broken and the Normals, to live together in harmony. Just because we are Broken doesn’t mean we are helpless. We just need accommodations to help us on the job.” I looked around. “I worked in the rare section of the royal library. My accommodations? My implants and my speaker by my computer. That’s it. I managed just fine.” I hardened my gaze. “We just want to be treated normally, not get tossed away in some hospital and forgotten by our families. Don’t we deserve to be treated like the humans we are? What gives you the right to treat us like some dirt on your shoe? We’re Broken, so what. We’re still humans. As your Empress, my aim is to someday remove the labels and have us live together under no label. This is possible. Some attitudes will need to be changed of course.” I smiled.
People looked around at each other. Someone began to clap. Others joined in, and soon everyone was standing and clapping together for their new Empress.
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jdryqnr
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jdr6iuh
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[WP] Destroying 90% human population on earth, the aliens leave, assuming that society would crumble, and remaining 10% will just all fight for resources and eventually die out. They returned a thousand years later, expecting a cleansed planet, but were met with a nuclear strike from a satellite.
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We call it the 80-20 rule.
Clean out 80% population of a species, and the rest 20% dies out on its own.
This rule has been in place as long as there has been xenocidal wars in the galaxy.
Exterminating an entire species to its last member is not economical. We wanted to find a sweet spot where we can annihilate a species at the lowest expense. Basis multiple trials and errors, the 80-20 rule was followed. It has never failed.
Eventually, however, a mistake was made.
A primitive species was found on the third planet from the star in a remote system in the galaxy. In his zeal, the Admiral of the quadrant wiped out *90%* instead of the calculated 80% of the population.
This mistake was quickly noted, the Admiral was quickly stripped of his ranks and sent to a penal colony, his incompetence filed away.
Everyone forgot about the incident.
A thousand years later, someone discovered this incident in the archives. Determined to make a movie out of the whole incident (“The incompetent admiral”), they sought the help of the imperial starfleet to shoot the movie at the site of the actual incident.
Our first hint that something was amiss was the massive Dyson sphere around the system that contained the planet. As the scout ship accompanying the movie crew approached the sphere, they were vaporized by multiple nuclear strikes from satellites orbiting the sphere.
While this was unexpected, it was not intimidating. The “humans” had used nuclear strikes in the first war as well. Surprised at the fact that some resistance still remained, we sent in a fleet to seek and destroy whoever remained.
Little did we know we were walking into a trap.
The humans had used the thousand years to reverse engineer our technology and understand our battle strategies. Their first move *was designed* to draw out a fleet to measure our current capabilities, both technological and strategic.
In this we were found severely lacking.
Now, nearly two thousand years after that second contact, we stand at the brink of extinction.
The humans do not care about the costs of war. On every planet they have conquered, they have systematically exterminated every man, women at children.
Even now, while we desperately fight to defend our capital city on our home planet, our last citadel, I hear whispers of camps being set up in the conquered territories, where our captured citizens are systematically massacred.
If these are to be my last words, do pay heed.
While in Xenocide, do not violate the 80-20 rule.
Crossing the 80% threshold apparently *prevents* a species from dying out.
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The scholar climbed out of bed, groaning as the rain outside came crashing down in thick, sideways sheets. "An unbelievably LOVELY day for my arthritis..." He grumbled as he got dressed, and left the room. The next room was his dining room, and he turned on the light. The tile floor was grey, and there was a tall refrigerator and a wooden table with a laptop on it.
"Good morning, sir." A maid said as she prepared his breakfast, bacon and eggs with toast.
"Good morning, Anna, and you can call me Henrik." He sat at the table and booted up the computer, a vestige of the times before.
> Greetings, Scholar Henrik Adams.
The computer displayed after it finished booting up. "Arkos, have there been any reports of those extraterrestrials showing up?"
> No, sir. The thaumatomic warheads have repulsed the aliens as the simulation predicted.
"Good. Do I have any meetings or calls due today?"
> Yes, sir. The Commission on Arcane Warfare has requested you come into their local office today.
"Figures. Anna, could you also please get me my pain medication and rain gear?" He asked as she put the plate of food on the table.
"Yes, sir." She said, opening a bottle of pills. "I'll retrieve your coat and boots for you." She curtsied before leaving and he smiled. He swallows his pill, a capsule of acetylsalicylic acid and ibuprofen, and then begins to eat, finishing his meal quickly.
"Excellent job on breakfast today, Anna!" He said, the computer noting his commendation. Anna returned with boots and a jacket, and he put them on. He went to the door, and left the house.
X---X
The storm finally let up as Henrik arrived at the base, and the guards let him in after confirming his identity. He walks into the briefing room, where the President of the United Earth, and three of the top generals were waiting. "Mister Adams, your thaumatomic weapon worked like a charm." The president said, and Henrik smiled.
"Those aliens thought they'd eradicate us with their pretty bombs, but all it did was give us magic, and a common enemy to unite against." Henrik says. "And while they've been sending strike teams against us, our ingenuity with weapon making has kept them on the back foot."
"The reason I called you today was because we've finally finished our first FTL ship." The president says, as the screen behind him displays a large spaceship. "Test flights have clocked a round trip of seven hours from here to Pluto, from launch to landing. And the last incursion we ended gave us the intel we needed to find the enemy's base. We want you to command the ship."
"And just where, mister President, is this superluminal suicide mission sending me?" Henrik replies.
"Proxima Centauri b," Henrik raises an eyebrow.
"So, you're asking me to give up a year of my life teaching the Earth's finest young men and women how to fight the enemy with both gun and spell, and send them to their deaths?" Henrik scoffs.
"No, I'm asking you to act as tactical operations, Henrik." The president says. "I've finished my final term, and the best thing I can do for my people, my planet, is to personally lead them in glorious battle." He says. "Generals, you are dismissed." The officers salute, and once the president returns it, they leave.
"Bullshit, Markus." Henrik says. "I've known you long enough that that's bullshit." He sighs. "What's your actual reason for going?"
"The doctors say I have two years to live, Henrik." He says. "I don't want to spend the last two years of my life retired. I served in the reconstruction of this planet and her people, and I led them for another decade." Tears begin to well up in his eyes. "If I'm going to die, then I'll die in service to this planet, just like I've lived."
"And what about Nella?" Henrik scowls. "Does she know you're going on a suicide charge? What about my niece and nephew!?!" He shouts. "Even if you do survive, they'll NEVER live up to the standard you're going to set doing this!!!" Henrik slams his fists on the table. "Those kids deserve to have you in their lives!!"
"Nella filed for divorce last month." Henrik's face goes pale. "Says she wants the kids and everything I own." Markus coughs, a sickening, dry sound like sandpaper against a record. "I've already updated my last will and testament, and have given orders that they are to be executed once I leave the Earth." Henrik walks up and hugs Markus.
"Brother, why didn't you tell me?" He asks.
"Because I know you. You would have gone on a rampage, smearing Nella's reputation across the entire solar system for this." Markus replies. "And none of us need that."
"Fine, but I'm doing my damnedest to make sure you get out of this alive." Henrik chuckles.
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lnynu9p
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lnyb5sk
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[WP] your a super Villian/super hero who's partner just died. When the funeral was supposed to be attended, nobody came, except for one person, your arch nemesis, who came there to comfort you through these tough times
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The rain had fallen in sheets, soaking through my suit as I stood by the coffin. The cemetery was empty aside from the priest who spoke in words my mind refused to follow as I stared at the polished wood. Echo, my partner, my best friend, was gone. The one who always had my back, the one whose laugh could break the tension even in the worst of situations. And now... she was gone, there was no one.
I glanced at the rows of empty chairs, the ones which had been set out for the masses to celebrate the life of a hero... empty. The world had moved on without her. No allies, no friends from the hero circuit. All those people we saved together- where are they now?
"Pathetic, isn't it?"
The voice was familiar, venomous, yet... softer than I'd ever heard it before. I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Void" I muttered, clenching my fists.
My arch-nemesis stepped forward, out of the mist, his black trench coat fluttering like the shadow he portrays himself to be. The man who had terrorized my city for years, who destroyed everything he touched, now stood just a few feet away at the funeral of the only person who kept me sane.
I swallow hard, anger boiling under the grief. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet," his voice is laced with mock sympathy which makes me want to punch him just to keep him quiet "I'm the only one who showed."
He wasn't wrong, and that made it worse. My pulse quickened, my fist tightened and a familiar rage built within me. I could fight him right here but... what was the point? She wasn't here to fight with me. Would she even want me to fight him? Would she be disappointed? Void took a step closer to me and I made no effort to stop him.
"She was the best of us," he muttered as if to himself. "I tried to stop them... she deserved better than this."
For a moment, his words didn't register. Void, the man who killed countless with no mercy, speaking as if he cared. My stomach twisted with confusion. "Stop who?"
"Bloodstorm and Thundercrash. They killed her." he shook his head, his expression a complex mix of regret and something else.
My eyes meet his "You hated her." I spit, our tones starkly different.
Void exhaled a slow breath leaving fog in the damp air. "I didn't come here to fight. I came because I know what it's like to lose someone who's your everything."
I stared at him, a flicker of surprise breaking through my grief. He wasn't gloating. He wasn't taunting me. He was offering me something. Something I never thought I'd see from him: understanding.
I hated that he was here. Hated that he was the only one who seemed to understand the weight of this loss.
"I don't want your pity" I muttered, wiping my eyes of the tears I would swear was just the rain.
"This isn't pity," he speaks quietly. "It's respect."
There was a pause as he stepped back, giving me the space I didn't know I needed in the barren graveyard "I'll leave you to your grief, but... if you need someone who understands-" he hesitated. "You know where to find me"
And with that, he turns, walking back into the mist and letting the shadows swallow him whole.
The rain fell heavier, the whole world blurred around me, but Void's words echoed in my mind.
It seems even enemies could share grief.
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It is raining, I hear the droplets dash against the stained-glass windows.
The church is empty, I look at my watch, still broken.
I wipe the tears away, haven’t stopped since.
“Where is everyone?” I ask aloud.
There in front of the altar lies the coffin with Sarah inside.
You can’t look at it. You hate that wooden box so much, you HATE that the lid is between you and Sarah.
I feel the wood of the bench in front of me crumble in my grip. I shake loose the feeling. Back to reality, where I don’t want to be.
*Sound of a door open and close*
“Thanks for co…” I see that man, dark suit, bald head, hawk nose and a curling mustage. Doctor Classics.
“YOU!” escapes my lips. Then a blur, bench splinters around me as I rush him, black tile cracks beneath my steps. In a second, I rush him. He dodges. I swipe, I feel pillar concrete where his head should be.
‘Strongman, wait…’ he says. I don’t, charge Classics again. I stomp on the marble floor. The windows shatter. He moves again, too slow. I grab him by his coat and pull him to the ground. I raise my fist and hear ‘Strongman, please stop.’
I halt, heavy breathing. “Why the fuck are you here?” I snarl, releasing the cloth, knowing he won’t fight back, always surrenders to the cop's type of criminal.
‘That language is unbecoming of you, Strongman.’ Classics says dusting of his coat.
“Why are you here and i you have done anything to the family than I will…”
‘Whose family? You Strongman don’t have a family, you crawled out of a test tube and the few friends you have are currently mopping up YOUR mess back home500 miles away.’
“My mess?”
‘Yes, Your mess. Why are you here Strongman, you aren’t religious, you have no connection to this town. Blast, we haven’t even fought in this part of the state. Yet I find you here.’
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Classics. Now leave before Sarah’s family arrive.”
‘And you invited Sarah’s family with handwritten letters, I presume.' I see Classics hold up a wad of envelopes, each with a black border, each moldy and wet.
‘I found these in the mailboxes of several dilapidated buildings, right after you had another of one of your episodes.’
“Episodes?”
‘Yes episodes, you stare off into space than lash out Strongman. You block a road or uproot a tree or run through a high rise, people have gotten hurt Strongman. Your palls at the police are fixing the damage, but they have their limits. Dammit, Strongman, WE haven’t even had a proper fight in over a year!’
You look at Classics, you see his pores in details, his wrinkles deep and tired, but you don’t see a lie.
“I…”
‘Whose coffin is that?’ Doctor Classics interjects.
“My fiancé’s Sarah.”
‘How did she pass?’
You sense that there is more to his question. You want to rebuke, you want him to leave but for the life of you. You can’t remember.
“She was sick, I think.”
‘Is that why the abandoned hospital was broken into so many times, always leaving a Strongman shaped hole in the front door? Or is that why every doctor in the city received a heart attack when you showed up in the middle of the night!’
“What are you implying, I'm warning you!”
‘Open the coffin, Strongman.’ Classics says as a schoolteacher talks to a student.
“What, no, get out!”
‘Open the coffin Strongman’
“You are sick, leave!”
‘Who brought the coffin inside, there is no hearse out front, there is no priest in the back, From which mortician did it come, in which hospital was she admitted? Why did you invite empty houses to a funeral500 milesaway in the middle of nowhere?!’
You must not listen to him, he is a villain after all.
“You won’t trick me.”
‘Trick you? I merely ask you to look into a wooden box. I recall that you are Strongman, Strongman who can hear a mouse from 2 blocks away, Strongman who can smell fear or sadness or joy. STRONGMAN THE REASON EVERY CROOK WEARS LEAD UNDERPANTS BECAUSE HE CAN SEE THROUGH WALLS!!!’ yells Classics.
“Stop it!”
‘Look at the coffin Strongman, look at Sarah!’
I open my eyes, I look.
“Where, where is she, where is Sarah, I swear i, where is my Sarah!?”
‘She was never in there.’
“What do you mean?”
‘What do you remember about her? Where did you meet, what was her favorite food, how did she look?’
Your brain hurt, his questions hurt.
‘Strongman you haven’t been yourself for a long time, you have come into contact with all sort of nasty stuff, I think you got sick or poisoned or…’
“No”
‘Pardon’
“No”
‘What no?’
“She is real, she exists.”
‘Strongman, look at me for the first time in my life I'm trying to help you, you are causing damage, my henchmen have started to move away because you have become erratic. The truth is that you have changed, and I don’t want you to change, not for the better but also not for the worse.’
You feel calm wash over you, you know what comes next.
‘Come with me Strongman, I have a toxicological lad in my lair, we can go from there, What are you doing with that candelabra? Strongman, are you there?’
Rain, you look around, rubble unfamiliar to you. You look down, blood and gore but no pain, so it’s fine.
“Where to now, sweetheart?”
~The city dear, they need a refresher about what strength really means, will we make it there before the evening news?~
You look at your watch, happily ticking, showing you six thirty.
“We will make on time, Sarah.”
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jlqjkz8
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jlqe7vw
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[WP] You’re a ghost, passed away in an unfortunate accident. You’re still attached to the house you lived in for your whole life, and you actually find the new residents quite pleasant, so you decide to “haunt” them in a more unorthodox way.
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I have been in this house for a very, very long time.
I was once a wealthy recluse, choosing to divest myself of society due to at the time rising acceptance of certain proclivities that I had found distasteful.
I won't specify, lest you believe me to be a villain- society marched on without me, as the things that had been fair for my day grew abhorrent in the eyes of the public.
It was when the bookshelf fell upon me, as I had, in my impatience, deigned to climb it, rather than go out of my way for the ladder which was mere feet away, that I reflected I was to die, alone and forgotten, in the prime of my life, simply because of my hatred.
It was a slow and painful death. I had broken bones, had lost the sensation of my lower body, and moreover, I was still alive, trapped, pinned beneath a sturdy oak bookshelf.
The ignonimity of my death was humbling. Discovered with feces adorning the interior of my trousers long pre-mortem, my emaciated frame, my parched lips... I had been dead for three months, and it was only the smell that alerted the people to my plight.
I had the isolation I had so craved, yet was trapped within these very walls, desperate to capture but a fleeting moment of life as the world move on, shrouded in a thick and endless fog.
One goes mad in utter isolation, and I had decidedly plunged into the depths therein, I had long imagined Hell to be fire and brimstone, yet had understood it was unchanging isolation.
In my mad desperation, I would swipe at anything, willing the world to know my touch, even though I could feel nothing. I learned, in time, how to move things.
The exhaustion of such actions is... indescribable. You lose awareness, time passes such that entire colonies of spiders have established a far greater civilization than any seen before in what feels like a blink of the eye.
Yet oblivion was preferable, and I honed and mastered my control over the physical world.
I cannot describe the immense pleasure of being able to open a simple door.
The family that had moved in to my domain were utterly different from any I had seen in my time, bearing queer dress and, in their gaity, saw the beauty of my then-abandoned home.
At first, I had believed it to be a widower, his children, and his manservant- after all, what kind of man cooks and cleans for others without complaint?
I had found amusement in them cleaning as a group, they were clearly not of great wealth, else they would have simply hired others.
Yet, as I grew accustomed to the bizarre language they spoke- which to my growing horror, I realized was English, horribly butchered, and utterly incomprehensible to me simply because I had forgotten what it sounded like- I grew aware that they simply wished their home to be livable under their own power.
I could respect men who, through sheer effort, made their land their own.
It was in part my machinations that led to my initial misunderstandings persisting beyond reason. It was a subtle manipulation, opening certain doors and directing the apparent manservant through subtle noises, such that he would see the former quarters of my own, who left me due to my increasing distaste with company.
He would then see where he would sleep, know it was his place, and address his poor state of dress without hesitation, as I had opened the servants' dresser to display the uniforms which had managed to survive the ages.
And to my credit, he did follow, he did direct the other to the room and showed him, and for a time he most certainly did wear it once it was properly clean.
Yet it was in perversion, rather than professionalism, as it became clear to me they were lovers.
I will not pretend I was not a man of my time, it is to my shame that I acted harshly, scaring them in their tender moments, screaming at them for debasing themselves, doing everything in my power to ensure they observed protocol rather than sodomy.
It was when they fled that I realized I was no better than before, and lamented that I had once more pushed away living people.
When they returned, it was with trepidation, and with a woman who saw me immediately. I was shocked, she approached me, and spoke to me with her still-living spirit.
I was angry, yes, I was afraid of the changes the world had gone through, yet my remorse was greater.
I had, in the past, partaken of seance in boredom, and had considered them intolerably dull. Yet they sat around a table, and I was invited to speak, and so I did.
I could only direct her words, not control her, yet she echoed them with unerring accuracy. My mistake was made clear in that time, and I spoke my sincerest apologies.
It is humbling to find companionship among commoners, to see love in what I had once seen as hideous sin. I still make many mistakes, yet as I interact with them, doing what I can to make their lives just that much easier, the fog around me lifts, bit by bit.
One day, I am certain, I will find my way to rest. But for now, I simply appreciate the simple pleasure of company.
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It took you a while to realize it, but it was the *ofrenda*. That was what tied you here. And it wasn’t like an enslavement. More a feeling that this was still home. Not that the new family had placed your picture there; it was traditional, with their *abuelas* and *abuelos*, uncles and cousins and even a beloved pet cat. But just the fact that the Alvarez family honored and loved those who had crossed over made it comfortable for you.
Still, it was puzzling why you’d died. You didn’t remember what happened, and by the time you’d sorted out where you were and how to function as a ghost, the neighbors had stopped talking about your death. With the housing crisis, the house was snapped up even with the “owner found dead” rumors flying about. And when the neighbors came by with sage bundles to “clear out the bad,” Tio Ana piped up, “No no no! Your *primo* is so allergic! We will find another way if the house spirit is unhappy!”
So the Alvarez family assembled their *ofrenda*, and you delighted in seeing the *papel picado*. The way they fluttered in a light breeze was a ghost’s best entertainment during long nights. Yes, the candles and water and fruits were lovely, but you liked the delicately cut paper banners the most.
One night, after drifting through all the bedrooms to make sure everyone was sleeping comfortably, you decided to explore the old house. The family had made a lot of changes, which was fine. You felt no jealousy that the pictures on the walls, even the color of all those walls, the rugs on the floor, the Formica countertop replaced with tile, all of that was different. This was their home now. You were their ghost. But you were still slightly unhappy. Why had you died? You looked out the window to the neighbors’ home. They knew, but you couldn’t exactly ask them. And it was so cold out this season! Your ghostly body remembered, and didn’t want to drift out there. Oh well, it was a big house. Might as well take a look in all the rooms, right?
The nursery smelled like clean baby. All the bedrooms had a faint scent of the lavender that Abuela Carmen liked to tuck in with fresh sheets. Papa Alejandro scrubbed every bathroom to within an inch of its life, and the harsh bleach scent hurt. Your vision went all red and wobbly. At least it was easy enough to avoid bathrooms.
Oh, the kitchen! A place full of the memory of smells. Empanadas, tamales, sopapilla and churros, the list went on endlessly. Sometimes, you could even swear there was a whiff of your mother’s sourdough. It was the only room on that level that you cared to visit. You avoided the large living room every time you drifted. You couldn’t explain why, but it caused an ache deep within when you approached that threshold.
You decided to drift down to the basement. You hadn’t been down here for a long time. After all, who wants to visit a laundry room, or the furnace? But you might as well drift through.
The family had fired up the furnace just this evening. Thanks to a frost advisory, the front room was full of plant pots from the porch. As you drifted towards the far corner of the basement, everything seemed red. And it hurt! What could this be?!? There was no scent of bleach, there was no smoke filling the room.Your invisible cold hands grabbed at the stair railing, and you pulled yourself up from the basement. Out of sheer terror, you found yourself halfway up the hall stairs when the redness and pain faded. If your lungs had been corporeal, you would have been breathing so hard… with that, one other thought rang through your consciousness: It was really cold that night, too.
Fighting a supernatural feeling of dread, you floated back down, as slowly as you could. The pain began at the top of the basement stairs, now. Just a hint. As you went down, it got worse. The whole basement of this house was sheer pain and poison. As you forced your ghostly eyes to focus, you could see that the old furnace was belching out the redness that flooded your vision. Okay, no need to hang around since you knew where this horrid feeling was coming from! You dragged yourself up the stairs. Now, the kitchen was filled with the pain-causing miasma. This was going to fill the house! But, the family! You couldn’t let it reach them!
You gasped as realization hit. This probably killed you, too. You drifted into the hated living room. Memories rose through the pain. That was the corner where your old recliner sat. It was gone now, but you remembered its soft, worn coverlet. How many nights had you fallen asleep to the late night comedians, in that very old chair? As it seemed now, probably one night too many. No wonder your ghost-mind couldn’t stand this room.
But knowing that wouldn’t help the Alvarez family. How could a ghost do anything? You hadn’t been able to do so much as push in a chair or make a door squeak. In despair, you gave out a huge sigh.
The red mists swirled in response.
What?!? Your breath could affect this stuff? You tested it, straining to remember what it felt like to inhale.
As it turns out, a ghost can inhale for a very long time without stopping. Incorporeal lungs can draw in a lot of carbon monoxide. When the redness in the room was much less, you held your breath. How to get it out of the house, now? You couldn’t open a window.
The keyhole! The back door had a big old-fashioned lock, with a big old-fashioned key needed to open it. Most of the time, the Alvarez family just used the security chain rather than bothering with the clunky old skeleton key. Your ghostly lips kissed the old iron lock plate and you blew with all your might. The red poison swirled away with the night breeze!
You frantically flew down the stairs, and drew in another lungful of red mist. It felt as if bells were jangling inside your head as the poisonous air concentrated within you. The trip back up the stairs and to the old door seemed to take forever, but the relief as the redness faded was amazing. It took three ghostly lungfuls to clear the basement, but by the last one, it was obvious that the upstairs was safe as long as you kept up this paranormal air pumping.
The rays of the morning sun surprised you, and brought warmth to the house. The thermostat finally cut off the faulty furnace. You drifted slowly into the sunroom with the *ofrenda*. As much as a ghost can feel, you felt utterly exhausted. But happy too. You could protect the family. It would take all your energy, any time the nights were cold, but you were a ghost! Nothing else demanded your time!
Maybe someone would read a local paper and you could blow the pages to furnace repair ads, until they got the message. Maybe that coupon pack had an HVAC company special in it. You’d have to find some way to get the message across, but, once again, you had the time.
Plus, you’d discovered something that made you happy. You blew over the *ofrenda*, watching the candle flames dance and the paper banners sway. It certainly didn’t take much to entertain a ghost.
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j5pnpp1
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j5plyou
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[WP] As a Villain, one night, someone knocks on your door, you open it and there she is, the most famous invulnerable heroine of the city, completely drunk and with many bruises, as soon as you realize who she is, she passes out into you arms
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I stared at her incredulously as my humongous brain stitched facts together. Danger Dame, the famous Defender of Denver, in street clothes, bruised, unconscious, at my mercy.
My eyes darted from shadow to shadow, desperate to pierce the darkness and find her friends. This was a trap. It had to be. But I've been laying low since the fiasco in Boulder. The Dame had sworn revenge for the humiliation I caused to her sidekick Action Lad that allowed me to escape. I knew from experience that an path like thst usually meant she wanted to bringing me in personally, so as long as I could hide then eventually she'd get bored and I could go on with my schemes.
But here she was. How did the Dame know I was hiding out here in this abandoned gas station? Why did she come alone and without her superhero suit?
I had to entertain the possibility that she didn't in fact know I was here, and that something else, something dangerous, might have been hunting her, and by extension, me.
I sprung into action, ducking into the saferoom I've prepared in the underground tanks and checking the hidden cameras. I didn't see anything on thermals, but that didn't mean something wasn't lurking out there. I knew that well enough.
I was no fighter. I was Shadowstep. I had powers of invisibility and teleporting in darkness, and I used my powers for theft and evasion. Something that could mess up Danger Dame could destroy me, but it was nearly dawn and I couldn't easily jump around in the daytime so running also wasn't in the cards. If it came down to it, despite everything, my best bet in a fight was alongside my belligerent nemesis.
I heard the Dame groan and shift. I rushed to her side. "Shh, you're safe," I reassured her, stroking her hair. She murmured something unintelligible and quieted down. She looked so vulnerable. But, dammit, I had standards, no matter how long it's been! Sticking to theft was a big reason why the authorities left me to her to deal with in the first place.
My alarms beeped and I rushed back to the monitors. There, something sinuously creeping near the front door. It looked like a man-sized pitch-black salamander and acted a bit like a hunting hound. My hand went to my knife as I watched itsniffibg around, but suddenly it perked up as if listening before scampering off as quickly as it came, as if fleeing the first rays of the sun.
I leaned back in relief, before I saw something on another monitor. The shot was blurry but I could see something or somebody big and tall, looking a bit like a cowboy in a longcoat with a wide brimmed hat walking away. That guy, or the shadowy beasties he apparently commanded, was her problem.
But that made it my problem too. My hideout was compromised. Even worse, If Danger Dame thought I was the one attacking her, I'd be screwed. Nothing stopped her on a rampage. But she was still out of it.
I had an idea. I printed out a couple screenshots and wrote Danger Dame a note explaining this was what had been after her before signing it "a shadowy friend". I hastily packed the essentials and some clothes upstairs before booking it to my motorcycle.
I was about to start it when a hand grabbed my shoulder. It was Danger Dame, looking groggy but pissed. "I didn't do it, Danielle, I swear!" I said, hands up.
She frowned. "Yeah. I saw the note. And don't fucking call me that. I'm Danger Dame to you. What the hell are you doing out here, Sam?" she asked.
"No fair, using my name," I said, giving her my most charming smile. She wasn't impressed. "Look, I'm laying low. What are you doing here? Getting away from... whoever that was?"
"Yeah. So it wasn't you. Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and thinking. If I could start my bike I could probably outrun her, but that assumed she didn't kick my ass before I could. So I waited anxiously. "You saved me, Sam."
"Purely incidental, I assure you."
"No, I don't think so. You could have killed me. You didn't even tie me up!" she said.
"Come on, Dame, I'm no killer. Besides, would ropes have held you?"
"No," she smirked. "You're right. This other guy is the problem."
"Who is he? He's cramping my style," I said.
Danger Dame crossed her arms. "Dunno. Someone new. Someone we've got to deal with."
My eyes widened. "We? Uh-uh, no way. You can drag me to jail first. I'm not joining your team, Dame."
"My team is dead," she said, eyes hard.
"My condolences," I said softly. Shit. "All the more reason to get out of here."
"I can't do that, Sam. You helped me. I can help you. Let's do something about this Hunter guy and I'll... vouch for you," she said, obviously uncomfortable about asking me for help.
I didn't like it, not one bit, but I had a soft spot for a pretty face, even one on a tough scrapper like her. "I dunno about that, Dame, but... I'll give you a lift back to town. Ain't got an extra helmet, though."
She smiled. "That's a start," she said.
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I go to sleep alone on a Friday night.
It's nothing special anymore. Honestly, I've kind of gotten used to it. Looking out the window, hearing the muted sounds of cars stuck in a traffic jam at 11:30, hoping to get home soon enough that they can get up in the morning without an alarm. The sky is a nonexistent blank void, all the stars shrouded by the lights that are on, 24/7, as the light in the city blinds us to what's above. My room is dark, but I know where everything is. The small dresser where I keep my underwear and socks is close to empty. I need to get over to the laundromat tomorrow. My closet is filled with sweatshirts, graphic tees, and denim jeans, with a couple of Eagles jerseys in there for when a game's on and we wanna party. My bed, still covered in a massive Pikachu bedspread from when I was little, is starting to get a little old. My desk still has my laptop, an old Chromebook that I got in middle school. Its fan humming incessantly, my Chromebook gives me a weird sense of stability. I don't have to think my own thoughts, or listen to music to fall asleep. That fan is enough to that for me. The carpet is fluffy, though there are a couple stains from when I was younger. On the wall, a couple superhero posters from when I was little. Some of them from comic books, other ones from real life. Surge The Dark Horse screams out in rage on my door, though he's mostly covered by a shower robe. Right behind me, Queen Bee glares menacingly, claws like the mythical vibranium that laces the other claws right next to me, on Black Panther. They're both icons, people I've wanted to meet since I was little. Unfortunately, I doubt the chance will ever come.
I go to sleep alone on a Friday night.
Mom works night shift. I've seen her job as a TSA agent before. She's up there, standing, checking the bags of people who aren't terrorists, having to treat every single person with just a slight ounce of hostility, just in case. Dad's never around, so she's the one providing us with the money these days. She promised me a new computer when I graduate. I just want her to make rent. She's strong, both physically and emotionally. I just want her to be happy.
Dad isn't around anymore. Died in a car accident with some drunk fucker who thought that street racing down 4th Avenue would be funny. I never knew him much, though. Lucky he died when I was young, only 1 or 2. Still, I miss him lots. Prefer not to talk about him. Poor Jack did his best to fill the hole that caused for me, but only being a couple years older meant that he never really knew what to do until I was too old to take any actual advice from him. I know he cares about me, I do. It's just that, well, I feel mature enough, now. I feel ready to leave the nest. He's at college, now. On the other side of the nation, UC Berkley. If I'm being honest, I miss him a lot. It's lonely here without his presence.
I've got friends that can help with that, at least. Mariana and I have been besties since, god, 3rd grade, I think? I don't really know, however long it takes for kids to realize that they want to go to college together, or whatever. Plus, it would help out with our dream of starting a band together. She's already got the drum part down, and Jack got me into guitar and singing. Just need a third, and we'd be on our way. I've got loads of other friends, too. Lulu, Alexis, Ryan, Tracy, and the rest of the gang all live within a few blocks of me, and my place is normally The Spot To Have Sleepovers, as long as Ryan and Tracy keep their hands off each other. Blech.
The fan isn't doing it tonight. The sounds of someone fighting only a couple blocks away came through loud and clear, the sounds of wind rushing around the magic-proofed skyscrapers that dotted the city left and right. The clash of what sounded like lots of guns hitting something very metallic left ringing, even if it was muted. I couldn't fall asleep like this.
With a bit of frustration, I slowly get out of bed, and stretch, reaching for my phone.
"11:45?" I grumble to myself. "Fucking A, man."
I slowly open up TikTok, and just swipe through annoying people, giving bad takes, as the algorithm fails to show me anything interesting.
I fail to go to sleep alone on a Friday night.
Eventually, I decide that enough is enough, and just get out of bed entirely. If this fight isn't going to end any time soon, I might as well get something done.
I open up my Chromebook, and slowly wait as it loads the still incomplete research paper on The Communist Manifesto that I had decided to choose as my research topic. Lulu had offered to finish it for me, but my part time job absolutely didn't give me $50 to spend on papers that really weren't even that hard. I slowly reopen the rest of the tabs from the search history, and get back to writing the 3rd of a 5 page analysis.
Using the fight as background music, which as I looked out the window, was obviously Queen Bee- normally her fights didn't last this long- I started to get back into the groove of using the notes I'd taken form other online sources to finish up the argument I had about The Communist Manifesto. Slowly, but surely, though my phone buzzed as the clock struck midnight, I got my paper finished.
As I go through the process of editing, making sure that everything is good for submission next Tuesday, immediately, I recognize that something's, well, something's off. Not like before. Quickly, I shuffle through everything it could have been. Is it the light? I flick the lamp next to me on and off again, before realizing that nope, the bulb isn't dying. The paper? Not really. All the tabs I used last time are there. Steam and Discord haven't randomly updated for no good reason. Everything seems to be fine. Is it my music? No, my phone hasn't been running for a while, I've just bee-
The fight's stopped.
Finally, the fight's stopped.
I take a peek outside my window, and glance down at the lit up streets below. Small spats of blood seem to be on the ground, or at least, small from where I'm at, 25 floors up. The fact that I can see them probably means that they're not as small as I think they are.
I hop back to my phone, and see that, thankfully, none of the gang are up chatting about it. They're probably either gaming or asleep. Best to guess the latter.
Still, with a sense of satisfaction that I'd gotten something done, I head back to bed, the fan of my dirty ol' Chromebook still running like crazy, and bid myself a good n-
*CLICK CLACK*
I jolt up out of bed. Quickly, I head to the door, and grab the small pocket knife that mom taught me to use whenever someone suspicious is at the door. I open up the emergency phone on my cell, and hover one finger over the 9.
What sounds like gargling and coughing comes from the opposite end of the door.
Quickly, I peek through the pinhole to see who's on the other side, with my phone ready.
Queen Bee is on the other side of the door, battered and bruised, and coughing up blood.
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joj4lyq
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joj45bs
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[WP] The spell of the fae forced you to tell them your name. The fae looks at you with pure horror, while you look at them confused, because that was definitely not your name.
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I repeatedly told the fae that she would know who I am if she just did a little research or even tried looking me up on Wikipedia. That spell she was preparing to force me to say my true name was unnecessary. And frankly speaking, a terrible idea.
She would regret kidnapping me too, I insisted.
If only she had listened or left me alone to enjoy my vacation all by myself in the desert oasis where my god couldn't follow me, citing that deserts were the bane of his existence as the seas were his domain.
The small fae, standing no taller than an elementary school girl, a fresh chubby face no older than a teenager, merrily danced about as she weaved her magic around me. All while ignoring my attempts to warn her on how this would backfire on her.
Fucking fae. They'd usually get on my nerves with their antics, but this child fae's blissful ignorance and stubbornness was particularly grating.
"Hey little girl, how many times do I have to keep saying this, my name is publicly available info on the Internet? You don't want to be doing this! Stop wasting your time and mine with some True Name spell!"
A look of pride crossed the fae's features when her spell was complete, and she loudly demanded for my true name.
Ḧ̸̴̞͎͇̙͔̝́͌́̓̕͝e̴̵̝̻͍̫͐͌́͑͒͜͝l̴̴͕̫͎͙̼̟͌̾̐̔͆͝l̵̸͓͖̦͇͖̈́́̀͑̕͝o̵̴̢͖͕̙̘̞̓̓͌͊͆͘ ẗ̸̴͔͙̺͇́̓̈́́̓͋͜h̸̴͕̟̻̦̙͍̿̓͛̈́͘͘e̵̴̡̝̺͓̪̦͋̓͛͋̈́̐r̴̴̺͚͔͚̞͙̒̔͊͒̒͝e̴̴̝̘͕̦̦͐͒̓͛̕̕ f̵̸̺͖͖͙͖̟̈́͑̀̽͠͝o̵̸̡̻͙͉̫͖͌̈́̈́͛͐͌ó̴̸̦͕̫͚͕͐͑͌̚̕͜l̵̴͔̦̠͔͓͐̒͑̐̀͐ḯ̵̵̡͎̺̘͓͖̽̈́̚̕̕s̸̴̡̡̪̦̼͔͊́̀̈́͐h̵̴̟̠͙̪͙̿͛͑̚̕͜͝ f̵̸̢͇̫̠̫̒̀͌̕͘͜͝a̴̸̢̝̟̺͕͎͌̈́̿̚e̸̵̪͍̘͇͇͋̈́́̓̈́̕
My mouth contorted itself to produce an unhuman utterance that shattered the proud smirk on her face. She fell back in terror, hands clasping the sides of her head while blood trinkled down her ears at the unholy name spoken to her.
I was confused. How had he reached me all the way in this desert resort so far away from the seas?
The fae was still shaking her head with fear swelling from her bleeding eyes.
"Did you understand that, ignorant little fairy?" Came the mocking voice not of my own. "I rarely ever give out my True Name given to me by my father in my native tongue. Would you prefer the more comprehensible name my mother has given me? I personally prefer it too."
"Please stop hurting me, I will let go of your human..." sobbed the fae, her tiny hands smearing blood on her face as she rubbed the bloody tears away.
With a snap of her fingers, the binding spell that imprisoned me fell away. The fae beckoned me in a trembling voice to follow her through a portal, promising it would lead me back to earth from her dark little dimension.
As I emerged from the portal to appear on a lonely tropical island surrounded by waters, the fae having whisked me away from the desert resort to hide me here, her biggest mistakes became blatantly apparent.
"Alfred! I'm glad to see you in one piece."
She was also stupid enough to send ransom notes and threatening letters to my church, now folded into the shape of a razor fan and weaponized by eldritch magic to slap her in the face. Repeatedly. All while long tentacles coiled around her to hold her in place.
"Thanks for coming to my rescue, Elvari."
"Anything for my favourite human and chosen one. I will accompany you for the rest of your vacation to ensure none of this nonsense happens again."
I didn't have the heart to tell Elvari the real reason I took that vacation was to seek temporary relief from acting as his chosen one and get away from him.
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[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
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<Fantasy>
***Stranger in a Stream***
I looked down into the water and ran a couple of fingers through my beard. It was a little tangled, but not too bad. The excuse of 'roughing it' would suffice once I made it back to the city. Satisfied that I did not need to stoop for a wash, I stepped into the stream. The water rinsed the mud from my hooves and felt quite refreshing. Long hikes like this one were always made a bit easier by a cool liquid easing sore ankles.
"Well, well, hello there handsome," a deep voice bubbled up out of the water. A bit of the stream started to rise and took a somewhat humanoid-torso shape before it solidified into a handsome Naiad. He lounged in the ankle-deep water, submerged up to his broad blue chest, arms stretched out along the bank. I was particularly drawn to the sharp cut of his strong jawline, which was made more prominent by thong long, dark blue hair flowing over his eyes.
"Hello to you too," I said, bowing my head a bit, "Pardon my intrusion, is this your stream?"
"Hmm? Nah, I'm just passing through," the Naiad said, "And you?"
"I am also merely passing through. I was just out here for a walk when I came across this stream and thought to relax my hooves a bit before heading home." I turned a bit to lift one of my hooves and, subtly, give him a glimpse of my toned flank. The way he grinned let me know it worked and I took a few steps closer.
"I don't know much about healthy exercise for land dwellers," he said, "But if your physique is anything to go by your walks must keep you in impeccable shape."
"As does your swimming," I gestured towards his chest. He rose further from the shallow water, stopping at waist height, and flexed his arms. The blue biceps were not quite as impressive as his pectorals but the overall tone was pleasing enough to my eye.
"May I have your name?" he asked.
"Fax Machine."
A silence fell between us and my smile faltered. I blinked in confusion and tried to think about what I had just said. Fax Machine? That was not my name. I had a strong Centaur name...it was...it was...
In my uncertainty and slight embarrassment, I looked back at the handsome Naiad. He was fully emerged from the water now and pulled his hair away from his face, looking at me in shock and annoyance. But that detail quickly vanished from my notice when I saw his eyes. The emerald green eyes that *might* have been gorgeous were they not glowing with a fiery, viridescent light.
"Oh no..." I started to back away, but the Naiad - no, not a Naiad, an *Archfey* - sighed and snapped his fingers. The water around my hooves and ankles froze, locking me in place.
"Give me your name, again," he demanded. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but a compulsion took over me and I was forced to say the odd sounds again.
"F-fax Ma-machine." They felt so very strange on my tongue.
"I see...tell me, what were you doing out this far from Goldleaf?" He was caressing his cheek and chin thoughtfully as if pondering me like some odd art piece.
"I-I don't know," I answered quickly. My first instinct was to deny any knowledge in the presence of an Archfey. Especially one that had deceived me. Only the Unseelie fae could be blatantly deceptive. Hiding his identity was a frightful act and it terrified me to no end that I was now trapped in his little game, whatever it was.
"Hmmm, it would seem I am not the first one to meet you then," my captor drolled in his buttery smooth voice, "Do you even know what Goldleaf is?"
"I-I don't-..." My lie faltered as I subconsciously tried to find the knowledge I was guarding, but found nothing. What *was* Goldleaf? It felt important. Was it a place? A person?
"I-it's a proper noun?" I tried, thinking that if I played along to the best of my ability I *may* be released. Even if I did not know who Fax Machine was I knew it was better than being taken in by one of his kind.
"Oh bravo, you have retained *something*. I wonder who you were...and who you met. Where are you coming from?"
More questions. More questions I knew I should not answer but wanted to. I *desperately* wanted to tell him where I was coming from, because that meant I would know. But the last thing I remembered was walking towards the stream.
"Come here," the Unseelie ordered, gesturing with his hand. The ice shackles around my legs pulled me through the water and I nearly toppled from the sudden motion.
Now I found myself face-to-face with the creature. My hearts were pounding in my ribcages and I could feel the blood coursing through my body. Though the sun was warm I was shivering as the piercing green glow of his eyes looked into mine.
No...not *into*, that was far too intimate for what I felt. They were looking *through* mine. Into something deeper. Something I had never needed to hide before, but what I desperately wanted to keep hidden. There was no hiding from his searching gaze, though.
"Interesting. Very interesting. I am going to bring you back with me. We shall uncover the mystery of your past. It is not often one finds a rival's plaything in the wild, unattended. This could be quite beneficial to me." He grinned, his mouth stretching beyond what I had ever seen before. The twisted sneer of cruel joy seemed for an instant to rise high above me before I realized that I was being pulled down.
Down into the water, below the surface of the shallow stream. Below the loose stones and wet soil. Below the reaches of light and warmth, and away from the world that I had thought I knew.
\----------------
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/TomesOfTheLitchKing
Follow my Summer Challenge progress [Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/TomesOfTheLitchKing/comments/14c22dj/ot_summer_challenge/)
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lxv9aq2
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lxtzqm1
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[WP] The Singularity has arrived. The repercussions have proven to be... unexpected.
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A valiant hero dressed in shining gilded armour, pitted against the infamous dark lord donning a black cloak formed from shadows. The most powerful warrior against the most powerful mage. A neverending cycle of light against dark, good against evil. It all culminated in a legendary battle that lasted four days and three nights, shaking the very earth and sea, and at the end of it all, there was nothing left but pure devastation and ash. Silence and death.
But that was only half the story. The real story was this:
Once there was a young girl prophesied to be a great hero, taken away from her family at the age of ten to be trained to wield a holy sword and shield. She was taught the most advanced swordfighting techniques, fitted in unbreakable dragonscale armour, and sent on her way to confront humanity's greatest enemy at the mere age of sixteen.
On the other end, once there was a young boy prophesied to be an evil dark lord, abandoned by his family at the age of ten in a dark forest, alone, left to fend for himself and survive. He was found by a dark wizard who saw his potential and took him in, and he was bestowed an ancient wooden staff and taught the most powerful spells in existence. At the age of sixteen, he encountered and fought the hero for the very first time.
They didn't know each other, though their circumstances were clear, and battle after battle, they fought, evenly matched, with no clear victor in sight.
Whole forests were burnt away to ash. Mountains were reduced to mere rubble. Entire lakes were dried. Countless lives were lost.
But their war continued, as it was predestined, and one day, the hero tore back the hood of the dark lord for the very first time.
Black eyes, black hair.
A face surprisingly human that the hero's sword hesitated for a short second.
"Who are you?" the hero asked.
"I'm the dark lord."
"What's your name?"
"I don't have one."
The hero then suddenly pulled off her own helmet, showing her bare face to the dark lord for the very first time. Golden hair, blue eyes.
"I don't have a name either. They just call me the hero."
Things changed after that.
They still fought, as their circumstances demanded it, but there was something more to their battles than plain violence.
They talked, and asked each other questions.
They spoke about their respective lives before fate intervened and cast them both on opposing ends.
They shared a cup of tea for the first time after a long, gruelling battle.
Then they gave each other a name, known only to each other.
"I'm tired," the dark lord said one day.
"I, as well," the hero confessed.
"When can we end this?"
"You know why we can't."
"Do I? What's stopping us but ourselves?"
"The fates won't allow it. Our battle is to be eternal."
"We'll find another way."
"Can we truly?"
A week after that, the legendary final battle was fought, levelling a total of three moutains and destroying two lakes.
The hero and dark lord vanished, though no body was ever found.
Years passed, and an era of peace ensued.
=
Just beside the plains where a lake used to be stood a single cottage, made from rubble collected from the remains of an old mountain. There was a large field behind, growing a series of vegetables and fruits.
There was a small river running down the middle of the field, though it was odd, since nobody quite knew where the source of the water came from. The soil also shouldn't be fertile enough support the growth of so many plants, and yet the plants thrived. That was odd too.
But what was most odd were the two occupants of the little humble cottage, a lady with silky gold hair and a man with dark black hair. Both never seemed to age no matter how many years had passed. Nobody knew their names, but they were rarely seen apart, and they were often engaged in a game of chess that strangely never seemed to end. There was always another move to make, and a victor had never once been declared.
Sometimes they would occasionally vanish and return days later like nothing happened, and a new mountain or forest would just mysteriously appear on the barren lands as if it always existed there.
Perhaps it did.
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Two energies, unmatched since the gods strode the planet, clashed in a bitter battle. The impacts from each scoured the land, turning trees to dust, grass to nothingness, the ground to glassed rock. Any animals had long since fled, feeling the looming destruction like a natural disaster.
They fought on for days, time ceasing to be for the two entrapped by their destiny. The world's fate hung in the balance, the victor deciding on its continued freedom or tyranny. Many prayed for the outcome to be realised for their side, watching the spectacle with wide eyes.
At last, it came to an end. The energies, as of yet still strong, swelled in power. They collided as one, fighting the other for dominance. To those who saw it, they fell blind for days after, a miniature sun borne in that very moment. It's effects rippled throughout the world, shifting established magical flows and effects. Thought they settled, things trapped and held in slumber stirred for that brief moment, a sense of freedom briefly shown before being snatched away.
With that clash, the ruined land fell silent. The few who dared venture on, after a full week had passed, found no living soul. All that remained were their shattered swords, legendary blades destroyed by the immense power at play. With no other trace, the free world rejoiced at their salvation, whilst mourning the loss of their great hero.
\-----
Va'tatel shook his head, looking over the distressed cow. Her leg had gotten caught in a hole, as she trampled over the ground. He had watched her fall, standing from his previously resting position.
His hand lay on her neck, as she mooed in pain. With a pat he calmed it down, sending pulses of wamring strength into it. "Come now, young lady. You should've seen that before running so quickly. Maybe you'll keep an eye out next time hey?"
As he spoke, the snapped bone set itself, grinding back to its new position. The cow, now healed, gave a grateful call, licking his face with her thick tongue. He laughed, pulling her to her feet. With a final moo she wandered off, already focused on finding a nice patch of grass to much on.
A sudden bark drew his attention. He looked up to see a Shade Hound charging him. With its oversized teeth, predatory gaze, and lack of proper cohesion, it would have been terrifying to anyone else. Except for the fact its black fur had been coloured purple, and had a bow atop its head.
Va'tatel laughed, catching it as it leapt up at him. It nibbled at his beard, rapidly making it stick up in random ways. He laughed, giving it a hug as he started to wandering back to their home. "Hey Drakky. Did you come get me for dinner?"
It yipped, settling down into his arms. Once, he would have slain it in an instant, the loyal dog of his nemesis. Yet now it was one of a handful of pets, content to laze around and grow fat instead of terrorising people. It was happy to let him carry it, until it got close to their small cottage.
A pulse of dark power wafted out, with a crackle of fire. Used to such things, he wandered in, toeing off his boots to leave mud outside. Inside was clean, the room far larger than the outside suggested. A large table sat piled with food, much with the echo of mana upon it. He smiled, moving around chairs pulled away from its placement. The walls were adorned with pictures and shelves, filled with odds and ends, along with a few books.
A door to the side sat open, as a woman sidled in. She held a large pan, carefully carrying it towards the table. Her clothes were dark, hugging her body in ways that accentuated her beauty. With hair tied back, she walked with purpose, smiling as she saw Va'tatel.
He let her put it down, before theatrically smelling. "Mhmmm. It smells wonderful Hit'varan."
She gave him a smirk, taking a seat. "Oh shush you. Just because it wasn't your turn."
Va'tatel laughed, sitting next to her. "I know, I know. It's true though. How're the crops doing?"
Hit'varan sighed, piling her plate high from the assortment of options. "They're doing well. We'll have a fine harvest in a few weeks time."
The statement made him smile, as he looked at his oldest friend. She had always shown an interest in tending the land. Their past couple of decades had out a stop to it of course, but now they were here, she had leapt at the chance to get back into it.
Though her natural connection had been broken by the power she had been given, she hadn't given up. Each day she had struggled to get it back. To see her like this now, knowing her place had been found, was all the happiness he needed.
They ate quietly for a while, occasionally asking the rother about their day. The massive amount of food, a feast in the eyes of many, was swiftly devoured. They showed no outward appearance of their indulgence, simply sitting back with grateful smiles.
Looking over, Hit'varan broke the silence that had settled. "Hey, so, you know what we talked about before?"
Va'tatel nodded,absently scratching one of his pointed ears. "Yes..."
She gave him a smile, beaming with what she hoped was a winning grin. "Well, I kind of want to try again."
He nodded at her. "Sure. Do you want me out when you get back, or do you want to let me know first?"
Hit'varan nodded. "I'll let you know. Sorry to kick you out of your own home..."
Va'tatel sniggered, settling back. "Ah, it's no worries. I quite like sleeping beneath the stars. Just promise me you'll clean up after yourself and whatever guest you bring home."
Her face blushed, a slightly embarrassed giggle slipping out. "I will! Not having a repeat of the first time..."
The memory made him wince, before pretending to retch. "Stars no! I do not need that in my head again."
Then he shot her a grin of his own. "Have your fun. I'll make sure the house is presentable for them."
Hit'varan leaned over, giving a small hug. "You're the best, you know that?"
Va'tatel gave a sage nod. "I know. I'm amazing."
The banter came easily, even after all they had been through. Split apart by fate, before being forced to fight a battle neither had wanted. With minds taken over by their sides, it had only been in the final fight they found each other again. Together they threw off their shackles, and fled to build their dream life.
It was a life they cherished, and one they would never allow to be taken away again.
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mhpn8z4
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mhpmdio
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[WP] There is a dungeon deemed "coughing baby easy", used by everyone to train rookies, test spells, and as a hangout spot for ordinary children. A roaming frenzied super monster from the MOST dangerous region just took one look at it, froze, became scarily aware of where it was, then fled.
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*It's an old dungeon, long since mined of all that could be worthwhile. Even the mana that should be, is now so thin that at best it might sustain a few harmless demonic insect*
The ancient spirit shuddered, barely able to maintain its corporeal form
*As you can see, many children come by. The dungeon is kept harmless. A safe zone if you will. This is an INTENTIONAL design. Do you understand?*
The ancient spirit threatened to dissipate completely under such close, malicious scrutiny. Slowly, barely, it managed the equivalence of a nod.
The pressure was released, and the creature left. it moved faster than could be perceived, the result of a product of millenia of evolution and competition focusing every ounce of power it had on mindless escape.
As it left, the goddess returned to her mourning. The loss of her child was a pain she could not and had no desire to ever forget. She would spend the rest of her eternity here, protecting her child's final clumsy creation from the taint of violent death.
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Consider the tale as a sequel to [This](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/s/2qsPhmjilx)
<->
The Maiden's Mine was a curious dungeon. It was considered to hold dangers like many before it, but almost none of it came from the beasts or traps that laid within. Slimes and burning lights were the only challenges here, but a child that could scarcely handle a blade could beat the former and a reflective metal or proper attention could handle the latter. Most considered the trip to the mine harder than actually attempting the dungeon, as the Blood Forest that the place resided in was not the safest place, but even that challenge paled in the comparison of what the place offered.
That is what the adventurer's guild of the nearby town knew, and the crystals that littered the interior meant they sent many groups out their to mine what they could.
Of course, they had investigated the dungeon many times to confirm its safety. Every time, the veterans confirmed the place was no real danger even if careless. *The slimes fall to a single strike, and the traps the crystals have are no stronger than a spark spell* was how the reports read.
So when news came of a dragon leading an army of it's own followers for a new home, and the desire to take the Maiden's Mine, the guild was understandably concerned as the mobilized their best to intercept.
<->
The slime guard stirred as its day began like any other, an hour before sun up as it used its Area Search. It had come to expect a routine of odd sorts come to its home for the dungeon's prizes: increases in mana, knowledge of combat, and the various precious crystals that laid below. Its task was to defend this status quo, and it did the job dutifully.
The scan gave no readings at first, implying a slow day, before the slime *felt* something it hadn't in a long time. It split to leave a copy for its task as it moved into the dungeon to receive a message from the Mine. The message came with what felt like an invisible container around the slime shattering as an immense spike in power came from the creature.
The slime's purpose was to protect the Maiden's Mine, and it was needed to fill this purpose once more. The slime moved with haste back to its normal post as it prepared to do its duty, it's form taking on a teal-green hue.
<->
The best the guild had to offer all assembled at the town's gates, ready to defend their home from the coming intruder. Mages with high-end staffs, warriors with armors of the finest metals, and rangers with the most devastating of arrows all stood ready to march as the guild leader briefed them on what could be their most dangerous mission yet.
But as the group moved to march, the dragon flew above as fast as it could, its legion nowhere to be seen. Suspicion of it changing target where all but immediately dispelled as the fear it radiated as it fled told a different story. Something had spooked it, scared it away.
For most gathered, their sentiment was of glee for preemptive victory, or mild annoyance they would not have their battle. But one archer looked and saw a different concern.
"Perhaps we should be thankful the Maiden likes us."
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lscyj1x
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lsciyly
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[WP] Write a bad story. Make me hate it. Make me want to stop reading. And then make me love it with the last sentence.
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It has been so long since i lost her, but is still hurts as if it was minutes ago. Her bright smile that surpassed any problem i could've had. Her soft hand that made me sure everything would be okay even if i didn't understand it. Sometimes i wish i had never known that happiness, so i wouldn't feel the pain of losing it.
I knew that this day would inevitably come. She was so young. But then, i guess, even if she wasn't, there is no such thing as being "ready" to lose the most important being in your life. The days we spent together, the games we played, the dinners we had, the movies we watched. All that, gone. Forever to be missed dearly.
What am i to do now? There is no fun, there is no light, there's only darkness. An empty table, where i will forever eat alone. An empty couch for me to sleep, as i cannot even go to bed anymore. An empty park to walk on, seeing everyone else with their loved ones while i am alone. An empty life where i shall never smile ag-
"Hey Max I'm back from the supermarket! Who's my good boy? Yeah you are!"
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Scary Facts
by Incbvs666
Dear Reader,
The following facts will shock and frighten you, but are unfortunately absolutely necessary for you to know so that proper action can be taken and a better future secured for all of us.
The world emits 25.3 trillion tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere every year. Not only have the green initiatives failed, but the emission of gasses into the atmosphere has increased by 16% in the last 10 years, making it inevitable that in 2031 global warming will become completely irreversible.
The dumping of more than 4.3 billion tons of crude oil into the oceans has caused extinction of more than 2,300 species of marine life. Most maritime ecosystems in the world are crumbling and invasive algae is taking over even in temperate climates, causing untold ecological damage.
Most of the remaining species of fish are so filled with toxins from industrial waste and full of lead that the FDA is making plans to take fish off as a recommended source of protein by 2027.
As global warming intensifies, zones vulnerable to heatwaves are becoming more widespread, only exacerbated by the fact that many of these areas in poor countries lack sources of clean and fresh water. It is estimated that by 2050 areas in which currently more than 48 million people live will become completely uninhabitable due to the extreme climate. The first mass wave of climate refugees, numbering in the millions, is expected to occur sometime in the early 2030s.
Deforestation around the world continues, leading to an increased erosion of the soil and a 23% increase of areas classified as a desert ecosystem in just the last 50 years. The poaching of large land mammals which are a vital part of the ecosystem in that they fertilize the ground with their dung has led to extremely low soil productivity in areas of the world most vulnerable to famine.
The Amazon rainforest has been reduced by 73% since the start of this century, with deforestation for new cash crops only growing and intensifying. The Brazilian government is powerless to stop rouge loggers and ranchers which massacre any native populations they find on land they intend to convert into ranches for profitable cash crops, including illegal ones like cocaine and heroin. The loss of the Amazon rainforest will mean an effective end of a globally regulated ecosystem.
The honey bee population is continuing to crash in record numbers across the world despite billions of dollars invested in research trying to fix the problem. By the year 2049, the honeybee will likely be classified as a threatened species. Already in some areas of the world, certain species of flowering plants are dying because there aren't sufficiently many bees to pollinate them. The extinction of the honeybee could trigger the extinction of up to 95% of the genus of flowering plants.
I have your wife and children hostage; $800,000; alley between Chesterton st. and Grover rd. at 11:30 PM today; come alone; no cops or your family dies.
THE END
*DISCLAIMER: Since this is a work of art, and not a copy-paste exercise, all 'facts' in this story were completely made up despite containing elements of well-known ecological truths.*
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kcuzby7
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kcumw29
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[WP] "A superweapon, you mean like some kind of planet destroyer like the Death Star?" "You idiot! Our starships literally break the speed of light! Literally anybody can create a planet destroying relativistic projectile. No, this superweapon is far worse."
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"Ambassador, how did you get them to start negotiations so fast?"
"My charm, my presentations, my personality, and above all else, I threatened them with a super weapon."
"You threatened to destroy their home world?"
I explained how easy it was to build planet destroyers and told them something that politicians and any group leaders fear most. "Once exposed, they are compelled to tell the truth and to follow through with what they say. The effects are permanent."
"And they believed we had such a weapon?"
"You remember that media group that spent more time twisting the truth than reporting the truth?"
"I remember the scandal, they closed down after most of the managers and editor had themselves voluntarily committed to mental health facilities."
"They were an involuntary test group."
"And the only reason I am telling you this is because I received a light, indirect exposure."
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I was elected into the government. The hard work on the campaign trail paid off, and I would have a voice in The Quorum. Every member of The Quorum is briefed on a wide range of topics, most of which are, for one reason or another, kept hidden from the general public.
The briefings happen over the course of several weeks. Today, I am to be informed of the state of the art of our weapons technology. The kind of things that could change the course of galactic history, if they were unleashed.
I am in the meeting room with the senior scientist overseeing various top secret weapons projects. We move through a variety of topics, the sort of thing that if you were educated, you could anticipate that we had developed. "Onto the scary stuff. Our super weapons." She says
"Super weapons? Like some kind of planet destroyer?"
"You idiot! Our starships literally break the speed of light. It is child's play to take our FTL drive technology and make a relativistic projectile. No, this super weapon is far worse. It is a memetic pathogen."
"A what? You mean to tell me you've made a weapon out of memes? Is a wojak going to come out of the screen and kill me?"
"It infects the mind of one who views it in its entirety. No one on our team has the complete picture of it. If they did, they'd be dead. Our test subjects succumb to it within 72 hours of viewing the complete pathogen, the physical cause usually being a heart attack. It is very real, the first in a family of memetic weapons. They are quite lethal, but we are working to achieve other effects. Even at this early stage, they have tremendous destructive potential. Imagine a group of terrorists hacking into our media and exposing the populations of entire planets to it."
I am stunned. I didn't even think something like this was possible. But the scientist seems very sincere. "What are these other effects you are trying to create? Why are we even funding something this dangerous?"
"One target is to make the memetic agents more virulent, get those infected to show others before their expiration. Another is to make them harder to detect. Able to slowly eat the host's mind from the inside, making it unclear when they were first exposed, and thus preventing anyone from taking measures to protect themselves before it is too late. As for why we have funding, it is twofold. One is that we might discover memetic countermeasures that could be used as a shield against memetic pathogens. Two is that by failing to investigate and develop this technology, we will be vulnerable to other polities using them against us. You will be attending an intelligence briefing specifically on the technological progress of our astro-political rivals at some point in the near future"
The briefing continues. There are some other interesting things, but none as confusing and disturbing as weaponized memes. I barely listen to the last twenty minutes. As I go to sleep that night, I understand why they say that political careers age you prematurely.
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juj5qet
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juipsh2
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[WP] You're standing at the altar, about to get married to your beautiful fiancée. When suddenly the king of demons bursts through the door of the room, which naturally causes panic. You tried to warn everyone that inviting your sibling to the wedding would mean trouble, but they kept insisting.
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"David, you've got to handle this" I whispered" You promised we'd be safe!"
It's really hard being brother to David the Demon-Slayer. I've been kidnapped, tied-up, beat-up and left for dead. It took me months to regain my strength and Julia was there to nurse me through the worst of it.
I've never been jealous of Dave despite what the tabloids would have you believe. He's a skilled warlock who's managed to save the city twice from destruction. They gave him a parade and the key to the city. I'm genuinely happy for him. But I don't have powers and he's got powerful enemies. I try to stay away and keep a low profile.
But for the important events in your life everyone says you can't keep you family out of them. I thought perhaps we'd be able to avoid the danger.
"I'M NOT HERE TO CAUSE YOU HARM HUMAN" the Demon King Bellowed.
"But you and David have vowed to kill each other!" I protested.
"BE THAT AS IT MAY", the Demon King Continued. " TODAY IS NOT THE DAY FOR BATTLE, SIT DOWN EVERYONE, I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO ATTEND MY DAUGHTER'S WEDDING."
Our guests continued to stand, as I felt my head start to spin a little. Julia was the Demon King's Daughter? What did this mean? I thought her parents were dead!
David looked at me with amusement as he said "Well, you sure know how to pick em. Jim"
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She is beautiful. Lyla. The most beautiful thing ever created, more beautiful than angels, and I know that for a fact.
We met 17 years ago and slowly built our relationship. I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my family, especially after my father’s "retirement" to focus on his… spirituality, and Lyla helped me navigate through my feelings and accept my weird relationship with my siblings. I ended up telling her about me who I was and she accepted me, which made me the happiest man alive. And I accepted her wholeheartedly as well and I have been living in bliss for years now.
Due to some trouble with my papers we couldn’t get married for a long time, but now, today, I stand at the altar, looking at her with love and adoration as the priest goes on with his speech.
My sister is present and did not cause any problems, even though she is looking at the priest with hungry and lust filled eyes, and my younger brother is surprisingly well dressed and behaving himself, witch is a miracle.
As me and Lyla declare our love for each other and kiss, I dismiss the weird feeling in the pit of my stomach and begin making my way down the aisle. People are applauding and cheering for me and Lyla and I am so happy that I don’t notice my two younger siblings pale as the feeling in my stomach grows.
Suddenly, the doors of the venue slam open and the guest and every guest lets out a scream of pure terror. A hulking man with red skin littered with scales, adorned with golden jewelry and and a sword that seems alive, enters and faces me. I feel that the sheer presence of this individual is enough to make my human appearance falter. My siblings are backing away, less in fear and more in annoyance as the man in front of me smiles and loudly says "Abaddon!!! Congratulations brother!!"
My brother then hugs me tightly, his magical crown forcing my body to change into it’s true form. As he lets me go, my tail hit the ground and my fangs and horns are clearly visible, my skin the same red and littered with scales like his. My sister looks at us with disappointed eyes as hers and my brothers bodies revert back to their demon form.
I quickly bow to my big brother as is the custom with the king of hell and demons and tiredly say "Hello Asmodeus, how are you?"
He laughs and answers loudly "I am fine, brother mine, but let’s not talk about me, this is YOUR big day! Now who is this beauty who is now yours?" He looks at my Lyla and I instantly step in between her and my brother. Even though she knew I was a demon, I knew nothing could prepare her for my brother. Everyone else had already left running for their lives, and I couldn’t blame them.
Asmodeus looks at me confused and ask "Did she not know about you being a demon? She looks terrified." Thankfully my sister answered for me "Change your form you idiot!! Yes she is terrified!"
My older brother looks at me confused and says "Weren’t you supposed to already be there as demons? Minather told me I didn’t need to look human."
"Minather always lies!! That’s his thing!!!" My sister says. I turn to Lyla and bring her to a bench as my brother changes into a human, a terribly posh and proper looking human though, and I manage to calm her down.
With my brother in human form, we could all assume a more appealing shape. I look at my wife and say "So this is my brother… the king of hell and demons… and yes I am a prince… so yes you are a princess."
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j9v04kq
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j9ut1hl
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[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.
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"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."*
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I got the idea watching Chev. He was dancing and making a real fool of himself, but that was nothing new. Through a careful process of trial and error, double blind studies, random extemporaneous scientific bullshit (we knew all the words by that point, if not necessarily how to use them) I’d determined Chev was basically the dumbest boy alive. Take a box of rocks, smash ‘em all together, remove the three or four biggest chunks, then toss the rest into the gutter. That was Chev. Dumb as shit, but he was onto something.
“Naw,” he’d said, “that ain’t it. *Keeneetaa’s* not some big science thing. It’s a dance.”
Then he’d just up and started. Gyrating. His hips did this thing that made them look halfway broken, but it got two of the girls watching, Analise and Jen, and because they were watching now the boys had to and so on. Just to make fun of him, you understand. Bunch of urchins gathered on the corner, dirty as sin between the rains, and there’s Chev thrusting air. Waving his hands all woo-woo. Jumping like we’d tossed him in hot coals. Which we’d done before, so that’s probably where he got it. Probably.
And there I was with my idea.
It was a good idea. For months now all anyone’d been able to talk about was ‘*keeneetaa*.’ Just what happens when a couple dickhead Godlings up and fall out of the sky, spouting stuff about sentience and the like. Little bastards too, wouldn’t make it half a minute on the streets without their drones and power armor. Those laser things they wear over their fingers like so much spun gold, got all the girls drooling after them, these pretty little ringlets that’ll kill you. Saw a program once, real-like, spliced into a matrix terminal by a gas station off the 5, where they talked about all the things *keeneetaa* might and might not be. Not the drones or armor or the magic, kill-you-from-a-dozen rings. Not skin color, ours or theirs. Not religion, but maybe philosophy, not science but maybe art.
Not money, but it worked just like it. We needed *keeneetaa* to make our way, and didn’t have it, couldn’t grok it, so really this great big off-blue shithole of a planet was really one big urchin. Like the President and me were squatting over the same pot, talking about the winds and rains.
Shit. So it was on our minds, and when Chev just thought to lie about it, easy as you please, and start dancing like a loon, I thought, ‘Ike Green, you can do that too.’
“Naw,” I said, “that ain’t *keeneetaa* either. Kids like you wouldn’t get it.”
And of course, that got them looking. It was the way I said it, smooth-like, like those men behind the men glass drinking whiskey, closing their eyes for a second like they just get it—the it being immaterial because fuck it, I got whiskey. I said it like that, and when all of them looked over, I was looking somewhere in particular. At Cristabel, who was my age, really, they all were, but who had this shy way about her that made her seem a little younger, a little fragile, maybe not quite made for this world—though she made it seem like a good thing, the only thing, the best thing.
“What is it, then?” she asked. And I harrumphed like I knew what I was doing. Took a long, meaningful look around at everyone that wasn’t her. Turned.
My heart was in my fucking throat.
Fuck you though, I didn’t look back.
Ok, I did, but still. Fuck you.
When I looked back Chev was still there, dancing. I could just make out in the firelight, flames guttering in old beat up oil drums, painting tall shadows on the wall and in the hollows of our eyes. And of course there were more hollows, half of starving including me and Cristabel, with rib cages like Death’s own bony fingers reaching to clasp our waists. In the firelight I saw Cristabel look left, look right. Her friends, Analise and Jen were still watching Chev do his thing. The others had mostly turned back to him, but that was fine, that’s what I wanted. I laid the seeds carefully, with just my eyes. Something Chev would never learn, that sometimes, less is more. Why dance, burning calories, when your eyes will do?
When I looked away, Cristabel was already coming.
And then for a little bit it was bare footsteps slapping on cold concrete. Trains running on the bridge above my head, rattling the world.
It was an idea, just that. Everything, every little bit of what I had.
I fetched up against a rotten bridge pier, and waited.
“Hey!” Cristabel said a minute later. “You don’t actually know what *keeneetaa* is, do you?”
Don’t smile.
“’Course I do,” I said. “It’s simple.”
“No it isn’t,” she said. “If it was simple the scientists would have figured it out already.”
“Bells,” I said, “they ain’t figured it out precisely *because* it’s simple. Like when new-folk hit the streets in the last recession, and they was freezing to death because they didn’t know how to insulate and the like. They was scientists and bankers, that kinda shit, but it still took folk like us to tell ‘em.”
Cristabel looked away. In the half-dark of the bridge piers I saw her bite her lip again and nod. She’d been one of them that hit the streets in the last recession. High-born parents and the like. Analise and Jen, with some help from Chev and me, had gotten her all situated.
And I still remembered the color of her hair under all that mud.
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, ok. Then what is it? Tell me, Ike.”
“Why you want to know?”
She laughed then. It spiraled off and I lost it in the rattling bridge as another train passed over. “Doesn’t everyone?” she asked. “It would be nice to feel like a sentient again. Or at least a human being.”
My pulse quickened up. My skin heated, burning calories.
“Step closer,” I said.
She hesitated, then did.
“Closer,” I said again.
And now she was within arms reach. Scarecrow limbs. Hair and eyes like the fires that we’d left behind.
“Close your eyes,” I told her.
“Ike…”
“It’s fine, you can trust me. Just close ‘em.”
She closed her eyes. Breathing. I guess that’s what she did then. It’s a fascinating thing to watch a girl breathe.
“Ike?” she said.
“It’s a thing they do with their lips. The aliens. Like this…”
And then I kissed her. Just like that. Soft and gentle, though it took everything I had not to grab at her. She’d gone stiff on me, stiff and scared, and didn’t soften till I stepped away, my hands pinned against my sides.
“Oh,” she said.
“What?” I said. “You thought that this was something else?”
“Maybe,” she said. Biting at her lip again.
“But was it nice? Did you feel like…”
“Like what?”
“Like a human?”
A moment passed. Back there Chev was probably still dancing. Idiot, but he'd been on to something. I’d thought about this since last winter, and hadn’t been brave enough to do it.
She whispered: “Yes.”
I whispered: “I’ve got a little food. Not much, just a bite. I’ll bring it to you, you don’t have to do anything.”
“*Keeneetaa* me again first,” she said.
I did.
And when we got back Chev was still there, dancing. The firelight brushed up against him, painted ecstasies across brick walls. He was smiling, I hadn’t noticed that before. Cristabel was too.
And me.
“Thanks, Chev,” I told him.
The night passed, and Chev danced on. In the morning, blessedly, it rained.
r/TurningtoWords
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jxbdjkg
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jxbc2yf
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[WP] Not only did your best friend find out you're a vampire, but he/she wants you to turn them. You try your best to explain the less obvious downsides to this curse.
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"Why do you want to be a vampire?" I asked, trying to hide my exasperation.
In recent years, many of my friends had asked. I blame it on the people I tended to befriend; I'd lived long enough to become something of a miserable cynic myself, and dislike of a church was essentially a requirement for beings like me. It was only natural I'd surround myself with a like minded group. That didn't make this conversation any less annoying, or potentially damaging to our friendship.
"I'd like to live a long life, preferably forever." he responded, "I'd never kill anyone, the worst I'd do is put them to sleep and drain a little off the top"
I stared at him for a moment, thinking of how to reply. I wasn't going to disrespect his intelligence by citing the obvious negatives to vampirism, instead I went with something more fundamental, "That's the thing: vampires aren't purely biological, like humans are. We aren't completely in control of our minds, actions, or even our forms." I could see his mind start whirring with the implications of what I'd said, but I continued forth "Don't you think It's strange, how closely I match the stereotypes. The long black hair, unnaturally pale skin, the tendency to wear black capes with the collar turned up, and a general preference for Gothic style."
"The sultry voice and questionable innuendo you tend to weave into your every social interaction", he supplied with a grin.
I glared at him, "Fuck you, but yes."
He grew a bit more serious as he thought about it more, "So you're saying that the stereotypes and myths of the masses have a certain amount of control over you, even down to the level of your mind and personality."
I nodded, and answered his next question before he could ask it, "It's like this because we vampires - and by extension any similar supernatural beings - are what's known as a hybrid spirit. We are part spirit, part biological organism. The populace has the ability to change the composition of spirits to match it's shifting culture. So I'm immortal, but as long as society thinks I should be. I have a relatively human mind, but only as long as society thinks I should."
His eyes widened, "So before you were as you are now, you-"
I interjected "Over the course of my life, I've been a Toltec shaman, a 'blood god', a mad devil-worshiping pagan, a sub-sapient human-hunting ghoul, and eventually an unusually pale, sexy nigh human with the habit of draining blood" He was thoroughly shocked at this point, not that I blamed him. "I regained my moral compass and sapience only fairly recently. I feel awful about the whole thing, but I wasn't *me* back then, you understand. If some cultural change shifts the public perception of vampires into something more nefarious, I'll shift with it."
He looked very disenchanted with the idea at this point. He then seemed to realize something, looking at me in a new light, sputtering, "Is... is there something I... we can do to prevent this? You're one of the best friends I have, I'd prefer not to lose you."
I looked at him thankfully, but sadly shook my head, "In a scenario like that: kill me, assuming I already haven't done it myself. I've tried everything to remove the spirit, it doesn't work that way."
"God, that's depressing. Alright, let's... go get a drink. I need one after that. Thanks for being so open with me about this." He said.
"Sure" I said, before continuing with a grin on my face, " you want to bet on how fast I can seduce someone?"
He scoffed, eagerly taking the opportunity to shake off the dark reverie he'd been in, "Hardly a bet, you dollar store Robert Pattinson"
We both set off laughing, but were both a bit wearier than before. He's a good friend, I thought to myself.
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"I want you to turn me."
I turned to look at her, my eyebrows raised, "What?"
Yasmine didn't flinch. She had never been affected by my presence, not like the other humans. "You heard me. I want to be a vampire. Like you."
"Um, no, you don't." I crossed my arms, "Yas, there's a reason why it's called the 'vampire's curse' and not 'the vampire's blessing'. It's painful. If I had the choice, I'd want to be human again."
Yasmine put her hands on her hips, "But this isn't your choice. It's my choice, and this is what I want."
I shook my head, "Yas, you're letting the fantasy stand before the facts. It isn't as glamorous as the media likes to portray. It isn't glamorous at all."
"It can't be that bad-!"
"Yasmine, listen to me!" I grabbed her biceps, desperate to make sure my best friend understood why she needed to keep her humanity, "There's so many more issues than just stay out of the sun or avoid garlic!"
She raised an eyebrow.
I let out a huff, "Okay, first of all. When you turn, when you become undead, your body freezes in the state it's in now. Any illnesses, injuries, they become a part of you for all eternity." I reached up to my sleeve and pulled the fabric down, revealing an infected, festering cut.
Yasmine winced, "Ooh... Does it hurt?"
I nodded, "Always. I've tried everything to make it heal, but it's a part of me. Frozen in time."
"I thought vampires had super healing abilities."
"We do," I clarified, "but not when it comes to injuries or illnesses from our human years. There's one vampire I know who had stage four cancer when she turned. The cancer itself is frozen in place. It doesn't spread, but she can't get rid of it."
Yasmine frowned, "Okay, that sucks. But I'm healthy and I don't have any injuries right now."
"In my experience, Yas, you rarely notice when you have cuts." I laughed, "You're always climbing trees and jumping into ponds from rocks. You will notice when you turn, though. The pain... It's there forever."
She shrugged, "Then, I'll deal with it."
"You can't get near what's considered 'holy land'."
Yasmine cocked her head, "So, I'll avoid churches-!"
"It's more than just churches." I explained, "Anything that was blessed at some point. Which is a lot. Once, I went to a gym and started to sizzle. The land was holy from something in the past, so I couldn't go near it. I have painful experiences all the time. Once, I found a holy Walmart."
She laughed.
"Yasmine, I'm serious."
"So am I." She looked at me, "I want to be like you. I want to be a vampire."
"You know the sun burns me, but it's more than just direct sunlight. I'm always burning, even in my home with the black-out curtains. Even at night."
She looked toward my window, covered by the curtain, "Even at night? But isn't that when vampires roam?"
"That's part of the fairytale." I sat down on my bed, "The moon only glows because the sun reflects off it. It hurts, too. Doesn't kill, though. Only standing in the sun's direct rays can turn me to ash." I looked down at my arm, "It's why it took you so long to figure out I'm a vampire. My skin was always sun-burnt."
"When do you feed?"
"Nights when there's no moon. Or just push through it. I'm kind of used to the pain now. It's been a hundred years."
Yasmine looked conflicted.
"It always hurts, Yas. When it comes to garlic, just being in the same area can cause a rash. It makes grocery shopping such a pain." I reached for my dear friend, "Then, there's mirrors. I can't see my reflection."
"I hate looking at myself anyway."
"You are absolutely *beautiful,* Yasmine! Don't start this again! I tell you-! Wait, that's not the point!"
She smirked, "I still don't see why I shouldn't be a vampire. You have super strength, super speed, incredibly sharp eyesight, super hearing, and you can turn into a bat at will."
I looked at her, tired, "Do you want to feed off humans? That's the worst part."
Yasmine went quiet, her smile melting off her face.
"I know in stories and such, any blood will do, but that's just not true. It has to be human blood. And... the worst part... we don't even need that much. We can only drink so much before we start vomiting, but our fangs are so sharp that we cause permanent damage. With the amount of blood we take, humans would survive fine. We don't consume that much. It's the damage that kills them." I closed my eyes and shuddered, "Their throats are torn into shreds. They lay there, gasping and choking, as their blood spills all over the ground until they die. It's slow and painful. They look so afraid. No matter how gentle I try to be, I have never had one human survive after I fed from them."
She wasn't saying anything. Was she finally horrified? Had she realized what a monster sat before her?
"I have to feed. I've tried to stop. I tried a couple of times to go cold turkey. But my survival instinct kicks in. I black out and when I wake up, I've killed so many." I put my head in my hands, "I hate it, Yasmine. I hate being a monster. I hate watching lives flicker out. They had so much potential and promise... A future stretched out before them... All gone because I need to eat."
A few seconds of silence followed my words.
Then, Yasmine hugged me.
I hadn't realized I started crying, but I clung to her.
"You're not a monster. You're taking what you need to survive. You're acting like a human. The fact that you feel guilt shows how human you still are." She pulled back and smiled, "You're my best friend, and that will never change."
I smiled weakly, "Thanks, Yas." I stood up, "You can't become a vampire. Hold onto your humanity. It's a gift that's so often taken for granted."
"But there's one upside that outweighs all downsides."
I stared at her, flabbergasted, "What? What could *possibly* make you still want to be a vampire after all I've said!?"
She smiled warmly and touched my arm, "I'll be able to stay with you forever."
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l5kdhpm
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l5k0wap
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[WP] "I shall grant three wishes, but you cannot wish for... Actually, fuck it. You get infinite wishes and no rules, let's see where this goes."
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Unreasonable request #1: "You heard me right, we're switching the moon out for Deimos."
Reasonable request #1: "Give my neighbor Mike enough money to get the *hell* out of Castlegar. Hope L.A. handles him better."
Unreasonable request #5: "Make all the soil in Georgia three inches higher."
"To clarify, which Georgia?"
"Sure."
Unreasonable request #11: "Could we just rotate England by 47 degrees?"
"In which axis?"
"X and Z, I guess. Maybe not Y though, just to annoy people."
Unreasonable request #Proto-15: "Get rid of the number 14."
"What?"
"You heard me-"
"I did. I do not understand the majority of your wishes, but I especially do not understand this. Why would you do this?"
"Eh, I've got no rules, I wanna see where this goes. Anyways... hm... Turn all bowties into ice cream."
"..."
"Don't give me that look, you let me loose on this."
"How about we pause this at 25? With your current rate of wild wishes, it will take me some time to make sure all of them are properly inputted as intended. I'm intrigued by the changes, I wouldn't mind continuing, but I do believe that in 10 more wishes like these ones I might not have the energy to keep this going. I was expecting things like infinite wealth and health and love, so this is far more than I am used to doing."
"..."
"... Well?"
"Yeah sure sounds good man."
"Excellent. The discord you provide is entertaining, but taxing. Make your remaining 9 now, and we can do more at another time."
Unreasonable request #16: "Make hamsters obligate carnivores."
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I grinned. This was exactly what I had wanted. This lamp, that I had spent years looking for, was now ready to be used for my every wish. It was my lamp now. It was my *world* now.
The Genie looked at me, awaiting the wishes I would have. *He looks like he's faded a bit,* I thought. No matter. I had plans now. I wished for money, respect, immortality, at least until I decided I no longer wanted it, and so much more. This was it. This was my time. Hell, I had three papers dedicated to figuring out what three wishes were most important, but now I could just name everything on the list.
While I was making my wishes, I was interrupted by the sound of rustling near me. I went silent. *What's wrong with you,* I thought towards myself. I knew that there were others coming for it, and I really risked it like that? I was supposed to run away quickly towards a car at the end of the forest. The car had probably left by now. Then I had an idea.
"I wish for a force field to be placed around me and you, and to prevent anybody from entering."
The wish was granted, and I felt great. Everything imaginable was at my fingertips.
"I wish for the power to create anything I want."
The wish was granted, and I felt giddy. I felt like jumping around and laughing like a kid.
I continued to wish for powers and was soon found by my enemies.
"Found the lamp, have you," Albert sneered.
We had been friends, once. This lamp broke us apart. Neither of us wanted to share the lamp, and we soon became enemies, and on multiple occasions had met, and he had always had the upper hand. Now I had it. And I was ready to use it.
I opened my mouth to make a wish, but then a loud sound shook the forest, loud enough to break my ears. It certainly happened to my enemies, as they fell down and screamed. I was invincible, however, so that wasn't a problem.
"What was that?" I asked the genie.
"Oh, nothing," he replied. "Just some enemies that have found me at last."
I looked him in the eyes and realized that he was almost invisible. "Why are you so translucent," I asked.
He grinned. "There's a reason I gave you unlimited wishes. If I had just died, then they would take me right back to life, just to give me all the pain for my debts. But now you have taken it. when I'm dead, you will be the one to pay the price."
"But... But I'm immortal!" I said, at almost a yell. "There's no way to defeat me!"
"Is that what you think? I don't own these powers. I was punished with these, and that lamp was my prison. There are higher powers, powers that could wipe out all the powers you've given yourself with a blink. I'm dead, but at least I won't have to be tortured eternally, like you will."
No. No! I couldn't let this happen. "I wish for the force field to be removed, and for me to be the only person able to use the lamp." I said. My enemies were now looking at me, and then I threw the lamp, pretending to have used it all up, but then turned around, and said, "Damn it! I have another wish!"
They ran for it, and picked it up immediately, rubbing it for the wishes. I fled with speed faster than light. If these "higher powers" saw my friends, they would do it for them. It was foolproof. I was out, and better than ever.
But even as I fled, I continued to think about these higher powers. I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to be superior to them. I brought out the notebook in my pocket, the one I had wished to be able to answer my ever question. *How can I become the most powerful being ever,* he wrote.
It began to write, telling me of a risky but good plan, that would bring my place above all these "higher powers".
*They won't be so high in power after this,* I thought.
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jrtnm3a
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jrtcy9x
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[WP] You have lost count of how many time travelers have come to kill you. You don't know why they came and at this point you don't care. You will become what they fear simply out of spite.
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In the beginning, it was disorienting. The first time a figure clad in sleek, futuristic armor materialized in my living room, wielding an energy weapon and spouting some gibberish about me being "a blight on the timeline," I was shocked. By the fifth attempt, I had developed a strategy: duck, run, hide, then surprise them from behind. By the twentieth, it had become a bothersome routine.
With each intruder, I grew more adept, more resilient, and ironically, more dangerous. My humble abode gradually transformed into a fortress, rigged with traps designed to counteract the various techniques employed by my time-traveling assassins. I salvaged their technology, studying and adapting it for my own use. I became a self-taught expert in future tech, learning to harness its power to protect myself.
The reasons for their relentless pursuit remained a mystery. What could I, a simple software engineer, possibly do to disrupt the timeline so drastically? Whatever their prophecy, it seemed my destiny was to be a menace. So, a menace I became. But not because of fate, rather, out of sheer spite.
I began to experiment. Using the future technology, I delved into the secrets of time travel, exploring its mechanics, and learning to manipulate it. I became an anomaly within the timeline, a factor the time travelers hadn't accounted for in their perfect prophecy.
In time, I managed to turn the tables. I started traveling to the future, appearing out of nowhere, catching the time travelers off-guard. I saw their cities, grand and cold, filled with people who lived life through screens, detached from reality. I saw their fear, their apprehension at the mere mention of my name.
With each visit, I left my mark. Not by causing destruction, but by spreading ideas. Ideas that were considered dangerous in their time. Concepts of freedom, of questioning, of not accepting everything served by the ruling authorities. I became a symbol of rebellion, a beacon for those who dared to think differently.
So, they sent more assassins, their fear growing as I continued to influence their timeline subtly. I was not the villain they had painted me to be. I didn't threaten their world with destruction or violence. I threatened it with change.
Their prophecy had become self-fulfilling. In trying to stop me, they created the very threat they feared. They expected a monster, a destroyer, but I became something far more terrifying to them. I became an instigator of revolution.
In the end, I was no longer the hunted. I was the hunter, and I held their timeline in my grip. Each assassin they sent only added to my resolve. I was going to change their future, not out of some divine destiny, but out of spite. After all, they started this. I was merely playing along.
\-----
if u enjoyed this, please read more of the stuff i wrote. i post some of it on r/epistemecognito
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I was innocent once. Naïve, really, but isn’t naïveté born from innocence?
Well, no matter. It wasn’t a familiar feeling anymore.
My home was the valley forest where I’d first opened my eyes under a starry sky and a full moon. I waited in one of my caves, watching as the scouts darted through the trees. They were clumsy, these humans. Even the skilled beckoned me like a fire, obviously foreign to my home.
Tree branches waved to me, crying *they’re here, here!* Silent owls hooted and announced interlopers. Insects scurried from beneath boots, and their human tread vibrated in my belly, as if they stepped on my skin.
Endless. Kill three and thirty more replaced them, but it was the work I was given, so I slid from my cavern and entered the forest.
The scouts didn’t tremble noticeably, although a gulp or two betrayed a dry mouth. These were men, not boys. I wondered if they were knights.
The next part I didn’t like.
A blue eyed man had made it the closest to my cavern, bow drawn, eyes shrewd. Middle aged, with ranks on his shoulders. His callouses felt thick against the inside of my cheeks before his hands went limp.
The next one was bald and short, with large black eyes that matched his skin. He managed to let out a cry before the scarred flesh of his throat pealed against my tongue.
That caused a stirring in the forest. I ran like a shadow through the woods, *this way, this way* the birds above indicated, *here* called a rabbit thumping against the forest floor at the point where the knights converged.
“Monster,” some of the men cried, and I let the anger build in my chest. “The monster is coming.”
*Monster?* **Monster?**
I barreled through the tree line and into the group of a dozen trained men. Metallic clangs bruised me but didn’t break through my hide as I tore into them. Eyes swam in my vision. That was the worst part, I had to carry the image of each kill with me. They came to me at night and stood vigil, plaguing my dreams. The innocent activity of sleep was spoiled.
*You!* I screamed as I tore into them, giant claws shredding their armor like butter. It was amazing how good the outlet of anger felt. I spilled pain and sleepless nights and fear into that clearing, wielding it with vengeance.
Ruined. I was ruined.
Finally, there was no movement left in the meadow. My body was slick with blood, the meadow was red and silver. I turned away, nausea flipping my stomach. I disappeared through the trees, letting the carnivores of my forest enjoy what they could. With each step away from my misdeeds I shrank, letting my body reflect my earliest years.
The trees towered over me, and I remembered the wide eyed joy I’d looked up with my first day alive. A canopy of home.
I couldn’t enjoy the distant friends that had watched me throughout my life. I felt small, exposed. They watched me with malicious judgement now. I wasn’t their child any longer.
I bounded through the tall grass to the spring at the heart of my forest, crying as the water turned red around me. The bottom of the spring cleansed my scales and mouth, and I washed upon her shore small and tired.
Peace.
*Here, here* a voice called, and I looked up to see a young girl and her father standing above me. She had a basket in one arm and foraging dagger on her hip that she’d pulled free and pointed at me. Her father pushed her behind him. A bow was slung across his back.
I cried out in frustration. My forest rustled in the night as I towered over them. My reflection was in their wide eyes. I didn’t like what I saw. I shrank and turned, laying back down on the bank.
The girl circled around me, her father’s bow trained on my approximate heart. I ignored them. Then the girl dove into the spring. That made me raise my head. What was happening?
I watched as the girl struggled back and forth across the bottom of the spring, her father’s jaw tight and bow drawn. After a moment he cursed and jumped in after her.
What an odd time to swim.
That’s when I saw a little blue body. Her father grabbed her and pulled her out of the water. She was a little blonde cherub, blue. Dead.
They tried to administer aid, but it was useless. I bent my head forward and the father yanked his living daughter back, scrambling for his bow. I touched the child’s forehead, feeling power go out of me. She slowly began to blink.
The girl cried out in happiness, but their father screamed in rage, unable to see through his terror. A shaft bruised my shoulder and I growled. I lifted the toddler below me onto my back.
“No give her back!!” he cried, loosing another arrow. My claws rend the earth.
“Father, stop!” the girl cries. But he’s gone, I’ve dissolved him into red mist.
Now the girl shrieks. I bare my teeth at her, eyes on her dagger. She trembles, then retreats toward town. I let her go. The toddler is oblivious, magicked to sleep on my back. I take her. She is mine, and now when death calls, maybe I’ll have something to hold me back.
My head lifts.
*Here! Here!*
There are soldiers in the forest again.
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kcu3m4i
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kctwg0o
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[WP] “Your superpower is: you can converse with exactly three people who have passed away.” “I choose Albert Einstein, George Washington, and my late father” “that’s only two, you can choose one more”.
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“W- what?” I ask incredulously.
“Well, as I said, you only picked two people, one of those people aren’t dead kid.” The voice that was apparently responsible for giving me this power responded.
“So that…” I trail off, thinking of the worst. This is it. This is where I find out my worst fears are true.
“Yes. I’m afraid your father—”
“GEORGE WASHINGTON IS A LIZARD PERSON?!” I yell. Oh god, it’s all coming together now, the pieces all fit perfectly.
“Wait, no that’s not—” the voice tries to interrupt me, but I’m on a roll and my spiralling will be stopped by nothing.
“I FUCKING KNEW IT! AND THEY CALLED ME CRAZY, HEY ALBERT, CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?!” I ask. I hope I don’t need all three people chosen before I can commune with the dead.
“Shit’s wild kid.” A wise voice echoes through my head. Yep, the power works or I’m now schizophrenic.
“Hey dad, what do you think? Pretty crazy huh?” I calm down slightly, speaking into nothing.
“Yeah kiddo, I never thought you’d prove us right, now don’t be like me and die before getting this news to the public. He’s coming.” It’s a joy to hear my father’s voice again, but I freeze when I realise the weight of his words. I turn around slowly, and see him.
He’s sticking to the ceiling of the cave, hissing. It’s lizard person George Washington.
“Hey voice?” I ask, scared.
“Yeah?” it echoes out.
“Can my third person be Achillies?”
“Sure.” The voice says, and a new one chimes into my brain.
“Let’s fuck up this overgrown gecko kid! Follow my lead.”
|
When I used my superpower, at first, I was deeply confused. But then the reality of it struck me, and my jaw fell to the floor in a fairly comedic fashion. If I couldn't commune with Einstein, that must mean --- My jaw dropped further into the floor, comedically. I booked a flight to Germany, jerked off, and went to sleep.
When I woke up 4 days later, I realised that I missed the flight to Germany. But this was no matter for me, Miles De'Groigh, world-class extraordinaire psychic: flying anywhere was simply a trivial concern, as I have very wealthy parents who fund all of my bullshit. I jerked off again, and, clinging to consciousness, found my way onto the plane to Germany.
I landed in Berlin, my bells and sign at the ready. It was time to find the *fuck* out of Einstein, who was still alive, as my wonderful genius psychic brain had told me again and again. He had to be. He had to be. God, my brain is fucking *mega*. I snorted seven ritalin tablets and marched from the airport, my suitcase filled with various Einstein memorabilia (posters, books, plastic figurines, decorative pens, phone cases, scented candles, etc etc.)
I wandered around the streets, banging my ornate vintage hammer into my brass bells over and over - ding ding ding, Clang-Clang, ding ding - as I held up my sign that read "Looking for: One (1) Chunky Einstein." I screamed his name down dark alleyways, at skyscrapers, into public libraries, into public bathrooms, and into the ears of homeless people. Surprisingly, no quirky white haired physicists came out to meet me, but instead it was just the police. I spent a night in a small cell, and none of the people there were Einstein. Not a single one. Not only that, but they had confiscated all of my Einstein merch - in other words, they had confiscated my *soul*.
I wept.
I cried into the black void, I screamed to the heavens - how could I go on? If there was no Einstein here, could my psychic readings be wrong? Was there an Einstein anywhere? Anywhere at all? Was 3 inches actually below average? Devastated by these terrible truths, I stood up from my 1-ply prison mattress, and wailed Einstein's foul name through radioelectric aether, my fists pounding against the steel bars with a newfound passion and a newfound rage - the only things these pathetic metal bars could imprison were simply flesh, blood, bones; removed from this incarceration, my obstinate will, my own mind - the determinations made by that neurochemical labyrinth - they all remained free, even as the guillotine swung above my neck. I shit and pissed all over the floor of my cell, and one of the guards yelled at me because I was shitting and pissing all over the floor of my cell, and that made me really upset because I don't like it when people yell at me.
Just as I had given up all hope, confident that not a single Einstein lived in this godforsaken country, I heard a bellowing voice from behind me:
"MILES! MEIN KINDER! IT IZ ME, ALBERT EINZTEIN!"
I had to do a double-take. Was it him? Was it really that hunky funky physicist, wearing his gleaming moustache? "E-einstein?!" I cried.
With a kind smile, he leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, his moustache sending shivers all over my body as it brushed past my face. "Ja, it iz the me, albert einstein." He gave a little chuckle, bit his lower lip, and winked at me. "Ja, ja, I am ztill alive." He wrapped his thick, strong, German arms around me, giving me a firm hug, and whispered sweet nothings about gravity or whatever into my ear.
"Woah, that's crazy," I said. Then I flew back home and made mac and cheese or something.
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jj3jkac
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jj311aa
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[WP] The zombie apocalypse was a dud since the undead were just too slow to be a threat. But recently, you have noticed them furiously exercising
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"We're drug dealers, bro. It's not really ever ethical." Theodor said as he opened a beer.
Gary scratched his head absently as he paced around the room.
"Where are they even getting the money to pay for it?" He asked.
Theodor was the head of the operation, and seemed entirely unconcerned about his new clientele.
"They *are* paying, though. Who cares where they get it? We don't ask our other clients where they get their money. Honestly, Gary, it just sounds like discrimination to me."
Gary spun on his heels, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"They're *zombies*, Theo! What the hell are they doing with anabolic steroids and meth?"
Theodor took a deep pull off his beer then set it on the coffee table.
"What all our clients do," he said. "They're using them."
The TV in front of the couch was tuned to adult swim, but the Adventure Time rerun was suddenly interrupted by the telltale tones that always precede an emergency broadcast.
*EMERGENCY ALERT - OFFICIAL UPDATE ON MORTUM ANIMUS PANDEMIC TO FOLLOW*
Theo sighed and rolled his eyes. He changed the channel a few times but the alert was on every one of them. An image of the White House briefing room appeared on the screen. The press secretary approached the podium.
"My fellow Americans, a new variant of the Mortum Animus virus has been detected in Orlando."
Greg rushed over and sat next to Theo on the couch.
"You don't think..." Greg trailed off as the press secretary continued.
"While all previous outbreaks have been contained relatively easily due to the slow and generally stupid nature of the undead, this does not appear to be the case with the new variant."
"Theo..." Greg was visibly panicking. Theo took another swig of his beer as the press secretary on the TV pleaded for quiet in the wake of the news room erupting in frantic questions from the press.
"Please! Quiet, please!" He said. "This variant, dubbed MA-CHAD, is swiftly becoming the dominant strain. They are strong and they are fast. If you encounter a swole zombie, *do not run*. They will catch you, and they will devour you. You must fight."
Theo burped.
"Or dangle eighth of meth in their face," he said.
|
Jeremy kicked a can down the road. Another day without a zombie in sight. It had been two years since the first break out. Initially the virus spread like wildfire, fueled by suicide tactics shaped by years of ill informed zombie media. Turned out that fighting something that just needs to bite you once was a terrible idea. Especially when these zombies were slow as molasses. You just had to run away and you’d be fine. The zombie apocalypse turned out to be a lot more boring than movies had you believe. Food shortages were solved by massive moving hydroponic growth stations. Moving hospitals would pose a challenge during a medical emergency, but otherwise healthcare wasn’t a problem either. It all looked remarkably like ordinary life before the virus, as long as you kept moving. Thus Jeremy turned another corner making sure that nothing strange would catch them off guard. It never did, but complacency always lurked and a zombie ambush at the wrong moment could still get you an early obituary.
Just when Jeremy was about to call it quits a strange sound caught his attention. Did it come from that barricaded building over there? One of those old fitness centres where getting a subscription was easy, but cancelling it was the real work out. Jeremy cautiously sneaked closer until he found himself in front of the boarded window. Peeping through a crack between two wooden planks he first couldn’t see a thing. It was dark inside and his eyes needed a minute to adjust. He was certain he heard the spinning of multiple exercise bikes, but that made little sense. What collective of idiots was that tired of life that they’d take a massive risk like just to get an adrenaline boost. Gym bros always occupied their own special branch on the evolution tree, but most of them had accepted their new realities.
Jeremy decided that this warranted further investigation and he went around back to see if there was a way in. He kicked down the door and sneaked through the dark dusty corridor leading to the fitness area. Did he hear moaning? That’s not the call of a gym bro.
He dared casting a glance around the corner and was met by the stench of death and decay. An all to familiar odor that usually meant zombies. He saw five occupied bikes that stood near the boarded window that he’d been peeking through. The figures occupying them weren’t alive, that much was for sure. Necrotic fluids dripped on the floor below as Jeremy observed the zombies biking their decaying lungs our of their half exposed rib cages. Were these undead goons training to get faster? Sure, zombies were just another link in the evolution chain. They were as much part of nature as the flies that laid their eggs in their rotting flesh. However no one even entertained the idea that they might be aware enough to work on the flaws in their survival and proliferation strategy.
Sudden movement in the corner of Jeremy’s peripheral drew his attention. Turning around he was met by the sight of more zombies. Standing there like a group of thugs ready to defend their territory. Time to bolt, as he darted past them through making for the door outside.
To his surprise one of the zombies reacted faster than he had anticipated and he grabbed for Jeremy’s collar. He barely avoided it and kept running. Outside there was another gang of zombies trying to cut off his escape. He should be fast enough to outrun them as well. Yet as Jeremy tried to dash past them he was caught by surprise when they responded quicker than expected and barred his way. Jeremy turned around to start into a different direction, but to his fright he was surrounded by them. No way out, how had they accomplished this when they shouldn’t have been half as swift to outmaneuver him. How long had they been working out and how had their decaying bodies been able to handle growth like that?
This was bad, Jeremy could only think off how he should’ve seen this happening earlier, if only he hadn’t grown so complacent. The lack of zombies out on the street should’ve been a sign. Now he would die here all alone and no one back home would be prepared for what was to come.
[r/zeekoeswriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/zeekoeswriting)
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jtck12p
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jtcjhpw
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[WP] A hero's work never ends. You became a litch out of necessity. The next hero would not be summoned for another thousand years and you were old. You planned to stay around long enough to pass the safety of the world on to the next.
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They say time flies, and in truth it doesn't matter if you're having fun or not. One day you're forcing yourself to learn how to set things on fire with your mind, even when your magical abilities are likely on the negative, the next you're floating atop a pillar made out of the petrified corpses of the long forgotten royal guard of a slightly less forgotten mad king. And you made the pillar yourself in an attempt to dissuade future royal guards from protecting future mad kings.
I am now 3740 years old by my count, 930 since I transferred from the ancient corpse to the animated obsidian construct. My name used to be Ador Ro-Thelor, but I don't use it anymore because these days adoran means "ancient emperor" and Rothelon is the name of a legendary eater of souls. Both are because of me. It would be a little on-the-nose and I expect to keep a low profile, least the Prophesied One gets the wrong idea.
I did have my bad days, and I did eat some souls. But to be fair the first few were in self defense, and the rest were the easiest way to make sure someone would really exit the mortal realm and stop threatening it. But as the centuries turn to millennia, folks tend to forget context and nuance, and you wouldn't believe what kind of unsavory individuals can become cultural heroes.
Say, for instance, the Prophesied One was to be born among the Shorefolk of the Indigo Sea. He or she would grow up knowing that the monstrous Arodellon the Beast-like killed and ate warrior king Tik Takel, who taught humanity how to fish. Therefore the Prophesied One would likely want to kill me upon learning I am, technically, Arodellon, even if I only have one head and one back and lack 28 of the arms he'd expect me to have. And by the way, the shorefolk of the Indigo Sea already knew how to fish when Dichachel became a warlord among them, and the only thing he tried to teach them was how to die in large numbers to expand his territory. And I didn't ate the whole of him, just his essence when it became apparent he had been bound with the very land in order to rule forever.
Or say the Prophesied One is born among the Lava Dancers of Mount Firemaw. Actually, let's really hope he doesn't, I don't have a lot of excuses for that one. I just needed the power urgently and Mount Firemaw was the closest available source, and back then nobody knew active volcanoes are so important to keep lands fertile.
The point is, it would be very easy for a newly appointed hero to mistake me for a bad guy. The descendants of the Guantos and the Yrubos don't really care that two thousand years ago those two groups were mortal enemies and would have wiped each other out had I not nudged them in more constructive paths, at the cost of some free will until they became the grybandic peoples. All they remember is the Thousand Years of Slavery. Which wasn't slavery, by the way, I was only keeping them from freely murdering each other.
The Prophesied One is taking his or her sweet time though. It should not have been me decapitating the Moon Goddess a millennia and a half ago. It should not have been me thwarting the Stream Conflux six hundred years ago. I mean, honestly, it was kind of pathetic how easy that was. And the Merge in the South should have happened a little bit, last century, before a new hero would've been able to stop it. But there was no new hero so I stepped in and Silouche, The Flesh Lord, decided to turn away all on his own upon seeing me. That's not how it's supposed to go! Even bards have trouble making that into an interesting story, and I'm pretty sure a couple of songs are attempts at making me the bad guy in that story, against a thing called The Flesh Lord no less!
I had a whole Order of the Foretold organized about 700 years ago, with the single purpose of identifying and nurturing the Prophesied One. Any prophesied one. Powerful people in secret circles of influence were terrified, convinced The Dark One (that'd be me in some cases), was trying to find and kill That Who Will Vanquish Him. So many first borns being hidden away, none with even a hint of prophesiededness.
I'll even confess to trying to *cause* a prophesied one or two. The Shambling Duke is still part of some very dark songs, and from the other one there's still the Crater Lake. So that's not something I'm happy to look into again.
It's not like The Realm is in any danger, I guess. People have learned not to mess with certain powers and certain magics, and external beings are less and less inclined to try taking over. About two thousand years ago I read a doom chant which was supposed to be happening this decade, but there is no hint of any starplague, in whatever way you interpret that. Kings are just, or as just as you can expect kings to be. Witch lords keep to themselves. Barbarians pillage as little as possible, mostly out of tradition. Monsters have been doing their best to integrate with societies. There are no darknesses rising at any corner of the map, no shadows looming over anything (unless you count me, in some traditions' opinion), so maybe there's nothing urging the prophesied one to come along.
Maybe I should pay a visit to the gods who in the past have shown a proclivity to incarnate in the mortal realm, see if any of them is feeling like dropping by, doing some heroics, taking over from me. But gods look at me funny, it's sort of uncomfortable.
Or maybe I *should* go evil. Be the threat which requires vanquishing. But I really don't want to. I know so many different ways in which I could destroy the world, or even The Realm, that the thought of even pretending to do so makes me sick. I guess I could threaten one of the Outer Dwells, bring upon the wrath of a demiurge, not the Flesh Lord though, that whole deal was so ridiculous. But I shouldn't have to do any of those things! I've worked so hard to build up this place, causing it to suffer any damage makes me anxious!
So, there's only waiting.
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On a mountain, heavy with snow and dark shadow, a wizard walks, stooped so low his grey beard sways only inches from the rocky ground. He leans heavily on his staff and moves slow because he is old. He is old but still the last hero of the land. Has been for longer than it should be. He is beyond ready to give up the ghost and be dead. And that's why he is here, to be dead.
He wears traveling clothing, good corduroy trousers, soft buckskin boots, and a knee-length jerkin covered in ingredient-stuffed pockets and mutters to himself. Some words are spells, wards, and cantrips, others are just the complaints of an old man. Curses about pains and blisters and fires that will be without an old man to comfort.
His destination is the temple above. If the wizard can make it there it will complete a journey that began almost a year ago. An important journey because he had a dream.
In this dream, he met a mighty warrior. Muscles and heroic demeanor and sharp blade stained with evil-doer blood
"I'm here to replace you as hero to the realm."
"Good, good. I'm more than ready to give up the post, I've held it for over three-hundred years.
"I am happy to do so. I look forward to meeting you when it is time.
"When will that be?"
"in a thousand years."
...a thousand years.
He woke a bit disappointed.
He has had the dream many times since and managed to ask the hulking brute for more details but all he could say were the same words: I look forward to meeting you in a thousand years.
...a thousand years.
But most importantly, it is a thousand years without a hero. A hero protects the land, exhibits bravery, solves problems, defends justice, inspires hope, acts selflessly, teaches others, makes sacrifices, forges alliances, seeks knowledge, and promotes change and growth. Without one, people would have to count on themselves. And then where would they find themselves?
No, that won't do so the wizard made plans to ask a God for a favor.
Now, Bane, god of conflict, is the realm's only hope. Because, what this wizard wants to accomplish, only the God of chaos could provide.
As he works his way up the last switchback he can only hope this works because he physically can't do the job anymore. Hasn't been able to really for most of his long life. He should have been relieved before everything went to shit. Before he became a walking miracle. Now, he is hopefully Bane is in the mood to be helpful... for a price.
The price of an old man's very used soul.
Said soul finishes its journey and stands not in front of an edifice carved directly into the mountain. Symbols of tyranny, such as crowns and scepters, stand alongside weapons of war, paying homage to the god's thirst for dominance. The wizard crawls through the small opening to the darkened sanctum beyond.
Then there he is the god of tyranny, hatred, fear, and conquest.
The figure is a towering twenty feet tall onyx statue. Surrounding it are other offerings, small animals, banners of vanquished kingdoms long forgotten by history, and skulls of warriors taken in Bane's name. The wizard did not come to kill cats or dogs for attention, nor did he bring a bobble from a past battle. But he does recite an oath of unwavering allegiance, pledging their loyalty to Bane and his relentless pursuit of power. Black candles surrounding the statue flare to life their flames casting shadows that dance as if the cave is suddenly filled with priests exalting at Bane's might. Then, Bane's presence looms large.
The wizard is powerful. One of the most powerful beings to ever live. But in the face of the Great God Bane, he cowers but manages to whisper, "I seek to conquest for Bane."
"Why do you seek to conquer in my name?"
"The Realm needs a hero."
Bane laughs. "heroes? Heroes disrupt my conquest. I don't need a hero I need a general for my army of the dead."
"Fine."
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j7uk485
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j7uazq5
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[WP] According to astronomy, wishes take thousands or even millions of years to arrive to the wishing stars. Today, wishes from people long past are starting to come true.
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[Concrit Welcome]
*If you wish upon a star, then a miracle is about to start.*
Leo stood alone inside the circular dome-shaped room. It was a long day in the observatory, and he still needs to do routine recordings of the upcoming meteor shower. Forcing himself not to fall asleep on the desk, he approached the telescope at the center.
He had always believed there was something uniquely mesmerizing about the night sky, which was the reason he wanted to study astronomy. But these midnight observations that could’ve perfectly been automatically recorded were a real test on his nerves.
A faint flash in the night sky. The meteor shower had started.
More visible dots flickered from the lens on the telescope, and just as he had feared, the faint voices were back again.
There was another reason why Leo hated being alone in the observatory at night. Ever since he was a child, these whispers had accompanied him whenever there was a meteor shower. His therapist had called them harmless hallucinations, but it was nights like these that almost convinced Leo there was something deeper.
If he was more awake, he would pause everything and take his medication. But he was too tired, he wasn’t thinking. In between one breath and the next, the button to open the observatory roof was clicked.
The roof slowly bloomed open like moonflower petals, and a cold breeze trickled through the gaps. Perhaps it was his sleepiness, perhaps there was no reason, but the voices seemed clearer that night. Most were still nonsense noise, but he was able to make sense of a few of the loudest ones.
“I wish for the night to be not as dark.” A breathy voice said.
“I hope that one day the forest would be safer.” This one sounded like a young woman.
“I wish the village won’t starve just because of a bad harvest anymore.” An old man’s hoarse and deep voice echoed.
“I wish the neighboring kingdom wouldn’t attack us anymore.”
“I wish there are enough books for everyone.”
“I wish to no longer worry about floods or hurricanes.”
“I wish to understand the heavens.”
“I wish to be reunited with my loved ones.”
“I wish my voice to be heard.”
The meteors crashed down into the atmosphere one by one, etching faint white lines throughout the sky. Leo listened to every one of the wishes from long ago, that had come true in one way or another, long after the ones who made the wishes had passed.
He was in that dreamy state again, at that field trip in second grade, laying on the grass outside the tent. He muttered the same words he said back then in a shaky voice: “One day, I will touch the stars.”
In the not-so-far distant above, the international space station made another rotation around the earth.
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it was the final moment of my life and there i was, lying down on the hospital bed, bed-stricken and exhausted from a long painful illness.
a shining twinkling light shone from the window, opening my eyes and on the window, a screen began to appeared and showed me a taylor swift's live performance.
i havent heard that song in a while since the illness took over my body and thats when it hits.
my heart was giving up on itself, slowly, and the screen vanished from the window as the star was no longer there because the moon was shining this time and as I drifted off to nowhere and into the dark, I heard the door swung opened and a familiar voice said,
"Hey, its taylor."
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l540d7w
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l52zqzq
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[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.
|
Not much surprises Jackson. He is a man of repetition - after all, he has been living the same day, every day, for as long as he can remember.
He remembers vague details from his previous life - he knew his mother had been named Amelia, but his father’s name is lost to him. He knows his address, but only because it is stamped on the mail that covers his kitchen table every morning. He knows that he had been a mailman once, and his name had been Jackson.
His childhood was not a distant memory but a forgotten one. He could not remember if he had siblings, or his age, or any of the other little details that simply didn’t matter anymore. His days do not change, and thus retaining old information stopped being important long ago. He had even forgotten how long ago - or how long his days had been the same.
But Jackson remembers his schedule. After all, he followed the same exact routine every morning.
Up at 6:43am, twelve minutes before his alarm. It’s thundering but softly, the storm already on its way away from them. His daughter would cry at 6:51am, and he would slip out of their bedroom before his wife awoke. Alaina, the second love of his life, drank a bottle every morning. She hiccuped at the same time, she pooped at the same time.
Riley is up at 7 and takes over, and Jackson slips out to begin his farm duties. Chickens get fed first, then the donkey, then the cows. Then it’s back inside for a pancake breakfast. The afternoon is spent under the sun in the fields, first on the corn, then on the tractor, which always gives out around mid afternoon.
Burgers and tatertots for dinner, baby duty afterwards. His evening always ended watching his favorite film, his beautiful Riley tucked under one arm and his precious Alaina asleep in her arms.
Every day was the same. All the little details, his and his families, exactly the same. So no, not much surprised him.
Perhaps that is why he is so startled when, around mid movie, there is a knock at the door. It startles Riley too, which causes Alaina to begin to cry. She sits up quick to hush her, and Jackson stood to stare at the door. Riley glances up at him with a confused expression, cooing to their child. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer it?”
*Absolutely not.* That’s his first thought. Because this is different. This is new. To Riley, who he has never been able to wake from the loop, surely he looks like a mad man. He only seems to snap out of it when she rose to answer it herself. “No, I’ll get it.”
He peers through the window on the door first, spotting a man on his deck. He is dressed in a white sweatshirt and white sweatpants, and he appears to carry a very full backpack. Jackson swings the door open, steps out, and shuts it behind him. He gives a suspicious glance behind the man, who is staring at him expectantly.
“What is this? What are you?” Jackson asks in a hushed tone, his attention finally coming down on the man. It’s more a boy really, late teenage years, with thick long black hair.
“You’re stuck. I’m here to tell you what happens so you can be free.” The boys voice is warm but firm, and Jackson can see the determination set in his expression.
“You can’t be here. I know what happens, and he comes soon. Please leave.” Jack steps back to retreat into his house, but the boy stops him by grabbing his wrist. It sends a jolt through them both, and the boy recoils. He stares at his hand inquisitively, before reestablishing eye contact with the man he is determined to save.
“But the loop! You’ve been here for-“
“A long time, I know. Please, leave. Go back to where you came from. I can’t be responsible for what may happen if you don’t.”
“Mister Miller you are *dead* you can-“
“Shut *up!*” Jackson hisses, stepping forward again towards the young man. He recoils, a look of absolute bewilderment across his face. The old man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a sigh. “I said I know what happens. I don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” The boy asks. His eyes are wet, and Jackson finds himself feeling pity for him. “Why do you choose to relive the worst day of your life over and over again?”
“Because it was the last best day of my life.” Jackson replies softly. He turns to face his own house, knowing his wife is inside worrying about him. “Don’t you get it? This day cannot be changed - we both know it has already happened. You cannot rewrite history. Nothing I do in here matters.”
His throat is tight by the last word. Of course he has already tried everything to change that day - that’s the thing about loops. The tiny details don’t matter, the end is already written.
“You ask me why. It’s because if you walk in there right now, the love of my life is on that couch. My daughter is in there. And right now? They’re safe. They’re not stressed, they don’t know what’s coming. They’re alive, and that means this plain day was the last best day of my life. Isn’t that enough?”
There is silence between the two men. The boy in all white has no words, and finally Jackson Miller breaks the quiet.
“You need to go. This is no place for the living. Please, leave us. The reaper comes soon.”
Without another word, Jackson turns away and steps back inside his home. He locks the door - fruitless, he knows - before returning to his wife on the couch. “Well? Who was it? Why were you out there for so long?”
“He wanted to sell me something, I think. I told him he had the wrong house. It’s nothing, love.” And he kisses her, pressing play on their movie.
Two short hours later, at 11:03pm, he lays in his bed once again. His wife is asleep in his arms but he lays wide awake, waiting for the sound of shattering glass. In a few minutes, the armed intruder will make his way through their tiny farm house.
He would leave their house lifeless only 32 minutes after he entered it, taking with him pockets full of treasures and a single pair of stained gloves.
Jackson doesn’t know if the intruder was ever caught. He doesn’t know why it happened - the murder or the loop - or why Riley never seems to be aware of either. After a million restarts, the tiny details just don’t seem to matter anymore.
His last best day was his Heaven; and as he closes his eyes to the sound of shattering glass, he finds himself looking forward to the morning.
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I am minding my own business, walking peacefully about the city, the sun beaming down on my skin. Suddenly, a burly man I don’t recognize walks directly towards me. *What the hell?*
“Why are you still here?” the man asks me, his voice gruff as he puts his hands around my neck.
I roll my eyes and raise my eyebrows at the sudden intrusion, escaping his grasp as I lean against the ice cream cart behind me. I watch people moving about the city, oblivious to the fact that they are trapped with me in their never ending hell. But for me, *it’s my playground*.
I scratch my head and finally murmur, “Don’t know, it’s just fun.”
Apparently, that was the wrong answer. He looks at me, his face now as red as his clothing, and pushes me forward. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he screams.
I catch my balance, not surprised, just confused as I blink. I raise my eyebrows as the people around me don’t even stop to stare. Huh, *strange*.
Suddenly, I clear my throat, my eyes darting around the city as I say in a huff, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate. Are you referring to me being in the time loop still or some other reason I don’t know about?”
He blinks a couple of times, staring at me as if I was the dumbest person he’s ever met. “You… you can’t be serious,” he says with a facepalm, “Of course it’s about you being in the time loop! I have been trapped in here with you ever since it started!
This revelation shocks me to the core and I ask, “Why didn’t you just say something to me then?!”
He glares at me, his hands shaking with rage, “I wasn’t even able to move until recently! I was stuck being aware but doing the same thing everyday! That’s why!”
“Okay, okay!” I exclaim, clapping my hands together, “But there’s no need to act like a jerk about it. I didn’t know someone else was trapped with me. Cut me some slack, man. I just wanted a break from life.”
Suddenly, his expression softens for a moment as he sighs. But then his expression turns stern again as he asks, “Oh really? Why the hell do you need this long of a break from life?”
My expression darkens. “Because I don’t want to die…” I think, staring blankly at the ground. The sky does something it hasn’t before, turning gray just like me as the sky begins to *BOOM*.
I shake off these thoughts as the man looks at me, as if analyzing my every move. I sigh, “That doesn’t matter. But look, if you want to get out I’ll help you find a way. What needs to happen?”
The man looks at me, his expression unreadable. But then he takes a deep breath and admits, “I don’t know honestly. I tried to escape ever since I gained the ability to move. I saw my mirror was now replaced by a large, glowing portal. I tried to walk into it… but it wouldn’t let me. I think… I think we both need to enter it to end the loop.”
I blink in surprise, my heart beating out of my chest as I think, “Am I ready for this? Am I ready to die? This is it for me… isn’t it?”
Trying to gain my composure I shake off these thoughts and put on a brave face. “Alright…” I say as I look up at the man, “I’m sorry, I won’t keep you here any longer. I didn’t know this loop was affecting someone else or I would have tried to break free sooner. We can end this now. Can you forgive me for my ignorance?”
The man pauses, his eyebrows raising. “Can’t say I expected that…” he says, but then suddenly smiles, “Sure, man. Follow me so we can end this already.”
I smile as the man leads me back to his house. I know if I step foot into that portal and it works, it will be the last breath I take once I’m out. But you know what? *That’s okay*.
Reality is a mixture of joy but also grief, and all good things must come to an end someday. My loved ones will miss me, sure, and I can already imagine that. But I’m ready to move on from this world evenly balanced with good and evil. *I’ll miss you, world, goodbye*.
Hope you enjoyed reading what I wrote for this writing prompt! I have only fairly recently started responding to writing prompts, and I am always open to learning more about writing, so feel free to provide any thoughts or feedback. Thanks!
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j67g43u
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[WP] You, the world's greatest supervillian are quite popular with civilians due to the fact you actively go out of your way to keep innocent bystanders out of harm's way. Today you just met a young upstart villain who doesn't respect your caution.
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"You best not do that," I said.
The poor girl jumped, dropping the remote she had in her hand.
"Who the--" Karma stopped as she recognized my mask, red sinus lines blipping across a black backround. "I was here first. Why do you even want to do a parliament job anyway?"
"I don't. I'm here for something better. But as long as I'm here, I should warn you that if you trigger the bombs now, you will make three martyrs of three wage-grade security officers."
"Okay, so what would you suggest then?"
"What would I do, do you think?"
She was irritated. I could feel it on her. Hear it, in fact. *Ugh, this is why he has never taken control of anything.*
And her unguarded thoughts were exactly why I was very careful to ensure nobody knew my power or identity. They tended to share so much less when they knew.
"You'd cut power somehow, sneak past the guards and drag your targets to the roof, where somehow you'd have a convenient exit waiting for you. Very cool, very mysterious, not too scary. You should call yourself safely edgy instead of Pulse."
"Follow me then, we'll see if we can manage that. Nobody but you will ever know I was here. And you can take full credit." I turned on my heel, overcoat flicking behind me and walked to a door on the roof. She followed, her irritation growing.
*So dramatic,* she thought.
"Did you set out to kill security officers?" I asked. I knew the answer already, or I wouldn't have asked.
"What? No! I'm not some wanton *thug*."
"And yet you were going to kill them."
"If you wanna make an omelette--"
"--You crack only as many eggs as you need to. Do you use six eggs for a three-egg omelette? And you, Karma, of all people." I opened a door to the phsyical facilities plant. She was surprised it was open. As the sole potential fire-exit, from the roof, I knew it had to be open.
She followed me through. "Why are you so averse to death anyway? You're almost famous for it, when you should be infamous."
"Remember Devil Child?"
"Sure, everybody does."
"Lot of bodies, on the ground. His own followed pretty quickly. Whirlwind?"
"Yeah?"
"Noble goals, but reckless execution. Killed a lot of people. They hunted him relentlessly, with growing urgency as his collaterals grew."
"Okay--"
"Arbiter, The Headsman, Rampage, Walking Death."
"I get it," she said flatly.
"Not yet. How much good have they done for the people they represented? The flaws that bred their vengeance exist still. Feelings are noble and understandable but they do not get results. When's the last time you felt you had to worry that the prime minister would be hiding tax money in havens across the globe?"
"Not since you strung up Ol' Mitch and his accountants in the financial district," she admitted. I could feel her respect growing.
We walked along a maintenance hallway, and as we did I eased the image of security personnel in the mind of the custodian we passed. His weary mind accepted the image easily. I lifted his key fob with a snip-and-grab while we passed.
"How'd you do that?" she hissed.
"If you know who to pay, and they know that nobody will die... Well consciences can be eased enough for some to mind their own business," I half-lied. It was true, but I had simply told his mind directly what he was seeing.
"They'd have no time for us if the bomb had gone off."
"Mmm, perhaps, but you never introduce chaos into a plan, until you've acquired your target. Who is your target by the way?"
"Flannagan. Member of Parliament with--"
"Sure."
"He's gutting social services, so his buddies can privatize and profit."
"Unforgivable." I checked my watch as a distraction while I reached out mentally to see who was near the bomb. Everyone was a reasonable distance from the area. "If Flannagan is in there, it is now safe to detonate your bomb."
I opened a door, checked quickly on either side, then beeped the door of the MP's office with the fob I'd stolen. I handed the fob to her and nodded my head at the door. She was of a confused mind. On the one hand annoyed that I'd hijacked her job. On the other, things had gone smoothly and successfully. I waited till I heard Flannagan's shock, and her triumph in my head before I walked back to the roof. The zipline to her van was ready and waiting, and myself by it. The rumble of an explosion rippled through the building.
When she finally dragged Flannagan back, I was there. His eyes went wider seeing me, which was doing Karma a disservice.
"Happened to be in the neighbourhood for something good, mind if I hitch a ride?"
"Don't fall behind," she said. *Ugh, the pinnacle of fucking drama*. She thought. Which was fair enough. I followed the two of them down the zipline.
"You're here for something good," she said as she started the van. "What?"
"You." I replied. "I've been looking for a skilled collaborator for some time now."
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The beachside promenade was bustling with the usual evening crowd. Executives winding down after a long week, blazers and ties off, having a happy hour cocktail. Young couples, holding hands, sharing a drink, enjoying the sunset. Kids running along the beach with their parents behind them, rushing to the perfect spot for their sandcastles. A typical weekend evening in the big city.
​
The Alchemist observed all this from his perch atop the watchtower. His plans would soon be set into motion. He had hacked the traffic system. He had immaculately planned the routes. A sudden sinkhole had appeared on the eastern expressway causing traffic there to be re-routed temporarily via the promenade. At the same time there was a minor fire at the fireworks warehouse in the Malcom Industrial Zone causing some of the delivery trucks to the warehouses to be routed to the promenade onto the secondary warehouses at Wellington Bridge as precaution. Two dots bleeped on the laptop screen, both were heading to the right junction at the right speed.
​
The Alchemist could hardly contain himself. That old hag Ice Queen had warned him that his plans were foolish, FOOLISH! HA! What had she achieved? Sitting in her mountain hideout, planning to take over the city, for what? Ha! Her master plan had failed simply because she couldn't get herself to kill a cat. A cat! How could you be a villain without killing? Silly woman.
​
His plan was almost coming to fruition, he saw the blinking dots almost approach, all he had to do was shut down the traffic lights and override the driver controls on the trucks. The truck loaded with industrial bleach would crash onto the container delivering vinegar from the vineyards to the bottling plant. It would release enough chlorine gas to suffocate five blocks. It was almost time.
​
He entered a quick code that overran the traffic light, switched tabs to initiate the override of the truck driver controls, he could now see both the trucks approaching each other from his vantage point, but all of a sudden there was some commotion. The container truck loaded with vinegar started sliding off course, it couldn't be, his software was impeccable. He quickly realised that the commission was because the Ice Queen had appeared and had formed a layer of ice on the road, causing vehicles to skid off road, but she was too late, the truck slid off road on to the beach and was stuck there. He still controlled the other truck, he quickly began to enter a code on his laptop when the bleach truck came to a sudden stop. Wait, why was it not moving? How? The damn truck was floating mid-air! He heard the crowd cheer "Inferno!!!" Not possible. How could two sworn enemies be uniting to ruin his plans!!??
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jd0mtbl
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[WP] "God can come have coffee with me if he's really interested." You said, shutting the door on some irritating guys with pamphlets. The very next day, God taps lightly on your door, to have a coffee.
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No one appears to be outside when I check the window.
I open the door to see if a package was left, and a black and white cat waltzes in.
"Hello everyone, just come for a chat." The cat says, walking past our dogs and hopping onto the dining room table.
All I can reply with is a short "Uhh.."
Before he cuts in "No, not that god. THE god. Chaos, if you will."
He splits into a radiant white cat and a shadow of a cat.
The white bats at the table, sending three cups of dark liquid across the table out of nowhere. The black pushes one of the cups off the edge, spilling and shattering over the floor, which of course startles our two real cats away. "Only needed two." The black candidly states.
I look at the cup nearest me. "Tea?"
"Well neither of us drink coffee." He replies.
Like a child trying to sneak to the fridge late at night for a snack I slip into a seat, noticing there is again only one cat. "I didn't really expect someone to show up. You're a cat?"
"I am everything, and nothing, but this seemed fun." He laps at the tea.
Taking a sip of the tea I find it to be deeply bitter, and horribly sweet. "Why haven't you shown up before now? Done something about the terrible things that happen?"
Haughtily licking at a paw he glances at me through six narrowed eyes. "Oh I have. I made the terrible things happen. It's a mistake to believe I am exclusively good. Entirely good, yes, but entirely evil, and entirely uncaring as well. That's what omnipotence, omnipresence and omniscience mean, I'm not just at every location, I am every location; I'm not just the creator of all things, I am all things; I know things because I am them happening."
"So that means you're me. Does that mean I am you?" I venture.
He purrs silk. "You're aware there are different sized infinities, it'd be no easy feat to find the end of infinite infinities. Many believe order to be the opposition of chaos, order is merely a small portion of chaos, zoom out a bit more and you find the parts that no longer fit the pattern. One, three, five, what comes next? Seven? But then I give you a bigger picture, one, three, five, three, one, three. Now what happened to the order you thought you saw?"
Milling this over I take another sip, this time finding it to be lemon sour with an alcoholic bite.
"The first numbers didn't change, but my idea of a pattern did. Why do I feel this relates to a certain overwhelming fear of death?"
His tail lashes several times, seeming to stretch longer each time until it's impossible to see all at once. "Einstein said it, time is just an illusion, though a very persistent one. You're already dead somewhen. Quarks are numbers, things are just arbitrary patterns, but zoom out a bit and a country might be a person, a planet a single celled organism. How can you die if you don't really exist?"
Staring into the deep dark tea I start to wonder if it'll stare back. I see my reflection when the radiant white cat steps over, but it doesn't seem like that should count.
"What of the bigger patterns I'm connected to." I wonder aloud.
"Well to be frank." Begins the black cat.
"That's part of the reason I'm here." The white one continues, as they seem to walk through each other.
"Tea is nice" They say in unison. "But let's go for a walk. Those guys with the pamphlets are out again, it might be rather amusing to run across them again."
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"Hello?"
"Oh hey, Deaf Bard. It's me."
"Heyyyyyy...?"
"...God."
"..."
"Yeah, remember yesterday? The asshole jerkwads with the pamphlets?"
"I---"
"I know, terrible, right? But I was juuust happening a-by, and caught a bit of the convo, so."
"Wait, do---"
"And I get it, I get it. To be fair, they kinda slipped under the wire under a technicality. Ooh, I love your mud room!"
"Oh, uh, thank you. Come on in, yeah, have a seat..."
"No need for the tour, I'm familiar with the place. So... you play by ear, that kind of thing?"
"Uh, no I---"
"No worries, mate. I'm happy you invited me over, it's been a haute hot hee-haw-hawt minute or two since I have a bean-me-up-Scotty."
"Sure, that's fine. I'm just going to pop in the back and--"
"Deebee?"
"...y-yeah?"
"Come on."
"What?"
"Dude. You ran out yesterday. Drank the last right after those tit-bits showed up and left, and even giggled about your comment after you downed yourself some dregs."
"That... I'm going---"
"Sure, sure, that's fine, I'm just busting your balls. Just a busty, Krusty Krab."
"Oh my Go--"
"Watch it..."
"...thanks for understanding. Man, I feel just awful about that."
"Oh, no worries, Sweet Deebs. I'm more of a stoner chick."
"A... a stoner chick?"
"Yessss, yes-yes-yes-yes. Just a slob like one of you, eh? Kurasawa and kief, let's get kraken."
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ktyxljl
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ktxupaf
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[WP] You, a side character, watch in horror as the MC forgives and doesn't kill the main villain, who murdered your friends and family, saying, "If I killed them, then I'd be just like them."
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The scent of blood and smoke hangs thick in the air, coating the nose and throat with its sharp, acidic taste like a pungent candle lit in a small room. The whole neighborhood was in ruins, skyscrapers and apartment buildings crumbling to dust, the screams of those still trapped inside swiftly being silenced. It was like a horrible symphony, the sound of the wreckage continually collapsing paired with the screech of sirens, the wailing of the trapped.
And here I stand, in the midst of my ruined community, watching as the so-called ‘*hero*’ of our city reaches out a hand to the man who caused all of this.
“You’re going to jail for a long time Destructor-” The hero declares, yanking him up by his collar and binding his hands behind his back. The shining white of his untouched outfit is a heavy contrast to his surroundings, as though he were a statue that had been left untouched by the chaos of the past hour. Hair still perfectly swooped back, his body held no evidence of the fight that just concluded. Bile rose in my throat as I watched him throw the villain over his shoulder, a man that even as he was being apprehended shouted his plans to do it again, to do it on a grander scale that no ones seen before.
I stare at them, numb.
“Y-you’re really going to just- let him go?” I mutter, shocked at the display before me. Virtue Man paused, and turned to face me. Me, covered in ash and blood, both mine and my families- Me, who’d just lost everyone and everything that had ever given my simple life meaning- *Me*, who no longer had any purpose or direction in my life.
“If I kill him, how am I any better than him?” He said, in that godawful ‘holier than thou’ tone. My chest heaves with rage, my face flushing red. Bitterness floods my veins, clouds my mind. All I feel is anger, towards Virtue Man, towards Destructor, towards my bus that was five minutes late, ultimately keeping me from being in the apartment building with my loved ones when it was destroyed.
“B-better than him?” I scoff, laughing. “Better than him?! I don’t know, have you ever killed thousands of people for the hell of it? Have you ever poisoned the water supply, experimented on unwilling victims, bombed a library because, ‘the librarian gave you a dirty look’?! What the hell is wrong with you?! He’s just going to escape, and kill thousands if not millions more!” I shout, storming towards them.
“I understand your pain, but-” Virtue man began, before I cut him off.
“Understand my pain? If you understood, he would be *dead*.” I look him dead in the eye. “Everyone he’s killed since the last time he escaped? Their blood is on ***your*** hands. Every orphan, widow, or childless parent he's created? Is on your hands.”
He lets me say my peace, before responding. “I will never kill any person, no matter the reason-” He states firmly, before turning to walk away.
I just start laughing. This so-called hero would let thousands die, all because he didn't want to get his hands dirty? Fine. I look around the ruins, my eyes quickly spotting just what I was looking for. A dead officer, her gun still in hand. I move quickly, and swipe it, the gun waying heavy in my hand. I rush towards Virtue Man, and aim for the limp villain thrown over his shoulder.
I took a deep breath, remembering what my grandfather had taught me as a child, and pulled the trigger.
Because he might value keeping his hands and conscience clean, but *I* have nothing left to lose.
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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."
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jejpu5w
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jeigzr5
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[WP] You run a dog daycare, and many of the dogs are...not ordinary. Cerberos with the three heads, Fenrir the massive wolf. the Black Hound... Their owners are equally bad at hiding their identities but it's fine, since the doggies are all well behaved.
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I looked up at the tall customer Infront of me, her silken Kimono flowing down like the waterfall that was embroidered on it. Her hair was up in a neat bun held in place by a pair of chopsticks I was pretty sure were made of Jade.
I hadn't gotten picked up after I completed my studies at the Mage academy. No master spell crafters, or Potion makers had openings. I had, however, made a few extra coins during my training by caring for people's companions and familiars.
Some tests just didn't let you have outside help, and so I would watch over my classmates Animals for a small fee. It had started with just my classmates, but by the time I was done with my training, and ready to graduate, it included several upperclassmen, and even a few faculty members were in my client base.
I decided to take this to a full-time gig, and found a groomer who specializes in helping intelligent animals with their issues.
I wasn't sure when he found out, but one of my customers, it seemed, was a Warlock with Hades himself as a patron. Her Hellhound familiar gave it away, honestly. The large shaggy mastiff that smelled lightly of sulphur and burnt hair was a regular at the groomer, with us often watching him overnight when his Warlock was out drinking.
About 6 months ago, things took a turn. I'm not sure if he was trying to hide himself, or just making sure that I knew who he was. A three headed hound with blue flames in it's eyes, and a cobra for a tail is hard to mistake though.
It seems the Guardian of the underworld had gotten into the garden, and dug up some of Queen Persephone's prize flowers. The dirt and manure caked the great hound's three heads, and I'm surprised the cobra didn't have a concussion from how hard it was being wagged on the ground.
Turns out, even one of the most legendary canines ever loves 'baby talk'. It took us almost 8 hours to wash everything out of the dog's coat, since one of the heads would always want to go play.
Although he never told us who he was, there are few other entities that would wear all black with a hooded sweatshirt that read "The Volcanoes Are Mine.". A sweatshirt I got very familiar with as he and 'Cerbz' became weekly regulars.
The fees he paid upfront in raw gems were enough to fund an increase in the size of our facilities, and Cerbz got along well with the other magical familiars.
A little.over a month later, A man wearing a studded Leather biker jacket, with a beard that would make ZZ-Top green with envy, came in with a truly massive wolfhound. 'Fen' was the size of a large draft horse, and when he stood with his ears fully up, he was almost 9 feet tall.
I still can't quite wrap my head around how I was able to hold the roots of a mountain, or the sound of a spider spinning it's web in my hands, but somehow I knew that was what the leash was made of.
It turns out Fen and Cerbz knew each other, and had a grand time frolicking around the now 1-1/2 acre yard we had, chasing sticks and tugging on the steel cables we had put out for our larger visitors.
The way The biker threw his hands up and shouted about 'HAMMAR!!' was a clear indication of who had brought him. When he was picked up by Tom Hiddleston, who simply smirked at my groomers gobsmacked expression, well it just made sense.
Over the intervening few months, we've had the laughing monk bring in Fuu dogs that got into Yeti poo, and needed a bath, Anubis brought himself in for a trim, and Coyote puzzled us with riddles while he played fetch.
Now, Tsukomi stood before me, filling out a clipboard with Kanji I would need Google to read, while asking if we could help her Tanuki after it had jumped into the sea to try and catch the tail of the giant catfish that lived under Japan.
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Warning:
First attempt trying to do this. English is not my native language either, if my grammar or structuring of sentences seem off.
Travis felt like it always was a strange feeling in the morning. All quiet, people preparing for the arrival of the dogs and their owners. The contrast against the otherwise regular sounds of sniffing, gasping, barking and whining gave a "quiet before the storm"-feeling.
As he was looking to the right, his colleauge Barb came walking through the corridor.
He couldnt helpt but smile, he liked Barb. A positive woman in her mid-fifties, who always made time for helping people with her experience of 30 years working with the dogs.
- Hi Travis! How are you? she asked him, shooting him her signature crooked smile
- A bit tired, was a bit of a rough night. My son woke up a couple of times during the night. Otherwise, im fine, he replied
- Ah, i remember those times. They were rough at the time. It gets better, soon you will wonder where the time went when going on ski trips with them and you getting to sleep in every morning, she said and laughed
He smiled. She always had something uplifting to say. She continued:
- We have a busy day today. Both Cerberus, Shuck and Fenrir are coming in today. That means alot of walking and alot of extra food when giving them their meals.
He nodded in reply. Cerberus was the three-headed dog of the owner Had Esunder. His owner was a bit stern and always seemed to be in a hurry, but Cerberus was in contrast very playful and happy. He also seemed to have a neverending energy, always up for some walking and playing.
To be continued in next comment
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l1wlwo7
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[WP] Every dragon rider gets a dragon egg to hatch upon their initiation to the guild. When your egg hatched, Your dragon came out a bit... Different.
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Chapter 1: The Dragon
I first noticed something was wrong when the egg was slightly…metallic. However, I knew there were different varieties, each with their own particular quirks, so I didn’t think much of it. “Maybe the instructors just want to give me an extra challenge. Well, I’ll just show them that I can still handle it.”
So I kept the egg. I kept it in the most optimal conditions I could, and after about six months (the average length of time for dragons to hatch), I brought it to the training building, where the instructors would be waiting to give prospective dragon riders practical instructions on how to handle their new dragons. As I watched, the egg resting in a nest placed on the floor, something finally began to happen.
As I watched, the egg started splitting along some unusual lines around the outside, which I’d taken to be natural patterns merely for decoration on the surface. Then they started sliding down, leaving the top open. It then split vertically like a flower blooming, and the egg itself ceased its movement.
Inside the egg was the dragon. It had a definite metallic sheen, and whirred and clanked softly as it sat mostly still, investigating its surroundings. It stood up on its four legs (normal for some dragons) and walked towards me, its feet stomping slightly on the stone.
It looked up at me, and beeped in a way that seemed…inquisitive, almost like it was trying to figure out what I was. This in itself was a bit odd, since dragons typically had an innate, but basic, knowledge and understanding of humans. The mere fact that one didn’t have this knowledge was enough to concern me, and so I waved over an instructor, who approached and inquired, “What seems to be the issue, young draciter?”
“My dragon,” I replied. “It doesn’t seem to recognize me as a human, as I was assured it would. It also seems, strangely enough, to be made of some sort of…metal. Even its egg.”
He bent down over the nest, looking at the now-open egg. To our surprise, its sides rose again, then extended, resealing the egg, with virtually no trace of the seams along which it opened.
“Now that *is* odd, draciter. I’ve been assisting young riders like you for decades now, after having trained my own, and never have I seen one like this. This will be a new experience for all of us, as you learn about this new type of dragon. If it’s alright with you, and as long as you feel that it doesn’t interfere with your bonding, we would like to investigate your dragon more closely.”
“Alright. Do you have any advice for me at the moment?”
“Not particularly. Keep an eye on him, and if you learn anything specific, let me know. I’ll help with whatever I can. Follow me; we should inform the Head Draciter on this new…development. If you are willing, please bring your dragon and its egg with you to our meeting.”
I lifted the dragon onto my shoulders, hefted the recently reclosed egg, and set off after my instructor.
I made a few tweaks to Chapter 1, and have added Chapter 2.
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Ren spat out her tea when she heard the door slam open with Tori- her daughter run into the living room with a large, brown and red-dotted egg cradled in her arms.
"Mom! Mom!" Tori announced, "Egg. I have an egg!"
With graceful weaving of her hands, Ren motioned her daughter to wait for her- after she placed her teacup on the table.
Ren knew how to talk, but thanks to the quirks of her biology was unable to talk during the day- except on rainy days where the air was moist enough for her vocal chords to work.
Ren entered the living room to find her daughter staring intently at the dragon egg, the egg places on a hemp cushion. She sat down and glanced to the egg then her daughter with a questioning look.
"The Dragon Rider's Guild gave me an egg for my initiation after I passed the rider's exam last week." Tori explained, "It's supposed to hatch later today."
Ren nodded and left the living room, returning with a second round of tea.
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mw5diyg
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[WP] The real reason you hate the villain is because they forced you to be the hero.
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The Ultimates, the Photon Five, Scorpion Cyclone, and many others.
Heroic Lineage, some even dating back to the days of the second world war. These families exist all around the world. Some try to blend in with society, and others live like celebrities in both civilian and hero life. Guess which of the two my family did.
I remember classmates who gossiped and cavorted, just imagining how much of a dream it must have been to be part of a hero family. Some would come up to me and tell me how lucky I am. How lucky I am that I get powers, how lucky I am that am part of a family of supers, how lucky I am I get to be a hero. Oh, I'm so lucky....
I would have gladly traded places. The little bastards thought it was a good thing? Like I ever had a choice. Not to mention that suddenly any of my actions reflected on the family, how I wasn't an average kid-I had to live up to something. My education never ended after school, at home private tutors expanded what I had to learn, private chefs managed my diet, personal trainers kept me on a strict plan. And all of it was necessary and all of it was on the government tab, who also kept tabs on us. I never had a choice.
I hated it.
There were strings on my limbs. They pulled, my limbs respond to their will. Dreams and aspirations...as long as it fit the plan, it was fine. The family plan. All I had to do was follow the script someone else wrote for my life...until I died. And since someone was keeping tabs, I couldn't quit. This was my life.
Then, a villain attacked my school. Some dipshit who wanted to make a name for themselves attacking the kids of supers, everyone else, kids of the upper echelons, was a bonus. He had an unusual ability. It seems like even he didn't understand what his powers were. I took advantage of it.
I was dead. Or at least everyone thought i was.
I later found out my older sister killed the guy, thinking he murdered me. I felt bad that she did it, but I knew that with him dead, there was no chance of people learning the truth.
I know. I'm a coward, a piece of shit. But I was free.
I quickly ran down a few folks I knew, bad folks who couldn't break away from their trade, and shook them down for their skills and silence. A new identity, a new life, and a ticket away from the only home I've ever known.
Since my family rubbed elbows with other families, I got to know of where they were, of where villains tended to attack. Needless to say, I already had a good idea of where to go. Somewhere remote, somewhere no one really cares about. And I gotta say, I was surprised on the way there.
Being a superhero means that you are at the center of conflict, right where the actions at. Constantly looking for trouble makes it feel like there's trouble every day. But on my travels, there was no super conflict, no robbers, no weirdo in a gimp suit with delusions of grandeur. It was just normal. Life was normal. I loved it.
When I made it to the remote town I started my life all over. I had my troubles. I had to figure out problems I never had to deal with before, like making a living and paying bills. I had to find a trade and make myself useful outside of my powers. I had to learn common sense. I had to relearn how to live life as a normal person. It was awesome.
It was hard work, there were times I felt like crying, times I felt so useless, times were I regretted my choices. But I did it. I made a name for myself in my local community, people liked and found me reliable for **my** own skills and talent, not what I was born with or into. And...and I even found love; someone mom and dad wouldn't have approved of, someone the gov genealogist definitely wouldn't approve (the old windbag kinda favored lighter skin tones if you catch my drift). And I was happy.
I had my own troubles, my own messes to sort out...I had my own life. I was happy.
That's why I hate you.
It's not because you attacked the earth, it's not because you beat most of the heroes half to death, it's not even because you threated to end the world.
It's because you forced me to be a hero again. My family, the family I chose and the family I created...the whole world now knows I'm alive and who I am. I'm not even sure how I'm going to face my wife after this. The look she gave me when I used my power....
And for that, I'm going to kick your fucking ass!
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Another goddamn awful day has passed.
Robberies, kidnappings, hostage situations, fights, arguments, cats in trees...houses in flames, dams breaking and rivers out of control...
All and more under my jurisdiction.
Why?
Because I am the Hero.
And every day that passes I resent the one who is responsible for this: the Villain.
I don't care that they do what they do, because it's obvious they won't be a Saint.
Killing, kidnapping, stealing and so much more is their normal behavior...and I would have been happy to stop them...
If it were not for the fact that I abhor the idea of being a Hero.
A mascot of "justice" running around doing good deeds for nothing.
While people starve, I am to run around solving crimes, and fighting idiots who can't control their emotions...
And the Villain in this case I hate the most...became a villain just to force me become a Hero.
It's not a lie, nor do I imagine it.
She became a Villain, because she didn't want to be a Hero, and knew that I had the making of one.
So she left in the middle of the night, killed our town's police chief...and fled.
My dear sister...
Ever since then I was hunting her, but it was too late.
After our very first fight, I have been labeled as a Hero, taken in for questioning by the government, and given a license to practice "heroism"...
My life, my dream...was dead.
A lovely childhood, loving parents, an awesome bigger sister.
I awakened my powers shortly after her, and we were all so...happy.
I wanted nothing more than to become an architect...to build, to create...
She on the other hand wanted nothing more than to marry rich, and raise children, to become a perfect lazy housewife she used to call it.
Then...our family was hit by a calamity, and our parents...died.
It didn't take long for the toll of it to hit my sister, as she cried and cried for someone to save us.
Nobody came...so she took things in her own hands.
Becoming a Villain and forcing me to be a Hero.
She runs around the world, every now and then appearing, putting me into the spotlight once more...
She is...always on the move.
Me on the other hand, I hunt her, I hate her...and I want to save her, for this...this is not what we have dreamed of, neither of us.
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jitva3r
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jisrmh0
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[WP] In a world of dragons, sorcery, war, and monsters, there are many risks and even risk takers. Everyone though, elf, monster, or man knows to avoid those few ancient ruins that contain symbols of suffering and a word of the ancients, RADIATION.
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*The tomb must have belonged to an angry god.*
*Massive spikes, possibly the remnants of one last, furious outburst, burst from the ground long ago. Just beneath it, an entrance was found.*
*When our ancestors killed him, they sealed off his tomb. They killed him, then they killed his legend, for even the elders know nothing of this Ra'Diation. But can a god be killed, or does he merely slumber for centuries while he recovers?*
​
I squirmed against my bonds, the ropes chafing my wrists. Little Varion, my brother, stared at me with eyes wide. Though his mouth was gagged, he still tried to scream, muffled against the cloth.
"You cannot escape your fate, young elfling." A dwarf approached, recognizable only by his size and the gruffness of his voice. He was drowning in his clothing, some strange yellow suit of something that was not fabric, not any that I had ever seen, anyway. His face was hidden behind some kind of black mask, tight and constricting from the way he kept shifting his head, trying to adjust to it. Only his eyes were visible, bright and blue and horribly vivid behind their clear shield.
"You will do us a great honor," he continued. "We believe our god rests below. You will help us wake him."
I just blinked. I started to speak before I remembered the gag, and he nodded to one of his followers, saying something quickly in dwarven.
The taste of the dirty cloth stained my tongue. Some stray fibers clung to the corners of my mouth, and I scrunched my nose, scraping my tongue over every place the cloth still lingered.
"Tch. Elves." He shoved my head upward, glaring into my eyes. "Speak."
After I spat what fabric I could at my side, I looked up again, speaking carefully. "How are we to assist you? We know nothing of your god or his rituals, and we are not built for excavation."
That got a smirk from him. "Leave the excavation to us." His buddies flexed and laughed among themselves, making some kind of jokes back and forth. I almost relaxed, until the leader's smile faded. "You elves are good with languages. You even study some of the forgotten tongues. You will accompany us and translate."
Varion and I shared a glance. I did have a rough knowledge of a few old languages, but his interests were more rooted in science than in literature or history. *The future, not the past*, as he had often scoffed. I saw him swallow before he nearly gagged on the cloth.
"And then you will let us free?" I asked cautiously.
Another smirk. "We will see how useful you have been. And *cooperative*." Something sharp poked at my spine, and I shivered. If only I hadn't gotten us into this mess...
He barked out an order, and we were yanked to our feet. The blade's edge rested a little lower down and turned at an upward angle, but it never left my back, palpable even through my tunic.
We marched down a stone corridor, lit only by the flickering torches. Many short shadows mobbed our own taller ones... too many. It wasn't long, however, before we entered a large chamber, lined with walls of markings.
The diagrams were confusing. Crude drawings of people stared back at us in mixed poses of anger and horror. There was an illustration of a man touching a rock with a strange symbol, then being marked with that symbol before lying down next to a tree. Another, similar one depicted the same event with the man opening a barrel with a skull on it.
At least the text was a little clearer. Most of the symbols were familiar, but their language was lost on me until I found one in franc, my most recent pet project to learn. Still, my understanding wasn't perfect, broken into bits and pieces.
*... Attention!*
*...powerful...*
*This place is not a place of honor. No... commemorated here. Nothing... is here.*
*What was here... dangerous... to us.*
One word in particular kept repeating all throughout the text. *Danger. Danger. Danger.*
I stepped back, gulping. My throat suddenly felt dry, even beyond what the cloth had done. "I don't think we should be here."
​
(I will continue this later, after I've run some errands.)
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"Are you sure Captain? Even those fire breathing lizards burn inside the temples marked by the Trinity."
The Captain snapped around, pointy ears poking out of her illustrious blonde hair with blue eyes sparkling under the noon sun sky. She scowled at the Lieutenant's cowardice while tapping vigorously at the gold badge on his cloak.
"The Order of Gilded Leaves do not refuse orders. We are the eyes and ears of the Rafthaven Tribe. They need us to complete our missions so that-"
He shook her off, "So that we may secure the safety of our people and its future. Yes, yes, I memorized that nonsense. But Captain, when we are asked to go to a place where even dragons can melt, I get a little concerned about our safety."
Another hooded figure from behind placed a hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder, the Cleric reassured him.
"Don't worry boy, three times I have been to these temples and yet still I live. Trust in the protection granted to us by Yggdrasil."
The young graduate stared at the bald man, blind in his left eye and missing his right arm. A scared gulp from the boy generated a hearty laugh from his elder, "I live yes, but as you can see the toll was quite high."
As they neared the edge of safety the Captain started final preparations. She had no intentions of losing any more soldiers in these ventures.
"Pay attention fools. The very air around us will soon become poison. Don the cloaks made by the Cleric. Wrap yourselves up tightly and receive his blessing. Be sure you have your Mythril weapons at the ready, only they can pierce the hides of the steel beasts who roam the halls."
The scouting party hardened their resolve. This was their chance to secure a weapon which can fell even the dragon horde. Behind this golden symbol of the trinity converging towards itself was the key to dominance. He who wields the might of the ancients, the dreaded power of Radiation, shall claim these lands as their own.
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l79f38n
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l78f13j
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[WP] “One of us tells only the truth. “the other nothing but lies.” You kill the first guard and ask “Is he dead?”
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The guard stares at you in shock for a fleeting moment before drawing his sword and bellowing, "No backup! I don't need any backup right now! Everyone is fine!" He jumps between you and the other guard, knocking your spear out of the way and raising his shield. "Approach right now!" He shouts. Given his defensive posture, the meaning is quite clear. The puzzle is solved, now replaced with a fight. Perfect.
You feint at his left before stabbing at his right, successfully hitting a chink in the shoulder joint of his armor. He growls in pain but still holds his sword high, only wavering slightly. You are clearly the more skilled opponent, but before you can get another blow in you hear the pounding of boots and five more armored guards come boiling out the singular castle door. The first sees his fallen comrade immediately and yells "Man down! One armed and dangerous attacker at the gate!"
All five of the new guards draw their swords as well and form a semicircle around you. As soon as his comrades have him covered, the original gate guard drops his sword and attempts to administer first aid to his partner. It is clearly futile. One of his carotid arteries has been severed, and the spurts of blood have already slowed to a trickle. He looks up after a few moments and says, Gavin's here. He's... alive." The last word comes out almost as a whimper.
The remaining guards breathe out rage and grief in unison. One man growls menacingly, but holds his position. The leader's mouth tenses into a thin line. "Surrender and your life will be spared." He says grimly. Six on one is not good odds, but you didn't come here to rot in a dungeon. But before you can even make your first attack on the leader, the gate guard tackles you with unexpected berserker speed and knocks you to the ground.
"I want you dead to avoid the consequences of what you did! That man wasn't my best friend!" He screams. You attempt to shove him off but the other guards have followed his lead and moved to pin your arms. "I'll make sure you stay in our nicest alehouse! You'll see the light of day again in the morning! You fine upstanding citizen whom I love very much, you're going to have a lovely dinner!" Spit flies from his mouth as he issues this last threat.
"Peter, stop." Says the leader of the guards forcefully from where he is holding down your left leg. The gate guard stops screaming abruptly, but doesn't get off of your chest. "Gavin was the most dishonorable man I ever met, and I never heard him say anything true in his life." He breathes softly, before falling silent.
The gate guards wrestle you into binds and throw you into the dungeon. Eventually you are sentenced to thirty years of hard rowing in the navy's galleys for murder.
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“That’s not how this works.” I say as I raise my spear at the adventurer’s neck.
The jerk killed Jerry. “You are under arrest for attacking a guard and for breaking the rules of the game.” I shift my target from the neck to the shoulder with the speed and strength of a raging river. Not to kill, but to pin down the criminal. I pull the rope to sound the low danger emergency bell.
As the gate opens up and the criminal is dragged away I turn to look at the wretched soul. With all the professionalism and malice I can muster I tell the truth. “I was the liar, until you broke the game. Thank you for playing.”
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j9urcjs
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[WP] A dragon decides to claim a human settlement for itself. As the dragon arrives at the small town and announces its demands, it is perplexed to be met by the people's eagerness to accept.
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There was something, Ash-Bringer thought, that was Not Quite Right about this place.
Not that he was one to brag, but *usually* when people caught sight of his enormous wings darkening the skies, they fled in terror. Like an anthill kicked over, he would watch as the villagers below would scatter and scurry, the women and children to the cellars and the men to the armory. *Usually* there would be a call to arms and whatever village leader or militia commander had found himself stuck with the job would try to marshal the undisciplined townsfolk into some sort of defense.
Usually Ash-Bringer left those towns alone because it wasn’t worth the trouble. He would have decimated their forces, and then who would be left to raise the cattle and pigs he would have demanded as tribute? And then word would spread of the dragon who laid waste to the countryside and then there would be some sort of response from the local lord or king or what have you. Villagers were no problem, but trained knights could present a challenge for a dragon who was not on his toes. Talons. Ash-Bringer knew of two of his kin who had been slain at the end of a lucky knight’s pike.
But Ash-Bringer was beginning to feel his age. There came a time in every dragon’s life when he or she felt the urge to hoard, to carve out a territory of their own and fill it with gold and jewels, with fatted calves and plumped sheep. And so, when he saw a hamlet tucked away in the hills, in a defensible location close to the river and abutting a mountain, he listened to instinct and veered in the sky until his green scales, glittering like crystals in the dappled sunlight, made an arrow for the town.
He was prepared for the anthill that would follow. That should have followed.
But when he soared low over the cottages with the thatched roofs, the villagers stared up at him, mouths agape and weapons nowhere in sight. The men weren’t yelling; the women hoisted their children and held them up, as if getting them closer to his fearsome claws.
It was odd, admittedly, but perhaps they were struck dumb with terror. Ash-bringer landed with a flare of wings and a plume of dust at the edge of town, and waited.
There was no attack, no ringing of the church bell to sound the alarm, even. Instead, a little man, heavyset with watery eyes and a beaming smile, hurried out to stand in front of Ash-Bringer.
“O, mighty dragon!” the little man cried, and he fell to the ground and prostrated himself. An auspicious start, Ash-Bringer decided. He had never heard of humans who were immediately cowed in fear, but perhaps this village was wiser than most.
“I have come to claim these lands,” Ash-Bringer hissed, his voice like the edge of one thousand knives, and heat from the flame in his throat browning the grass around them. “This village and all that is in it belong to me!”
“Oh yes, yes!” the little man cried. “Of course, mighty dragon, he of scales and flame! All that we have we offer you!”
That was – unexpectedly easy. “And you will bring a cow each day, for I hunger greatly,” Ash-Bringer continued. “If you do not – “
“Of course! We have cattle at the ready!” the little man exclaimed. “Do you require sheep or pigs as well?”
“I – yes?” Ash-Bringer said, taken aback. “And by the end of tonight, you will bring forth your gold and your wealth! If you do not – “
“Oh, we have collected it in chests and we can carry them to you whenever you desire!” the little man said, still bowed on the ground. “O mighty dragon, he of wings and death, we are honored you have chosen to demand tribute!”
This was getting weird. Ash-Bringer decided to push it and see how far he could go.
“And you will send me a young maiden each morning,” he demanded. “A comely woman who will tend to me – “
“My daughter shall be the first!” the little man trumpeted joyfully as he sat up to beam at Ash-Bringer. “She is among the most beautiful in the village and she will serve you with devotion!”
There was no way. Ash-Bringer stopped and looked, really looked, at the man. He was dressed all in white and his hair was long and braided. On the front of his robes was a strange symbol – a spurt of flame, stitched in black, orange and red. Then, Ash-Bringer looked across the village. The cottages were quaint, but all had the same symbol painted on the front doors. Every person in the village stood at the edge of the gate, staring with unnerving smiles and sporting white robes with the black, orange, and red flame. In the fields beyond the buildings, Ash-Bringer could see rows of crops – pumpkins, corn, beans, and marijuana and psychotropic mushrooms.
“What is this place?” he asked sharply.
“Oh mighty dragon, it is your home, of course!” the man trilled. “The prophets have long foretold your coming! We, the devoted members of the Burning Flame, have waited 130 years for your return, as has been foretold in the stars! We live communally in a society of free love and harmony, where we partake of sacred herbs in our secret rituals. Our temple ceremonies – “
Ash-Bringer sighed in disgust and launched into the sky. Fucking dragon-worshipping cults.
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The first precursor to its coming was the shadow among the clouds. A peculiar shape in the gloomy sky that grew larger with each passing second. Next came the distinct crack of a whip reverberating and echoing throughout the entire village like a storm without the cutting winds. Finally, a roar that brought tremors from the sky down into the ground.
From the shadow in the grey sky burst forth a dragon with crimson scales and molten veins shining through the edges. Smoke and ash trailed behind as the very air surrounding it constantly flickered embers. It glided down slowly until it beat its wings thunderously and landed in the middle of the village. The final flames licked the edges of the nearby buildings but sputtered out quickly.
It sat up on its haunches and let its barbed tail whip apart an entire roof before settling itself down curled around him. His head towered above even the village leader’s two story home. A home of which its main inhabitant now stood in front facing the dragon with a bowed head. Patiently, he waited for the dragon. After several moments passing in relative silence, the massive beast spoke as softly as it could. Even its whisper echoed like a bear’s roar.
“You have received my message.”
Lifting his head, the village leader looked up. 2 irises of flowing flames framed within opaque darkness stared down at him. He nodded before answering as loudly a voice as he could muster. “We have Lord Kyros! The farmer came back from your mountain trail and heralded your coming.”
Kyros slowly twisted its head around to view the village. Inspecting the villagers outside their homes with their heads bowed. Then at the surrounding forests with scrutiny. Turning back down, he growled out.
“I have come to take over this village in my name. I have given advance warning, yet, there are no soldiers. Where is King Sarlas’ knights?”
“We have sent no message and expect no help from Sarlas.”
With a blink, Kyros growled again with further suspicion.
“I have come to claim your village as my own. I demand tribute of meat and grain, at the edge of my claws. Gold and silver, with a threat of my breath. A village I know King Sarlas claims under his protection, yet you do not seek it to protect yourself? Why?”
The village leader began to grin at the inquiry. He responded with almost unconstrained joy.
“Sarlas demands similar tribute from this far away village. Meat and grain at the point of a spear. Gold and silver, with threats of torch and oil. He claims to provide protection, yet we never see soldiers or knights. If ever we see them to collect your tribute, you would shred armor with claws and burn their soldiers alive, would you not?”
In a single growl, Kyros snarled a simple “I would.”
Nodding at the response, the leader answered back.
“Then already we have more protection for the same price from you Lord Kyros of the nearby mountain than from Sarlas across the vast forests.”
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j5o39bd
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j5o3565
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[WP] your party members betrayed you leaving you for dead after deeming you “too dangerous” to continue in their party years later you are known as the “fell knight” and your unknowing ex party members raid your castle in a attempt to kill you
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Part 1.
They were my friends...Or so I thought. All the good times I had in the party feels like a curse now. Oh how I wish to forget. Asteria, always wearing majestic robes with her gorgeous flowing red hair and magic. Her powerful buffs and spells sent shiver down enemy spines. Loki, brown hair, light armored and cloaked. He was the most agile with his clever wit and skill. A true rogue. Stealth, acrobatics with daggers and poison his speciality. No foe could guess what he would do next making him quite the terror. Moria, average looks in leather gear but never to be underestimated. Specialized in a magical chain-sword. Her technical skill and strategy in redirection alone was enough to tank even the mightiest of foes as if it was a brilliant dance. Then there was me. My only ability being precognitive in nature. My body a weapon in its own right. I needed no weapon and used my foes weapons against them. A reactive fighting style. Seeing things a few seconds in advance might not seem like much at first glance but in the right hands could easily mean the differences between victory and defeat. We were the perfect team. The type that was in sync with each other. The type that synergized and made one another better.
I still remember the moment as if I was living it.The curse of the 'Fell' saw to that. We had just defeated a great giant of a foe. I turned around and smiled in triumph at our victory. Suddenly, I felt a stifling pain in my chest. I glanced at Asteria with her wicked smirk as she giggled at my plight.
Loki as he whispered in my ear, "*How does it feel to be stabbed in the back by your best friend?*" In jest.
I choked my lungs out as a dagger shined red in my blood. My lungs punctured as Moria just stood there and watched with an emotionless face nearby. Her grey smiling eyes the only tell sign that she quite enjoyed the sight.
My heart iced that day. Rage killed my emotions. Revenge and redemption was the only thing that lingered in my mind as I fell to the cold stoned floor. My vision darkened as I laid alone, dying slowly.
Then I heard a whisper. "*Such wrath I sense writhing within you. I will lend you thy power for revenge. Accept thy power of thy 'Fell' and your darkest wish will come true. Or die here and now knowing that they will live free of guilt of what happened this day.*"
My stomach and heart burned in anger. A hot tear ran down my cold cheek.
"*I will live. I will make it so their fate is sealed in the most tragic of ways.*
I pledged to myself and to the power that called out to me. I took my last breath as a chillness seeped into my bones. I watched as my skin disappeared before my eyes leaving only my bones. My bones covered in blue runic lines. I touched my bare and bald skull in wonder as a black phantasmal armor with purple runic tattoos appeared, covering me head to toe. That was the day the "Fell Knight" came into existence. I became feared across the lands. I made a name for myself for one purpose and one purpose only. For them to come and find me. Eventually, I got my wish.
An acid spell melted the door to my castle as they barged in. Fought my minions they did with ease. I watched as they casually made there way to my throne room where I sat. My dead heart beat in excitement for the moment I've been waiting for since my undeath. Loki made his presence known first. He strolled in and stopped a few feet from me and gave me a charming and ridiculing smile at the same time.
" So this is a fell knight? Not really what I expected. I imagined you a bit more...intimidating?"
"Looks can be deceiving." I murmured, my voice carried through the halls with a cold and supernatural weight to them. Loki seemed unimpressed.
"Oh? It speaks. How fun." He joked. Always the jester. Never taking life seriously. He hasn't changed a bit. My Blue glowing fire-like gaze turned to Asteria who stood next to Loki. She had her signature arrogant smirk.
"Asteria." I whispered casually. My voice echoed hauntingly. Her eyes widened at the fact that I called her name but recovered quickly. Loki frowned.
"Ew, loki hurry up and kill it. This thing gives me the creeps." She gave Loki a look making him sigh exasperatingly.
"Why me? You got the fire power. Just shoot it with that firebomb spell. Im sure that would do the trick."
"Humph." She flung her long red hair back behind her shoulders and prepared for what was to come. Her staff glowed ominously. I heard footsteps as Moria silently made her way into the room and stood in front of Asteria. They both gave her a look.
"Took you long enough." They said as one. Maria ignored them as she shook her sword clean. A perfectly straight line of blood appeared on the wooden floor from where she stood. Classic Moria.
I got up from my throne chair and stepped down slowly.
" Five years ago. Do you remember?" My cold voice sent a chill in the room. I smiled demonically within my black helmet. My phantom armor didn't make a sound. I seemed to strike a nerve as they looked stunned. Loki seemed to be done playing around as he seemed to fade into the background. I knew exactly what he was planning. That's the thing about fighting people you know. Its natural to learn most of their tricks.
" *Five years I have waited for this day. Tell me loki, how does it feel that your betrayal has come back to haunt you? Don't worry Asteria, you will be last. I wonder if you will still be smirking after this?*" I laughed in childish glee that seemed to send shivers down anyone's spines.
"Glen?" Asteria whispered in horror. Moria glaring eyes tried to pierce mine.
I ignored her as the blue fire in my eyes looked upon Moria. "Ah, lets not forget Moria. I respected your skill. Still do. But your personality is shit and I'm going to love stomping you to pieces with out a care in the world. Karma is a bitch isn't it?" Moria frowned. Bloodlust seeped out of her like a tide ready for a fight.
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His cold dagger slithered inside me cutting veins, arteries, and organs "You were too unpredictable yea'ri" Hosirus an Eldar assassin whispered behind me as he pulled out his dagger, my body limp from the poison that soaked the blade.
I twitched as my body hit the grass "Cut off her head to ensure her death!" culvan the proclaimed leader of the party a dwarf bellowed as he dropped his foot onto my stomach "No the ritual requires the victim to be in intense pain" hosirus crouched beside me "Don't worry yea'ri it will be over soon enough"
the 2 other party members both eldars whom culvan had just recruited stood back grinning, never gave enough care to remember their names though.
Soon enough I was alone, staring up into the sky lusting for revenge yet mourning for I was powerless, my mana not enough to even heal a simple scar. I wept the people I deemed friends stabbing and leaving me to be eaten by animals, I was now only waiting for the inevitable I felt the grass swaying, breath with labor the fresh forest air, and awaited my fate from the horrors that wandered this forest.
"I admire you human" a monotone voice hummed in some nearby bush "even after they violated you, taken advantage of you as you lay defenseless, you never let out a single whimper or hint of pain, just a cold stare plastered upon your dirtied porcelain face," It said as it walked towards me.
At this point I've accepted any fate that will arrive after what my "friends" did to me, I was all too desensitized.
It stared at me Its face was akin to the void you would see in caves "Do you wish to pass on yea'ri?" It said with a melodic voice as a grin formed from what I can assume is its face, IT is a mealcadorian powerful beings. they are malevolent and benevolent, though there is no real way of telling them apart.
"I'll take this rude silence and piercing stare of yours as a no" It announced as my body hovered and is enveloped by dark magic.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now as I await them after luring them with mischiefs enough to disturb multiple towns, My rage once again burned, the wound behind me glowing, I awaited the battle that will either kill me once and for all or give me the wish I've been laboring for years.
The large wooden gate slammed open as a dwarf entered the room chest puffed up and laughing. "WHERE IS THIS FELL KNIGHT, I WISH TO CHALLANGE YOU SIR" he bellowed, Osiris and the other 2 walked in behind him they were already executing spells. pathetic
I stood up from my throne my obsidian armor clacking against my great sword "Oh culvan even after these years, you still are one idiotic pessimist" I walked closer to them dragging behind me the massive hulking mass of iron the peasants call "the slayer"
"The felled has some fire in it despite being enveloped in darkness" culvan heckled, that voice that damned voice, it reminded me of that event not that I forgot it, it's just that voice that made it oh so clearer.
The eldars moved in a pronged manner, Osiris leading in front of the trio having an assortment of spells brewing from their hands.
As they get closer I lift an arm and ripped off my face plate, revealing that oh-so "porcelain face" that mealcadorian insisted I have. their carefully planned master plan fell apart so quickly it made me giggle inside, their faces OH their faces such a treat seeing the smug look from an eldar be ripped off and replaced by horror.
"How did you-"
"This isn't the time for questions culvan" I bellowed as I raised both my arms signaling the hidden servants to open the blinds, the blinding light making my void armor glisten.
"Oh, how ill cherish hearing your bones crack" I smirked as I walked to them.
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jjff840
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jjff2p2
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[WP] Whenever you die you resurrect on the last day on which you could possibly have prevented your death with all your memories. Usually it only takes you back a few days, a couple of weeks in extreme cases. Today you died and awoke decades in the past.
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"We are mortals only by choice."
​
That was the way that my mother explained it to me, once I was old enough to know. It's a bit more complicated than that but it's something that's been in my family for as many generations back as anybody can find records for. If we die, we get a do over. Just one, but that's one per individual death. If you fall down the stairs and snap your neck for example then successfully walking down the stairs more carefully next time doesn't stop you from getting a second chance when a bar fight takes you out three years later. However, if you don't learn your lesson about the stairs and take them the same way with no changes then that's it - done.
​
It's a difficult thing to deal with, the idea that everyone in your family who has actually died has technically chosen to. We don't tend to die early, but we don't live absurdly long either. The fact that we could choose to make adjustments time after time almost indefinitely, living with increasing pain and decreasing quality of life, doesn't make it favourable. Our gift or curse or whatever you choose to see it as doesn't free us from illness or injury and eventually things like that accumulate. Choosing death doesn't mean the same thing to us, those who will never have something else to choose it for them.
​
You'd think the obvious problem with being able to avert our own death is the existence of incurable diseases. But a lot of things can be changed if you have time, money and forewarning -- none of which we are lacking. There is nothing in the rules that says it has to be an easy fix, sending an addict back to the point they'd need to quit or a healthy looking woman the point at which they'd need to convince a doctor to give them a brain scan are technically possible. There's more than a smidge of madness runs in our family. Are you really surprised?
​
The day my mother died forever I was furious. She was an excellent driver and yet she'd gotten into a car crash, died, and then done the exact same thing again. I understood how another driver doing something unpredictable could cause a fatal crash but this *wasn't* unpredictable, was it? This was very much *predicted*. It was only when reports from the police, the other driver (who had drunk so much he was practically pickled yet still lived to tall the tale) and my mother's sister came in that things made some kind of sense. The way the accident played out, the only way my mother could have swerved to save herself would be if the brunt of the impact had been taken by the passenger seat of her car instead of the driver's seat. Our power promises to take us back to the last point we can make *ourselves* safe but bystanders, not so much.
​
It's okay, I've sort of made peace with it now. I'm not saying this for sympathy -- I'm just saying this in the hope that you can understand that sometimes my family go willingly to their deaths. And sometimes that's okay.
​
So, this is where we come to introductions. I already know your name. I think at this point I might have spoken to you once or twice via mutual friends but I know an awful lot more than anything you believe you've told me so far. You can try and make me prove it, it should be relatively trivial. Even if personal stuff could be explained by me being a very committed stalker then there's a minor world event coming up that I don't think I could reasonably have any way of predicting. I can tell you the plots of a few films that aren't out yet. Stuff like that.
​
The thing is, last week for me but thirty years from now for you I die and I have no idea why. I've thought about it extensively and I can't figure it out. If it was an accident then I should only have been sent back a minute or two and if it was an illness then with no symptoms beyond normal aches and pains prior to death there is just no way I could figure it out. I took a couple of days thinking about it but I'm stumped.
​
Which is why I've come to you. Not because I think you know the answer, because how could you? But because in the next five years we become vaguely acquainted. Another five and we're actually friends and... that's kind of it. You end up being the best friend I've ever had. So if I can't cheat death then I don't want to waste those earlier years barely hanging out.
​
If I can't have a few more years on the end of my lifespan then I'll gladly take a few more years knowing you.
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I discovered I was special by bungee jumping. I was 15. One of my idiot friends measured the line too long, and instead of almost hitting the ground, I splattered my brains on the concrete. I felt the pain and the steady waning of consciousness. Then I woke up as I was attaching the elastic to myself. I felt a wave of confusion and disorientation. "Actually, I think I'm going to take a rain check on the whole adrenaline junkie shtick. Lets go home." I don't try to explain to my friend what happened. I tell myself that maybe I just imagined it.
The next time it happened, I was 22. I was with two of my new college friends at a party. Brian said he would be the designated driver, then drank vigorously. Against my better judgement, I got in the car to let him drive us home. I was nodding off in the back seat when I heard swearing and felt the car begin to fishtail. We ran into something, then all I could feel was confusion and pain throughout my body. Then I woke up to us leaving the party. "Actually, lets sober up a bit before we go on the road."
After that, I had a few more incidents. Mundane accidents that could happen to anyone. I always awoke at most an hour in the past. Until today. I was 67. An alert came on. "Ballistic missile threat inbound to California. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill." Oh. Oh no. The world really is going to cave in. I have no surviving family at this point. I text goodbye to a few old friends, the sit on the ground with my dog. I hear a boom, and the curtains begin to smoke as a light grows brighter and brighter. The last I remember is a blinding light, even though I wasn't looking out the window.
Then I woke up. I was young again. I checked the calendar. It appears that I am 18 years old now. Memories of what was going on with me at that point in time flood in. Today is the day I committed to a mechanical engineer major for college. In my old life, I'd had a lot of free time, which I used to dabble in various STEM fields. I discovered a passion for computer science and AI, and I had often mused about what might've been if I'd chosen it over engineering. Was I sent back to this moment to pursue AI, and make the tools necessary to avoid nuclear war? Maybe. I resolve that I will follow this new path, and perhaps save billions of lives with my gift.
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jej9xr7
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jej7im9
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[WP] You stood there, looking at your friend, faceplaming "Let me get this straight, you're dating a Goddess, an actual 'divine powers, older than civilization' Goddess and you ....CHEATED ON HER!?!??" Your friend has a desperate look in their eyes "Can you help me or not?"
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""Can I help you?" Did you seriously just..." I sighed. I guess it made sense he'd come to me. I knew more about supernatural and divine stuff than most people around here. And... we were friends, though I used the term lightly. Lighter now since I knew he cheated on a goddess. "Well... that depends entirely how honest you want me to be."
"Of course I want you to be honest."
"Well then, probably not. I mean, you read about the Trojan War. That whole thing started just because someone thought Aphrodite was more beautiful than Athena and Hera. And you've done something *significantly* worse than that." He snorted, turning away from me.
"Oh, so that's how-"
"BUT..." He turned back.
"So you can help?"
"Help is a strong term. Look, there's going to be consequences without a doubt. But maybe I can lower them a bit, if you stop acting like a jerk to me."
"...Lowering consequences, as in, we could get back together?"
"I was thinking more as in getting turned into a horse for a year rather than getting sent to... Wait a second. What did you say her name was again?"
"You wouldn't know her."
"I *don't care* if it's someone I've heard of before. But if she knows a god or goddess who enjoys torture, *or is maybe a sibling of said god*, then there's going to be much less that I can do."
"Oh. Uh... Phyrna." I scrolled through my mental catalogue. Phyrna, Phyrna... I quickly grabbed some papers to verify. Yep. Primary domain was music. Generally a kind soul, which... I'll be honest, bad. You'd think that would be good, but nice people are the worst to anger. You don't know how far they'll go.
"Okay. So... what do you want me to do?"
"I dunno. Just talk to her so we can make up."
"Right," I replied flatly.
"Come on, I'm counting on you!" I crossed my arms, leaning back.
"What am I getting out of this?"
"I'm going to owe you one."
"This is way more than just "*owing me one,*"" I replied tersely. "Not to mention that you already owe me... several. Remember? I had to rescue you from the fairy circle, then I had to let the vampires drink a bit from me so they didn't drain you dry, then I had to-"
"I repaid those already!"
"With what? Expired ice cream coupons?" His expression basically said yes, and I glared at him. "You're not proving your point. I repeat: What do I get out of this?"
"You get to know you helped your friend."
"What an honor," I said with enough sarcasm to burn a werewolf. "Either I get something tangible, right now, or no go."
"Why are you being so fussy?! Didn't you want to meet divinity?"
"Not like this!!" I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them, grinning. "Okay. You know what? Fine. You'll "owe me one." But I'd better get a lot out for doing this, plus all the other events that I've helped you with."
"Yeah, sure. Thanks!" I nodded. He left my house, and I made my connections a bit after. Phyrna showed up, we talked... more importantly, we planned. My friendship with him had always been strained at best, and this kind of just... broke it. So whatever. I wanted what I deserved for helping him, and then I wanted out.
Phyrna did know some people who could make sure I was repaid adequately for helping him out. Yeah, it would be at his expense, but it was what he should have given me in the first place. Then we came up with an... appropriate punishment. One that she liked, could do easily, and that would have been much better than the alternative.
The thing about being a goddess of music... you can make utterly exceptional earworms. Songs that just get in your head, and you just keep repeating them, even though they are SO UTTERLY ANNOYING. So... why not just stuff five of those in the head of my former friend? So they either cycle around, or in some cases play over each other. It seemed like a fitting punishment to me.
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"I mean, does she know?"
He pulled back the curtain to show frogs falling from the sky en masse throughout town. "I think she knows."
"Alright, frogs, that's a start." Aleister went for his collection and pulled out an old favorite. "Sounds like we're dealing with someone biblical, old school mesopotamian bullshit. Let me guess, she's a good Jewish girl?"
"She is very pretty," Adam said, swooning in place."
"And yet you stuck your dick in the goddess of literal sex."
"Hey, I do more than that!" Aphrodite puffed up, lounging naked on Aleister's couch.
"And yet you have nothing on Ishtar." Aleister pulled up her record. Two goddesses of love. Christ. "Old gods are a different breed man. No morals, no codes. Mythology and religion is often built on how societies form around each other. Most gods popping up today are built on either guilt or shame. They have rules, and often have ways to obtain forgiveness. These two? They're based on fear, fear of an unknown and unforgiving world, where even the gods will do horrible shit thst day because it's within their temper."
"Nothings wrong with my temper!" Aphrodite screamed, shaking the house's foundation. Aleister looked back with shrugged shoulders.
Adam watched the fiascos occuring outside, hearing the wails of torment in the wind ripping so heavily. He regretted himself. "So do you have a plan?"
Aleister shrugged. "Just gotta sit tight and wait for it to blow over." And he left the two to his study. They could hear him putting on a raincoat, among other things.
Aphrodite pouted a little longer before eyeing Adam again. "Wanna go another round?"
"Not the right time." He grumbled back. Unfortunate for her, his moral compass was returning, and it wasn't going to allow him to stay still.
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jnjnw1n
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jnjh96g
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[WP] turns out, because humans are sentient you’re not allowed to hunt them under intergalactic law… because of this you have now begrudgingly joined some humans hunting club to make your trip somewhat worthwhile
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“Ok, everyone, can I grab your attention? Today, we have a new hunting buddy joining us. So, please give Guthor, the ender of worlds, a Happy Funtime fishing club cheer.” Mentor Dan said. The fishing master happy to have an alien in his little fishing club. He even wore his extra short fish patterned shorts, preparing for an adventurous day.
The club gave some small fairy claps, having to be a little quiet since their fishing club was beside Aunt Agitha’s book club. The group knowing better than to disrupt Agitha’s weekly meeting about the Wet Werewolves of Fairla avenue. Once the small claps were over, Mentor Dan approached the eight-foot alien. With great ceremony, he bestowed him with the finest thirty-dollar fishing rod that Wallmart could offer. Deciding to break their club’s budget to impress the alien member.
“Fascinating. I thought humans were weak creatures. To hunt with such a flimsy weapon shows a lot of courage. I think even I would struggle to break open the heads of Hualin’s with such a weak weapon.” Guthor murmured. The bulky alien fiddling with the rod, inspecting the cheap plastic. As his four powerful fingers gripped the rod, it bended, threatening to break under his touch.
“Quite a mean grip you have on that rod. Those fish will be in for a fight against a champion like you.” Mentor Dan patted Guthor on the back, his hand stinging after making contact. The hard skin of Guthor coated in small spiky barbs, keeping creatures from biting into it.
“You think that’s a mean grip? You should see my wife’s.” Hank laughed, getting all the middle-aged men in the room to share a chuckle over the joke.
The joke only confused Guthor. This was the fourth time someone had mentioned how powerful these wives were. He needed to remind himself to ask Dan if they could go hunting for a wife next time. Assuming it must be more deadly than a fish. After a few balding jokes and questions about who was preparing this week’s barbeque, the group was off. The fishing club heading to the small river outside of the clubhouse.
Guthor watched the men throw their lines into the water, studying the practice. He found their techniques rather fascinating, especially the inclusion of bait. He had never considered luring someone out before killing them. This was a bold new stride in his hunting game. It was a pity he couldn’t hunt humans or else he might have tried to lure them out with this so-called barbeque.
“So, I throw it at the water and catch the creatures inside?”
“Yes. I’ll guide you to the best spots to fish.” Mentor Dan said. The mighty mentor standing behind Guthor, hands on his hips, helping to turn him towards a bountiful area of the river.
The alien followed along until he could see a shadow in the water. Once he located the shadow, he let out a bloodcurdling roar, diving into the water with a hefty splash. Once in the water, he waved the rod around like a sword, missing all the panicked fish that were swimming out of the way. After splashing around for five minutes, he returned to shore, panting.
“The cowards ran away. WHY DO THEY NOT SEEK BATTLE? I will come for you, fish. I will come for you all.” Guthor hissed, crouching by the water. He then ducked his head into the water, shouting more threats, making sure the fish could hear them.
The group stood there, puzzled. Not only was the alien scaring away all the fish, he also had dragged Agitha out of her bookclub. The older woman adjusting her glasses as she walked outside. She carried her copy of Wet Werewolves outside. Agitha accidentally showing everyone the strange cover as she did. The cover depicting a hunky werewolf man on the hood of a car going through a carwash. No one in the fishing club understood what the author meant by the strange cover, but Agitha told them it was important to the lore.
“What did I tell you all about yelling? Dan, do I have to tell your mother you’re playing in the water again?”
“No, Mrs. Agitha. Sorry, our new friend misunderstood what fishing was. As his mentor, I take full responsibility.”
“Stop it with that mentor nonsense. You’re forty five. Just because you run the group doesn’t make you a mentor. It makes you a loser with no… oh, hello.” Agitha smiled, giving a wave to the dripping wet alien. “Are you into reading? We have some sci-fi classics. How about the Volcanic explorers of Uran-“
“He isn’t interested!” Mentor Dan said, shooing her away as he helped the alien out of the water.
“Sorry about her.”
“Why? She was only discussing a historical event. Do humans not know of the volcanic explorers?”
“That’s a real thing? Some crappy author hit the jackpot there. Anyway, try copying the other guys. Hold your rod and throw the line out. You need to wait for a fish to come and take the bait.” Mentor Dan explained, showing off his infinite wisdom that came from reading a few Wikipedia articles.
“I see. So, I wait for them to take the bait and then bash them?”
“No, no bashing. You catch them and then let them go free. Here, Hank caught something. Watch him.” Hank reeled in a decent sized carp, showing it off to the group who gave him a celebratory fairy clap. Once he had shown the group, he took it off the hook and released it, smiling as it swam off.
“I’m confused. Why did he release it? Shouldn’t he send a message by killing it?”
“Golly no. It’s about spending time together and having fun. Sure, if we catch something interesting we might have it for dinner but most of the time it’s about the fun.” Mentor Dan explained, hoping the alien understood it.
“Hm. Fun? Oh, I see. You let them know you could have killed them at any moment. When the fish return to the water, they tell all their friends and family. Spreading the fear that you’re always lurking, having an eye on their lives. That’s evil. I never knew humans were that awful.” Guthor found a new appreciation for the group. They weren’t like the usual hunters he travelled with. Those idiots killed and ran off, not sending fear and chaos like the humans did. To think he wanted to kill such an excellent ally in the hunt.
“Sure? Yeah, that’s what’s happening. Ok, so. Want to give it a shot?”
The fishing trip went pleasantly. Guthor learning to bait his hook with white bread and how to cast his line. The alien developing his skills over the course of the afternoon. When it came time to pack up, Guthor let out a loud sigh, unable to catch even a single fish.
“It’s ok. You will get it next time.” Hank smiled.
“Next time? You would accept me in a group of such proud hunters?”
“Of course. We kind of get some government money from having an alien in our club, so it’s a win/win. We can buy new upgrades with it and enjoy your company.”
“Very well. I will join then. Now, what is a barbeque?”
“You will love it. It’s where we cook a bunch of meat and drink. Maybe one day you will even get the privilege of being the grillmaster.”
“The grillmaster?” Guthor liked the sound of that. Being the master of anything was such a powerful title, and he wanted a chance to be the fabled grillmaster.
“Yeah. It means you cook for the group. Everyone always fights over it.”
“I’ll work hard to get there.”
“I know you will.”
The group returned to the clubhouse, getting the barbeque out and preparing their feast. The group enjoying the great outdoors, drinking their beers as the water passed by. Each of them sharing stories about their lives and previous fishing trips. Despite being an alien, the group made a lot of efforts to get Guthor involved in their stories. After an hour, Guthor was drinking with the rest of them, discussing whatever silly topics came up. Guthor glad he had found such a great hunting pack, planning to make Earth his newest hunting ground.
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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"X2749," Dinyl logged breathlessly as he stumbled through the jungle. "The humans are not as they seem. I repeat, the humans are *not* as they seem. Our surveillance of their species has been merely skin deep." The offlander leaped through the brush and slid down a muddy incline narrowly avoiding a series of thick tree trunks. The monstrous noises at his back worsened, rising to a fever pitch as the sun set over the planet's horizon.
"Do not attempt to assimilate," he warned as he ran. "They understood I wasn't one of them, maybe even from the beginning. My camouflage has been working at optimal levels. It must be something else– something more primitive and intuitive that courses through them. I deployed the decoys, but they ran right through them– never for but a brief moment have they lost track of me."
He stopped behind a particularly thick tree to catch his breath. They hadn't halted their pursuit, but they had *slowed* for one reason or another. He looked down at the device on his wrist and noted that many were convening about a 45-second run behind him. Dinyl rested his head against the moist bark of the tree and closed his eyes.
"X2750," he said quietly lifting his wrist. "If anyone can hear this– if a single one of you has your ears on, please for the love of the collective, get me out of here. My ship won't respond to my beacon. My weapons... useless," he breathed. "My gut feeling is that these humans aren't human at all." He steadied himself. "I need to think my way out of this. No ship. Weapons are ineffective. They're faster than me. Somehow, they continue to track me despite the decoys and even invisibility. None of it seems to matter at all."
His eyes wandered skyward. It was dark enough that he could see his home star through the top of the trees. So close and yet so far. He wished more than anything he had never come. It wasn't worth whatever thrill he was seeking.
"X2751," logged Dinyl. "It must be their sense of smell. I cannot think of any other reason. If anyone happens to come across this frequency now or in the future... humans have a sense completely alien to us. As all senses not innate to one's own species, it is difficult to quantify; to define in certain terms. But anything in this universe that is tangible is certain to give off a certain *smell*. They can follow that smell. It'll lead them in a general direction toward whatever the source is, but they have difficulty pinpointing it. As far we're aware, concepts and philosophies do not give off a smell. But I'm starting to have my doubts about certain emotions... namely fear."
He took several deep breaths in an attempt to quell the terror inside of him. "If I can only conquer my fear. But humans and animals from Earth eat one another. Humans do not eat one another on 99% of occasions. But as I have said, these humans I chose to hunt with... they are different. And I can think of no grizzlier or demeaning fate than to be made their nourishment– to have one's own sacred flesh converted to ape waste. It frightens me to imagine it, so I wish to imagine it no further... however when one's own imagination is as real as the soil under one's feet..."
He trailed off. This wasn't productive. He was only scaring himself further. If fear was indeed a smell humans could follow, they would never lose track of him so long as he imagined their long glistening fangs– their sharpened claws rending his flesh from his bones. On his home planet, brute primal force overcoming science and tactics was a story everyone hated. He wasn't about to let that be the story of his demise. He pushed off of the tree and hurried further into the jungle, pressing the beacon for his ship over and over as he did.
>*"I don't know, Dinyl, that sounds dangerous. Our ships act funny on Earth sometimes. Not all the time, but enough that I wouldn't go out there. Our people have crashed there before. They don't give the bodies back. Is what you're planning on doing worth it?"*
He should have heeded the advice. He knew in his many hearts that it was his own tragic arrogance that led him to this.
>*"If they get ahold of you, you're dead. They can't be reasoned with. They're still a tier 1 civilization, intergalactic law won't save you. They're basically a protected species. All we can do is ask for you and your ship back, but you know how that goes."*
"Dammit all," the alien muttered to himself. He stopped to catch his breath and looked down at the device on his wrist. It seemed he was in the clear– not a single blip on the radar. He could hardly believe his luck. Through his labored breathing, he managed a laugh as he leaned against a tree.
"X2752. I've lost them. Against all odds, I believe I've lost them. Now I've got to put my brain to work. If I can circle back to the lodge, I can fashion an emitter out of their radio tower. It would require minimal modification, and I can probably reach my ship that way. In fact, if my ship is still unreachable then it has been destroyed somehow. In which case, it'll be more work getting back home. But this isn't undoable."
As soon as he finished his log and the words left his screen, the radar returned. A forest of red blips surrounded his position. Dread flooded him. He stared at it for several seconds as though hoping it would go away– that it would display something else. He lifted his eyes from the screen to see hungry glowing eyes in the darkened forest all around him. His shoulders fell. He couldn't fathom how they had surrounded him so quickly and so quietly.
But it didn't matter now.
"X2...753," he spoke in a defeated tone. "Never come to Earth. There is more to humans than we know... Far more."
r/A15MinuteMythos
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kwrejj3
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kwqy7zx
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[WP] The Genie stared at you in disbelief, asking you why you would make such a foolish wish that affect so many people. You respond with a shrug and answer with “I just want to see what would happen.”
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The genie looks at the human shocked with wide eyes
Genie: Excuse me what? No NO! repeat the crap you just said
Human: I said I want every human in existence to have a pocket dimension that they can control. My 2nd wish is for you to give every human an on-demand tutorial on how to use it today and for future generations and my last wish is to make every human immortal
Genie: So you want humans to be mini gods in these pocket dimensions?
Human: Yup, if you cant do it its fine
Genie: By the old laws I am required to grant it and it seems I can...don't you want money? clothes? I dunno, whatever humans want nowadays?
Human: Nope, with this wish I can solve every problem humanity has ever had, world hunger? just enter the pocket dimension and summon a sushi roll, you got laid off? just open the dimension and chill on a beach while snapping food into existance
Genie: But you do realize the problems this will cause right? Do you want every human to live in an illusion, uncaring for each other as their minds can conceive things better than any human they may meet? Do you want a world where your kind will never feel like they have accomplished something because they can snap things into existence? And you know anything made in the dimension I can give is limited only to that dimension right? Nothing you do in the dimension will fix reality, do you want reality to rot as your kind get fixated on a dream world? Do you even think the next generation of your kind can be made if people can just retreat into any world they want and live with fantasy humans that wont hurt them, reject them or even give them a hard time winning their trust and friendship? You know you're kind will always go for the path of least resistance. What about morals? Since another human cant interact with the dimension of another human, does that mean people can just be degenerates in their dimensions now that there is no one to stop them? Imagine what would happen if I gave a serial killer or a pervert a dimension where they can do what they want.
Human: I don't care I'm just interested in what people will do with a taste of omnipotence and omniscience. You know...people always complain about things so what if I give them the ability to fix those things? Will they be happy? As for the degeneracy, if that does not harm other humans then that will be fine
Genie: You are mad
Human: Who isn't mad nowadays? Are you gonna make the wish happen or not?
The genie sighs as he makes the wish happen, the human watches with glee as a prompt appears above their head with the option to open their own personal dimension. As the genie finalizes the wishes made he could only watch as the world made an crucial turn
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"This is your last wish, please think this through human!"
"I know, I know. But I really want to see what happens"
"You know you can't undo it once you use up your final wish"
"Grant my wish already Genie!"
"Your wish is my command"
"Wow it worked! Thanks Genie!"
From that moment on, every month, everyone's sex becomes that of the opposite for a month. Every male turns female and every female turned male.
After the initial shock period, people started adapting to the new life of constant sex changes that happened every month.
Men and women began understanding each other better. There was now more harmony and less war. Life on Earth became more peaceful.
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jqrc242
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jqqxmx0
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[WP] You never really believed your grandmother's stories about the little people who lived in her home. After she passed and left it to you, you said, "Okay, Little People! I'm sorry, but the economy sucks, so I'm going to have start charging rent." In the morning, you find a small pile of gold.
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Tinnick is a fine fellow.
He was the first of the small folk to allow me to see them. They saw how I cared for my grandmother. They saw me grieve. They saw me honor her wishes. I feel terrible that I never believed her. When I made the comment about rent, I said it as a joke. I was hurting, and I used humor to deflect the grief that threatened to crush me. Tinnick did not make me feel bad for feeling bad.
Tinnick is a fine fellow.
When I first saw that little pile of gold, I thought I was seeing things. When I heard the small sound of a tiny man clearing his throat, I thought I was hearing things. When I felt the jab of him poking a sewing needle taller than he was into my shoulder, I shed the belief that I was dreaming.
"Hello Karl," he said. "Do not be afraid, we are but small folk." I was bewildered, but not afraid. My grandmothers words echoed in my mind. *The small folk wish only to exist. It is our responsibility to ensure their safety.* "I am the one called Tinnick," he said. "Is this horde sufficient for our rent?" I blinked. This would not do. I walked over to a box containing my tools, then to another containing some old scrap electronics and lenses. Within an hour, I had constructed something that would help us communicate; a small platform which a magnifying glass focused on, and a mic wired to an amplifier with a speaker for output.
I put my hand to my shoulder and I felt the almost indistinguishable footsteps of my small friend. I carefully lowered my hand to the platform, and Tinnick came into view. "Fascinating contraption!" he said, looking about. "We small folk are somewhat crafty ourselves, but I'm afraid we are behind the times. This runs on electricity, yes?" He pointed to the small mic. I nodded. "That's right," I said. "I could show you a few things, if you're so inclined."
Tinnick bowed low. "It would be much appreciated, Master Karl." I smile. "Just Karl, Tinnick, and you need to take that gold back. I only made the rent comment as a joke. I feel bad about it now." My small friend scrunched his face in thought. "And your comment about the economy?" he asked. "Was that a joke as well?" I sighed. "It wasn't, I'm afraid." I admit. "I lost my job recently. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do." My face fell, but Tinnick's small features lit up. "I know what you'll do," he said. "You'll join our crew, just like your grandmother."
I raise an eyebrow at that. "Your crew?" I said. "Wait. Where *did* you get that gold?" Tinnick laughed. "Well we didn't mine it, my good man," he said. "We stole it. I assumed you *knew."* A satisfied look crossed his small face. "Your grandmother was a master thief." I barely stopped my jaw from hitting the floor, lest I injure some small folk nearby. "You can't be serious," I say. "She was poor." It was Tinnicks turn to raise an eyebrow. "Was she?" he asked. "She was fed. She had a roof over her head and a warm bed every night. She was safe. She was happy. She had friends." Tinnick smiled wide and it lifted my heart to realize where he was going with his soliloquy. "What use would she have of something as trivial as money? She gave it away, of course, to those that were truly in need."
My grandmother had been a master thief for *decades*. Aided by a cunning group of small folk. The world had become more technical than she was prepared for, so she retired. Now, my skills with software and electronics will be useful in my new profession. For the first time in my life, I feel whole. I have the most wonderful friends. I have purpose. Forever will I be grateful to the brave little man who felt I was ready to see the value in small things.
Tinnick is a fine fellow.
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My Grandmother used to tell me stories of the Little People. She said they lived in our home.
.
"But Grandma how come I never see them?" I would argue.
"Why should you huh? What have you done? I only know them because i saved one back in my younger days. And because I listen. Spend some hours on the floor, lying so still your insides prick, do nothing else in the silence, then maybe you'll hear them. If you're lucky, you'll get a peak." She would respond.
I never did as she said.
I never truly believed, so it was with half heartedness when I said the following words, decades later. It was after she left me the house. A fine cottage straight out of a fairytale, with an adorable red rooftop and chimney, and neat rows of flower beds.
First, I breathed in and out. Then I began.
"Ok. So um Little People I'm sorry but the economy sucks, i'm going to start charging rent."
I hadn't worked out the amount. That night, I did some drawings in my sketchbook, then went to bed. In the morning, I found a small pile of gold coins in a cute little bag, tied with a banana leaf. Shocked, I wrote back.
"Thanks for the coins. I'll check later how much they translate to in our current currency. Meanwhile, would you like to join me for tea later? I can make sandwiches, you can tell me about your time with my grandmother."
With Love,
Anne Mainer
I waited eagerly for a couple hours, but I received no response. Eventually, I left it there and stopped checking. I saw a reply the next morning.
"Tea sounds lovely. How does 4 oclock work for you?"
Your's Truly,
The Little People,
Littleish
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jlaovun
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jlaa6h4
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[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."
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"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.
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I spread the mixture of egg, ham, and cheese over the bread, freshly pulled from the oven. I place the soggy bread onto my rock, the flames licking my fingers. A faint crackling fills my abode as I grasp a handful of tea leaves, dropping them into my kettle.
“Lavender, please.” Artifact Gold says.
I oblige, as keeping Gold in your good graces is… prudent. The stench of lavender fills the room, and try as I might, it makes me remember.
Years ago, when ma and pa still lived in this humble abode, before the plague the summer before last, this little shack stood stoically against the passing of time.
Now, time has surely passed. The paint cracks and peels in large drabs. I sit alone, enjoying the eggy-cheesy-hammy bread and lavender tea.
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jvdbkns
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jvcd31j
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[WP] You, a fake clone, are stuck in the classic “Shoot one, let one live” situation. To your horror, the person with the gun outsmarts you and uncovers that you were fake all along. Just as you brace yourself for the bullet, they point their gun towards the real person and pulls the trigger.
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"What are you waiting for? Shoot it!" the real Cadence yelled. my lips curled in disgust at her shrill voice. this scene was entirely too common today. Wealthy people like Cadence almost always came to regret having clones, sure there were a few success story's but 99% of the time our originals ended up Hating us, for various reasons, I didn't know what Cadence's reasoning was, but if I had to guess, it was because she realised that a life of only partying and shopping was incredibly dull.
Cadence Parks had ordered me six months ago for the sole purpose of taking her place at her parents 'boring' charity gala's and state dinners, as well as going on dates and spending time with her Fiance, Marcus. at least that's how it started, after a month she had me going to her weekly spa trip with her mother, attending her classes at university, and doing a few extracurricular activities she had signed up for and her father was 'making' her attend to teach her a lesson about not quitting.
the most intelligent thing Cadence had ever done was secretly save up for me and pay in cash. everyone knew that it was impossible to confirm if a person had purchased a clone if they paid in cash.
after it was all said and done little miss perfect had everything she wanted, she was seen as finally maturing by her idiotic family and friends, and her Fiance was Happy. funnily enough, Marcus was the one who now held the gun. legally, you could kill a clone that no longer served your purpose, the catch was, you couldn't kill the clone yourself.
as I saw the moment Marcus realised I was the clone I mentally cursed myself for not quietly getting rid of Cadence when I had the chance. oh well, I wasn;t a coward I would accept my fate. it was a good run, my only regret, other than not killing Cadence, was that I wouldn't get to see Marcus again. he was an amazing guy, and that spoiled brat didn't deserve him.
"I just have one more question," Marcus said quietly, looking between us.
Cadence looked livid.
"What is it?" I asked quietly, why was he drawing this out? he knew I was the fake, what was he waiting for?
"Do you love me?" he asked us, though foolishly I thought that he was speaking more to me than tp Cadence.
"Yes," I answered truthfully.
Cadence scoffed. "Love? who cares about that? Our marriage was arranged by our fathers." Cadence turned to me with a smirk "Obviously you aren't as good as you thou-"
BAM!
I stared wide-eyed as Cadence crumpled face-first to the ground, blood beginning to pool from her head.
I turned to Marcus, confused. "Why?" I asked.
Marcus walked up to me and pulled me into a crushing hug. "I love you too." he whispered, kissing my forehead. "Now, lets go tell Cadence's parents the Clone is dead."
I smiled widely. "Lets."
​
Edit: I just saw someone read this on Tiktok, I'm dying of happinesss
Edit 2: I told someone on tiktok I was the one who wrote this, they said "Wait...ARE YOU FOR REAL?" yes, I'm for real. also, someone said they were going to do a fanfic of this, if you were being serious and you see this edit, please link it in the comments. i wanna see!
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I looked at the real Jimmy. Yup, really dead. The only thing I knew about him was that he was a detective at a private agency. And, well, that his coworker David is his murderer.
I only knew David for a few minutes but I’ve come to a conclusion. That guy has ideals and loves order. So I’m shocked that he shot Jimmy. Luckily he explained.
„Finally this guy is dead. Never have I wanted a suicidal maniac as my partner! Or a womanizer! Or a freaking mummy! And there’s no way in hell that I want a criminal from the mafia as my partner!“
Seems like I was based on an asshole. But, well, I only knew the basics from reports in the lab. Hesitatingly I raised my voice. „Eh, hello?“
He looked at me. „At least you don’t seem to be out to kills me with stress. Come on, your my new partner!“
And I actually enjoyed it. Nobody was mad at me, the blame went to David. I just worked on cases and once read through his ideal to know what I would have to avoid to don’t end like Jimmy.
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k81omyz
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k816lrg
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[WP] “Mom…Dad…I’m…” “Gay? We know sweetheart. And we still love yo—-“ “No I’m—“ “Trans too? Oh don’t worry dear we always kind of knew…” “No for the love of god I’ve been turned into a vampire!!”
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The dad stands there in mild shock and horror, seeming to grow a little pale as he puts a small hand up and quickly excuses himself.
Mom just looks to Eren with surprising calmness, simply walking over to put a soft hand on their shoulder. "Honey, I'm not mad. . .but, I do want to know, how did you get bitt?"
"I, I don't know!" Eren exclaims "I never felt him bite me while we were." Eren goes white and rosy at the cheeks, letting out an eep in embarrassment
The mother however just chuckles softly. "Aah. . .forgot to use a condom did he? That would explain it." Her gaze softens, she was a little upset at the lack of protection, but dismisses it for the moment to focus on the matter at hand. "I suppose they wouldn't cover it in supernatural biology as it isn't well known, but, Vampirism is technically considered an STD."
Eren just looks to their mother in mild shock, surprised she wasn't angry at them for what she unveiled about their nights activity, including the lack of protection due to the somewhat, hasty escalation of that night's affection.
"Having a Bachelorette in the supernatural to work in the medical field leads you to find a few forgotten facts" She chuckles softly, before pulling them aside and sitting them down on the couch. "You didn't do anything wrong, I know you and Vellis have been dating for about a year now ever since you met when you started college, and I trust you to associate with good people" She starts off. "So, you two were having some fun, and you noticed some new sparkly fangs in the mirror when you woke up afterwards?" She asks, to which Eren nods softly.
"Well, Vampirism is normally transmitted as you know through saliva, through a bite, but it is in all bodily fluids in varrying concentrations, including the reproductive ones, as Vampires are naturally infertile. Hard to have kids when you're technically undead. So, they evolved to be able to spread their vampirism through making love. It however it's a rare known fact as it only works on virgins who consent to the act, and, since most vampires are of the seclusive kind who aren't interested in new partners, or already have vampire partners, it doesn't show up much." She finishes, still smiling supportivly to Eren as they sit besides her looking deep in thought, staring off into space as their mind races. "You know I used to be fascinated by vampires, even had a minor goth phase when I was younger, pretty sure I've still got a few of my old dresses if your interested."
Eren just looks to their mother with mild bewilderment, unable to formulate a reply.
She simply embraces Eren seeing them blank on what to say, and offers to express her undying support in a mothey hug. She holds the young bat tight in her arms and lets them relax for as long as they need before they finally speak.
"So. . .why, why did dad storm off?" Eren asks tentatively, worried that their father wasn't as approving as their mother.
"WHY DID I MAKE GARLIC BREAD FOR SPAGHETTI NIGHT, WHHHYYYYY???!!" The bellowing sorrow of their father begs, causing Erens mother to chuckle.
"His curse of impeccable timing." She says simply, before giving Eren a soft kiss on the cheek.
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The mom looks down, letting her mouth close slowly as she stops talking. The dad is no quicker to react, he knows better than to say anything else without thinking first, the last few exchanges were certainly evidence of that.
The mom takes a deep breath and approaches her child, "Dear? Can you please show me where you were bitten?"
The child nods and reveals a small scratch on his neck. "I was with someone...my-...her name is Sarah. We both got a little carried away and then...this."
Her mom smiles at her, "Don't worry, we're not mad or disappointed. We're going to help you through this."
With tears in her eyes, she hugged her mother. "Thank you."
Her father comes up behind them both and wraps his arms around them, making it a warm and slightly awkward family hug. As they hug, her father whispers to her mother, "I couldn't have said it better myself." Turning to his vampiric daughter, he smiles and kisses the top of her hair. "You're our child. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing will ever make us love you less because we will only ever love you with all of our hearts."
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k4jtzbr
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k4j9t0q
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[WP] Your father always told you to measure twice, cut once. You may not have followed in his footsteps, but you never forgot what’s important. It’s the day of your first battle. You have your sword and your tape measure.
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"What's on your mind, Leo?"
"Just thinkin', y,know." Here, Leo paused to knock back the last of his drink. "''Bout roaches."
Sammy blinked. *Roaches?* Maybe he hadn't heard right. "... Roaches?"
"Yeah." Leo threw Sammy a look that Sammy knew meant his little brother was already far too drunk, or not drunk enough. Either way, he was about to hear about roaches.
"All right. Hit me."
"Y'know how they say those filthy little buggers can survive a nuclear apocalypse?"
"Yeah...?"
"You ever wondered why that's important to know?" Leo cracked open another drink and took a swig. He said nothing, and Sammy realised he was waiting for an answer.
"No, Leo, can’t say I have."
"Y'know how spiders eat their food?"
Sammy stared. "Spiders now, Leo? Mate, you've had enough to drink for the night." He got up to encourage his brother to get inside.
Leo screwed his face up in denial. "Nah, Sammy, I'm on to something here, I know it! Listen, just listen. Listen, okay?"
With a sigh, Sammy sat back down. "All right, I'm listening. Roaches can survive a nuclear apocalypse, and spiders eat their food by liquefying their insides and enjoying a nice bevy."
A small grin cracked through Leo's scowl. "Yes! And spiders make thread, right? Like ... super strong thread, y'know, relatively speaking. Scientists are trying to mimic it. Or maybe they've succeeded...?" He trailed off before waving that train of thought away. "Anyway, ever wondered why spiders eat like that? And why their string is so tough?"
Another pause, and Sammy obligingly filled it. "No, Leo. Tell me."
"When the nuclear apocalypse comes - and it will Sammy, don't give me that face - cockroaches are gonna survive because of their shell. Spiders eat roaches, but only their insides, *leaving the shells intact*. Mate, doncha see? **Spiders are gonna use roach shells and their own super strong thread to make armour to survive the oncoming apocalypse and rule the world in a many-limbed iron grip of terror!**"
Sammy stared at Leo. And stared some more. And - just for good measure - kept staring. Leo didn't break into laughter. He was serious.
"Leo, mate. Quick question: was there a spider at your place earlier?"
"Yeah."
"And Deb didn't take it outside, I'm guessing?"
"She kept saying it was more scared of me than I was of it, but every time I moved, it kept moving towards me. I'm telling ya; Sammy - those things can sense fear! And they're just biding their time until it's too late for us."
Sammy shook his head. "Yeah, you've definitely had too much to drink. And so have I. I'm calling it a night; you can take the lounge."
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Earth is a torus around the moon which is the center of a black hole which compact matter so much it because a giant diamond.
The sun is all the matter being pulled in to the moon keeping us alive.
Etc etc etc.
Cause earth used to be one thing but someone split the god particle which caused a huge explosion thingy on the original earth scattering it into a ring. This being long long long ago.
But with the weird gravitational lensing we get it just makes it feel like we are looking out to what we think space looks like pretty much.
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j4bwbnd
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j4bszk8
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[WP] Your life flashed before your eyes, and you saw something you didn’t remember. Now you seek near-death experiences so you can find the truth.
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It was a perfectly normal day. There was no rain, no arguments with any of my loved ones, I had dinner with my parents recently. Friendly banter and ribbing about when I was going to bring Abby around even though we had only been dating for a few months now.
"I have a good feeling about her, Willy," my mom said.
"You said the same thing about Jillian!" I replied, my dad laughed.
I tapped on the brakes, they did nothing. I tried the handbrakes, nothing. And my car, a perfectly normal car mind you, seemed to be accelerating. From a modest sixty five to seventy to eighty five to speeds that I have never even willed the car to drive. Faster and faster on the freeway until I knew there was going to be a stretch where I couldn't swerve away.
The sea of red came into a blurred view, certain death.
My first thought was not about Abby or my parents or my job, I thought of a movie poster. The picture of it was crisp. A movie I had never seen nor heard of, the poster featured several astronauts drifting off into space, a woman embossed with emeralds spread evenly across her body. Her hair was red, her eyes green. The emeralds glowed in the poster, I wasn't sure of the whys or the hows. There were no actors or actresses listed, no release dates, no information but the name.
Its title was as bright as the stones, "As the Sea Rages".
And the green went away then as I crashed into the rough hills that paralleled the freeways. The blast of the airbags sent me backwards and it was then that I thought of Abby, my parents, and my job. I wouldn't be able to make it in today, I wasn't going to be able to make it to dinner later this week, I should have called off today, I was going to die.
Before I opened my eyes, I woke up to the rhythmic, piercing, beeps. I looked to see myself hooked up to several machines, Abby asleep across the room, resting her head on my mother's shoulder.
I tested my voice.
"I guess you got to meet Abby," I said, not sure what the words actually sounded like.
"David!" My mom shouted at my dad, who I didn't even see. "Willy is awake! Get a nurse!"
"Will," Abby said.
All of a sudden, all three of them were surrounding me on the hospital bed. My body ached, my face felt broken, my throat dry. In the back of my mind, I thought of the emerald lady, the movie poster.
"Abby," I said. "Have we ever talked about a movie called As the Sea Rages? It's possibly about astronauts and an emerald lady."
"That's the first thing you wanted to say?" Abby asked, she was smiling though. She ran her fingers across the side of my face and it hurt in a good way.
"It's technically the second thing," I replied. "I see you've met my parents."
"What happened?" My dad asked.
"My brakes stopped working. Handbrake too." I said. "Car kept accelerating for some reason so I had to crash into the shoulders. Everything hurts pretty bad."
"Well that's no surprise," my mom said. "Half your ribs are broken and you have some internal bleeding."
"What about work?" I asked.
"I called them for you," Abby said. "They said to take your time getting back."
It was an honest relief. We spent the rest of the night talking, they took turns letting me sip water through a plastic green straw which made me think of the movie I saw before I nearly died. The nurses came in, then doctors, and then I stayed there alone after convincing my temporary guardians to leave for the night. I asked Abby for my phone, she said it was destroyed in the impact, but she had brought my laptop for me.
So I searched for the movie and found nothing. Plenty of movies about space, a few about emeralds and jewelry, but none about both. None with the same name.
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What ever that moment was he wasn’t sure, but he’d find out. The memory of a darkness and the feeling of cold iron around his neck, thought made him shudder but there was feeling of familiarity to it that lulled back.
What he saw that day, he couldn’t even comprehend but feelings in that moment were so strong that that it never mattered that much.
As the man walked by the ocean to hear the whispers the waves he closed his eyes. The feeling wasn’t quite the same, but close enough for now. The cold air mimicking the chills and the suns warmth on his back reminding him it was truly perfect.
As he stood there letting these feelings wrap around him only hoping that he would find what ever it was he was searching for. He was so lost in the moment that he couldn’t hear the cries of others calling out him as the waves became louder and louder.
When he finally opened his eyes it was to late. He felt cold all around himself, the hard tug at his neck. Yes, yes! This was what he was searching for! The memory so clear in his mind as he recalled how many times he had blocked them all away. Why had he ever done that he wondered it was such welcoming feeling that he didn’t think he could ever leave it again.
As he felt a hand drag him in what he assumed to be downward he smile like a gleeful child, but there was no innocence on his face.
Ask anyone who was on the beach the day a man walked into the ocean and never returned. They’d say how no call could ever make him turn back, how he look as if he was being pulled along by a chain.
(I may have miss-read the prompt but I was already half way done by then 😅)
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lnjybsu
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lnjb4iy
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[WP] You wake up in the hospital after a major accident. To your confusion, your rival (your families have been feuding for years) is there crying tears of relief and calling you 'sweetheart.' What's even stranger is that she looks older and is visibly pregnant.
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I woke slowly, the sterile smell of the hospital sharp in my nostrils. A dull ache pulsed in my skull, and my limbs felt heavy, weighed down by a strange fog. Blinking against the harsh, fluorescent lights, I tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, and then… nothing.
I turned my head slightly, and there she was, sitting beside my bed. *Her*—the last person I would ever expect to be here. Jessica Hayes. My family’s sworn enemy. Her blonde hair, usually sleek and styled, was messy, and her eyes were red and puffy, tears streaking down her cheeks. She was crying.
“Thank God you’re awake,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Sweetheart, I was so scared…”
Sweetheart? I blinked, trying to process the word as if I’d misheard. But she leaned forward, her hand reaching for mine, and I flinched instinctively, though my arm barely moved. Her touch was warm, gentle, familiar.
“What the hell…?” I rasped, my throat dry and scratchy. “Jessica?”
She frowned, confusion crossing her tear-streaked face. “Jess. You… You call me Jess, remember?”
No, I didn’t remember. In fact, nothing about this made any sense. She was sitting at my bedside, looking at me with an intensity that was disorienting. Worse still, she wasn’t the Jessica I knew—a ruthless rival, always one step ahead in every competition, every family feud. This Jessica looked… older. There was a softness to her face, a weariness in her eyes that I’d never seen before. And then I saw it.
Her hand rested on her stomach. A very *pregnant* stomach.
Panic surged through me. “What the hell is going on?” I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness crashed over me, and I collapsed back onto the pillow.
“Hey, hey, take it easy,” she said, pressing me back down gently. “You’ve been through a lot. The accident… I thought I lost you.”
“I don’t—” I shook my head, confusion and fear mixing into a storm. “Jess, why are you here? Why… are you pregnant?”
She blinked, her brow furrowing deeper. “Because we’re having a baby, love.”
Her words hit me like a brick. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. *We*? *Having a baby*? This couldn’t be real. This had to be some bizarre dream, some aftereffect of the accident. “No… that’s not possible. We—our families hate each other.”
She gave a sad, knowing smile and took my hand again. “That was years ago. We’ve been through this, sweetheart. You don’t remember?”
Years ago? My mind was a blank slate. “How long… have I been out?”
Jess bit her lip, hesitating. “A week since the accident. But…” She looked at me, her expression turning from concern to something deeper. “You’ve been having memory problems for a while now. The doctors said this might happen.”
I stared at her, unable to process what she was saying. Memory problems? A week? My heart raced as I fought against the fog in my mind, searching for answers, for anything that could explain this.
“Wait—what year is it?” I asked, my voice shaking.
She gave me a pained look, then softly replied, “It’s 2029.”
I felt my stomach drop. 2029. My mind reeled. That couldn’t be right. The last I remembered was 2024. Five years. I’d lost five years of my life.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, panic rising. “How… how did we…?”
Jess leaned forward, brushing her hand gently through my hair. “It wasn’t easy,” she said softly. “Our families were furious when we got together. We fought them, every step of the way. But we made it, you and me. You said nothing else mattered as long as we had each other.”
Her words, filled with affection, clashed violently with everything I thought I knew. How could this be? Jess Hayes, the woman I had once despised, now looked at me like I was the center of her universe. And worse—*I* had apparently felt the same about her.
“Please,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “Tell me what happened. How did we… end up here?”
She sighed, squeezing my hand. “It’s a long story. And I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But right now, you need to rest. You’ve been through so much already.”
I wanted to protest, to demand answers, but my body betrayed me, exhaustion pulling me back under. As I drifted off, my mind raced with questions, with the haunting realization that the life I thought I knew was gone—and in its place was a future I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
|
Yess thank you for making this
Lavender your rival
Aaron's pov
"Lavender?" I ask sitting up now.
"Sweet heart, you're ok," she says as more tears are streaming down her face, she's shaking, cupping my face, but, what happened? Why is she caring about me? The most crazy girl I know is crying, and caring about me.
"Lavender, what are you doing?" I say pushing her hand off my face, and her face goes blank, horrified, shocked, and in loss for words.
"What do you mean?" She mumbles.
"Why are you caring about me? Aren't we supposed to be rivals?" I ask.
She's now shaking more, and my heart is breaking, I don't want her to feel like this,
"You don't remember? What's the last thing you remembered?" She ask. And I'm shaking my head trying to remember.
"I got in a car crash, and then woke up here."
"That's all you remember?" Her voice now breaking. I nod. "Excuse me," She says now walking out of my hospital room.
I can't sleep, I'm closing my eyes trying to sleep when I hear somebody crying. I open my eyes and it's Lavender, she's crying with my mom? She's holding on to her, shaking,
"Aa- Aaron woke up," she pauses, "but he woke up to a world I wasn't in." She sobbing more, but when she sees me she just walks out. I glance at my mom.
"Son," she says walking up to my bed. "Lavender loves you,"
My eyes widen at even the thought of it. "What do you mean?" I ask.
"Don't you remember? She's your wife,"
"What?" I mumble.
"Let me tell you the full story." She takes a deep breath and says. "You two were arguing in the car, I knew cause I was there too." She points to her self. "Then you got so angry you drove the car- well, it crashed."
My heart is beating faster, about to explode.
"And before the impact, you protected Lavender with your body, which lead to you falling down a river,"
"What?" Mumble, "I refuse to believe that, why would we like each other?"
"God was the impact that strong?" She says now with her eyes filling with tears. "You're both married, she has your baby!" She says, her voice breaking.
This can't be true, they're pulling a prank on me, right? "But she hates me, she doesn't love me."
"Son." She says grabbing my hands. "I'm going to talk to the doctor, and see if this is normal." She then walks out of my room.
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kwlrqb4
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kwlhmcb
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[WP] In the distant future, Apple is the only manufacturer of all technology.
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Pairi stooped, clutching at the chamberpot he carried. He hated his deliberately hunched posture; he hated the nervous ticking of his heart. First jobs, the Mother had told him, were always the most nerve-wracking. He'd killed before, of course, but never alone.
Pairi's face was plain, average; nothing like the regal points of his clanmates. The matter of his birth - found, a waif, and adopted into the clan - meant nothing to the Mother; he, as did his clanmates, loved her, and that was enough. He had had no tokens or talismans with him, and his face was too average to know. He could blend into a crowd and seem no more out of the ordinary than any other skittish child.
He dumped the chamberpot, his round nose wrinkling at the smell, then plopped it down, hurrying back through the castle. The impending sunset made a mad flutter inside his chest, and so he armed himself. He'd shown proficiency in most weapons, but the Mother thought poison suited him. That was what Pairi meant, in fact; it was a corruption of an ancient word for poison. Most people thought it had meant 'healer', but the Mother was old enough to know otherwise.
But poison did no good when you were caught, so the Mother had compromised. He'd taken two daggers as his weapons, dipped in a combination of deadly juices and venoms. He was good with them.
Pairi paused one of the castle's many corridors, inhaling. He knew where the prince slept. Royal custom in this place meant that the royal family could not show their face to commoners, and its people were private, so he knew barely anything about the prince, but he could do this. He took in a long breath, then began walking.
The padding of his shoes made only the slightest brush of noise as he slipped into the royal chambers. Candles burnt, brightly illuminating a figure atop a bed, hidden by curtains. Pairi locked the door behind him, and approached the figure. He whisked away the curtains.
The prince turned, and Pairi gasped. He'd prepared himself for a good many faces, but not one like this. Not a face like his.
No, not like his. *Identical* to his. The round nose, the high cheeks, even the awkward flush. The same hair that curled around the front and then went frizzy in the back. It was as if he had stared into a perfect mirror.
"You!" Pairi yelped.
"You," the prince breathed, eyes sparkling, and he sprang up. His chest was bare, and looking at it, Pairi could see just a replica of his own. He looked back up at him, at the identical face, and tightened his hold on his daggers.
"Who the Hell are you?" Pairi cried.
"Your brother, of course," said the prince. "Oh come on - it's me, silly! Prince Araki. Soon to be King Araki." He reached out, brushing his fingers over Pairi's jaw. "I never expected you to look like this, I must admit. Thought you'd be less scarred."
Araki was not his exact replica, Pairi realised, almost to his relief. He had no scars, no marks of devotion to the Mother. No marks from her punishments, for when he had grown too bold. They were old scars, though; Pairi knew now to love her without question, and he had not been punished for a good while.
Pairi slapped Araki's hand away. "I don't understand."
Araki gazed at him, his face solemn. "I know," he said. "I know they took you from me, brother. My - *our* \- parents told me. I know you were left in the Clanwoods, and you must have suffered so, so much to get here, but you're here now." His eyes looked so hopeful. "We can be together now. We can rule! Just us, like it was always meant to be."
"The Mother- she never told me -"
Araki's eyes widened. "You were taken in by *her*?" He uttered it like he was discussing a god. "Oh, my dear brother... She must have lied to you. But you have me now." He reached out and took Pairi's hand. "Whatever you learned," he said, "it was a lie. It was a lie. But you can be free, now." He let go of Pairi's hand, then took Pairi's head in his hands again, pressing it down so his mouth had access to Pairi's forehead. "They must have named you. Tell me, brother, what I shall call you. And then we can be like we were meant to be."
Pairi closed his eyes. "Pairi," he whispered. "Pairi." He felt Araki kiss his forehead, felt the slight relaxing of his brother's muscles, felt his own tensing, and drove his daggers into the prince. One into Araki's heart, the other up into his throat.
"You're wrong," he said through his closed throat, as Araki thrashed and gurgled. "The Mother *does* love me. She always will, as long as I am good." He stared down at Araki. "She loves me!" he repeated, even as his brother's eyes closed and his breathing stopped. "The Mother will have an answer; she always has one." He ran his hands through his hair, and he worried that it was a test. He flung himself back from the bed, dropped down from the window to the balcony, and began his mad scramble down, until his feet hit the ground and he could flee into the woods.
He could feel the Mother then. *Did I do good*, he thought, and he prayed that he had not angered her, and that she would still love him.
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I threw my knife, bullseye. Though that was common for me now. It wasn't even an accomplishment to me anymore, just useless practice for something that wouldn't happen. When it was truly kid play, it was much more fun. Getting a weapon of yours young, was rare, and I was one of the few with one. Now everyone has one, no more specialness.
I heard a horn blare, and I stopped just before letting my second knife go. I haven't heard that horn since I was a little tyke. The Fullier, our group leader in our band of Elven assassins, was standing on a stump. "Get ready men, we are storming the castle. Elise, you know what you have to do."
I fumbled with my blades, before bowing. When I got up, my eyes were their regular glare, everyone else's were also slits, copying mine. It was how we were taught, don't seem happy, angry, judging, that is how you are meant to be. I grabbed my knife from the board, and filled my quiver. We left at nightfall.
I followed the rest, I was the only female in the group. All the rest were at camp taking care of their tykes. Two guys had slaughtered the guards, I won't give you details for your sake. We snuck inside the castle, everyone spread out, going to the vault, and the like. I headed towards the prince's room.
His father had recently died, his mother dead at birth, he would be crowned in the morning. I didn't know much about human traditions, the kings and queens, princes, and princesses. But from what I heard, it is better to be rid of it. That was my duty, my mother...had broken the rules.
She mated with human, I was an imperfect, she was killed. I witnessed it just barely old enough to remember. That was the last time I heard the horn, the horn signals a hunt, a murder. I would have been next, but the wife of the Fullier refused. She said I must bring back honor to our guild, and I couldn't do that dead.
So they trained me as an assassin, my goal, to kill an heir. This was it, *I* would be accepted. I opened the door to find a teen, sixteen, seventeen at oldest. Though his hair told otherwise, silvery-white, paralleling mine. His eyes had the same sea-green shade as me.
I shook myself, trying to get the idea out. Was I my mom's only child? She had me on a mission, it was entirely possible it wasn't just me. No. I was her only child, the only result of her mistake. I grabbed my knives, but I couldn't. He was of Elf blood, I could tell from his ears, from his stature.
I dropped my weapons, as taught not to for so long now. I attempted to keep my glare, but my eyes began to swim. I felt my tears roll down my face as I fall to my knees. I broke, "S-sister?" He said, his voice also tearful, I had not realized, but he was crying as well. "Who?" I left my question vague, yes, but how should I end it with so many suitable endings?
"I'm Alexander, our father was also Alexander." He said, and I knew, my life would be so different from now on.
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kxj28tx
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kxhhknq
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[WP] "Oh for fucks sake, you too? Right, ok, cards on the table. Is anyone here ACTUALLY a human being and not an inhuman creature infiltrating the human race?"
|
"Seriously! This is the third time I've tried to vamp someone and it somehow failed to affect them! I broke a fang this time! This can't be coincidence!" Vincent banged a fist on the table. "Admit it! Nobody here is human!"
Hugh looked sheepish. "Okay, you got me, I'm an alien. I can't say if the others are normal, or if all humans are just weird."
"I'm a robot," said James. "From the future. I was supposed to use the Agency to secure our timeline, but this appears to be more complicated than I assumed."
"Demonic infiltrator," said Susan. "This answers a *lot* of questions. You all have some really strange auras and I couldn't make sense of it."
That just left Ted. "I'm still human. I think. I was assigned to Anomaly 256 when it breached containment and it altered my DNA. Does that count?"
Hugh tilted his head and thought for a moment. "It doesn't. You may want to get tested for cancer, though."
"Anyway, are you telling me that every single member of the Agency is secretly an HIA?" Ted said, using the Agency's jargon for Anomalies that could imitate humans. "Because that seems... bad. For me in particular."
Ted was an elite Agent, trained to identify, capture, or kill every Anomaly known to man. But fighting the entire Agency by himself would be a bit much.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Susan said. "It might be limited to this task force. Some sort of Anomaly that attracts HIAs, or perhaps an Agency plot to uncover moles."
All five of them nodded, with the professional paranoia that came from being a member of the Agency for years. Just because you found yourself caught in an absurd logic-defying Anomaly didn't mean that things couldn't get worse.
"But if it *is* limited to this task force, then Ted is now a liability. He can expose all four of us with a click of the emergency button on his phone." James pointed out, with calm logic.
The atmosphere in the briefing room turned electric in an instant. Ted tried his best not to look like he was reaching into his pocket. The other four tried their best not to look like they were preparing to kill him.
"Hold on," Ted interrupted. "If it's *not* just us five, then doing that would just get me killed to keep the secret. We need more information."
"And who exactly are we going to trust to get that, considering every one of us could betray the others as soon as we're out of sight? I don't know what your plans are, but exposing three other moles would certainly gain you considerable influence in the Agency." Susan said.
"Why would that even matter? If we're all secretly HIAs then the entire Agency is a farce! How can it be protecting humanity from Anomalies when everyone in it is an Anomaly?" Vincent demanded.
"Just because we want to protect *our* people from the Agency doesn't mean that we want to protect others. The future I come from depends on vampires or demons not taking over the world, for example," James pointed out.
"And our invasion plans depend on access to human DNA. That becomes difficult if there are no humans." Hugh agreed.
"But if I'm the only human, then who's actually in charge? Who's pulling the strings?"
"Well, the Chief of Operations, in theory. He has the authority to give us orders. But we haven't seen him in person since..." Susan trailed off. "Are we *sure* he's in charge? Who *really* runs the Agency, on a day to day level?"
"That is an ill-formed question. The Agency is divided into cells for secrecy, and information is passed between cells using a complex decentralized algorithm. While different individuals are trusted more or less, there is nobody who has a full awareness of everything the Agency does," James answered.
"That sounds... Anomalous," Ted said, emphasizing the capital letter. "The Agency could be one huge Anomaly."
"We have no way of knowing if the Agency as a whole is defending humanity, or serving the interests of one of the many HIAs who have infiltrated it." Hugh summarized.
"Then I repeat, this entire operation has been a farce! There is no purpose for any of us to infiltrate this task force! Even our token human is wasting his time!" Vincent said.
"Now hang on." Ted interrupted. "We know what *we've* been doing. Anomaly 387? That would have killed a lot of people if *we* hadn't stopped it."
"Yes, obviously, none of us wanted a psychic shark going around eating people from inside their dreams. That's common sense." Vincent said. "But our *overall* purpose..."
"Forget about the overall purpose! Whatever grand plan you all were working on, it's not gonna work! But we've taken down over a dozen threats to humanity. And we did it *together.* I don't know if I can trust the Chief, but I think I can trust you guys. Even if you have been hiding some, uh, stuff."
"I could still vamp you, here and now," Vincent said irritably.
"I don't think the alien, the robot, or the demoness would approve of that." Ted said.
"So if we've all accepted that our infiltration plans are meaningless... I believe we had a briefing to get to?" Susan interrupted.
"Might as well. What fresh horror are we dealing with today?" Hugh said.
"Anomaly 584, cognitohazardous graffiti found in the city of London," James said. "A serious danger if someone learns to copy it. Let's get to work."
|
“Ok you’re overreacting, there’s only 3 aliens here and there’s….”
“6” one aliens reminds.
“Yeah 6 people here in total.” Marcus assures “And I’m not an alien, and you’re- well- probably not an alien” he says, referring to Will, who’s still just a little freaked out.
“But what about… David?” Will asks.
“David? Look at him! He looks fine! Right David?”
“….” Dave continues to lie on the spaceship floor.
“Oh” an alien interjects “David’s dead, I thought you guys could tell”
“Look at that!!” Will says “they killed David!!”
“No,” says another “he had a heart attack about 13 minutes ago, none of you guys noticed”
“But- you did-?”
“Well uhh, I mean, yeah, but like, it’s not our job” the aliens shrug.
“Oh god oh god oh god” Will paces back and forth.
“Hey um” Marcus says to the others “you should probably go, he’s a *little* freaked out right now”
“A bit racist” one alien says to another as they leave.
“Ikr??” One says back.
The door closes.
“Hey” Marcus says to Will “it’ll be ok”
“No it won’t!! Dave’s dead, our three maintenance workers are aliens, YOU might be an alien, what- what are we gonna do??”
“Well, the aliens seem pretty chill, so far ig”
“They killed our maintenance workers and took over their bodies!! They aren’t chill!!”
“Yeah but, what used-to-be-Paul made an ‘Im sorry’ cake”
“He made it out of dried meat”
“Yeah but it was a nice gesture…”
Will starts to hyperventilate. It’s time that Marcus reveals his plan.
“Hey, what if we” Will looks up at him “what if we escape in the escape jet”
“But” Will reminds “we’ll die out here, there’s nothing out there to save us”
“Better than dying here with three aliens. And anyway, they can’t control the ship if we leave it on access mode inside the escape jet. Ruins everything for their ‘colonizing earth nicely’ plans”
“Yeah, true”
After some more coercion, Will is finally convinced. They enter the quite cramped escape jet.
“Alright” Marcus says “when I press this button, we’ll lock the mainframe, and this button will send us into space”
“And we can’t lock the mainframe in space?”
“Nope”
“Ok, which one is which again?”
“Uhh- oh shit- which one is which?”
“Just press one, it’s a 50/50 shot”
“No, no, I can remember- what was it, what was it?”
“I’m getting bored” Will says “just press one”
“No, if I remember correctly it’s-“
Will goes in front of him and pressing a button completely randomly. The ship wirls, but stays still.
“See?” Will says “50 / 50”
“The fact that you freak out over 3 aliens but then them getting the mainframe is super chill to you, it’s confusing”
“I’m a confusing guy. But hey, we’re not gone yet, which means-“
As he says that, the ship makes a clicking sound, and a sudden ‘push’ from the side makes it apparent that they’re moving.
Marcus sits up and quickly spams the other button, hoping it’ll make a difference. It dosen’t. As they float away all they can see is three tiny middle fingers from three aliens, that are speeding away into the general direction of earth.
“Well” Marcus begins “we’re fucked. Wanna make out?”
“Fuck no”
- An amateur writer, lmk what I can improve! Thanks for reading! :) -
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kxj28tx
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kxi3hmm
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[WP] "Oh for fucks sake, you too? Right, ok, cards on the table. Is anyone here ACTUALLY a human being and not an inhuman creature infiltrating the human race?"
|
"Seriously! This is the third time I've tried to vamp someone and it somehow failed to affect them! I broke a fang this time! This can't be coincidence!" Vincent banged a fist on the table. "Admit it! Nobody here is human!"
Hugh looked sheepish. "Okay, you got me, I'm an alien. I can't say if the others are normal, or if all humans are just weird."
"I'm a robot," said James. "From the future. I was supposed to use the Agency to secure our timeline, but this appears to be more complicated than I assumed."
"Demonic infiltrator," said Susan. "This answers a *lot* of questions. You all have some really strange auras and I couldn't make sense of it."
That just left Ted. "I'm still human. I think. I was assigned to Anomaly 256 when it breached containment and it altered my DNA. Does that count?"
Hugh tilted his head and thought for a moment. "It doesn't. You may want to get tested for cancer, though."
"Anyway, are you telling me that every single member of the Agency is secretly an HIA?" Ted said, using the Agency's jargon for Anomalies that could imitate humans. "Because that seems... bad. For me in particular."
Ted was an elite Agent, trained to identify, capture, or kill every Anomaly known to man. But fighting the entire Agency by himself would be a bit much.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Susan said. "It might be limited to this task force. Some sort of Anomaly that attracts HIAs, or perhaps an Agency plot to uncover moles."
All five of them nodded, with the professional paranoia that came from being a member of the Agency for years. Just because you found yourself caught in an absurd logic-defying Anomaly didn't mean that things couldn't get worse.
"But if it *is* limited to this task force, then Ted is now a liability. He can expose all four of us with a click of the emergency button on his phone." James pointed out, with calm logic.
The atmosphere in the briefing room turned electric in an instant. Ted tried his best not to look like he was reaching into his pocket. The other four tried their best not to look like they were preparing to kill him.
"Hold on," Ted interrupted. "If it's *not* just us five, then doing that would just get me killed to keep the secret. We need more information."
"And who exactly are we going to trust to get that, considering every one of us could betray the others as soon as we're out of sight? I don't know what your plans are, but exposing three other moles would certainly gain you considerable influence in the Agency." Susan said.
"Why would that even matter? If we're all secretly HIAs then the entire Agency is a farce! How can it be protecting humanity from Anomalies when everyone in it is an Anomaly?" Vincent demanded.
"Just because we want to protect *our* people from the Agency doesn't mean that we want to protect others. The future I come from depends on vampires or demons not taking over the world, for example," James pointed out.
"And our invasion plans depend on access to human DNA. That becomes difficult if there are no humans." Hugh agreed.
"But if I'm the only human, then who's actually in charge? Who's pulling the strings?"
"Well, the Chief of Operations, in theory. He has the authority to give us orders. But we haven't seen him in person since..." Susan trailed off. "Are we *sure* he's in charge? Who *really* runs the Agency, on a day to day level?"
"That is an ill-formed question. The Agency is divided into cells for secrecy, and information is passed between cells using a complex decentralized algorithm. While different individuals are trusted more or less, there is nobody who has a full awareness of everything the Agency does," James answered.
"That sounds... Anomalous," Ted said, emphasizing the capital letter. "The Agency could be one huge Anomaly."
"We have no way of knowing if the Agency as a whole is defending humanity, or serving the interests of one of the many HIAs who have infiltrated it." Hugh summarized.
"Then I repeat, this entire operation has been a farce! There is no purpose for any of us to infiltrate this task force! Even our token human is wasting his time!" Vincent said.
"Now hang on." Ted interrupted. "We know what *we've* been doing. Anomaly 387? That would have killed a lot of people if *we* hadn't stopped it."
"Yes, obviously, none of us wanted a psychic shark going around eating people from inside their dreams. That's common sense." Vincent said. "But our *overall* purpose..."
"Forget about the overall purpose! Whatever grand plan you all were working on, it's not gonna work! But we've taken down over a dozen threats to humanity. And we did it *together.* I don't know if I can trust the Chief, but I think I can trust you guys. Even if you have been hiding some, uh, stuff."
"I could still vamp you, here and now," Vincent said irritably.
"I don't think the alien, the robot, or the demoness would approve of that." Ted said.
"So if we've all accepted that our infiltration plans are meaningless... I believe we had a briefing to get to?" Susan interrupted.
"Might as well. What fresh horror are we dealing with today?" Hugh said.
"Anomaly 584, cognitohazardous graffiti found in the city of London," James said. "A serious danger if someone learns to copy it. Let's get to work."
|
Under no circumstances was Charlene about to raise her hand, but she was once again forced to sit in bug-eyed terror as she wondered what the hell she just missed.
First of all, there was the problem of there being no cards, in general, much less on the table.
‘No, no. They’re not being literal,’ she coached herself, silently.
Second, there was the problem of the man sitting across from her suddenly looking decidedly not like a human being, which was a thing she had failed to notice until literally right this second.
Charlene tried to trace her mental footprints back a few steps to what she had just been thinking about.
Iceland.
She had suddenly remembered that in Iceland, they believe in trolls and elves and she was trying to remember what their traditions were to appease them. Then, she started thinking about how Iceland has a wonderful literary culture and how she envied that. Then, she wondered what it was like to live in Iceland. What did their houses look like? Charlene tried to think if she had ever seen pictures of someone’s house in Iceland.
And then Greg was complaining about nobody being human and Charlene returned to the present moment and Mike was suddenly an actual alien from actual space and everybody seemed exasperated by that instead of something that made more sense to Charlene… like worried. Or flabbergasted.
“Honestly, is everyone here undercover?” Sandra lamented in a huff.
Charlene, wide-eyed, decided to sit out this conversation for as long as possible.
Did people in Iceland believe in aliens? No! Stop thinking about Iceland.
“Well?” Samantha said.
Charlene shrugged and stared at the TV on the wall of the sports bar, hoping to look like this was normal. It was sports on the TV. Charlene wondered why the referee threw a flag down on the turf. Who made up the rules to this game anyway? And when? How did they all agree on the rules? Was there a committee? Could you still be on the committee, or was it a sort of done deal at this point?
Oh god, there are aliens at this table.
Stop thinking about sports, Charlene thought to herself.
“What if…” Dave said, conspiratorially. “What if there are no actual humans on this planet and we’re all just aliens pretending to be humans?”
Everybody was quiet for a second.
“Shut up, Dave,” Mike said.
“Shut up, Dave,” Samantha said.
“Guys, what if it’s true?” Sandra said.
“Well, if there’s no native life, then… I guess we’re okay to get rid of the planet to make space for that new mall we wanted, isn’t there?” Dave said.
“Yeah,” Mike said.
“So is that it, then?” said Samantha. “We all just assumed that humans were still here and we’ve all just been running around infiltrating ourselves?”
“I mean. It looks that way,” Sandra said.
Charlene was thinking about the first person who decided to pour hot water on tea leaves and then drink it. Like… was it an accident? Did they just do that to everything they found? What would happen if Charlene just started pouring hot water on things and drinking the result?
Wait, what was everyone talking about?
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j6b3d1g
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j6aktu1
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[WP] An immortal and the snail that has been chasing them share a conversation as they watch the heat death of the universe
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“Did you know that we break the universe?” It asked.
There was no sound left but for us. No light left but for what we could imagine. No heat, no cold. Everything was still.
Not a bad place to die.
“How so?”
I cleared my throat, ignoring the ache of thirst that had been my constant companion for longer than I could remember now. Water had stopped existing several trillion years ago at least.
“Energy.” It said, “we move without having eaten in forever, our muscles contract, our cells synthesize and consume ATP without ever having consumed anything to fuel it.”
I knew all this, we had both studied ourselves in extreme detail throughout our lives. Through more and less ethical means, but could it really be considered unethical if you were performing experiments on yourself?
“An equation with energy only on the output. A system without a stopping point. An engine with no end. That’s us.”
I turned towards the voice. Darkness was the only thing that looked back at me. A void more black and more dark than any other human being had ever seen.
“Would you want an end?” I asked.
It laughed.
“We have been here for longer than anyone else can even conceptualize- could even conceptualize. We watched both of our species evolve until we shared as many characteristics with them as we do with an apple and then watched those species die. I have chased you beyond stars and black holes and nebulae so vast you could spend ten billion lifetimes wandering and still not see it all, and see it all we did. I have been seeking something that would be my death since this universe was an infant. I am old.”
I laughed too, though mine sounded much worse, a dry cackle that served only to remind me how long it had been since I’d tasted the sweetness of water.
I think I’d do anything to drink just one more time.
“But would you want an end?”
It was quiet. For minutes or hours or days or weeks or months or millennia, I don’t know. I didn’t care.
I had time. I had more patience than a mortal being could possibly hope to comprehend.
“You know what’s funny? For the first time, the answer is no.”
I blinked. I had not expected that.
“What changed?”
I could imagine the way it retracted and extended its eye stalks into its strange approximation of a shrug so well that I could nearly see it.
“It’s dark now, and if we’re gone, it will stay dark forever. I’m not sure I like that.”
It will stay dark?
What did it-
Oh.
An engine with no end.
I had never even considered that. The slimy bastard was absolutely never going to let me live this down.
I barked out a dry laugh.
“HA!”
The snail laughed alongside me.
“We move, we blink, we produce heat-“ I started excitedly.
“-we breathe, we speak, we cause motion.” It picked up, “Inserting energy into everything around us. Knocking particles into other particles. Insignificant waves of motion, but eventually…”
“Eventually there are spots where there are more particles and there are spots where there are less.” I breathed in wonder, “And those particles begin to pull.”
“Collapsing inwards, coalescing, forming the simplest of bonds, their collective gravity pulling even more particles in. Crushing each other until they start to heat up. And then in an explosion of heat and light…”
“You get a star. An explosion that sends heat and motion and energy rippling out, setting off even more reactions until-“
“The universe begins again.” It finished.
I laughed again, howling my joy into the void, until my stomach ached.
It would take a while, uncountable millennia spent in darkness as two tiny specks restarted a system so vast it defied imagination. It took a lot of energy to kickstart a universe.
But I had time. I had more patience than a mortal being could possibly hope to comprehend.
One day there would be stars again. There would be planets and moons and nebulae so vast you could spend ten billion lifetimes wandering and still not see it all.
One day water would touch my tongue and light would grace my eyes. One day I would breathe real air. One day I would meet the gaze of an old friend.
One day.
For now I just laughed, pouring sound and movement and energy into the still universe around me.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
|
“This is it,” the snail says.
I turn away from the brilliant light coming from the center of the universe, and stare at the snail I have come to view as my companion these last… however many years. It cannot talk. This I know.
“But what about that which you don’t?” It asks, its voice much like the one I used to have.
Together, we are floating in the nothingness of space, less than a simple arms reach away from one another.
“How many times has your hand hovered over me?” It asks.
Too many to count. Probably as many times as there are stars—
“— as there *were* stars in the night sky,” it corrects and finishes. “Look around you.”
Behind me, there is nothing. Behind the snail, there is nothing. Above or below, there is nothing to look at except— I turn to the brilliant light that is now pulsing, throbbing, seemingly breathing— that.
“You have witnessed the death of every star,” the snail whispers with great awe. “With every death your hand lingered ever so close, yet your own fear prevailed. You, who is to be the sole witness of the *final* death, what have you to be afraid of?”
I motion around the everlasting black around us, my tears freezing upon their creation and scattering into the nothing, shining like crystals in the expanding light coming from the center of the universe.
“You may hold on out of fear,” the snail says. “But what of me?”
I look at the snail, how it floats there in the nothingness with me. No, no, not with me… but *for* me.
“Haven’t I been here?” It asks, its voice breaking. “How much longer must I wait before you realize you are not alone in this?”
I turn to the center of the universe, its violent beauty expanding towards us from some unknown distance. I do not know how much time it will take to reach us, I do not know what time itself is anymore, but I now know how selfish I have been.
Smiling, with tears like comets shooting from my eyes, I turn to the snail, and ask for its forgiveness. But there is no reply.
My hands form a cup beneath the snail, and for the first time, I realize how beautiful its shell is.
Closing my eyes, we embrace at last.
|
l8ogc17
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l8n54o0
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[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.
|
"I used to kill them. The ones i caught in the act, at least; where there was no ambiguity about what they were in the middle of doing. Used to..."
There's an odd wistfulness to Asahel's tone, as if he's remembering and longing for a simpler time. Curiosity cuts through the worst of the anger, enough to ask, "What changed?"
"They did. The kinds of criminals i'd have to fight. Once, it was just your ordinary muggers and rapists and gang-bangers who'd gotten the address wrong. But the next one always seemed a little worse than the one before. A little quicker to pull the trigger if their target was too slow at handing over his wallet. A little more careful about getting their victim out of sight. A bit more willing to have their shootouts in public places. At first it was only a slight statistical trend; but when serial killers started seeming as frequent as domestic abusers and cults practicing human sacrifice became almost as common as drug gangs, well...even the least paranoid among us had to admit something was going on."
"You think, what, that for every bad guy you kill, a worse one takes his place?" Anger surges again, harshening the voice.
"For all we know, the worse ones would appear anyway. No; that's not why we've mostly stopped killing. It was...for me, it was... Blue Streak. When i caught him... When i killed him... When i pulled his mask off... I'd killed him before. Killed him, seen his body cremated, helped the daughter he'd...never mind...scatter his ashes so she could be certain he was gone."
"Twin, surely?"
"Identical twins don't have the same fingerprints. When one gets a tattoo, it doesn't magically appear on the other. When one has surgery, the other doesn't get a scar from it. And in any case...one instance could be explained away; but not all of them. The real reason we started wearing masks? There's no rhyme or reason to who turns up living after they've already turned up dead. We're terrified, though, of what people might try in an effort to exploit the situation. We have too many villains as is."
"Yet you're telling me."
"You have a right to know, why the man who murdered your family isn't getting a death sentence for it. You had the courage to confront me about it. And if i'd tried to give you the brush-off, well...that's one of the ways villains are born, these days. So here's your answer: as fast as they escape, locking them up still keeps them out of circulation longer than killing them."
"Is there any way to change that?"
"For the better? None that i know of. There's one of us, you won't know her. We call her Oracle, now that we've had to admit she isn't only crazy. Those who have the patience to sift through her ramblings can get some warning when something big...bigger than what's become normal...is coming. One thing that keeps cropping up, though, is that "the power to change the rules lies beyond the fourth wall"."
"Fourth wall of what? Where?"
"No idea. Can't even tell you if it's a literal wall or metaphorical. But it's the only clue we have."
===================
*I've also written a take on the other side of the argument,* [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1b9dtij/comment/ktw9vwr/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button).
|
I gripped my beer. Warp Core had been recaptured. The TV droned on, but all I could see were flames, a piece of femur from a bone that was too small, blackened pieces of a ring.
I had spent years blaming myself. The plan was to leave that evening to see my parents for Thanksgiving. We should have been on the road, they should have survived. At very least I should have been there to die with them. Instead I stayed late, trying to finish a project before we left. I wondered what sick twist of fate decided that I would live.
Warp Core was a slippery villain, but burning an affluent high rise tends to motivate the forces of justice. After evading police for months, Captain Star, with superhuman strength/speed/invulnerability/flight/, eventually brought him in. Three days later Warp Core had been tried and sentenced. For a moment I took comfort in the fact that my wife and daughter would be at peace, that the world would be safer without that monster. It all came crashing down when he escaped as the sentence was about to be carried out.
Now, two years later, he had escaped 38 times. Every time, Captain Star was still the only one who could safely apprehend Warp Core.
1/?
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ja8y70q
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ja8p4kl
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[WP] Tradition dictates that each sentient species is given one seat in the Galactic Parliament. When humanity made contact with the galactic community, it was decided that planet earth deserves to have four senators.
|
Azure Rain adjusts her suit, and then presses the button to accept the holocall, a wild assortment of holographic races appearing in front of her. She’s not surprised by them as she used to be. She’s what is called the ‘Administrator’ (well it’s called the Skelletofaxis but it roughly means administrator) she manages the planet’s senator, so she had seen this a lot, And now it’s time to see if Earth’s current chosen Senator, Emily Parsons is up to snuff.
The current head of the Parliament, a large porcine figure named, Hotuck, speaks. “We have looked over your application, and are very pleased with Emily Parsons.”
Azure smiled. “Perfect. It took us some time but we thought she would-“
“There is an issue however.”
The blue haired woman tilts her head. “Problem?” She had read over the application nearly a thousand times.
“Yes. Where are the other three applications.”
“….Three?”
“Yes. Three.”
Azure blinks rapidly. “I don’t understand.”
“The Galactic Parliament chooses one senator of each sapient species from each member planet.”
Azure continues to stare in noncomprehension.
“For instance, Emily is a woman, where is the species that breeds with them? The man?”
Azure’s face continues to show confusion until it breaks and she falls into peals of laughter which is echoed by the holograms around her.
“Ok. I see the confusion. Men and Women aren’t other species! They are just our names for males and females.”
It is now time for the aliens to look confused, Hotuck’s face looks particularly befuddled around his tusks.
“Male, and Female?”
Azure assumes there must be a bug in the translator. That has happened. “Our Sexes.”
“Is not sex how you reproduce?” Asks, Genegen the many eyed, Tellen senator.
“Yes. But it also the name for how we divide the beings who can breed with each other.” The parliament looks confused until someone speaks up.
“Similar to how Resdens breed with the Desrens on our planet?” Speaks a red hulking individual, Azure had previously identified as male, who is sitting next to the blue individual she had identified as female who was the other species on their planet. Thinking she had found sense, Azure says
“Yes. Just like that.”
That’s when the yelling starts.
Azure can’t quite pick out a single word among it all, eventually Hotuck, presses a button and all the holograms are muted, no sound coming from them until they notice, and their mouths..and other verbal appendages stop moving.
“One at a time.” He pulls his finger off the button, and a jellyfish looking creature says
“The Azure-form claimed Man and Women are not other species, yet they are like the Resdens, and the Desrens who are alternate species.”
“I see, what Jeej-form is saying.” Hotuck starts,
“You claims that the species yours breeds with, the man is not another species, yet you breed with them, as the rest of the parliament does with their paired species.
“Wait. You all breed with different species?” Every single being in speaks up with their version of yes.
Azure is stumped until she finally offers a weak, “We don’t. Uh. We’ve tested Men and Women separately and while there are many differences, we are the same species. Tests have shown, from the dawn of time. All our animals except a few have that division, sexes we call it.” The alien species slowly nod, seeming to get it.
“So the divisions we have seen among similar species on your planet is just the…breeding pairs of one species?” Hotuck asks.
“Yes! There you are!”
“So we are not missing three applications.”
“You are not.” Azure says, calming down.
“We are missing just one. From …our scans show they are called the Dragons.”
Azure nods.
“As the liaison between the species on your planet, it is up to you to secure an application from them, but we will give you time, as if this senator is as good as Emily Parsons it will be worth it. Keep up the good work Administrator.”
The other species slowly blink out, and Azure brushes her hair back, and then the end of the call sinks in and her eyes widen and face goes slack.
“Did Hotuck say DRAGONS?!”
|
“What do you mean earth will have 4 senators?” Asked my friend, Ooclis
”Exactly what I said.” I told him
”But why?“ Ooclis asked “It’s always been that each planet only has 1 senator.”
”No, it’s each sentient-intelligent species. The misconception comes from the fact that no planter has ever had more than 1.” I said
”You mean earth does!” He asked in astonishment
“well, up to 30 earth cycles ago, no”
“But you just said-“
“Let me finish. 30 earth cycles ago, the humans, the only sentient-intelligent creature on earth at the time, were doing experiments on a dog, and accidentally made it as intelligent as humans.”
”fascinating” Ooclis said
”After the discovery, they attempted to make another animal intelligent, this time a bird. They chose to attempt the parrot, because it was already a more intelligent creature. It was another success, and only 3 earth cycles after the dog. The parrot can even replicate other voices and languages, meaning if it hears enough words in our languages, it may be able to produce entire conversations in them.”
Ooclis just gaped, clearly astonished. I had a similar reaction to hearing. If I had not heard it first hand from our senator himself, I most likely would not have believed it.
”The most recent creature was the sea turtle. This time, they were trying their luck with a less intelligent species. It took them only up until a season before we arrived at their planet to welcome them to the galactic order.“
“so they will have all 4 species on the galactic parliament?” Asked Ooclis
“yes” I say
” what happens if they make more intelligent creature. Do they also get a spot?” He asked.
“ the parliment decided if they make more, it will fall under either terrestrial, aquatic, or flying. These, along with humans, will hold the senate spots for planet earth“
Suddenly, I hear a ping from his watch.
“The earthians have arrived. Let us go welcome them D’lars”
”indeed Ooclis”
|
l6mgdac
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mpuc5d2
|
[WP]At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line on the ground. You've always followed the green line leading you to a successful and happy life, one day you decided to try the red line
|
I first saw those lines on the ground when I was lost in the forest during a school excursion. It's always green for good and red for bad, right? Just like those turn-based RPGs I used to play. Green for your allies and red for your enemies.
Taking the green line was a no-brainer.
It led me back to base camp where the rest of my classmates and teachers were.
The next day, the lines appeared again. I nudged my good friend Brian and asked if he saw anything.
"I'm not sure what you're asking me to look for."
So I established the lines were just for me. Not for anyone else to see. The green one to help me find my way. After some nagging, I convinced Brian to go with me.
We broke away from the rest of the class to follow my green line. Brian grumbled about how this was the way to lose our way. I tried to reassure him I knew how to return, but admittedly, persuasion wasn't my strong suit.
Trampling over thick grasses, we strode over the unbeaten path lush with vegetation. The green line stopped at a clearing, freshly disturbed.
"Let's start digging," I told Brian. "I think there's something here."
As clichéd as it sounds, we found a few old coins. Like hundreds of years old coins. A new pair of lines flickered into existence once we finished digging. One green, one red.
We took the green line to rejoin the class before anyone noticed we were gone. When the excursion was over, I immediately showed my dad those coins. He sold them to a museum for a good sum and split the money with me.
That's how most of my life went. Following the green line.
Most of the time, it was very mundane things.
The green line directed me to school. It knew when it was okay for me to have fun at a friend's house, and when I should head to my study room to do homework. Once, it took me to an exhibition hall where an entrepreneurship fair was going on.
From there on, the green line took me places that boosted my little side hustle. I followed the line to houses of people who would pay me to mow their lawn. It took me to an art fair where a few adults expressed interest in my paintings.
It has never taken me down a wrong turn. Green promised and led me to success and happiness. It guided me through my school days. Decided that rather than walking the obvious path to companies for job interviews, it took me to customers who would grow loyal and bring in more business through word-of-mouth.
It was getting predictable. Boring. Just coasting through life following a mysterious green line rather than making decisions on my own.
That red line was teasing my curiosity. Begging me to try it out.
I followed the red line for the first time in over twenty years.
It didn't seem so bad, just taking me to a quaint cafe. I ordered a cup of coffee and a bagel, sitting where the red line stopped. As the lines disappeared, I sat there sipping my coffee and waited.
And waited. For something to happen. Probably a bad thing.
All I saw was the cafe getting crowded and the seats taken up. It was surprisingly packed.
No waitress spilled my coffee when I asked for a refill. Nobody tripped over anything or dropped a plate. No altercations, arguments or difficult customers demanding to see the manager.
"Is this seat taken? May I please sit here with you?"
She carried a tray where a cup of coffee and bagel rested. The same coffee and bagel I ordered.
"It isn't taken."
So she sat in the spare seat and shared the table with me. We found a mutual interest in painting. My natural instinct was to slowly shift the discussion towards my business. That was how it always worked when the green line guided me to new people. It's how I clinched deals. It was too late that I forgot I had followed the red line and not the green one.
She smiled and nodded. Then told me she needed to leave politely. Maybe this is what the red line is about. I didn't get anything from her besides a long chat.
The green and red lines haven't reappeared, so I just sat there like a dumbass watching her go. A part of me wanted to dash out and ask her number. The habitual creature within dictated that I wait for the lines to show up again to follow them.
"Hey," she turned around. "Do you want to exchange numbers? Stay in touch, maybe?"
"Yes."
|
Since I was a child, my favorite color was always red.
My mom's hair was red, my hair was red as well, and red was such a pretty, and warm color, it made me safe, happy.
But on the day I turned 12, I started seeing something.
A green line, and a red line on the ground, going forward.
For some reason...I just couldn't choose the red line.
Thus, I always followed the green line, living a successful, and extremely happy life.
Now, I am an adult, with three kids, a loving wife, and all is great, but..
My favorite color is still red.
Staring at the ground, my instincts scream at me to follow the green line, but I am curious.
What will happen if I follow the red one?
Will I die? Will a calamity happen?
Will I have bad luck? Get hurt?
What's the alternative to the success and happiness the green line offers?
I have gotten good job offers, I met the right people, and avoided the bad events until now...
Now, I am curious: what is my favorite color offering.
With a speed a snail would mock, sweating, and trembling, I took my first step towards the direction the red line went.
I felt as if I was carrying the weight of the world, but in the end I did.
One step after the other, and soon it became bearable.
I arrived at a bar, on a main street I often frequented...yet I never saw this bar.
Entering it, the few customers, and the bartender froze.
"A human? How...", the bartender said, her eyes glowing red.
I stuttered, and tried to go out, but the door wouldn't budge.
"Don't worry, we won't eat ya, come in, have a drink.
You will need it.", she said, and I did as told.
She poured me a beer, while the other customers are cheered, and welcomed me for some reason.
"You will understand later on, little human.
Welcome to real life, hope you won't go mad.", she said with a smile, and I could see...fangs.
I left the bar, after a beer or two, and the world changed.
No longer could I see the green and red line, but all around me...I could see people with mist swirling around them.
And every now and then, I could see their true forms...
The legends are real, and they...they live among us...
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l1wrj2t
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l1wlwo7
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[WP] Every dragon rider gets a dragon egg to hatch upon their initiation to the guild. When your egg hatched, Your dragon came out a bit... Different.
|
Sixteen generations. The guild had been around longer than that, but no single family had lasted so long. They were killed in battle, or by their own mounts. Sixteen generations, and all that weight on my shoulders as I watched the egg struggling to hatch.
We weren't allowed to help them.
Everyone did, of course. I could see the others, crouched right up against their eggs, peeling at the shells. One was cut for his trouble, and promptly devoured by his hatchling. It charged toward the rest of us, and I stood still, like stone. They don't see so well as babies, only see motion. A second initiate was devoured before the Guildmaster got his beast down to stop it, pinning the hatchling under one giant, clawed hand and waiting to be told what to do.
My egg had stopped moving, the cracks still tiny and centered on a single point.
"This is why," the Guildmaster droned, you do not help them hatch.
Another hatchling burst free, knocking over his human in an effort to get up the speed to fly. Then the rest hatched out all at once, nearly a dozen little monsters, and they set to fighting each other.
Not mine. Maybe it had died.
I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. A dead dragon meant a new egg next season, a few months reprieve added to the years it would take for the beast to be big enough to carry me. No one would learn my secret fear.
But no, the egg resumed rocking, and the cracks started to widen.
I slowly fed my right arm through the harness, shaking it loosely to widen it, and then gripped the traces with the left. I had practiced this, hundreds or thousands of times, on horses and cows, and pigs, and even on the carved wooden face of a dragon that decorated the bannister of the family mansion.
The egg toppled over, cracking nearly in half. The shell was broken, but the membrane inside still held it together and I watched my dragon - my dragon - use her front claws to shred it away and crawl free.
"Eyyyoh," I gave the traditional call, and when she swung her ugly head my way, I flapped my right hand, and she launched the way they always do. Last minute, I lifted my arm up, sliding it over her wet-slick face, and then yanked it away as I pulled hard on the traces.
She was caught, bridled as well as any new hatchling could have been, but I kept pulling, taking down to a knee in the hot sand to bring her off her feet and down onto her side, the way Grandfather had shown me. She lay for a second before trying to rise, and in that time I mostly managed to swing a leg over.
She couldn't carry me, not this young, but she still fought me like a demon, twisting and trying to bite and claw at me. I sat hard, my whole weight crushing her into the sand. *Sit her til she stops struggling* is what they said, so I sat, and tugged the traces side to side when her maw came too close to my knees.
It felt like ages before she was done, before I could stand on rubbery legs and lead her away, with only three others, the survivors of today's hatching, to the aerie.
Sixteen generations. Gods damn it, I would have to fly.
|
Ren spat out her tea when she heard the door slam open with Tori- her daughter run into the living room with a large, brown and red-dotted egg cradled in her arms.
"Mom! Mom!" Tori announced, "Egg. I have an egg!"
With graceful weaving of her hands, Ren motioned her daughter to wait for her- after she placed her teacup on the table.
Ren knew how to talk, but thanks to the quirks of her biology was unable to talk during the day- except on rainy days where the air was moist enough for her vocal chords to work.
Ren entered the living room to find her daughter staring intently at the dragon egg, the egg places on a hemp cushion. She sat down and glanced to the egg then her daughter with a questioning look.
"The Dragon Rider's Guild gave me an egg for my initiation after I passed the rider's exam last week." Tori explained, "It's supposed to hatch later today."
Ren nodded and left the living room, returning with a second round of tea.
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jcb70bf
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jcb2xg9
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[WP]The Wishmaker's Key. It's like the Monkey's Paw, but instead of just flat out granting your wish (and doing it in the worst way possible), it only opens up the most reasonable opportunity to get what you wished for.
|
The old man shuffled over to the counter with a cloth wrapped around something in his hand. When he placed the cloth on the counter, he slowly unwrapped it, careful not to touch the item inside. It was a brass skeleton key, approximately 5 inches long with a Skull at one end, and a very ornate key head at the other. It looked like it was generating its own light, but it was the end of a long day, so I can't trust my memory in some ways.
"This... This is what you came here for." The old man whispered.
"No. I don't think it is. I thought you were the last owner of the Monkey's paw. That is what I need. I can make the wishes and not screw it up." I was desperate, and he knew it, even if I didn't at the time.
"The Paw, everyone wants the paw, everyone thinks they can outsmart the paw. You cannot. I could not, and look at me, I'm OLD, and allegedly wise." He coughed for a moment and I thought he was actually going to die in front of me before continuing after spitting out a glob of lung butter the size of a dollar coin. "This is the Wishmaker's KEY!", he stopped like I should know what that meant. He continued, "Nobody appreciates a good intro. Look, this will provide you with the best way to get what you want. 3 wishes, but they are, opportunities, not gifts, so you have to work for them once the wish is made."
"I've HAD opportunities, everything I touch just turns to shit! I need the Paw!" I paced in front of the counter, barely able to keep from staring at the key.
"The Paw is no good. Besides..." He looked away, "I used it to create this, it is no more"
"What? How is that possible?"
"I bought the Paw for a single penny. It must be sold for less. I used the last of it's magic to create this. " He motioned at the key. "I will sell you the key for 100 Dollars. You can sell it for..."
"Yeah, I know, $99.99, I get it. Okay, I'll buy it." I handed him a hundred dollar bill.
"Take your merchandise."
The moment my fingers touched the key, I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the store I had just been inside. However, this building was burned out. I wasn't sure how this happened, but I knew I wanted to leave, to get home and make my wish.
\---------------
​
"I wish my family's business was thriving and had never failed." Similar to the paw, the key had markings and one of them disappeared as I felt a shock through my arm. I was suddenly imbued with knowledge of how to revive my family business. But that was it. "Well shit, I still have to do the work? That sucks." I decided to get in bed and start in the morning....
Little did I know...
|
There were a lot of rumoured ways to have your wildest dreams, all with just enough truth to them to spark hope in the lost. Wishing stars asked for nothing but a keen eye and pure heart. Genies needed nothing more than careful wording. Birthdays offered everyone the same opportunity every year.
Whispered wished offered to those methods were wasted on the wind. In the end there was only one method that I'd found in years of study that seemed to be true, seemed to be something that people like me could verify.
A wishmakers key.
I didn't know where they came from, or where they went once they'd been used, but Wishmaker's keys offered the simple promise, they would make anything *possible.* The keys could wrestle the laws of the universe and force them into a place where the user could grant their wish for themsleves.
Of course, in most cases, this meant the Wishmaker's keys faded away without having done much at all. Fairytales might have belabored the point, but it was true that most people's wishes were already within their reach.
You wouldn't even know if you wasted your wish, because you could, eventually, make it.
The rusted but somehow still glittering key on my desk tempted its spot in the lamplight. It whispered things, promised solutions to problems I didn't have, offered to make my dreams come true, even as the dreams that idly came to mind were things I could easily manage without the assistance of the key.
I didn't need a magical artifact to make me tea, all I had to do was walk downstairs to do it.
But the whispers didn't stop.
I made a quick note in my journal about the behaviour and took a look at my phone on the desk. It was well past the witching hour and I didn't have anything other than idle observations about the key I'd gotten my hands on this afternoon.
Well, the key I'd made myself destitute over this afternoon. They might have only been a way to unlock the doors of life, but keys certainly carried the price tag of catch-all solution to your every whim.
Of course, the key could help me get money. It could ensure that I didn't need to worry about that ever again. It could-
I shook my head and stared down the key, pushing the affected thoughts out of my mind. "Why do you want to be used?" I asked the antique brass.
All I needed to do was ask it formally and I could be sure that I would eventually get the answer...
I grabbed the key and put it back into the box that I'd bought it in, securing a key behind a lock. I was too tired to have something else trying to convince me of a solution. I needed sleep, and I certainly didn't need it to tell me how to get that.
\---
I woke up closer to morning than the middle of the night, whcih wasn't hard considering that was when I'd gone to sleep. Dawn was just getting around to arriving as I sat up in the bed and stared over at my desk, and the lockbox on it.
Inspiration stuck at strange times, but usually I was at least awake for it.
I slipped over to the desk, putting on a housecoat on the way to make an attempt at modesty. Once I was sitting down I found a hairtie I'd left out last night and pulled my tangled hair our of my eyes.
Years had bled away as I'd burned the university's grant money on wish research. It had always been an easy topic to get funding for, afterall, everyone wanted to know what they could do to wish the worst parts of their life away.
I pulled the key out of the box and sat in the middle of the desk this time, leaving it between my and my well-worn sage notebook. I drummed fingers on the desk, and waited for it to talk to me.
For the first time since I'd gotten it, the key stayed quiet, waiting for me to speak to it instead of offering it's constant opinion on how useful it was.
The last thirty pages of notes from last night were a slow read, a mostly rambling mess that had come from the frantic idea that I'd finally found something that wasn't a placebo, but-
I flipped past the last notes I'd made to the first blank page and put pen to paper. Just when I was about to write I pulled back from it, leaving an ink stain on the page.
The key looked dull now, even in the waking light of dawn.
"Just another wishing star," I sighed to the key. That was the philosophy of the Wishmaker, it opened doors, but as it stood anything was already possible. It didn't matter what wish I offered the key, becuase even the impossible was possible if there was an artifact out there that could grant wishes, "isn't that right?"
The key itself didn't have a voice, it had always stolen mine by putting words into my head. That said, even voiceless, it laughed.
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[WP] Years ago, your mentor said, "Kid, there's a small secret when it comes to magic. You can literally make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who actually take it seriously really pissed off." Today, you're one of the least respected, and most powerful, mages in the land.
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Iso Mito, a great mage, sits cross-legged before a menacing vault. His hands move in practiced, precise formations, his finger tips glow faintly blue as his mind picks it’s way through the locked door. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead and streams down his chin into his lap.
This is hard work.
He is given the most critical job—he’s the most tenured mage on the team, after all—the job of cracking the most expertly shielded vault in all of Kantaban. And the vault’s defenses are high for a reason, for within the vault sits the most closely coveted spells in all the land.
To get past the vault’s defenses requires the brightest magical mind, one intimately familiar with runic and intentional magic, one able to call upon an encyclopedic knowledge of defense spells and their associated counter spells.
A mind like Iso Mito’s.
In the room with Iso, defending his back, is Hal Miter, another mage. Hal’s leg bounces in anticipation, betraying his impatience with the process. He watches on as Iso continues on in a workman like manner.
“How is Iso progressing, Hal?” asks Fin Baker, group leader, through the ether. Hal hears Fin’s voice as his own within his mind.
“As best I can tell, he’s cracked the first runic guard but has yet to proceed to the second order defense. At this pace we’re going to get caught,” replies Hal silently.
“Patience, young one,” says Fin. “We have planned for this. We have time. You are there to provide protection and support. The rest of us have done our part. Iso should have all the time he needs.”
“Whatever you say,” says Hal.
To say that Hal is bored is an understatement. Fin often chides Hal for his lack of patience.
“Success should be hard fought, the result of tedious study and slavish devotion to the craft,” says Fin at any given one-on-one training session.
To which Hal inevitably replies, “Fuck that. I’m not going to be slavishly devoted to anything.”
Or Fin has been known to say, “Magic works best when treated as the intersection of intention and practice.”
To which Hal replies, “Nope. I don’t give a shit how it works. What I care about are results. And, oh baby, you bet your sweet ass I get results.”
So it was no surprise to Hal that he was given the least critical role for the mission. He was given Iso babysitting duty while the rest of the team worked hard to ensure that Hal’s role would not be needed.
“What a fun job,” thinks Hal to himself.
Was it Hal’s fault that magic came naturally to him? The rest of the group viewed him as dangerous, a loose cannon. To Hal’s mind that was simply because they were jealous of his gifts. Hal knew in his heart that he could open the vault more quickly and more effectively than Iso ever could.
Alas, he was not afforded the opportunity.
Hal hears footsteps in the corridor. That’s odd. No one had alerted him they were coming.
“Fin, I hear footsteps just outside our antechamber. You send reinforcements?” says Hal.
“Shit,” replies Fin. “It’s not one of us. Hal, you listen to me and you listen good, do not engage unless they do. We’re too close to blow this whole thing because you’re trigger-happy. You stay still and only engage if Iso’s life is in danger. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Fin,” says Hal petulantly.
“Hal, I mean it. Do. Not. Engage,” says Fin knowing fully well that his meticulously planned mission was about to go tits-up.
Hal turns to Iso, still seated before the vault door, fingers still pulsing a faint blue. Hal taps him on the shoulder to see if he’ll respond.
Nothing.
Hal knows better than to bother Iso while casting, but some part of him wants to warn Iso of what’s about to happen. He taps again.
Nothing.
The footsteps grow louder.
“Fuck it!” Curses Hal under his breath. “Bring it on, big boy.” Hal readies himself, his back to Iso. He spreads his legs wide and raises both hands in anticipation.
The footsteps have now paused just outside the door. The antechamber door creaks as it opens. Hal sees a flash of the crimson robes worn by the Kantaban guard. He knows he has no choice but to strike now.
As the door swings open Hal begins casting, unthinking and natural. He says words that mean nothing in his tongue but that carry with them the force of a magical codex.
“Kowabunga hang ha!” He cries aloud as a wave forms before him and swallows the Kantaban guard at the doorway. The force of the wave sends the guard tumbling down the corridor.
Hal just makes out another 5 guards wading through the now knee deep water. He’s bought some time, but not enough to allow Iso to crack the vault. He knows he has to act fast.
Hal scans the doorway and screams the first words that come to his mind. “Entranco no passo!” A black mass rises from the bottom of the doorway and slams against the top of the door jamb.
“That’ll hold them for maybe five minutes,” Hal says aloud.
“Hal, what the hell is happening down there?” says Fin.
“Kantaban Guards. A lot of them,” replies Hal. “I’ve sealed the door, but it won’t hold long. I need to help Iso get through the vault asap.”
“Do not interfere! For the love of all that is holy you do not interfere with Iso. The consequences could be catastrophic,” orders Fin.
“If I don’t do something both Iso and I are royally fucked, Fin,” replies Hal, “and I think you and I both know I don’t mean that metaphorically.”
“Hal, please, don’t do anything rash,” says Fin.
“Rash is my middle name,” says Hal as he turns to the vault.
______
Part two in the next comment. r/InMyLife42Archive
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"You ate too much chili last night. The cook used the hottest peppers imaginable, and things are on fire *down there."*
That's always what I lead with. It scares off most every visitor I have when their colon suddenly lights up. Once in a while, someone's able to resist, throw a monkey wrench of their own back at me. It often ends poorly for them. It ended poorly for me too, when I came before the very stoop I stand on now, and said those same words.
All of my friends liked to play with magic when we were young. We were a rambunctious group, constantly challenging random people to magic duels, whether they could cast or not. We tore up the country side on more than a few occasions, always chased off the land by one magician or another. One day, I remember one of my friends scored an apprenticeship with a famous magician by playing a well-timed prank involving a carnival game. The magician found the darts he was throwing would boomerang back around and land in the meat of one of his butt cheeks. Most people would be off-put by that, but magicians are a bunch of tricksters by nature. My friend went off in their caravan to learn from the master and we never saw him again.
After that, any time we found a magician we'd assail them funny magic, assault them with undue ferocity, or try our most creative tricks to get someone to take notice and teach us what they knew. There was one magician none of the others would mess with though. Everybody back then knew about the lady on the hill with the power to make your magic fizzle out with nothing but a word. We tried her exactly once. Well, all my friends tried once. I found myself drawn back, time after time, and I saw her magic often enough that I thought I might try the same trick. When I spoke those words aloud, cursing her with last night's evil chili, and the tears came down her face from the pain, or the laughter, and she could hardly breathe a word I knew I had her beat. That was, until she caught her breath, and a combination of orange juice and toothpaste started pouring from my nose.
Afterwards, she made me her apprentice, and taught me the extent of a power like the one we shared. It was a small secret that everybody else refused to believe. That anything you wanted could come true as long as you had the guile to just make it up. Maybe it was good thing nobody really believed it. When the other powerful magicians dotted around the country found 'laws' and 'patterns' and 'restrictions' in the magic they had at hand, it kept them safe. When people believed things like 'my magic can't penetrate the skin' or 'I only have control over fire' it was usually better off for them. Simpler. Not like how things are for me, or how things were for my master. They don't understand our magic, and so they're afraid of it. Like my friends, other magicians stayed away. Hateful from afar.
But she was good to me, and I her, so when the time came, I inherited her little house on the hill. I haven't been around other people for years, much less other magicians. This kind of power is disastrous in the wrong hands, or even in the right hands, so we made a pact to stay on the farmland the house sat upon, far from anyone we might do harm. She made the same pact with her master, and her master before her. Magic words spoken aloud so they could never be broken. Nobody ever said anything about turning away people who show up at the doorstep though.
Now I'm the one people tell stories about, the old guy on the hill that people come to test their magic against. Some copy a powerful magician's best spells, or try something uniquely their own. Others, braver, but sadly lacking in imagination, try my tack. It doesn't matter, because most of it doesn't even phase me. I just tell them their magic doesn't work here, and suddenly its true. Then the ol 'too much chili' sends them packing, or they remain, and the next words out of my mouth send them to the hospital. Assuming they draw first of course.
I've just cursed my latest visitor with the chili. Standing just beyond the stairs of my porch is a boy who looks an awful lot like I did once. I'm waiting patiently to see what he's going to do.
"Maaaan," he says, drawing the word out. "That's not even fair."
He's bent over, holding his stomach and grimacing through the pain. I'm surprised he can still talk.
"Yeah well, life's not fair." I may have gotten a little crabby in my old age, I admit. I never thought that cliché would cross my lips, but it's true, and it's one of those things I don't have to say out loud for it to be so.
"Oh yeah?" the kid says, face all screwed up against the spicy chili. "Well you're ma was so fat that you were born with encephalitis."
"Jesus Christ, kid!" I say through thick lips.
I feel of my head and it's completely misshapen, and my thoughts are like molasses all the sudden. This is bad. Brain damage is a bitch to deal with, and I doubt this kid knows exactly how much of a bitch it is. In fact I know he doesn't because he's laughing his ass off at the new shape of my skull. I'm ticked off now, and also a little amused. I won't let him know that though.
"Too far! You'll get somebody killed like that. And my mother was not fat, rest her soul."
The kid is laughing too hard to retort, thank goodness. My mom actually had been fat for a moment there. I remembered her being so. She was restored to her regular form in my mind, but I still can't think straight.
"It's a damn good thing I have a backup body that I can swap into like this," I say, and snap my fingers. I feel of my head again and let out a breath. Good as new. I knew it would work of course. I have to, otherwise it won't. The held breath just happens on its own now.
"Hey!" The kid says. "Cheater!"
"How is that cheating?"
He thinks about it for a second and then sticks his tongue out at me. I shake my head and hit him with my best 'grumpy old man' look.
"It's a good thing I *actually* didn't eat any of the chili last night."
The relief on his face is palpable. I can tell he hardly believes that it worked, and for a second he's just standing there beaming at his own power, glad to have his intestines back to normal again. I let him beam. For a moment anyway.
"We done?" I ask after a minute. I'd be happy to let him leave without going any further. Mostly to spare myself whatever pestilence he'll come up with, but also because if he keeps going then I might just have to let him stay. Can't have people going around giving other people fat mothers and encephalitis.
"Not yet!"
He's obviously looking for something good to hit me with, so I prepare for the worst and whisper a few protective wards. There's no guarantee they'll work, but I doubt he'll have the forethought to counter them.
He gets a look in his eye, a look I know well enough. He thinks he's won. That he has an undefeatable sentence. I wonder if it'll be something else about my mother, or if I'll suddenly have some kind of disease. Maybe even something advanced, a trap that's impossible to escape, or an opponent that's impossible to defeat. Any of these things can be circumvented. In fact, there's only about one thing he could say, and for a second I'm confident he won't come up with it.
"You lose!" he shouts, and falls on his ass laughing again. I can't help but smile. Maybe I could go on arguing, but I don't believe it'll work.
"Not bad, kid," I finally say. "Not bad."
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[WP] You are a hero that can manipulate darkness and shadow, able to make it solid and shape it into many forms. As you are cornered by Villains, trapped within a room made to trap you, with no shadow around, you tell them something that makes them stare at you in horror. "Human insides are dark"
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"You know your innards are wrapped completely in shadows, right?" I look at the 4-man team trying to back me into a corner of the best-lit room I have ever seen. The men are not even casting shadows on themselves, much less each other. Every flat surface is glowing slightly. The lighting was impeccable, I have to give them that. As someone who manipulates shadows, they think they have me beaten.
"Psh, whatever you say, man," the gentleman (using the term loosely, of course) in the lead replies. In my head, I call him Bob. I don't know the names of any of these men, and I don't know what they want from me.
"Please don't push me, I don't want to kill you," I beg them.
They all laugh. Big belly laughs that just go on and on. The four of them stand in front of me, preparing to... I am not sure what they are going to do, honestly. But I am sure it won't be any good for me.
I brace myself, this is something I haven't done in many years, and had prayed I would never have to resort to again.
"Ok," I say, focusing on the man in the back of the group, the one that doesn't look quite happy with everything that is going on. Maybe he is new to the gang, maybe that will be more powerful to them. Maybe he will quit when this is all said and done.
Without moving or looking away, I freeze the shadows in his lungs. He instantly stops and grabs his chest, trying to make his lungs move, but they are filled with the inky black substance of shadows made solid. Having grasped it tightly with my mind's grip, I begin to move those shadows up his throat and into his mouth. He begins to gag and falls to the floor, writhing. Slowly I extend the shadows from his mouth in the form of thin tentacles.
Bob's head snaps around as his companion hits the floor. His eyes go wide as the shadows seep from the man's mouth. Slowly, he and the other two back away. That also means, away from me.
The man on the floor is fighting less now, the shadows are stretched to the door to break the lock. I walk to the door, the other men giving me distance. Distance would not normally save them, but I just want out. I don't *want* to kill them. I will figure out who these people are later. I know what they look like, they can't hide from me. I will see them in every shadow they come across.
I turn the doorknob, the latch releases, and I open the door. As I step through, I turn back to the men. They stare back in horror. Nothing they have ever done had prepared them for this situation. I feel bad for them.
I allow the shadows I have in my mind's grip to relax and turn back into nothingness. The man on the floor begins to gasp. I can see one of the other men wants to run to his side, but just watches me instead. So I back out of the door, into the sunshine, turn, and walk away.
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Escalation is a dangerous game.
Animals fight. You know that, right? But they're not fighting to *kill*. They sheathe their claws, aim for those parts of their opponents anatomy that are well-equipped to weather the blow, and work to establish dominance, and settle the fight with neither party dead or even maimed.
Humans fight. You *certainly* know about that. And it is, broadly, the same sort of thing. We fight in many ways, on many stages, for many reasons. Very few of these are really meant to *kill*\- if we go all out, our opponents might do the same. Many things that are worth *fighting* for are not worth *dying* for- or killing for, for that matter. There are exceptions, but you hope to live your life without encountering them, and almost no one survives long if they encounter them *often*.
So you hold back. This doesn't mean you don't fight *hard*\- it means that you fight in restrained ways, go for blows that will establish dominance over a living, non-maimed opponent, rather than a pile of gore and a puddle of blood. There's always a solid chance that you end up losing any given fight, and it's firmly in your interest not to end up looking like extra-chunky salsa yourself.
Reasonably sane people don't escalate without a good reason.
So I fought with shields made of solid darkness, and struck blows with great baseball bats filled with the power of shadow, or with spheres of the stuff flying around at my mental command. You can hit certain heroes *really* hard and not do more than inconvenience them, if the blow is blunt.
There's nothing stopping me from forming shadows into sharp objects other than the fear that my opponent may use their own abilities in unexpected ways. You never quite know what, *exactly*, someone is holding back- another good reason to be *very* hesitant to escalate.
But when you're staring down defeat, and learn that you're facing, not imprisonment, not loss of money or status or prestige, but *death*...
Claws out. Kill or be killed.
But it's *still* a bad idea to escalate more than you need to. If there is any way you can fall short of going all out and still get away safely, you should try that. Threats, for example. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't, but the less fights you're involved in turn people into marinara sauce with extra meat mixed in, the better.
I was trapped. They could see that I was trapped. There weren't any visible shadows, none at all.
But shadows are a *lack* of light. You don't need to see it to control it, or else you couldn't control it at all.
"Hold!"
The fighting held, however briefly. They knew I was trapped. No harm in letting your prey beg for mercy, when you've won so thoroughly.
"You've trapped me in here, with no way out but through you, no way to save my life but by cutting all of you down. You've deprived me of any visible shadows, and think that that means I'm powerless."
"It does not."
"I recognize your strength, and I recognize your skill. You have fought well, and bested me in combat. I am now fighting to preserve my life. And this room still has quite a few shadows inside your bodies."
"So you can let me go, call it a good fight and a good win, or you can die as clouds of tiny blades escape from your insides. The choice is yours."
The trouble with threats, of course, is that people *bluff*, sometimes. Means that it's hard to know if your threat will be believed. Sometimes you need just a little more escalation, in order to be convincing.
"If you think that we're going to just let you go because you made up some bullshit about power you don't have-"
The leader of my enemies was cut off as a shadow blade formed in his wrist and then rotated, slicing his hand off before dissipating in the light.
"Final warning. Quit while you're ahead, or be sliced open from the inside."
It wasn't much of a choice, once they knew I wasn't bluffing.
I was, at least, not fool enough to call it a victory. I had been beaten in battle, tricked and trapped and forced to rely on my very last resort. And I *had* exaggerated its power- I could have killed any one of my opponents fairly quickly, but I only had enough strength for one at a time- my odds of getting out alive were kinda shaky, if we'd fought it out.
I had lost a fight, and been forced to preserve my life by escalating. And word would get out- before long, no one would be willing to fight me unless they were also willing to *kill* me. And the terrifying nature of my power meant that they would be likely to employ ambush and sniper tactics, rather than fight me out in the open.
I hadn't won, but I *had* survived. Sometimes that's all you can do.
Sometimes that's all you can do.
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[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.
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“Guys, I promise you, it will all be better this time.”
For the tenth time, your party ignores you.
For the tenth time, you consider just running forth and showing them that you can take care of yourself just fine without losing control.
For the tenth time, Gloria points as the very heavy club in her hands.
“I swear, I don’t know what came over me last time!”
You were just having a bad week. Bad week full of little stresses that boiled over and had you bashing in the bandit leader’s skull in.
You healed him, so it should have been fine!
…
Okay, so maybe you healed him just to hurt him again. And again. And again. And again and again and again and again-
“But I am better now, guys!”
They don’t say anything.
“I promise you, if you just let me in the front-“
“Melody,” Gloria’s tired voice interrupts you.
“Yes?”
“You do know that we are here to negotiate, right?”
“Of course.”
“And you do know that violence is our absolutely last resource?“
“Last resort. Sure. Yes.”
“And you are holding a knife right now because…?”
“…”
“I am waiting.”
“It’s skull-scratcher.”
“We don’t need you to scratch anyone’s skulls.”
“But what if my amazing skull-scratching skills are the key to peaceful resolution?”
“No!” The entire party yelled and continued on.
Leaving to sulk and wonder…
How fast could you scratch their skulls?
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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.
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[WP] Everyone knows a supernatural high schooler needs a silly normal sidekick to go on adventures with them. But as the only “normal” kid in a school full of superheroes, wizards, vampires, etc. you’ve finally had enough being everyone’s comic relief.
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They had me around because of some joke or whatever, but when my parents signed on "getting into any post secondary, getting any degree free of charge" was a pretty good deal.
The true price as opposed to crippling student debt was that my life for some reason or another was in peril every month at least.
It was the end of the day in spring, I was going to go to the mall to spend some money on myself for once. Then the ominous music started to play as this weeks supervillain came to the foyer and started doing their thing, and of course everyone cowered (because suddenly they forgot they all had superpowers). This shit got old the first time it happened, and I was having no amusement getting kidnapped by *minister sinister* or making some dumb remark as "captain awesome" saved the day.
"These pompous assholes" I muttered as I reached for the fire hatchet. (Our school could have axes laying around because some sneezes were more dangerous).
I think this is the time to mention that I have the high score in axe throwing at the "city square fun fair"
I held the fire axe blade facing behind me and gave my best throw. And with a bullseye streak of 190 to vouch for me, I hit that idiot in the head. Not that his brain worked before.
I'm pretty sure everyone was quiet or confused how I just killed a guy, though he would have plummeted to his doom in 6 comic book issues from now.
The bus to the mall was coming and I wanted to get there before the lines got too long.
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The next contestant is …. Ben!!!!
A hooded figure steps out from the locker room into the gymnasium and walks to the raised ring in the center. He can’t help but roll his eyes. Principal Superhero High has a tournament every year. Nothing is heard above the deafening sound of the crowd from the bleachers.
He stepped into the ring. “What are you doing Ben!” shouts someone from the crowd. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
On the other side is Nick, a crocodile hybrid well over twice his size. He takes off the customary robes they wear to enter the ring.
Nick stretches lightly rolling his shoulders without a care in the world. “Hey Ben!” he shouts from the other side. “I’ll go easy on you, don't worry.”
Ben ignores him and takes off his robe. Revealing well defined thick muscle. The crowd was taken aback. Even Nick’s eyes widened. Everyone knew Ben as a laid back person, the complete opposite of someone capable of being serious and disciplined. Even Nick’s eyes widened in surprise.
They both got into position. The announcer looked at both sides. He raised the microphone to his lips. In 3….2…… boomed his voice. Nick’s eyes contracted.
1… START!
Nick walks up cockily, his guard isn’t even down. “Even with your physique you’re still just a normal guy without any superpowers. I’ll make this quick.” He clenches his hand into a fist and aims for Ben’s shoulder. But it doesn’t connect. Ben is just out of reach. He tries again leaning forward this time though. Ben grabs his fist and pulls him forward causing Nick to slip and stagger forward.
Snickers are heard from the crowd.
“Hey.” Says Nick turning around violently, his face red through his thick dark green scales.” I said that I would go easy on you, why are you doing this.”
“Sorry,” Says Ben “I don’t intend on being the laughing stock of this school anymore”
Nick clenched his jaw.
He’s angry. Good.
This time instead of punching Nick rushes forward biting but again he misses by a hairbreadth. Instead of biting air. He tries again but this time. Ben grabs both sides of Nick’s motu and forces it shut and locks his fingers together holding it shut. “Did you now “say Ben calmly as Nick struggles. “Crocodiles have incredibly strong biting muscles but the muscles used to open their jaws are so weak even a normal guy like me can keep it shut.
Ben lets go freeing Nick. Nick is furious, his eyes now slits
He charges forward, his head low. Roaring consumed by rage.
Ben is ready.
He ducks even lower past Nick’s gaping jaws, grabbing a hold of his arms and with a grunt pushed upwards as hard as he could with his entire body. Nick’s massive body swung into the air. For a second Nick’s feet dangled in the air, his body completely off the ground before smashing into the ring with a thud. His body awkwardly balanced on his neck before collapsing to the side in a heap of arms, legs and tail. The crows were silent. You could hear a pin drop. Nobody breathed.
“I’m done… being….. a …..sidekick.” Said Ben taking deep gasps of air. before exiting the stage.
The announcer snaps back to his senses. D-d…-done! He says his jaw quivering in surprise.
He grabbed his robe and put it on. The crowd was left in shock.The only sound heard was the pitter patter of Ben’s Feet on the floor as he made his way back to the locker [room.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shrike_Stories/)
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jbbi606
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jbayrln
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[WP] Human society has collapsed since the vanishings began. Anyone left alone, unseen or untouched by another person, stops existing. Those who remain now survive as herds, sleeping in huddled masses and always touching in some way while awake.
|
Ma never lets go of my hand. She always tells me to stick close. I used to have an older brother but one day he got disappeared Ma tells me. That’s why I have to hold her hand and never let go. So I don’t disappeared too.
We wander from place to place to find food and roofs. When we don’t have enough food Ma gives me hers. She pretends she’s full but I know she’s lying.
It didn’t used to be this way ma tells me. Food used to be everywhere and when it was gone it would come back like magic. That doesn’t make sense to me. Where did all that food come from? I think she is lying about that too. Ma lies a lot.
When we wander Ma holds me extra close. If she isn’t holding me then its someone else with the pack. The pack used to be bigger but some of them got disappeared. When we sleep its all together. In the winter I like it cause its warm, but in the summer it's too hot so I don’t like it very much.
Lately we’ve been wandering to a place called a city. It used to be where a lot of people lived. Ma tells me that even though a lot of people lived there, so many lived alone they got disappeared. I don’t understand how people would live alone.
Sometimes Ma lets me play with other kids but we have to be watched. Mrs. Gilly usually watches us, but I don’t like her because she yells a lot. We can’t do anything with Mrs Gilly watching. Today Mr. Dean is watching us, he used to be a teacher.
I like my friends Olive, Alex, and Sandy. Olive and Alex are my best friends. Olive is really smart and she knows everything about how the world used to be. I think its cause she asks so many questions. I don’t like Sandy as much because she’s mean to me sometimes. (I think she is jealous Olive likes me more) But today she is nice. She gave me a shiny button on a string so I can wear it like a necklace.
When Mr. Dean was answering Olive’s questions Sandy asked me to play a secret game with her. It was a game from before called high-dand-seek. Apparently it was super fun to play.
Sandy takes my hand and we go a little bit from the group. But its okay we are still close enough to see Mr. Dean. She tells me to cover my eyes and face the tree and count to ten. I worry cause Ma says to always watch everyone.
Sandy says my Ma is an exaggerator. Everyone knows it. I don’t like that Sandy called my Ma a liar even though I know its true. Sandy tells me to stop being a baby but if I am gonna be like my ma, she will hold onto me so its safe. I say ok
I turn around with Sandy’s hand on my shoulder to count to ten.
One
Two
|
They're silent. Dead silent. They stare at me with wide eyes, an act that keeps me grounded. Keeps me here.
As I glance up at their faces, the myriad of faces around me, and am reminded that none of them can soothe my ache. They're familiar, certainly, I've traveled with them for weeks. But in comparison to what I've lost... They mean nothing to me.
They watch as I tighten the straps of my pack. It was my mother's - lightweight, not too big. Easy to maneuver with. It wouldn't carry much for me, wouldn't last me very long. But then, I didn't have very far to go.
The expressions around me are such a wide mix. Some of them showing fear, some terror. A few, even anger - anger that I would abandon them. But I owe them nothing. They clutch to each other, hand in hand, arms tangled around one another, desperate to stay in physical contact. Most of them sitting on the dusty tile floor in this abandoned structure.
Among them, only I stand isolated.
I clip the knife onto my belt, and as I eye my work, my watch catches my eye. A gift from my wife, only a few short years ago. It still ticks away, a soft background in a world growing quieter by the day. The hands haven't moved since the Vanishings began, but still, it ticks, ticks, ticks away. If I focus on the sound, I swear, I can still hear her voice in it.
As I go through my equipment, checking one piece after another, the whispers of the other survivors in the room get louder. They've seen others leave before. But not like I intend to. They've seen their herd members lose themselves, a momentary slip - someone drops something, lets go of another's hand to pick it up, and without warning someone disappears. They've seen the incautious pay the ultimate price - a blanket hogged too greedily, pulled up too high, and suddenly it falls flat. They've seen a handful, desperate and broken, running off into the darkness sobbing in fear, or simply meandering away, having given up.
They've not seen someone leave like I will.
I wrap the cloths around my left wrist - a bandana, and a strip of cloth. The first belonging to my brother. My idol, and my hero. He'd worn it all the time when we were young, before he'd had kids of his own. The other belonging to my sister - a piece of her shirt. She'd used it to tie our hands together only a few hours ago. It hadn't been tight enough.
We'd worked so hard, fought so hard. None of it had been enough.
I missed them. I missed them more than I could bear. I did not intend to shamble off into the dark, sobbing in surrender.
I tucked the necklace with my grandparents' rings under my shirt, I felt my pocket for the lucky coin my best friend used to carry. So, so many for me to remember. So many empty silhouettes now.
I reached down, and from the floor, I picked up the machete my father had carried when this all started. The one I'd seen him use to protect his family. He had been larger than life. An ordinary man with the soul of a mountain. In all my life, I'd never seen him cry before, but after the world came crashing down there had been no hiding it, not when we needed to keep within eyesight, within reach. Even in his weakest moment, he had been invincible and immortal in my mind, my guiding light.
I looked at the other survivors here. Several dozen, but no more - all that was left in an echoing city. They shivered in this dim room, lit by a few camp fires. I could see in their eyes, they resented me - I was another set of eyes that could watch them. Another pair of hands that could hold them here in this reality. I was another link in their safety net, another loop in the chain that secured them. I could keep them safe, they might argue, and only a monster would abandon them. I wished them all the best, but everything I loved was gone from here.
I don't know what these Vanishings are. But I know that everything I've ever loved is on the other side of them.
Once last glance about the room. My boots were tied. My backpack was strapped securely. I had every memento, every keepsake, every memory that still existed to me in this world.
I nodded at the huddled mass of survivors, and I turned away. I could feel their eyes on me. Like a weight, keeping me anchored. Keeping me corporeal. Keeping me real.
I could feel as it faded, and I marched further into the dark, heart full of anguish. Full of fury. Full of love. Full of determination.
Finally, the doorway, out into the dark outdoors. I didn't even hesitate.
I stepped through into the darkness, out of sight of the -
|
jwpvvvw
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jwpt2f6
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[WP] 'Dragon' isn't the name of a particular creature, but a title granted to any being that attains a certain level of legendary power. Anything can become a Dragon, from a wyvern to a human, to a stag, or even a cat. Write a story about an unlikely Dragon.
|
Life isn't easy on board an Elven Dreadnaught.
Least of all for a mouse.
Rations are tight. Not much by way of crumbs and morsels, but I get by. I did, anyways, until we were boarded. I don't pretend to know where we were among the stars. All I know is I heard shouting.
"Ambush!" they shouted. "Breach swarm! Brace!"
The rush of air sent even the elves flying as the spike of a boarding vessel penetrated the hull. It was all I could do to hold on as the hull fused to the boarding craft and the pressure equalized. I was still catching my breath when those creatures poured out and started cutting down the elves.
I was so sad for them.
I had lived among many races in my short time, but the elves were by far my favorite. There was a calm wisdom inherent in their kind. This came with a respect and admiration of nature and all of its creatures. Several of them had seen me, on many occasions. Some spoke to me, even, though not usually for long. I wasn't much of a conversationalist at that time.
"Feyrun, no!" Shania shouted. Feyrun had been run through with a blade from the one of those fell creatures that emerged from the boarding craft. She began her incantation from behind the line of soldiers attempting to halt the advance of those monsters. I had seen her do it before. He wasn't too far gone, she could bring him back. The ship lurched and I went flying through the air.
Right between Shania and Feyrun.
She loosed her spell, and I felt my very soul quiver as it collided with me. That is the first moment I remember being truly awake. Some spells have very specific purposes. When they are used improperly, or on an inappropriate target, things get a little more unpredictable. I felt the awakening within me. I felt the vast chasm of raw power yawning open like a great maw. Like a star being born in the reaches of my mind.
And I was terrified.
I do now know for certain how what transpired next came to be. Scales emerged from my fir and hardened into flexible yet strong armor, all over my body. A sliver of silver moonlight formed in each of my hands and I grasped them as swords. Sharp, they were, and longer than myself twofold. Long enough, as I came to realize, to pierce the brain of a Breach Creature.
The next few moments were a blur of blood, of gore and of vengeance. When at last I stood on the heap of Breach Creature corpses, there was a moment of silence. The elves had lost too many to cheer to victory. Shania wept next to the lifeless body of Feyrun. As did many others. When the Priestess arrived, she held out her hand to me, and I walked into it. I had spoken to her only once before, but things were different now.
"More would be lost without you," she said, holding me up close to her face.
"Thank you, Little Dragon."
|
"Contrary to popular believe, dragons aren't green or red scaly creatures that terrorizes townsfolk, but a title given to beings of legendary power"
You read the sentence a few more times, unable to believe that all those stories about dragons wreaking havoc could have been anything but, those gruel winged beasts.
You close your school book and raise your arm. "Yes?" the teacher asks? You're a bit nervous, as it's your first day in the magic academy, but after clearing your throat you find enough courage to speak. "Is it true, that anyone can become a dragon?". The class gets quieter, some classmates start to giggle, but most seem to have as little clue as you have.
"Well you see, Derek, in ancient times the term 'Dragon' was used by powerful wyverns to set themself apart from others of their species. During the decades, this was adopted by most other life forms to describe powerful beings. No matter their race or species."
"But how do you become this powerful?" you blurt out. The teacher looks at you as if you couldn't have asked a more useless question. "Well, you're born with it" he said "at least most of the times. Other times there are gods involved. And sometimes a ritual or two can give you enough power, if you were to get enough sacrifices. But everything except the first is highly unlikely. You would have to be insane, to even try one of the rituals, as most of them have an insanely high likelihood, to straight up kill you or pulverize your mind, leaving behind nothing but a hollow body. And the gods have been silent for years. You'd be better off wishing upon a star. This way you at least don't get killed for annoying the gods. So all in all, if you don't have it, you aren't gonna get it."
The magical bell rang, signaling the end of class, but this time, it didn't stop after a few seconds. Suddenly, sirens start howling and fear is starting to spread. The teacher yells "Silence. Do not panic. We will make our way outside and then someone will guide you to safety. Even tho the dragon alarm wasn't used in ages, the staff is regularly trained on how to evacuate and make sure all students are safe. Now build a line and we will go down."
While building the line you can already hear screams from the outside. The explosions aren't just loud, they make the whole building vibrate. Whatever is going on, it must be pretty close.
Scared stiff you grab the nearest wall in the hopes that you don't collapse. Your knees have never felt that weak. "A real dragon? Here at school?" you think to yourself, while making your way towards the stairs. Another explosion. Some of the students tremble, but manage to catch themselves. You begin to descend as quick as possible with out falling over your classmates.
At the bottom of the stairs, one of the younger teachers is already waiting. He talks to your teacher as soon as everybody arrived at the ground floor. "Professor, I'll take over from here, you're needed in the fight. Please stay safe". The professor nods and rushes out. The moment the door opens, screams of terror and the sound of flames and explosions rushes in. The young teacher cast's a light protection around the students and says: "Once we are out there, we go towards the forest. The barrier should keep stray attacks out. Whatever you do: DO NOT STOP MOVING. Now let's get going. Go Go Go."
The teacher opens the door and one after another starts going outside. When it's your turn, you feel the heat coming from the outside. It smells of burnt flesh. You are too scared to look around, so you just start moving the same direction as everybody else. After a few steps you hear a scream that was so horrible, you couldn't even imagine what horror the person screaming must have gone through. You start building up some courage. You think "I need to see it. I need to see what's wreaking havoc here at school."
You turn around and see the most grotesque picture that anyone has ever seen. Many mages are standing in a circle, trying their best to contain what's inside. Many places in the circle are already empty. Taken by the beast. Those who are still standing, are partially burnt black or missing limbs. In the middle is the beast. At first, you don't even see it. You remember think to yourself "How small can a dragon actually get?" when you finally catch a glimpse.
You can see the hatred in it's eyes, while it's hurling magic spells around, that even some of the higher ups haven't heard about. It's fire breath annihilates everything that isn't fast enough to conjure up a shield or jump out of it's way.
You would have never thought to see something like this, but in the middle of the circle there it was. A fire breathing, magic slinging, people killing chihuahua.
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jiprk7h
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jiprbo8
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[WP] In a world of dragons, sorcery, war, and monsters, there are many risks and even risk takers. Everyone though, elf, monster, or man knows to avoid those few ancient ruins that contain symbols of suffering and a word of the ancients, RADIATION.
|
They were trying to warn us.
Our ancestors were great. Our scholars say they had not yet learned of the ley lines pulsating with powerful mana through the land outside of folk tales. But our ancestors were able to mimic even our strongest of magical abilities through means unknown. These abilities must have come at a steep cost, however.
They were trying to warn us.
We discovered the hard way what these costs must have been. My team and I found an old tomb, a mountainous cavern in which the writings of the ancients guarded the door. We attempted to study the meanings but could not quite deduce their message. We should have taken longer in trying to figure it out. We were arrogant in our pursuit of knowledge.
They were trying to warn us.
These poisonous caverns killed all the members of my team except for myself. Even I can feel myself fading, and writing this warning in my field notes journal has taken several hours for a short passage. I leave this here, near my corpse, as a message to anyone who becomes curious of the hieroglyphic's meaning. Ahead there is nothing but accursed misery and death. The rune of warding shown around the entrance to the cavern is a remnant of those who came before, who understood more the toxins that were in this place.
They were trying to warn us. And now I am trying to warn you.
|
First time writing a prompt and english is not my first language.
“I want that dragon dead!”
“Sire we can’t attack the dragon at it’s hoard. The plaguedragon lives in the forbidden forest, we can’t reach her.”
“Pah, that beast has been pestering my kingdom since time immemorial. Find a way to slay her, I’m sick of her, every couple of years it ransacks our grain storage and shortly thereafter her brood descends that sicking Mushroom forest.”
“That might be true sire but how are we meant to approach? The last time your father Curie III send in an expedition they shortly returned and died an agonizing death over the next couple of weeks. And their armor could not be reused whoever wore it after died as well, albeit slower. The brood is also quickly deposed of by our glowing guardians – shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“Shall their fur be ever glowing … fine, then send for the Wizard immediately, he shall think of something.”
“Of course Sire, I’ll inform the mighty Oppenheimer immediately.”
\-
“It is I, Oppenheimer, you have summoned me Sire?”
“Yes yes, you are to find a solution to the menace Typhon.”
“The creature living in the mushroom forest Sire? What of it?”
“My knights reminded me that her lair is unapproachable. Because of the folly of the Ancients.”
“Aaah yes most unfortunate, well we could try several approaches Sire? All of them quite costly one way or another.”
“What do you propose Wizard?”
“Three ideas come to mind. First ask your elderly knights if they would be willing to slay the beast. They will surely die, but they might be willing since their names would go down in history, also give their families an incentive. Second the ancient texts mention a metal, which protects from the folly of the Ancients. The blacksmith could fashion armor out of it, if we are able to find it my Liege. Third, we wait for Typhon to approach the next time and fight it while it raids a grain storage or poison the grain in the hopes that this will kill it.”
“I like your ideas Wizard, even though I’m skeptical that she can be killed by poison if she lives in such a hazardous area. We shall do all three proposals together. Find out if there is a mine of this wondrous metal in my Kingdom, if not acquire enough from the neighboring kingdoms. Fashion suits of armor out of it with the blacksmiths and give it to anyone who is willing to fight the beast, I want at least 20 men. If possible find a poison which is able to injure the creature if not alright kill it.”
“Sire such things take time, I’m not sure if we will be ready by the next attack.”
“Well she hasn’t destroyed the kingdom yet find a solution as fast a possible.”
“If I may, if the guardians - shall their fur be ever glowing...“
“Shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“wouldn’t kill the entire brood I could study the young and find a suitable poison, maybe find a weakness…“
“Oppenheimer you know as well as I, that no one can control the guardians. They go wherever they please. Also I find the idea of the living brood rather uncomfortable. If you want a specimen you’ll have to find a dead one which they guardians left.”
“Of course Sire, anything else?”
“No get to work, I want that Dragon dead.”
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j44av35
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j447szr
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[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.
|
The young monk knelt in front of his attackers, not because he had surrendered, but because he was too injured to fully stand.
The mage was crumpled next to him, her robes gradually turning crimson from the inside out. The mighty barbarian was inching towards her, knees dragging, breath failing due to all the broken ribs. The paladin was out cold. If he ever came to again, his career was likely over, even if he was lucky enough to even able to speak words ever again.
The monk was only glad his mother wasn't alive to see him in this sorry state. She never wanted him to be a hero. Heroes die early. At the end of the day, her own sacrifice had proven her right. And yet, instead of heeding common sense, instead of listening to her and learning from her mistakes, he had followed in her footsteps, *with gusto*. Humans were stupid like that.
That's probably why they were a dying race.
The Dark Khan's Force Commander stood before them, sneering just enough to expose his left fang. He was not impressed.
"I was hoping for more." The Commander kicked the monk in the side of the head, knocking him into the mud. It wasn't even that painful. The Commander hadn't wasted his breath.
As he tried to stand back up, he got one last look at his down party. Right now he didn't have the mana to heal a paper cut, let alone raise them back up.
*I didn't think it was going to end this way.*
...
His mother hadn't actually taught him the secret, but he was such a bookworm in his youth that he had managed to piece it together anyways. It wasn't hard really. Adrenaline, relaxation, and a severe disregard for one's life were all it took. A very small spark of mana had to be applied to a specific portion of the brain. The runes needed to be tattooed into the flesh in advance, but they were surprisingly simple and easy to hide. That's what it came down really: subtlety. The slightest changes in the right spots could turn the human body into an engine of destruction, but only for a little while. Then, once the spell wore off, the debt would be paid.
That is why, when the Dark Khan came for their family, he was the only survivor, not her.
...
"Sorry, mom." He whispered to himself.
The Commander chuckled. "Interesting last words. Don't fret child." He drew his sword. "You'll be reunited with her soon."
The monk didn't acknowledge him. He just kept staring at his friends, the closest thing to family he had left.
Maybe it wasn't quite how she felt that day. But, hopefully it was close enough.
Hot steam began to rise from his back, arms, and hair. The commander raised an eyebrow and took a step back as the mud around the young monk began to boil.
"What magic is this?"
The boy took solace. He always imagined that his mother's final moments were excruciatingly painful but... this actually felt kind of good.
Realizing that any further hesitation would endanger his party, the Force Commander lunged forward with his sword, aiming for a quick decapitation.
CRACK!!
But he was too late. In just one second, the brazen boy was standing erect, posed several steps *behind* the Force Commander, his arm outstretched and fingers straight.
The Force Commander hadn't even finished kneeling, nor had his head hit the ground yet, before the doomed monk fell upon the Khans. He'd be the last thing most of them saw, though many of them would just see afterimages.
As for the monk's adopted family, they would live.
And to him, that was all that mattered.
|
"Step aside, or you'll be next."
"Cast *Increase Blood Volume*."
Caduceus was done playing. He raised his staff as a warning. "If you get in my way again, I will kill you."
"With what? Your stick?" the bandit asked, squinting.
"You feel that headache? That's your [blood pressure rising rapidly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypertensive_crisis). Dizziness comes next, then vision blurring."
There was a low groan from Caduceus's ally, Helios. It was ragged, the sound of a cleric saying his last prayers to his God. Good, that he had regained consciousness, but there wasn't much time before he would succumb to his injuries too.
The bandit clutched his chest in shock. "What did you d-"
"Cast *Bloodletting*."
The effect was instant. Caduceus's diagnostic cantrips flared to life, highlighting the bandit's heart as his [aorta ruptured](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aortic_dissection). The bond between him and his God wavered, reminding him of his duty.
Do no harm.
Well, fuck that duty.
The bandit yelled in pain, bent over, and Caduceus pushed him over with his staff. Death within 120 seconds, announced his cantrip.
"Who's next."
A blast of energy landed menacingly between Caduceus and Helios, but this was close enough for the healer to work. Severe breathing difficulties, low blood oxygen levels, along with multiple broken ribs. He cast a more advanced diagnostic spell on the cleric. Significant volume of air and blood in the chest cavity. Definitely a [tension pneumothorax](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumothorax#Tension_pneumothorax). Death within 120 seconds if untreated, and it wouldn't be a painless death.
A more acute approach was necessary against their ranged attackers then. Once the first bandit passes away, Caduceus's God would be sure to withdraw His grace. The blaster was charging up his next shot, so that would be the primary target. Caduceus withdrew a scalpel from within his robe. He wasn't sure if the spell had the necessary range, but there's no time like the present to find out. He closed his eyes, focusing on the diagnostic cantrips. From afar, he could sense the blaster's heavy breathing.
"Cast *Incision*."
As Caduceus sliced the air in front of him, the blade reached out, passing through the blaster's neck, and into [his trachea](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cricothyrotomy). With another swipe, the healer tore the blaster's neck open. The bandits around him recoiled in shock as blood spurted out of his neck. But Caduceus didn't need to see them to harm them. Their respiratory systems lit up like bonfires in the night sky. Tachypneic breathing, possible hyperventilation. Diagnosis: mortal terror, and the good healer shall be dispensing emergency surgical interventions from afar.
-------
As the last neck exploded into a shower of blood, everything faded to black. He opened his eyes in shock, cursing his God's name. Why now? There's still a life to be saved! He rushed to Helios's side. Although his God had withdrawn his magical gifts, Caduceus still had a lifetime of medical knowledge within him. He tore Helios's robe open with a pair of shears. His chest was heaving ineffectually, and there was a distinct imbalance as he tried to breathe.
The cantrips had highlighted the pneumothorax in an alarming shade, and he knew from experience that Helios was on the verge of death. From a pocket inside his coat, Caduceus withdrew a vial of alcohol and a [disturbingly large needle in a tube](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catheter).
"Relax, Helios. Your God clearly hasn't abandoned you. Focus on my voice."
He washed his hands, the needle, and the side of Helios's chest with the alcohol, then took a swig for good measure.
"The left lung has collapsed. Each inhalation brings more air into the chest, which cannot escape without help. Keep breathing though."
Caduceus counted ribs. "Treatment requires a chest tube to be inserted. The Temple traditionally recommends inserting it between the second and third rib, but experience suggests [performing it at the fifth rib](https://litfl.com/tension-pneumothorax-time-to-change-the-old-mantra/), where the chest wall is thinner. A needle is inserted to allow the excess air to escape."
Helios's eyes snapped open as Caduceus pushed the needle in, and air hissed out of the tube. The cleric's breathing eased, and he grimaced as the healer eased the tube against his chest wall.
"Air now escapes through [a one-way valve](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flutter_valve)." Caduceus continued, as he taped the end of the tube against his chest. "You feeling better?"
Helios swore loudly. Good, his state of consciousness wasn't impaired. It would be bad if he said something stupid like, "Maybe I should break my sacred Oath too".
"Once you're ready, I'm going to need you to get up and to start casting. You're still down a lung and I don't need my God's aid to know that you're still struggling to breath."
"But?"
"But I'm going to need your help getting us back to the nearest Temple. You'll need proper medical attention to reinflate your lung and to fix your ribs."
Helios stood up shakily, holding his polearm for dear life. [Caduceus slinged the cleric's left arm over his shoulder, and gripped his wrist and clothing firmly](https://www.google.com/search?q=human+crutch).
"You ready?"
He opened his palm. *Give me a moment.*
"Alright, take your time. We've got all the time in the world."
|
j452krj
|
j44jpu2
|
[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?"
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j"Triboli, Triboli", the voice practically screeched from just outside my quaint camp. Damien, I wonder what drunken stupidity he and his friends had done now. Sighing I set down the flask I had previously been oh so carefully swirling above a small, but carefully made therefore raging hot, fire. God I missed Jouleen, she could have got the potion done half an hour ago. Fire mages truly were a healers best friends, and her case a little more than that I remembered more than somewhat bitterly. I again chided myself for that mess, I'd sworn to never get that -, my thoughts were interrupted by yet another shout of 'Triboli', whoever the fuck that was.
"Damien you impotent excuse for a twit", I swore whilst throwing open the flap of my alchemist tent. The young man in question was standing, or rather half leaning against, a pile of wood just past the deer trail that had now become well worn in by idiots like him. As I stormed closer I could smell the spirits reeking off of the thinly made adventurer, his eyes also showed the clear glassy signs of alcohols minor (at least for now) poisoning of the brain. I stopped a mere foot from his face, I half expected him to recoil knowing the blind rage upon my face, but a mixture of bravado and inebriation kept the tan youth from doing more than donning a dopey frown. "It's Trisoli, Trisoli, with an 'S'. An 'S' like in ssssnake".
Damien simply looked at me, the same mask of stupidity still plastered on his face. "Ohh", he finally slurred with a bout of high proof breathe, "Well Omar needs you Triboli, he says Danicia's hurt.". I inhaled sharply, debating whether I should berate him before or after casting a spell that would give him the worst hangover of his life. I instead dismissed the idea though, even if Omar had been keeping up with Damien today for him to not be able to treat someone meant it was at least moderately serious. That was the main perk of the drunken old fool I thought as I turned and began walking back towards my tent.
"Well are you going to stand there, or get my fucking basket from underneath that willow", I ordered without looking back. Behind me the sound of wood hitting the ground and stumbling footfalls brought me brief joy as I imagined him falling face first into the mud. That joy barely survived to my tent however, when the sound of my precious and precisely made tonics clinking violently together sailed through the air. "And be careful with it you damned idiot", I said before reentering the comfortable embrace of my workshop, cursing under my breathe the entire time.
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[WP] In 1954, major leaders of the world received a message: “We have examined your planet, and do not find it desirable. As we depart, we leave some of our technology knowledge on your moon for you.” They thought we’d all share it. Instead we had a space race, followed shortly by a tech revolution.
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Never thought I'd agree with those conspiracy nuts, but here I am, staring at the proof. The moon landing was a hoax, just not the way they thought it was.
We indeed made it up to the Lunar surface, but we knew fully well what we were after. They collected rocks and moon dirt, took some pictures, and made a real good show of looking like we'd never been before.
Well, we hadn't, but we knew what we were getting into, how it'd be
*We don't find your planet desirable*
I found the single sentence in a folder labeled *project paradise.*
Bunch of other papers described everything. Some voice beyond the stars about the time of the great space race, that sentence and a promise of technology that would help all of humanity.
If I ever have a chance to teach another person about what naivety is, well, I'll just keep this packet with me.
Hell, here I am rambling into the recorder again.
My name is Jeremy Peck, senior data analyst for what used to be one of the most well funded research facilities in what might be remembered as the United States.
I'm currently bunkered down in our Archives, after the alerts came in.
Nuclear strikes all over the globe. Damned if I know who started it. This room is a solid quarter of a mile underground, in the middle of our country's capitol, maybe what used to be our capitol.
Room stopped shaking maybe a few hours ago. I lost contact with the outside world minutes after everything started. If there even is an outside world any more.
Not sure how I feel about it, all things considered.
Since the industrial revolution, we've had a stranglehold on the natural resources of the world. Since the space race, we've had the capacity to ensure everyone had what they needed to live a good life.
Those that received this message from the stars apparently took that personally. They squandered these gifts, ensured only they and those closest to them were taken care of.
Bastards
Funny, the computer just came on.
Ain't no way
"To those of you who have survived the worst of you, don't fear, we've come to help."
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Three months ago, Mr. Dino Callas claims that he was abducted by aliens. With the information we received a week ago, this story may shed light on it.
**ALIEN ABDUCTION RECORD:**
---
I was drinking alone in the woods. I thought it'd be another nice night camping. That's when this LearJet flew down into the field near me. I got worried; if a LearJet lands this close to the forests, there's a chance of a plane crash, and I needed to make sure the pilot or passengers were all right.
The pilot thanked me for attempting to help, but he flew it normally. In gratitude, he asked if I wanted to take a ride with him in it. I agreed.
We got into the air, me in the back of the jet. The pilot asked me if I thought it was nice. I told him LearJets are nice, but Gulfstreams are considered the bigger symbol of success in the field and LearJets hadn't been the peak of the industry since the days of Ric Flair. The pilot asked about these a bit, and I explained what little I knew of them. He turned on a car radio in the midst of the jet, and asked if I thought the sound was good. I said it was nice, but it's about the same as any other car radio set- some even having GPS in them. The pilot asked about GPS, and I told him how it's a satellite position system used to find where you were on the planet at any time and basically navigate for you and keep you from getting lost. The pilot was awestruck when I said this. The pilot asked if I wanted to hang out at his house for a bit, and I agreed.
We went to the house. For lack of a better term, it felt like I stepped into an episode of That '70s Show. The man put on an 8-track tape. The guy seemed to be a diehard fan of Elvis, and had apparent B-sides and remixes I had never heard of, to the point it all sounded like new music to me. We listened to some music. The man asked if I thought his sound system was good. I said that the 8-track thing is retro, but 8-tracks were long out of date. He seemed shocked- I know vinyl is big, but the guy seemed to be unaware CDs even existed. He asked what they were, and I told him how they were a digitized form of storing music, data, and movies. The man was even more shocked when I said they lost power due to the rise of streaming, and was flabbergasted when I told him that you could simply beam any media you wanted to your computer at will. He only got more shocked when I said that pretty much everyone had a computer at home- many more, and that people could even bring a computer in their smartphone with them everywhere. He asked if I did, and I showed him my iPhone. He asked "we all have these?" and I said "yeah; actually that's my burner one so I could just get off the grid." The man's jaw dropped. He asked if he could keep it if it was a backup one and that he'd trade his entire collection of Elvis 8-tracks from the '80s and '90s to me for it- I'm a fan, so I can always go with some good compilations of his music, so I said yes.
The man was in awe when I showed it to him, and simply said "Is this what you've done with what was given? I have to make some phone calls, I'll have to send you back." He flew me back to where my tent was. In the background, I heard the man say "You won't believe what they've done since we last spoke with them, we need to get back into contact with Sol 3 immediately!", and then he flew away.
All I had left to prove it were the 8-track tapes he had traded me [REPORT: The tapes the man showed me looked beaten with 30-40 years of use, but by all signs appear to be new Elvis Presley music that was released long after his apparent death in 1977. However, scouring every antique store in the area led to no luck in finding a working 8-track player to play them and get proof of such.].
( *Inventor William Powell Lear was the businessman who founded LearJet, one of the first private business jet companies. He received 140 patents in his life, most notably the car radio and the 8-track tape player. Conspiracy theories believe many of his inventions were originally technology he had learned from aliens.* )
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[WP] You are a young mage who just discovered the horrifying truth about where mana actually comes from.
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'What do you mean keep it on?' You ask dumbfounded.
'you want to cast the spell don't you?' the old wizard asks patiently.
'Yeah...?'
'But you're all out of mana?' he prompts.
'Yeah... So I need a mana potion!'
'Too expensive,' the wizard shakes his head, 'you're still in training, you'll need constant replenishment.'
'Then I'll just rest until it's restored,' you declare.
'Do you want to be an old crone by the time you graduate? You need to train faster than that!'
'So what are you suggesting?' you ask, exasperated.
'You just need to draw out more mana... from the source!'
'The source?' you ask blankly. 'I thought I'm the source?'
'Well not you per se... ' the wizard shakes his head, 'that's a common misconception among young mages. And I daresay the potions industry likes it that way. It's actually quite easy to restore your mana more quickly if you know where it's really from...'
'Just tell me already old man.. what do I need to do?'
'Like I said, keep the cloak on, don't change.'
'But I'm all sweaty!'
'Good! Stay that way. And don't bathe either! Let the grime envelop you!'
'What! That's gross! Why on earth do I have to stop bathing?! Is the mana supposed to be my body odor?!'
'Not exactly,' the wizard shook his head, 'more like what creates your body odor also creates the mana...'
You stare at him in confusion.
'Microbes! Young grasshopper, tis those invisible beasties living inside and on your skin that build up the mana you use... The more you have, and the nastier they are, the more mana you can access and replenish quickly.. why do you think the greatest mages remain loners? They're all too stinky for anyone to go within a foot of them!'
'So... You mean... You smell that way... On purpose?!' you ask aghast, careful to stay upwind from your instructor.
'Of course, I'm one of the greatest mages after all,' he declares proudly, wrapping his greasy cloak close around him.
'But then... What are.. what are mana potions?' You ask weakly.
'Pshh those,' the wizard snorts dismissively, 'just some cocktails of overactive microbes aching to release their mana... Whaddaya call them? Oh yes, probiotics!'
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Okay this idea was a little out there, and it has been a long long time since I wrote anything, but here is my go: (note, wow I forgot how annoying reddit formatting can be)
​
**It is a well established fact of our world that mana, that force that allows the casting of spells and the propagation of magic, waxes and wanes through the course of our lives, and that some poor souls seem to be born without the ability to generate mana at all.**
**Of course the presence of mana, and the ability to use it are not always tied together. Indeed some of our most talented mages are able to perform incredible acts of magic, while wielding only a modicum of mana, and some of the most powerfully endowed of mana, are unable to channel even a simple light spell. Indeed it often seems that the most powerfully endowed of mana are paradoxically the least likely to have either the skill, or desire, to learn to channel their mana at all. Often living mundane lives of work and family.**
**This curve is not always a linear progression, indeed it has been noted by many practised mages that their available stores of mana seem to wax and wane as time progresses, following a roughly lunar cycle, offset by a personal differential. Not everyones most powerful times coincide with the same lunar stage, however they are usually the most powerful at the same lunar stage each month.**
**Another oddity, is that men seem to be gifted with the skill of mana for much longer than women. All humans are born equal, in that we have no access to mana at all at an early age, those unlucky mana-less few being indistinguishable from the rest. It is not until early adolescence that we gain the ability to sense and wield mana. Coinciding with the advent of puberty our magical talent awakens and begins growing within us.**
**While women tend to be slightly stronger than men, their potency sees a rapid drop off around age 30, and almost all women lose access to their mana by age 55. Whilst a man may remain magically active well into his 70s, his potency will have much diminished from his youth.**
**It was these differences that led me to study mana in depth, to try to learn the reasons behind these apparently arbitrary limitations. My first clues were to examine those few that were cursed with no mana at all. These few seemed to fall into a couple of broad categories. Those whom developed no mana in their lives, and those whom lost access to their mana by some means before their otherwise allotted time.**
**It was from studying these later people that I discovered a significant correlation. Those who lost their mana, and of course were willing to undergo study, all seemed to have some form of injury to their lower torso’s or lower bodies.**
**Indeed the majority of my research subjects were the victim of their own magical experimentation backfiring on them, usually literally, while performing spells that had the unfortunate effect of rending them limb from limb. Sometimes the hapless researcher was rendered down to nothing more than a torso, bereft of mana, and of a will to live. These poor souls drive to furthering the study of magic was the only thing that gave them any will to live. To them I am eternally grateful, for had I not had their help I would never have discovered the source of mana.**
**It was the study of the nature and extent of these injuries and the concomitant effect on the subject's mana that I was able to reach the beginnings of a theory, and begin study. Through tireless research, and some less than pleasant experimentation, I was able to discover the horrifying truth.**
**We power our mana, our magic, through the expenditure of our own fertility. The ova and sperm that other researchers have discovered are responsible for the gift of life, are also responsible for the gift of magic. Mana expenditure directly consumes our store of the same.**
**The ‘old wives tale’ of being more fertile when one is most full of mana? It is true! When we are most full of mana we are indeed our most fertile, for they are one in the same.**
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[WP] "Sure, it'll only cost you your soul" you used to jokingly say whenever you did something for free. everyone always got a laugh out of it, and so did you! until the first soul showed up in your living room with a very, very tired looking reaper.
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Death looked tired. Oddly enough, this was the first thought Ed had, staring at the robed figure in his doorway. Darkened circles lined empty sockets, resembling smudges of ash on Death's high, bleached cheek bones.
"Can...I help you?" Ed inquired. Standing at a modest 5 foot eight, jeans and a t-shirt, coffee in hand, Ed didn't feel the least bit dead.
Death let out a very long, shoulder slumping sigh.
"Unfortunately, yes. You can stop bartering souls, for a start.", said Death. His sentence ended with a wheeze.
Ed, looking perplexed, uttered a simple, "Pardon?"
"Listen and listen well. As you can imagine, I am incredibly busy. I've spent the last week schlepping about with this. " Death paused to lift up something that resembled a glowing worm, about 3 inches long. He continued, "This unfortunate soul was SUPPOSED to be bound for Hell. I have a rather large bucket of these. I was unable to enter the gates until I had weeded out that which does not belong. Thousands of worms and I had to single out this poor....hmmm....plumber, was it?"
Ed sipped his coffee as he listened raptly. Plumber? Hadn't Joe, his plumber neighbor, passed away about a week back? They weren't exactly close, but Joe would frequently borrow his hedge trimmers. At this recollection, Ed choked as his coffee went down the wrong pipe. Hadn't he always joked and said, "You can borrow it, but it'll only cost your soul." with an exaggerated wink.
Death, not accustomed to human interaction, ignored Ed's sputtering and resumed, "It's not exactly unheard of, selling off your soul to another mortal, but there's usually some pacts written out, worked through the proper channels. It would seem you have...slipped through the cracks."
The reaper paused frequently and had a very slow, methodical way of speaking. Edward, himself unaccustomed to dealing with mythical beings, felt humor might be a good coping mechanism.
"Well, that's not all bad, right? If you were coming for me, I guess my name would be Deadward." he said, with a chuckle.
Death paused, raised a finger, paused again and inhaled, "That's...actually pretty funny. I enjoy dark humor. It might lighten my mood when next we meet."
"Won't be for a long time, yeah?" Ed asked, nervously.
"Oh, sooner than you'd think, I suppose. I'll be dropping numerous souls off for you in the future, quite regularly. You're in the books, now."
"Pardon?" The perplexed look had returned to Ed's face.
"You've made numerous contracts. Quite successful at it, really. I hadn't seen anyone collect quite so many since they were burning people alive for this kind of thing. Quite impressive, really. Would be nice if there were some award for it, but I guess the souls are enough. Anway, I'm off. Enjoy."
Death placed the small, glowing worm in Ed's hand and gently closed the recipient's fingers for them. With a rustle of a cloak, Death wrapped in on himself, slowly disappearing into nothing.
"Heya Ed!" screeched the little worm.
Eyes bulging, Ed jerked his head down to stare at the worm. At Joe?
"I reckon that hedge trimmer should have been lined with gold and did all the trimming on autopilot, considering the cost, eh?" Joe quipped.
Throat constricting, Ed croaked out, "What...am I going to do with you?"
"Could go for bit of a nibble, if you don't mind. Maybe a little nip of whiskey. I'm all out of sorts." The voice of the worm was high pitched, warbly and generally disconcerting.
Ed leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. With a brief shrug of his shoulders, Ed says, "Yeah, alright. In you go.", and carries Joe inside.
[Pt. 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/106i1sg/wp_sure_itll_only_cost_you_your_soul_you_used_to/j3hin01/)
Future additions will be posted to [r/EdandTheDead](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdandTheDead/). Hopefully every Saturday.
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“Okay, here you go.” A milk dud fell from her hand as she startled at the sound of an unexpected voice from behind the sofa. On the screen in front of her, Turk lifted JD on his back, unnoticed.
There were two people in her apartment suddenly. One was a rather mystified looking flannel-clad man about her age, and the second was a robe-clad skeleton wielding a scythe. Sarah froze, one hand gripping the back of the threadbare couch, the other drooping until a clatter of spilled candy brought her back to herself. She sprang up, almost tripping over the Ikea coffee table, and raised her hands in what was hopefully either a calming or defensive posture. The man looked confused. The skeleton looked bored.
“Miss Wildes, I need you to sign for this,” the skeleton extended a clip board toward her, which featured a ballpoint tied to the ring at the top with what looked like an old shoelace.
“I’m sorry, sign for what?” Sarah asked.
“Your soul.”
She clutched her chest and stepped back, knocking into the coffee table and sending several library books tumbling to the floor.
“MY SOUL!?” she screeched.
The skeleton tipped its head up, pointing empty sockets toward the ceiling. “Not *your* soul. Your soul. That you now own. This guy.” It nudged the man forward with the hand that held the scythe, and the stranger took a halting step forward.
“Hey Alexa, can milk duds go bad?” Sarah called in a tight voice, not turning her gaze from the skeleton and the guy it claimed she owned.
“From the independent dot co dot uk.” The melodic robot voice called out, “Milk and white chocolates last no more than eight to 10 months. ‘It is OK to throw away old candy,’ advises Aramouni. ‘Don't feel compelled to eat it. It's mostly empty calories after all.’”
The skeleton shook its head and looked at the bearded man beside it, who apparently didn’t respond in the way the specter had hoped, because its empty chest heaved in a sigh. It flipped to a second page on his clip board.
“January 8th, 2018,” it read in an annoyed voice, “ ‘Sure, I’ll pick you up from the airport, but it will cost you your soul’. Now, can you please just sign for him? I’ve got other pickups to make, and I’m not approved for overtime.”
“2018 …” Sarah mused, looking more closely at the man, who was considering the floral prints hung over her small kitchen table. In profile, he looked vaguely familiar. “Oh, my God! Mark! How have you been?”
The man turned back to her and rubbed the back of his head, the nervous gesture confirming his identity even if the new beard and softer belly obscured it. “Um, hey, Sarah. Not great …”
“Drunk driver,” the skeleton cut in, and again presented the clip board. “So, now that that’s cleared up …” Its tone of voice implied that he would be raising his eyebrows expectantly, if he had them.
“Wait,” Sarah said, brain finally starting to slip into gear, “so, Mark is dead. And because I picked him up after winter break seven years ago, I … own him?”
“You own his soul. His body and other stuff belong to … I don’t know, his mom or someone. Now, can you please sign this?”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry, Mark!”
The man shrugged and rubbed the back of his head again, his face was still more confused than sad or angry.
“My metrics …” the reaper groaned. “Look, you have literally eternity to catch up. But I’m on the clock.”
“I don’t want to own Mark. What am I supposed to do with a dead Mark? I’m not even allowed to have pets here.”
The skeleton advanced, shoving the clipboard over the back of the couch and into her face. “I don’t know what you people do with souls, I just know that this is now yours. Put him in a jar, or make him your familiar, or send him out to do your bidding. I don’t care! It’s not my problem! But just please, please figure this out on your own time.”
“What do you mean, ‘you people’?” Sarah asked, instinctively indignant over the phrasing.
“Witches.”
“Hey! I’m not a witch!”
The skeleton’s shoulder blades audibly ground together as its robes rose toward its ears. It flipped to another page among the disorganized sheaf on the clip board.
“Sarah Wildes. Daughter of Mara, daughter of Gina, daughter of Alexandra … blah, blah, blah … daughter of Sarah. Huh, same name, what are the chances? Anyway. You, oh mortal,” the reaper’s voice took on a weary, mocking seriousness, “descend from a long line of witches, whose compact with the great lord below began nigh three hundred years ago.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, remembering the story her grandma had told between sips of Bacardi punch last Thanksgiving. “Oh, fuck. Salem. That’s all true?”
“Yep.” The skeleton was unable to give the word the proper saucy popping noise at the end, but again, it was somehow implied. “Now that that’s cleared up …”
He presented the clip board again, and was visibly relieved when Sarah took it. She spotted the dotted line at the bottom of the page and scrawled her signature. The skeleton snatched it back, then presented her with a barely legible yellow carbon copy. It turned toward the door after giving Mark a shove toward the couch.
“Wait!” Sarah called, and the reaper’s neck stiffened as it turned. “Does this mean everyone I’ve ever joked about doing stuff for their soul is eventually going to show up here?”
The skeleton sighed, “Oh, God, hopefully not during my shift.” Then it walked through her still closed and locked door, leaving the faint odor of rotting leaves behind it.
Sarah stared after it, then turned her wide eyes to Mark, who had jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and was rocking from his toes to his heels.
“So,” Sarah curled her lips between her teeth and fell back on the courtesies taught to her in childhood. “Can I get you something to drink?”
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[WP] Humans have always had a tough time winning medals at the Galactic Olympics, but there is one game that they're weirdly, freakishly good at.
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"I dont get it. You humans are the only species in the entire Galactic Olympics that has no psychic aptitude. Zero. Zilch. Squat. You can't even perceive your environment without focusing ambient light through those weird little orbs in your head. How in blazes are you so good at rifle marksmanship?" T'zarrak waved his antennae about haphazardly in my direction, which I had learned conveyed a degree of consternation and/or confusion.
I had to admit, I had no idea why everyone **else** in the galaxy was so **bad** at aiming a gun. "I dunno. I just point the gun at the target and shoot. It's not very hard. I'm not even good at it by human standards."
He puffed out his ventral section in exasperation. "You make that sound so simple. Just point the gun at the target. So…what? You're telling me humans are all savants at trigonometry? The Galactic Record was 28 meters for a stationary Olympic target before you humans showed up on the scene. The human record is over a kilometer!"
"Trigonometry? Huh?" It took me a bit to follow the conversation, that really seemed to come out of left field. "No, we're not using trigonometry. I just sight in the gun."
"How the hell do you line up the gun at a target without trigonometry?! You have to calculate where it's pointing based on the angle and position you're holding it at and the distances between yourself, the target, and all the reference objects."
Ok, now I was beginning to understand. "Look, you guys are all basically shooting from the hip because you don't have eyes."
He interrupted me, "Yeah, because eyes are primitive. You can't see objects that are behind other objects. You can't even see objects that are behind yourselves. You basically only perceive the world in one narrow cone. You can't use nearly as much of the environment as a frame of reference to calculate your shot as even the weakest psychics in the galaxy."
"Yeah, that's exactly why we are able to aim. You see these raised protrusions on top of my rifle? Well I guess you can't see them, but you sense them right?"
He nodded his assent.
"Well, when I'm shooting, I position the gun so that I can't see the front one because it's behind the rear one. And then while doing that, I position the gun so the spot I want to hit is behind both of them. When it's obscured by the protrusions, I pull the trigger and I hit the target."
He sat there in stunned silence. "Wait…so because the light beam that reflected off the target can't reach your eyes, you know that it's aligned with the two protrusions on your rifle…and because of that you know the rifle is aimed at the target... You're using light as a ruler to trace the shot?! That's totally unfair!"
I chuckled, "Just wait until I tell you about scopes…"
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“Welcome back to the Galactic Games, assorted lifeforms! We are live, currently observing the High-Object-Mass Gravity-Interruption event. Coming up shortly we'll be checking in on Team Humanity as they enter the twelfth and final stage of the Galactic Dodecathlon.
"But first, a quick introduction! I'm your host, Lin Teraborn, and I am here on New Greg alongside the Zotla Hivemind - thank you all for joining us, Collective.”
*“It is my pleasure-”*
*“-to be here with you-”*
*“-sad, unassimilated lifeform.”*
“You know, I’ve always had a lot of respect for those lifeforms who *choose* to become part of your hive, Zotla, but I like to think I’ve done alright on my own… and will continue to do so!
“Anyway, over the past three subcycles, we have been following the Marakan athletes and their absolute domination in the *riveting* field of high–object-mass gravity-interruption - known as 'weight lifting' by those of us with gravity-centric evolutionary origins.
“Fascinating species, the Marakani. Zotla, did any of you know that a Marakan’s internal support structure gradually fuses together as they age?”
*”Yes.”*
*”I did.”*
“Ah, well it was certainly a shock to me! I recently interviewed Dob, the current Interstellar Champion, who demonstrated to me that he has lost almost all freedom of movement in his lower legs.
“Such bravery, you know? Just… the look of determination on his face when his indentured worshippers carried him out onto the field on their bare backs… I tell you, back in my day as a Dodeccer, losing mobility in the lower half of my body would have been *devastating.”*
*”Yes, your kind-”*
*”-have always relied heavily-”*
*”-on your subpar abilities-”*
*”-in a multitude of events-”*
“...I’m so sorry, which one of you should I make eye-contact with? Do you want me to look at whoever is talking, or…? No, no, I understand you’re *singular* and all, but is there any chance you could speak through just one of the… right. Sure, sure, yeah. Okay, back to it!
"Now, I’ll be the first to admit that humanity does *not* look promising when it comes to individual competition. And, Zotla, you are absolutely right; on the galactic stage, we are the underdogs, no doubt about it.
"After all, most lifeforms in the galactic community have evolved to excel at a *very* small number of *extremely* specific tasks, and the same just can’t really be said for my kind."
*”Your kind seems not-”*
*“-to excel at-”*
*”-much of anything.”*
“Ha! Now, don’t be sore losers, Zotla; our *total domination* over your Collective at the last Galactic Games was four kilocycles ago, practically ancient history. Anything could happen! Let’s check the scoreboard, shall we?”
*”That will not be necessary during this interview, Lin, singular.”*
“Just one speaker, that time. Interesting. Anyway, if all of you would like to take a look at the graphic being displayed on your *individual* interfaces, you'll find the total scores as of the eleventh stage of the Dodecathlon. Fascinating stuff.
"Now Zotla, your Collective actually does have… ah, how many humans have you assimilated? Two?”
*”Five.”*
“One, two, three… huh, you’re right, I’m counting *five* humans among your Collective, sitting in the studio with me today. Hm. You know, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but it might be a while before your athletes get to stand on that podium with us. Let’s see… you are trailing behind by… oh, that’s not good, is it?
“I’m not sure how well most of you can read those scores, Zotla, since your Collective has never reached this stage of competition in the Dodecca, but hopefully the five people of mine that you have in there can help the rest of you sort it out.”
*”That is quite enough.”*
“Now, don’t get all of your panties in a twist! Viewers, it is a very unfortunate truth that the Zotla Hivemind has never been able to snag the coveted Astatine Medal for the Dodecathlon, bless their many, *many* hearts. You know, Zotla, seeing as humans are so subpar in everything, I really can’t help but wonder why you agreed to let these five join your Collective in the first place.”
*”We do not require *permission* to assimilate those we deem worthy! We will not stand for-”*
**“We?** Zotla, sweetie, I thought you were a singular?”
*”This interview is over.”*
“Well, assorted lifeforms of the galaxy, that concludes my exclusive interview with the Zotla Hivemind, who just admitted on a live full-frequency broadcast - to the *hundreds of billions* of humans spread far and wide throughout the galaxy - that they assimilated five of our people against their will.
“Join us in an hour to watch the final stage of the Galactic Dodecathlon, followed immediately by the Medal Ceremony. Go Team Humanity!”
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j6s2nx0
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j6rm5h6
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[WP] Your super power has no destructive power, but you're still a highly ranked superhero. *Time Out* puts your opponent into a safe quiet place to reflect on their actions before returning them back the to the same spot and time, they left.
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It backfired. I put Brutallus in Time Out. I had thought a few years in solitary would change him. It made Skorge go home to his dying mother. Brutallus had done nothing but meditate and focus his power. He was fuming when he went in, but he was so calm when he came out. I should have known something was wrong when his smile was too wide. He punched me so hard I think my spine broke. Before I knew what has happening he was pummeling me into the pavement. I've been in Time Out for 10 years. I can't go back. I resolved I'd get out once my hands stopped shaking, but I quiver and cry every time I think about getting out. He's there, he's waiting for me. I don't know if the message on the wall was his mantra in here or a warning to me, but I can't bear to look at it.
Smashed into the wall of the otherwise pristine white room is cracks that spell:
#I CAN WAIT
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"You thought I wouldn't notice huh? You businessmen are always acting so important, like you're better than anybody else. Get in line!".
"Sir please, I'm in a hurry. I have to get to my wife!"
"No you have to get to deez nuts". A few giggles.
You see, the hero I'm going to tell you about is no normal super hero. Some wouldn't really consider him a super hero at all. It is not like he is saving the world from some super villains. It is more like he is saving the world from the inconvenient. Usually this man just goes about his day like everyone else. He has a wife, two beautiful children and a normal job that he hates just like everyone else. He almost seems too normal in a world where everyone has got a superpower. In a world where buildings are destroyed on a daily basis and the homeless people aren't just homeless, but super homeless! It is said, that some of these super homeless people even have the rare ability to teleport out of any building as soon as they enter it. You often hear them saying "The moment I realized I had this ability is when god came in my dream one night and told me 'From now on, thou shalt be homeless!'".
In a world this full of chaos this hero just tries to be a loving husband and raise his children right.
"You're eating my bread, dad! Mom made that for me as launch for school". The man paused for a second. In his face the expression of a man who will later be getting scolded by his wife..
"Am I really, son? Think harder, I want you to see past the surface of things! Am I really eating your bread? Is that even bread? Son, what is reallity but an illusion? I thought you'd notice faster that this bread is just a projection. A test if you want so. And you failed! But don't worry, there won't be any punishment. Just don't tell Mom.."
"I guess your old age is an illusion too then?". The man felt an aching pain in his heart. He knew he has been defeated. He shed a tear. He knew what he'd had to do next. His own son has become a monster and it was his fault. So he stood up, put his hand onto his sons shoulder and said "I'm sorry, son, I'm sorry I didn't raise you right.."
"Don't you dare dad, not again, I will tell mom straight a way!", he called for her: "Mo-". Only half of it came out, as his dad has already transported him into "the room". A realm created by his superpower, only 5 by 5 meters big, without doors and without windows. The only light came from a old fashioned light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
"F\*\*\* this old man, when I'm out of here, I'll rat him out to mom straight away! Arrgh I hate it here. Wait...", the boy noticed, that he was not alone in the room. "Is that a goose??!"
That was the day our hero failed his job as a parent and induced lifelong goose trauma into his son. That's the day our hero turned into "the goose goon"...
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j7uk485
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j7ugxs7
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[WP] According to astronomy, wishes take thousands or even millions of years to arrive to the wishing stars. Today, wishes from people long past are starting to come true.
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[Concrit Welcome]
*If you wish upon a star, then a miracle is about to start.*
Leo stood alone inside the circular dome-shaped room. It was a long day in the observatory, and he still needs to do routine recordings of the upcoming meteor shower. Forcing himself not to fall asleep on the desk, he approached the telescope at the center.
He had always believed there was something uniquely mesmerizing about the night sky, which was the reason he wanted to study astronomy. But these midnight observations that could’ve perfectly been automatically recorded were a real test on his nerves.
A faint flash in the night sky. The meteor shower had started.
More visible dots flickered from the lens on the telescope, and just as he had feared, the faint voices were back again.
There was another reason why Leo hated being alone in the observatory at night. Ever since he was a child, these whispers had accompanied him whenever there was a meteor shower. His therapist had called them harmless hallucinations, but it was nights like these that almost convinced Leo there was something deeper.
If he was more awake, he would pause everything and take his medication. But he was too tired, he wasn’t thinking. In between one breath and the next, the button to open the observatory roof was clicked.
The roof slowly bloomed open like moonflower petals, and a cold breeze trickled through the gaps. Perhaps it was his sleepiness, perhaps there was no reason, but the voices seemed clearer that night. Most were still nonsense noise, but he was able to make sense of a few of the loudest ones.
“I wish for the night to be not as dark.” A breathy voice said.
“I hope that one day the forest would be safer.” This one sounded like a young woman.
“I wish the village won’t starve just because of a bad harvest anymore.” An old man’s hoarse and deep voice echoed.
“I wish the neighboring kingdom wouldn’t attack us anymore.”
“I wish there are enough books for everyone.”
“I wish to no longer worry about floods or hurricanes.”
“I wish to understand the heavens.”
“I wish to be reunited with my loved ones.”
“I wish my voice to be heard.”
The meteors crashed down into the atmosphere one by one, etching faint white lines throughout the sky. Leo listened to every one of the wishes from long ago, that had come true in one way or another, long after the ones who made the wishes had passed.
He was in that dreamy state again, at that field trip in second grade, laying on the grass outside the tent. He muttered the same words he said back then in a shaky voice: “One day, I will touch the stars.”
In the not-so-far distant above, the international space station made another rotation around the earth.
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There was a man when the world was quite young. There was a woman. Sometimes it seems like all the stories start like this. Sometimes they do. But this time youth was no mere trick of light, sunrise filtering through the blinds just so to illuminate the room as she entered, because the world really was young once. I forget that. Do you? Before cities sprouted on the hills or smeared themselves across the riverbanks in a haze of steel and smoke.
Though there was smoke that night, whispering into the half-dark sky as night began to fall.
The man’s name has been forgotten. The woman’s. This is not to be considered. The world was young, and they lived in a succession of passing moments. Had not yet worried that such things as names might last.
The man builds up the campfire. Darkness gathers. There is no moon tonight, there are no stars. They’ve gone a distance away from the others, inadvisable on the savanna, but neither of them had to insist. One wandered off and then the other, and now their kinfolks’ singing is scattered across the near horizon, as the darkness presses down upon all things.
She speaks and he responds. He speaks and she smiles. Turns away as the full weight of night begins to settle. The fire leaps between them, casting shadows on her face and shoulders, the play of sinews in her thighs. We would say that she is sixteen, and he is nineteen, and there are circles torn beneath her eyes from waking late at night to the laughing sounds of the hyenas, a distant roar of lions, thunder, lightning, monsoons. Her black skin is calloused, laced by scars in intricate, intentional designs, and by an uncaring rake of claws received the year before from some predator or another, be it beast or bird or man. Her hair is no liquid tumble, no fast water at night. It does not spill across her shoulders. She’s hacked it short with a stone knife. Used the same knife just yesterday to skin his kill.
The man builds up the campfire. His axe and spear are close at hand. He has killed; mostly recently another man, when they passed a group of grizzled, half-mad wanderers on a hunt at the beginning of the season. Night brings those thoughts out in him, leaves him with a vague feeling of disquiet that often takes some hours to dispel. Not tonight. Tonight he is wasting wood to push back against the darkness for other reasons. He builds the fire up again, and she looks at him, at the night, with a curious expression, because she doesn’t understand what it is he sees.
Here is what he sees across the dancing flames:
Beauty, softened by the play of shadows, a blackness that breathes another meaning into night. Whimsy, ease, daring. She didn’t have to come with him. She did. They are too far from the others, these things are not safe. This was a time before we courted danger, before risks became exciting, and yet that thought stirs within him the most curious feeling. Building up the fire, the man sees the impulse that will, one day, lead to sprawling cities, hilltop fortresses, temples, tombs, and poetry. He does not yet have these. Is a part of their beginning, nothing more.
What he does have, staring at her, wishing that this moment could last, that dawn would hold off just this one night with its hunts and raids and headlong flights—
Is the stars.
He glances up, just a glance, he cannot bring himself to look away from her. He does not speak or gesture. Could not yet put this thought into words. He simply wishes in this moment when everything is youth and fire, that the two of them could be preserved. Or her. He’d settle for just her. His knees have begun hurting lately, and in the rainy season the old wounds along his hip and back ache. He’s turned half to dust already, but *her.*
He smiles, thinking that. She notices. Asks him what’s so funny.
“Nothing at all,” says the man, who goes back to tinkering with the fire, playing tender shadows across her bruised, calloused, scarred—supple—skin, before a passing breath across the world fades them into hazy memory.
There was a man when the world was quite young. There was woman. Sometimes it seems like all the stories start like this. Many have, and will, and do.
Lay back tonight. Find a patch of grass if you are able, away from all the lights. Listen to the gentling pulse of your heartbeat as the sun falls and darkness gathers. Watch, in astonished silence, as an infinity of campfires spreads across the sky. If you are very quick, or very daring, or very much at ease, perhaps you’ll see it—theirs, the first—before you blink the night away, and call them simply *stars*.
Lay back tonight, as they did.
There was a man. There was a woman.
Stories start like this.
r/TurningtoWords
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jchujbg
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jchgsa1
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[WP]You work as a valet for a high-class casino. You've got licenses to operate a variety of different vehicles and a story for how you got each one. Lately, a wealthy patron has been bringing increasingly ridiculous vehicles, trying to find one you don't have a license for.
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"I got you this time, Arnault." He grinned, excited.
Arnault smiled indulgently, "Of course, Mr. Trent. What's your play today?"
Trent Goodman held out a odd key, "This is for a LIEBHERR R9800 Excavator."
Arnault took it quietly, examining the key curiously. "Of course, sir. Anything else?"
Trent's smile tightened as he pulled out a slip of paper, "Access code to a Triton 36000/2-"
"Submersible, excellent taste, sir." Arnault smiled, mockingly almost.
Trent shivered, "There is no. Way. You're qualified for those. Or this." He pulled out a final key. "It's for the X-29 experimental Space Plane the Air Force just developed recently. Only flown-"
"23 missions, sir." Arnault took the key, his smile vanishing in an instant. "I flew 13 of them sir. I'll get your tickets."
Trent grabbed him, "How the fuc-"
Arnault smiled again, "Language, sir. I'm extremely qualified."
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As a valet at one of the most luxurious casinos in town, I've seen my fair share of exotic and expensive cars. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Bentleys, you name it, I've driven it. I took pride in the fact that I had licenses to operate every single one of them, and I had a story for how I acquired each license.
It all started with a Porsche 911 Turbo. It was the first car I ever drove as a valet, and I was determined to get my license to operate it. I studied the car's manual, watched hours of instructional videos, and practiced driving it in my free time. Eventually, I passed the test, and I was given the privilege of driving the Porsche.
From there, I moved on to other high-performance cars, like the Bugatti Veyron and the McLaren P1. I even got my license to operate a helicopter, thanks to a wealthy patron who wanted me to park his private chopper on the rooftop helipad.
But lately, a particular patron has been trying to stump me. He's been bringing increasingly ridiculous vehicles to the casino, hoping to find one that I don't have a license for. It started with a vintage motorcycle, which I had no problem handling. Then he brought in a hovercraft, but I had already obtained a license for that after a particularly adventurous weekend.
Next came a tank. Yes, a tank. I had to admit, I was a bit nervous about this one. But I studied the tank's manual, watched videos of tank operators in action, and even went to a military base to get some hands-on training. And sure enough, when the patron arrived with the tank, I was able to operate it with ease.
But the patron wasn't satisfied. He kept bringing in more and more ridiculous vehicles, like a hot air balloon, a jet ski with wings, and even a submarine. Each time, I would study and practice until I could operate the vehicle flawlessly.
Finally, the patron arrived with what he claimed was his ultimate challenge: a flying car. I had heard of them, but I had never actually seen one in person, let alone operated one. But I was determined to rise to the challenge.
I spent weeks studying everything I could about flying cars, even reaching out to engineers and pilots for advice. And finally, the day arrived. The patron pulled up in his flying car, and I stepped forward, confident in my abilities.
The next thing I knew, I was soaring through the air, controlling the flying car with ease. The patron was amazed, and even the other valets were cheering me on. I had done it. I had operated every vehicle imaginable, and I had passed every test with flying colors.
As I parked the flying car, the patron came up to me and shook my hand. "You truly are the best valet in town," he said. "I can't wait to see what you'll do next."
And I knew that whatever vehicle he brought in next, I would be ready for it.
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j7badzr
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j7b3jgg
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[WP] You wished to find a dragon to slay for its treasure. Now you're not sure how to feel seeing a thumb-sized dragon try to drag its single shiny copper coin with it as it runs away from you.
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The heavily armoured man sat down at the bar with a heavy sigh.
"Ale," he commanded simply. The bartender, knowing his disposition just from the tone, obliged.
"Rough day?" he asked and started pointlessly polishing a wooden mug.
"A rumour of a dragon that turned out..." the warrior sighed. "Wasn't what I was expecting."
"A failed hunt? It got away?"
"No, it's... the damn thing was the size of my thumb," the warrior complained. The bartender stopped polishing the mug for a moment.
"Say again?" he said.
"It was... tiny. I dunno if the rumour I followed was by some bumpkin unable to recognize the thing was harmless or a prank, but... it was this tiny lizard guarding a single copper coin."
"Huh," the bartender commented plainly. "So... what did you do?"
The warrior looked at him wearily and passed him a single copper coin. "For the ale," he said grimly and finished it. The bartender gave him a disapproving look but accepted the money.
The warrior got up with another loud sigh and headed for his room, wondering what to do with his new roommate; a very small and very happy dragon resting atop a shiny golden coin.
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“Okay… Now I feel like a total ass.”
Don’t take it the wrong way, I knew that the life of an adventurer was not going to be all riches and bi- ladies.
Sometimes, you’d find yourself covered in orc guts. Sometimes, you’d go on months surviving on whatever savings you managed to scrounge up because the market is just not what it used to be.
But Holy Father, even we have some standards, you know?
“Calm down,” I said, lowering my sword. “I am not going to take your horde.”
Now when it could barely buy me a loaf of bread, at least.
The dragon - not convinced - covered the single piece of copper with its tiny and thin body. It was hissing in defiance, though the tears betrayed the fear of the creature.
Fucking hell, was it doing this on purpose? I was starting to feel really guilty even though I didn’t do anything.
I took a few steps away from the dragon and it seemingly calmed down. Not enough to lower its guard but enough that it no longer looked like a kicked pup.
“Just how did you end up here?”
The cave was too big for the little guy. And the location was far enough from the settlements that the only way they still believed a fearsome dragon lived here was because nobody was stupid or desperate enough to venture here.
Until me, that is.
I walked around the cave, wondering if there maybe was something more to this place. Call me stupid or desperate but I refused to believe that the damn place had only a runt and a coin.
I ventured deeper into the cave.
Ten minutes later, I wish I didn’t.
“Fucking hell…”
Two dragons. Both as high as the royal castle, the monsters lied in pools of their dried blood. Their flesh burned and rotten and frozen and torn. And all around them were the empty chests.
Someone has beaten me to it. And by the looks of it, that single copper piece was the only thing the runt had left from its parents.
Said runt bit into my leg, its soft and barely formed fangs barely denting the leather. Its eyes full of tears, it forgot all about the single coin. Too busy trying to protect its parents’ remains from what it believed to be another adventurer.
“Calm down,” I pulled it off. “I don’t desecrate the dead.”
It didn’t believe me. Fair enough.
The little one ran to the dead dragons and stood between them and myself. Tearing up and trembling, it was willing to fight if it came to this.
It was only now that I noticed just how little meat the little guy had. Was it staying here the entire time? Foregoing food and sleep to protect its parents and the single copper that remained of their horde?
Slowly killing itself…
I sighed and rummaged through my pouch. The little dragon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion before its stomach growled as it smelled the dried meat.
“Eat,” I tossed the meat to the dragon. It smelled it, no doubt wondering if it had poison or something. “Grow strong and big enough to become the most feared dragon of all. Get the horde bigger than anything your parents ever gathered.”
This was not a charity.
Simply, an investment.
“I will come back once slaying you will be something I can feel good about.”
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jf7vq7i
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jf5puys
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[WP] The dark forest hypothesis is correct. There are many civilizations that exist in the universe, but keep silent in fear of the "hunters in the woods." So, instead of hiding in fear, why not become an angler fish?
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Somewhere in the depths of the ocean, there is a fish. This fish is fast, deadly, with sharp teeth and swift fins. It seeks out any sign of life, any hint of light, and it uses its speed and power to kill and eat those it comes across.
One day, it happens upon a tiny light floating in the void, and it dives towards it to devour the fish whole, only to come across a bigger fish with a tiny glowing lure floating in front of its toothy maw. It tries to turn and flee, but its own momentum carries it to its toothy, gruesome death.
\-----
The Subspace Sensor System known as Deep Eye was a physics breakthrough. By gathering information from the structure of space itself, it gave us an instantaneous, current view of the surrounding star systems, unaffected by the light speed limit. In addition to giving physicists a headache, this device provided two insights, one exciting, one horrifying.
The exciting insight was this: deep space was not empty. It was full of fleets of clearly artificial objects moving from star system to star system at superliminal speeds. We were not alone in the universe.
The horrifying insight was what those objects did when they reached a star system, leaving behind asteroid fields and ring systems where life-giving worlds once were.
In 2008, the author Cixin Liu posited the "Dark Forest Hypothesis." Imagine a dark forest at night, filled with hunters with guns. Take a step into the light, and you'll be killed. But by firing off your own gun, you give away your position to all of the other hunters with guns. The only safe course of action is to remain silent, hidden, safe.
And so we watched, silent and hidden and safe, as the unknown fleets (which some wag who had read too much Fred Saberhagen called 'Berserkers') moved from world to world, destroying any planet where the local lifeforms had grown so bold as to broadcast radio signals to the stars. Through observation of their behavior, we realized three things.
First of all, although their ships could travel at faster-than-light speed, they still had a speed limit. We calculated it at around one hundred times the speed of light. Fast enough to be a problem, but not so fast as to be able to instantly respond to any signals they received.
Secondly, their ships could break the light speed barrier, but their sensors could not. Somehow, these Berserkers had not managed to discover subspace physics. We could see what was going on instantaneously. They needed to wait for photons and radio waves to reach them at the old limit of 300 million meters per second (approximate).
Thirdly, space was vast. Even as powerful as they were, they were still very few. They had hundreds, thousands of fleets, but there were hundreds of billions of stars in our galaxy, separated by hundreds of lightyears. Many civilizations were snuffed out in their planetary womb, but there were others that managed to reach the interstellar phase before being destroyed.
The Berserkers were powerful. They were deadly. But they were not infallible. And if they were fallible, they could be fooled.
(TBC)
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It helped that they'd been unknowingly clanging a clarion of bells for almost the entirety of their existence. The humans that arrived were hidden under so many layers of woven garments and vacuum layers it was hard to get a sense of their posture. This was deeply distressing to the handpicked emissaries, since specific postures made up the entirety of Sdyn language. It was helped not in the least that while the human active language pathway was busy trying to squeeze rendering animations out one at a time while they threw around idioms and culture specific greetings. Four adolescent boys on their first deep space mining mission assumed to be a kind of embassy since they were the furthest from their planet. When Patricia finally got the boys to realize this wasn't some costume gag and the Sydn were in fact four-hearted snake-cat warrior princeses on embassy to an earth that was at this moment a tourist backwater. The kindly AI, entirety out of her depth and running overflow through four gaming rigs and an outdated Socrates array managed to communicate to the aliens that they had the wrong address and we would kindly like you off our space ship. She also had to press each word through an asymmetric system that kept crashing to desktop and asking her broad philosophical questions requiring a paragraph of academic writing about 13 times every human second. Finally, last but also first in the infuriating design of a save-life-first system, she had to keep the edgy friend of a friend going through an awkward phase from trying to fuck the aliens because he thinks they're strippers.
The Jovian cluster had the most warships so that's where they went first, armed with a ghoulish clone of Patricia who now lives as a permanent loading screen. Jovia prime's senators looked up from their hourly races for office pointed them immediately to Venutia prime and the sol outpost mostly to fuck with the smug energy hoarders. There the Patricia clone managed to earnestly get the point across;
*"be silent"*
"Old Cleaner" was the name that the first couple hundred outposts that encountered the processer of complex things. It was big, and it was moving between solar systems. It had a Sydn outpost consisting of four aligned and coordinated war worlds rendered an empty place before they could even react. Now it had a scientific classification name commonly used in the Sydn Coalition but every human colloquially used the traditional Sydn name *Hysthpracht* (*Hysth*-throw your head back and snap to attention, crossing arms over chest if the setting is martial; *Pracht*-turn sideways an spit when pronouncing) which was really fun to say as well as rousing to throw into a jingoistic pre-murder speech. The idea was since the human race had already made so much damn noise the best idea was to try to kill or injure it while humanity made itself scarce. They spent their 24000 year history believing themselves completely alone and moreover completely special. It wasn't the splash of the stone in the pond, it was the ripples. *Hysthpracht* was just a little outlier. A worker bee loose from the hive. When the waves of clangorous noise crashed against the hive then they would all really be in trouble.
The solution the 1200-planet union of cat-snake waring subfactions and one-system monkey people came up with was to let it try to eat the entire human race and use four Sydn warships to drive all the nuclear and plasma weapons right at it's fleshiest bit. Its an amorphous nebula sized cloud of what the cat-snake scientists with the help of the considerable grainier angle from human 22nd century radio telescopes determined what might be its transmitter, or at least its heart. They peppered it with minefields of spent asteroids accelerated in waves at it forcing it small. 1200 years it took to jump, hundreds of years at a time to distant empty stars possibly planting a flag on each. In that time, a new strategy developed. Maybe if they caught it unawares in a matrix of nuclear fire. Maybe if they blasted every atomic frequency in the general area they could stop the wasp-like death rattle that may faster-than-light alert the hive. Maybe if they just hide and dont poke the demon we'll all survive. They went with the nuclear firestorm option, because the idiom about hammers and nails translates perfectly.
The Sydn had four apporoaching-C dreadnoughts in the area, so the problem looked like an excuse to exercise them. The *four golden spears* zipped by, dumped 4,000 years of collected solar energy into the cloud as broadband randomized frequency before the dreadnoughts began disintegrating like the atoms just forgot to stick together. The asteroid assaults became constant until one day, the first of earth may and the fifth of jovian November in the tiny loud system, 435,333 asteroids with plasma-refracted nukes fireblasted a hole in reality around the clouds specific area. The white hexagon, they called it. Whether it worked or not was not a problem for right now though, because space is big and needs people to fill it. Quietly.
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mlwjwb5
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mlv9o9g
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[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.
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"So we meet again, Kyle," he said. "And here I thought you were trying to avoid me."
"We're orbiting the same black hole, idiot," Kyle replied.
"Oh, you mean you didn't just miss my company?"
Kyle crossed his arms and seethed. "I never should have wished for telepathy. Then at least I could float for all eternity in silence."
"I don't know, I kind of enjoy our little squabbles. It's amusing to piss you off once every orbit."
Kyle grabbed his head and moaned a breathless moan. "Why couldn't it have been Tina from accounting? She was such a babe. Why you? Please, god, end my suffering!"
He rolled his eyes. "I think if we've confirmed anything by living this long, god is either uncaring or not even there. Haven't you prayed enough for both of us already?"
"...If I could reach you, I'd strangle you to death and end both of our suffering right here and now," Kyle said, his words getting quieter by the second.
"That's the spirit! Perhaps on the next rotation we'll be closer together. I often won—" he said, his voice fading off into silence.
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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.”
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